Six weeks ago, Washington State isssued a shelter-at-home order as we deal with our generation’s first global pandemic. My children have been home 6 weeks now from school. My husband has been working from home for more than two months now.

I told myself that I would journal through this pandemic. I want to remember the day-to-day life as we now know it. The things that are good and the things that are not-so-good.

So here are my thoughts on the last 6 weeks of quarantine …

Distance learning is hard.

I think teachers are heroes. I have so much more appreciation for the jobs they do day in and day out.

AND I am overwhelmed.

The day we got word that school was out, I rearranged the playroom and created a workspace for each of them. They worked with my help for about 1.5-2 hours in the mornings and then we did “bins” until lunch. (Bins are just 3 plastic totes I rotated things in and out of, like sensory items, puzzles, crafts, and games.) Then it was a long recess outside. Quiet time for everyone. Then dinner and bedtime.

The first week was a little scary for me, but we found our groove. And the schedule actually worked. I breathed a sigh of relief … I could do this whole stay-at-home parenting/schooling thing.

By the time I felt good about our routine, it became clear that we were in this for the long-haul.

Also by this time, teachers had a bit more time to figure out what distance learning could look like.

I will not pretend for a second that any of this has been easy on teachers. But it is also not easy for us.

Two of the biggest changes has been a significant increase in time spent on a screen (which means less interaction with me, and more of me just juggling devices and video cameras.) And that Zoom calls dictate our day. I now feel at the whim of three teachers who understandably cannot coordinate their schedules with my other kids’ schedules. I cannot just do school like we did before, and that makes me sad.

It seems counterintuitive, but the packets my kids were initially sent home with worked better than all the online work they are expected to do now. I can’t do bins anymore, my kids are no longer available at the same time thanks to Zoom calls ranging from morning to early afternoon.

Then there are the one million apps I need to navigate.

Here’s what I hear when a teacher emails me their daily update:

“I sent you a Dojo with all the instructions. But basically, go to Google classroom, check out my video. If you can’t find it there, go to your email. Then go over to Seesaw. Sit with your child who has poor fine motor skills and help them with the mouse through every single part of this. Yes, this would take your child 5 min on a real worksheet. Yes, it will take him 20 min online. Don’t worry, I posted 6, but do what you can. Then give your kid a break, but not too long of a break. Get to I-ready. Do 20 min math, 20 min reading. At least. But they can do more. In fact, let them do as much as they want. But make sure they get outside time today, too. Then they can do starfall, too, if they want more work to do. Or they can do typing club. Make sure they are reading. Have them keep a journal. Have them send me a video each day telling me how they are — I miss them! And can they plant something? Make sure they go outside! Oh, and here is the zoom information for today’s call …”

I wrote the above slightly in jest … but also, it’s still true. One set of teacher’s instructions is usually doable. It’s when you add together all three teachers that it’s overwhelming.

The part that at least has been really helpful is the grace of all my kids’ teachers when I cannot do it all. They miss my kids … my kids miss them. Heck, I miss them. I wish they could be doing their job at school where every one could thrive. None of this is ideal for anyone.

All the therapies moved online as well. We have two computers for my kids so I have to juggle who gets what device every day. (You can bet there are favorite devices. And you can rest assured that my children will argue about which one they get to use.)

Navigating their schooling is both a sprint and a marathon for me in executive functioning.

I long for the days of the bins. Where I could have all my kids together. We played games. We worked together. And I felt some, small semblance of control I’m my life in a world that feels like it’s spinning out of control.

So this is me saying, I have to change something. I called one of my kids’ teachers, the one that stressed me out the most. He was so accommodating and absolutely put my mind at ease. We are now doing what we can, when we can, and I refuse, absolutely refuse, to feel stressed about it anymore.

(I say that. But then I remember I’m supposed to gather materials for my daughter to do a science experiment with her class over Zoom today. And I still need to schedule a therapy session today for one child. And we also have court over Zoom today as well. So … maybe I am stressed.)

