If you can't stand the heat...
I have heard people in an older generation from mine discuss the benefits of simpler times. "Back when we were kids..." and extol the virtues of playing outside, running free, unscheduled hours of time where they came up with their own games. Some of those same people have now said that this will be the same for my children. They are now getting the unstructured freedom that quarantine has to offer. I don't fully disagree. With my children currently on a break from the schooling-at-home (or Crisis Schooling, as one friend is calling it) they are achieving new levels of unscheduled freedom, or as they like to call it: boredom.
For example: Ping pong paddles for Easter have proven to be a big hit. Do we have a ping pong table? No, we do not! Have people been playing ping pong? Eh - maybe once or twice. But what's really taken their attention has been bouncing the ping pong ball on the paddle repeatedly to see who can get the most hits without dropping the ball. Yesterday's boredom drummed up numbers such as 86, 128, and 243. If ever there was a time to be proud of what boredom can teach my children, this is it.
Some children are excelling at walking into my room while I'm seated on my bed, working at my computer. Said child then throws himself onto my bed face first, arms at his sides, hood pulled over his head, a low moan escaping from his lips.
me: (overly cheery tone) Hey, buddy! How's it going?
Him: Ughhhhhhhh... Can't we do something today?
me: This is it!
Him: This isn't doing something.
me: Indeed.
Him: mmmm - ughhhhh - ehhhhh
me: I've got plenty of things for you to do.
Him: Like what?
me: Have you looked at your Monday chores?
The chore chart is another hard-won, kind-of working, mostly-great-talking-point that's emerged from quarantine. There are things on the chore chart that are supposed to be fun but are categorically ignored: practicing soccer skills, or keeping up with ballet classes, or doing gymnastics exercises. All of those extracurriculars that we've paid for which are now on hold? Of course we can't continue those at home! There has to be a ritualized state of mourning. They are mourning the loss of those physical and mental activities that feed their brains. The mourning phase involves letting our brains go to mush and bouncing a ping pong ball on a paddle for hours on end.
I baked a cake during the first two weeks of quarantine, and my daughter was practicing her violin (a miracle unto itself). She stood next to me in the kitchen while playing, and she continued to get closer and closer to me. We have a large kitchen - and we have a spacious dining room and living room. She could have been anywhere in the house, but she chose the kitchen, and I wasn't about to stop her from practicing, even if her music clashed with what I had playing on spotify.
I was about to put the cake pans in to bake, the oven door ajar and heat flooding into the room. I quickly remembered tap the pans on the counter to release any air bubbles hidden beneath the surface. After a couple light taps, I could see there were still more air bubbles. Plus the feeling of banging something on the counter released a little of my own pent up anxiety. So I continued. Tapping, tapping, a little harder against the counter, air bubbles popping in succession. It was a rhythmic trance, and it was the perfect escape from my Coronavirus worries, the perfect micro-aggression against the kitchen counter. This hurt no one, but it gave me great rewards.
My daughter stopped practicing her violin. She now stood less than a foot away from me, having abandoned every other open expanse in the house. She stared, violin still perched on her shoulder, bow dropped silently at her side.
she: Could you please stop doing that? It's bothering me.
me: - - - -
We are living on top of each other. These kiddos are living through a crisis the likes of which their parents and grandparents have never seen. It makes sense that they need extra hugs, more patience, and the reassurance that closeness brings. I value the moments when we can speak honestly about what makes this time difficult, annoying and frustrating for them. They've watched me cry more than once over the past month: worries about my Dad's health, concerns for my sister, and the upheaval of the unknown.
The fact that we're all together all the time begins to numb the brain from realizing we have other places to go and other things to do. Every time I list off different activities or another place in the house to explore, they refuse, mumble something about how their siblings won't play with them, how's there's nothing to do.
But me? Bothering her? While I'm baking a cake for her to eat?!?!
I loudly tapped the cake pan once more on the counter. The heat from the oven roiling around the two of us, staring at each other in disbelief.
me: You could practice in any other room. You don't have to stand here. I'm baking a cake!
Emotionally honest, physically close: please God, help us with patience.
For example: Ping pong paddles for Easter have proven to be a big hit. Do we have a ping pong table? No, we do not! Have people been playing ping pong? Eh - maybe once or twice. But what's really taken their attention has been bouncing the ping pong ball on the paddle repeatedly to see who can get the most hits without dropping the ball. Yesterday's boredom drummed up numbers such as 86, 128, and 243. If ever there was a time to be proud of what boredom can teach my children, this is it.
Some children are excelling at walking into my room while I'm seated on my bed, working at my computer. Said child then throws himself onto my bed face first, arms at his sides, hood pulled over his head, a low moan escaping from his lips.
me: (overly cheery tone) Hey, buddy! How's it going?
Him: Ughhhhhhhh... Can't we do something today?
me: This is it!
Him: This isn't doing something.
me: Indeed.
Him: mmmm - ughhhhh - ehhhhh
me: I've got plenty of things for you to do.
Him: Like what?
me: Have you looked at your Monday chores?
The chore chart is another hard-won, kind-of working, mostly-great-talking-point that's emerged from quarantine. There are things on the chore chart that are supposed to be fun but are categorically ignored: practicing soccer skills, or keeping up with ballet classes, or doing gymnastics exercises. All of those extracurriculars that we've paid for which are now on hold? Of course we can't continue those at home! There has to be a ritualized state of mourning. They are mourning the loss of those physical and mental activities that feed their brains. The mourning phase involves letting our brains go to mush and bouncing a ping pong ball on a paddle for hours on end.
I baked a cake during the first two weeks of quarantine, and my daughter was practicing her violin (a miracle unto itself). She stood next to me in the kitchen while playing, and she continued to get closer and closer to me. We have a large kitchen - and we have a spacious dining room and living room. She could have been anywhere in the house, but she chose the kitchen, and I wasn't about to stop her from practicing, even if her music clashed with what I had playing on spotify.
I was about to put the cake pans in to bake, the oven door ajar and heat flooding into the room. I quickly remembered tap the pans on the counter to release any air bubbles hidden beneath the surface. After a couple light taps, I could see there were still more air bubbles. Plus the feeling of banging something on the counter released a little of my own pent up anxiety. So I continued. Tapping, tapping, a little harder against the counter, air bubbles popping in succession. It was a rhythmic trance, and it was the perfect escape from my Coronavirus worries, the perfect micro-aggression against the kitchen counter. This hurt no one, but it gave me great rewards.
My daughter stopped practicing her violin. She now stood less than a foot away from me, having abandoned every other open expanse in the house. She stared, violin still perched on her shoulder, bow dropped silently at her side.
she: Could you please stop doing that? It's bothering me.
me: - - - -
We are living on top of each other. These kiddos are living through a crisis the likes of which their parents and grandparents have never seen. It makes sense that they need extra hugs, more patience, and the reassurance that closeness brings. I value the moments when we can speak honestly about what makes this time difficult, annoying and frustrating for them. They've watched me cry more than once over the past month: worries about my Dad's health, concerns for my sister, and the upheaval of the unknown.
The fact that we're all together all the time begins to numb the brain from realizing we have other places to go and other things to do. Every time I list off different activities or another place in the house to explore, they refuse, mumble something about how their siblings won't play with them, how's there's nothing to do.
But me? Bothering her? While I'm baking a cake for her to eat?!?!
I loudly tapped the cake pan once more on the counter. The heat from the oven roiling around the two of us, staring at each other in disbelief.
me: You could practice in any other room. You don't have to stand here. I'm baking a cake!
Emotionally honest, physically close: please God, help us with patience.
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