A tiny note from Robyn 4.30.20

TinyLetter from Robyn 🥰❤️

Today’s lessons brought to you by Netflix.

I never wanted to be a teacher. Growing up, my sister and I played school with our cousins all the time. My sister was the teacher, we were the students and Scott was the class dog. Of the 6 of us, 2 went on to become actual teachers…I was not one of them.

I am grateful that (for the most part) we are treating the Corona Virus with the respect it requires and to that regard, I am grateful that schools were cancelled. But I never planned for this.

I must interject here that my husband, Joe, has taken the large majority of the homeschooling duties. It would be easy to interpret this letter in a way that seems I have been carrying the load of homeschooling, but that is not truth. What is true is that the minority of weight of homeschooling that I am in charge of, is really freaking heavy.

So today was my day to be home all day with the boys. (Since we have an empty office, Joe and I have been taking turns spending days there.)

I went to bed last night with the intention of being present with the boys today. Recognizing that it is unrealistic for me to work and homeschool them (while being present), I cognitively told myself that I would not be working during the day today. And without too many fantasies, I actually thought that I was ready to have a good day solo with the boys.

And then I woke up. Sigh.

I started off surprisingly strong. I actually took a shower, put in a load of laundry and cleaned up the house in preparation for its eminent destruction. I managed to get it clean enough to confidently turn the robot vacuum on who normally simply turns himself off upon hitting the first hot wheel because its job is apparently not to actually clean my house.

By 9:00am Sheldon is already on his 3rd episode of Micky Mouse Club House, Rory is fully immersed in the Nintendo Switch and Milo has already convinced me that he needs a sick day. He did. He convinced me. But he is not sick.

With Kindergarten off my plate, you’d think managing Rory’s 2nd grade load would be totally manageable – and it would have been – if my computer hadn’t magically opened itself where 273 text messages, 46 slack messages, a bajillion emails and a long to-do list started pulling me in with their impressive magnetic forces.

I made cinnamon rolls for breakfast because we are out of bread and there’s only enough milk for about 1 bowl of cereal, and I daydream about going to the store tonight by myself to restock. Just the thought of walking the aisles, mask and all, gives me enough hope to proceed with the day.

Somehow many hours pass. It seems like Rory did enough school work to rid my guilt for today and at least now Sheldon is playing with the marble set while watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse – because that is better….I think.

It’s 1pm when I realize I need to figure out what we’ll eat for lunch. Only 1/3 of the boys have changed clothes today (which is actually a decent percentage around here these days).

By 2:30 I’m begging Sheldon to take a nap. It’s a big decision – to wait out the hour of resistance before he falls asleep with the hope of lying down just for a bit myself…or foregoing the nap knowing you’re preparing to deal with a monster around 5pm with a possible earlier bedtime.. I usually opt for the first option – any chance of laying down myself feels worth the risk. It failed so now we’ve endured an hour of screaming and will have a monster on our hands before dinner.

Joe came home and while I tried to minimize my desperation, I basically gave him a high five on my way out the door to head to the store. The 5 minute drive there with the windows down was heavenly. And while 2 months ago I never would have imagined that strolling the grocery store would make me feel human again, it did tonight.

I know that I am blessed to have these 3 amazing kids.

I know that this season of life won’t last forever and that we might even miss it someday.

I know that single parents, working out-of-the-house parents, and many others have an even more impossible path to navigate.

I know that the stress of my juggling act is nothing compared to our neighbors fighting for their lives.

And somehow, while all of that is true, I have learned over time that it is ok to say that this is hard. Because this is hard.

Whatever version of survival you are living right now, whether it feels quiet and peaceful or hectic and tornado-like. Whether you are a nurse caring for someone on a ventilator or if you know the person on the ventilator. Wherever you land right now, just know that it is ok to be right where you are.

If this feels hard, it’s ok to say it. I assure you that my kids are probably having more screen time than yours and that when this is over our house will probably need to be gutted, so if you ever need a pep talk, I’m a good person to reach out to (though as stated earlier, I’m struggling to keep up with messages….).

But for today, I am here and you are here. And here is a good place to be, not matter where it is.

You aren’t alone. Keep putting one foot in front of the other and consider the very survival of another day in the twilight zone a success.

Sending you all of my love,

Robyn (Please send help.)

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