So … future generations who might read this … this is what distance learning looks like for us. I can only hope that school administrators will work with teachers to create a system of learning that works for everyone should this ever happen in the future.

There are a few more challenges we face:

Information is everywhere, and it’s hard to discern credible sources.

Especially on social media. All of us regular people (as in, people who are not epidemiologists) have opinions about the pandemic and then share those opinions vehemently on social media as if we are now the experts.

I’m incriminating myself here. In the beginning, I had such strong opinions, and it was hard not to post them. I mean, we all feel like we need to save something: vulnerable people, our healthcare system, essential workers, businesses, our rights, and our economy. All of these thing s are good things. But we can’t see eye-to-eye right now.

We are like the people who who’ve read a book and think we’re smarter than the people who wrote that book.

Everyone is now an expert. And scrolling through my feed is just about impossible. Lines are drawn. Shame abounds. And conspiracy theories take root and thrive. People have taken to unfollowing people they love, even family, because the political opinions are so controversial right now. It’s all just too much.

To cope, I’ve pulled back from the conversations. I occasionally read my daily update from the New York Times. Scrolling by pretty much every post about the virus helps. If I do read something, I try to make sure as best as I can that the source is credible. And I ignore the voice of everyone and everything else. I don’t have the emotional reserves to care as vehemently as I did in the beginning.

Now, I’m sort of laying low. I keep my head down and focus on the next immediate need of my family. The days, weeks, and months are both flying by and dragging on. At the end of the day, Ryan and I sit stunned on the couch. Exhausted. Trying not to stress eat ice cream. Then we binge-watch shows that depict a normal normal … not our new normal.

Every day is a sprint AND a marathon.

Besides exhaustion, here are some other struggles I feel …

I feel like a liability no matter what I do during this pandemic.

Right now, the emphasis is on saving as many people as we can (as it should be). And in the process, the rest of us feel a burden whenever we need something for our own survival.

Every choice carries the weight it didn’t use to. When to go to the grocery store, we have to consider when we should go, how long we should stay, where we should stand in line, if we will get in trouble if we don’t have a mask, which items we can buy, and which items we have to limit. I want to walk through the aisles just a tad slower because it’s my one break from my kids. I want to walk the aisles of Costco and enjoy being in the presence of other people, even if they are strangers 6-feet away. Even that brings shame. According to an article that pops up on my feed, essential workers like those in the grocery store are not putting themselves at risk so we can take our time. Shame on me for putting someone at greater risk. Shame. So much shame.

I took my toddler to urgent care recently for an accident involving her pinky. Both the doctor and I thought it might be broken. It turned out to be a sprain. The entire time I was there I felt like I was breaking the code of good motherhood and good citizenship. I should not have to feel guilty for taking my child in if she appears to have significantly damaged a finger. And yet, mom-shame kept yelling in my ear:

“So …. let me get this straight … you risked death from Covid just because she sprained a finger?

These are the kinds of dilemmas we face.

This is the weight we carry every day with every decision.

I don’t ever want to hear the word “unprecedented” again, especially if it’s paired with “times.’

My friend Jeannette posted a hilarious thread of words we never want to hear again. Among them: essential, critical, pandemic, Covid or coronavirus, social-distancing, 6-feet, flatten the curve, shelter in place … These are words we hear every day, everywhere. It’s hard not to feel indoctrinated, even if it’s all true.

Can I just say I wish commercials could go back to normal?

I remember the first night our kids were home and shelter-in-place became official. The commercials felt weird. People were depicted in everyday scenes, like on crowded airplanes or in offices — all of the things we now associate with risk of death. It was was tangible reminder that our social norms were gone.

Companies got the hint that their commercials were no longer relatable to our everyday lives. Plus, the rules of media seem to have changed. If you want people to listen, talk about the coronavirus. Bonus points if you play inspirational music in the background. Triple bonus points if you share all the ways your company is giving back millions of dollars to those impacted by the virus. (Um, why not just give the money you spent on the commercial instead? Oh that’s right, you are still selling us your brand under the guise of generosity.)

