I would just like to start off by saying that since this whole quaratine thing started I’ve attempted to write a few different blogs. But alas, I just never had it in me to hit that “publish” button. Honestly I think it has a lot to do with my “depression” over all of this and not even wanting to openly air the cacophony of negative noises that can’t seem to leave my head. However on the eve of once again beginning this shit show called eLearning, I thought I’d attempt one last time to see if I can at least get a few of my “observations” – let’s call them – out there and ultimately even believe in them.
Now this particular post I started back in April. I’ve used bits and pieces and simply updated it accordingly. My thoughts on this whole Covid 19 thing have pretty much been all over the place… just like I’m sure the entire rest of the world has/is experiencing. Flashback to the end of April when the kids and I hadn’t left the house in almost two months. We hadn’t seen friends. They hadn’t been to school. I hadn’t been to a single store. I was experiencing a new sense of lonliness that I had never felt before and I assumed my kids were feeling something along the same lines. But then one day I witnessed something that really kind of floored me. And while it’s nothing grand or even really noteworthy if you think about it, nonetheless it gave me a brief, yet powerful, moment of insight.
I was out doing some weeding on the one nice day I think we had had back then towards the end of April and I happened to glance up as my son had his first Zoom lesson for basketball. Now before I continue let me just preface that Zoom has pretty much turned into a four-letter word for me as I witnessed daily the absolute chaos that my (then) first grader dealt with for her Zoom school lesson. It was loud, unorganized, and pretty much pure chaos. But we did what we had to do – some days more than others. Anyway, back to Jaycob’s basketball Zoom. As I glanced up and watched him, I cannot express the awe, pride and simply wonderment that I felt. This eight year old who hadn’t seen his friends in months, who hadn’t left the house, was hunkered down, focused and determined. He wasn’t thinking about how much this sucks having to do his basketball by himself, away from his teammates and friends. He wasn’t thinking about how much he was missing out on; he was focused on his coach, listening to the instruction and doing his basketball drills in the driveway. (Note: this lasted for about three solid weeks before he burned himself out. But hey, that’s three more weeks than I could have ever done.)
I think I watched him almost the entire time, mainly because I simply was in amazement towards his positivity and attitude. Throughout this whole ordeal I have absolutely underestimated (and continue to do so) the resilicency of these kids. Fast forward throughout the entire summer. Again my kids barely saw friends. They barely left the house. Jaycob’s baseball season started months late. The girls still aren’t back in gymnastics. No one got birthday parties. They barely had playdates. We’ve all had way more togetherness than I ever even thought possible.
But what I’ve noticed, is that while these kids whine and complain on the daily about what seems like everything, in reality they’re not the ones crying to me about not doing their activities or seeing their friends or going to camp; I AM. I’m the one who’s crying alone in my closet everyday that I haven’t had a day and rarely even a few hours to myself in months. That my husband and I haven’t been on a date since January. That I have to wear a mask to go out in public. I’m the one who can’t handle this insanity, NOT my kids.
And as we’ve been preparing to start eLearning once again, and I’m running around like a mad woman trying to prep for now three kids “in school” and keep track of all the emails, links and to-do’s from three different teachers and stress 24/7 about all the things wrong with the situation and what my kids are going to be missing out on and how damaging this is going to be, my kids haven’t even batted a damn eye over the horrors of the situation. Granted I think all three of them are completely stoked for “iPads/screen time all day” (meanwhile which has me swirling in madness) and they probably can’t grasp what an entire year (assuming) of school at home looks like but STILL. My point in all my long-winded ramblings is that these kids will adapt. These kids will cope. These kids will be OKAY. Granted they will all grow up to be robotic idiots with no social or in-person communication skills. My kindergartner may never read. I’ll be pouring Tito’s in my cold brew by the end of week one. But damnit these kids will be the best Zoomers you ever did see. Upcoming 1# resume skill, right there.
But in all seriousness, the only way that I’m going to get through this is by believing in these kids. In their resilicency. In their abilities to figure out technology when I can’t and their power to adapt. Even when I’m the one failing. And I’m the one having the meltdowns and crying everyday. It will be okay. These kids will be okay.
(But can someone please come check on me in two months that I am okay?!)