Then there are the things I’m infinitely grateful for in the middle of a pandemic.

Teachers … for doing the very best they can to teach students they can’t share a space with.

Doctors, nurses, medical assistants and technicians, janitors, and the cleaning staff for putting themselves at risk again and again and again for our safety.

Everyone essential worker who is doing their best to keep our society afloat in the midst of a long-term pandemic.

The lunch ladies. They provide our kids with lunches day in and day out. This is a highlight of our day — hopping in the car for a 10-minute drive pick up a school lunch. It’s the one consistent time my children leave the confines of our property.

Family for continuing to check on us and pray for us.

Friends who message, call, and video chat. Game nights over Zoom. Friends who allow me to vent all my frustration and rejoice with me over wins. We are all in this together. Even if we can’t be together.

The times we can have fun. We’ve had to get creative on this one. Going for a walk is a new family activity. We have played more games in the last two months than I think we have in the last two years. Our kids are looking forward to things like camping in the backyard and roasting s’mores in our fireplace. We fix brunch together every Sunday. The kids fix Italian sodas and Ryan and I get coffee (sometimes spiked with real Irish cream.) We still do a family popcorn movie night. We are finding new traditions, and doing what we can to make the best of our extended time with our kids.

I’m thankful we moved before the pandemic hit. That we have a backyard with a play structure. That I can send my kids outside for a few hours at time and they are entertained.

I am grateful that we all seem more friendly. It’s normal now to wave to people you see walking when you’re driving by. Neighbors talk to me when we pull up our trashcans at the same time on garbage day. We take time for each other when we can. We smile with our eyes since our faces are covered by masks.

If I could give any advice to future generations from what I’ve learned from this pandemic, it would be: Have at least one month’s supply of toilet paper at all times. Avoid having a pandemic during an election year at all costs.Listen to the experts, not the supposed-experts. Admittedly, sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.Appreciate the normal things. You know, those things you take for granted every day. They may not be things that bring you joy — just things that make your life easier or go smoother. Things that keep you healthy and sane. Name those things. And appreciate them. Because you never know when it will change.Pay your teachers more.Please make healthcare make more sense. The health of an entire nation rests on people getting the care they need and deserve. People should not have to choose between living and bankruptcy. Please, future people, put your heads together and figure this one out if we haven’t done it by the time you read this.Love your people well. Take care of your relationships — you may have to quarantine with them. If you are not in a healthy relationship, reach out for help. There may come a time that will make that significantly harder than it already is. Don’t wait. Hold things a little looser. When a global crisis hits, you learn to hold things not quite so tight. Schedules, routines, expectations, goals — things need to flex and adjust. You’ll learn to let go.You will be affected by the 2020 pandemic, even if you didn’t live through it. Your parents did. Or grandparents. And I guarantee, it has left a lasting mark on us all. We have all changed. And you will feel that change, for better or for worse.Don’t be naive like so many of us have been. Life seemed pretty good, pretty predictable (minus the current political situation). It’s crazy how quickly things change. Maybe it won’t be a pandemic, maybe it will be something else. I don’t want you to be hypervigilant or fearful. Just prepared. (Here’s a resource to help us do just that.)Care about the one. One day, you’ll see astronomical numbers rise, numbers that don’t even make sense. Focus on the one. If you see that 10,000 people died that day — think about the one person who tipped it from 9,999 to 10,000. Focusing on the one helps you to remember that these are people, not numbers. Mourn the one so you can mourn the thousands.Oh. And make a smart plan for distance learning. (And if I can … figure out a way to keep classes safe from shootings. The one nice thing about his pandemic is that fewer kids are dying because America is not having our normal onslaught of school shootings. Yes, this is a thing in 2020. I hope it is not a thing for you.)

So … this is where life finds us on May 1, 2020, in the middle of the pandemic.

What about you? Which struggles are the hardest? What joys are you discovering? And how do you take care of yourself to stay sane through it all?

The post My day-to-day life in the middle of a pandemic. appeared first on The Lewis Note.