Malaise and boredom are real
Mother's Day was lovely. Tom made a big breakfast, he had fresh flowers and new book for me, and the kids gave me homemade cards. Audrey found an old laminated picture of herself from 3 years ago, and inscribed it with her name. She said it was a signed autograph for Mother's Day. Her audacious likeness to me is both stupefying and endearing.
But as the day went on, the quarantine malaise set in: our children vacillate between boredom, overwhelmed, underwhelmed, and engaged in something meaningful. Distance learning school work took some of the sting out of this emotional pendulum, but now school is finished. We stare down the calendar days of May knowing that summer hasn't yet begun. The unusually cool spring we're experiencing feels more like fall, and the DIY pool in our backyard (read: horse's trough or stock tank from Tractor Supply Store) is a better place to ice your injured foot than it is to swim.
So Mother's Day and quarantine malaise eventually led to a family meeting. Tom and I couldn't take another moment of their frustrated boredom: we pointed out their eye rolls when asked to do their chores, their singular focus on receiving some coveted screen time, and the subsequent tantrums when they don't get it. We underscored their inability to eat food that someone else has prepared if it has any kind of spice, color, or flavor. We said we're stuck with each other, and complete disrespect for siblings and parents would have consequences. It was a disappointing conversation for the children. But it was a parenting win for the adults who finally got some communication through the fog around the children's brains. Quarantine Covid-brain fog takes constant reassessment and readjustment.
Coronavirus malaise is real in our home. Even when the children have the freedom to run all over the house and play games, they will sometimes inexplicably choose to wander into the kitchen and orbit me. I welcome their presence if they're telling me stories and jokes or asking random questions about life.
Frankie: Did God make this bowl?
me: Humans made that bowl.
Frankie: Yes, but did God make the cereal?
me: Humans made the cereal.
Frankie: Did God make the milk?
me: Cows made the milk.
Frankie: But didn't God make everything?
me: Well, God set all of life into motion, and God is in us, around us, in other people, yes. But there are also some things that humans make...
Or the sketch comedy that is being written all the time.
Audrey: Mama, what if we were driving down the road, and Dada had his hair all crazy and his sunglasses on and he was playing loud music. And then he stuck his head out of the window and was _like_ rocking out. (She pretends to drive a car while leaning her head way off to the side.) Like this, "Oh, yeah."
me: ... uh ... that sounds pretty... silly... (?).
Or Sean trying to explain to me how Minecraft works or what details of Magic: The Gathering he's working on currently.
But the boredom is becoming unwelcome. Mostly because they lay it at my feet, traipse it about the room, dangle it in front of me while they search for another snack, and they expect me to take their boredom away.
I can't remove their boredom. I have it myself. Is it true that there's nothing to do? NO. I could choose to clean rooms, empty junk drawers, revolutionize our entryway. And I have. But the rooms become untidy again, the junk drawer eventually accumulates more junk, and the entryway now stands bare, taunting me to do something exciting with it.
Their boredom reminds me of my own.
They ask me to "help" with things they are perfectly capable of doing themselves. The mood in our house can swing from warm, snuggly, and close to antagonistic, annoyed fighting.
Yesterday, Sean was preparing a magic trick for the school-sponsored virtual talent show on Friday. Audrey snuck into the living room when he left the room to discover the details of his trick. Then she pranced into the kitchen to find Sean while boasting an obnoxious sing-song voice and a devilish smile on her face.
Audrey: I figured out your tri-ick. I figured out your tri-ick.
Sean: Did you look at it?
Audrey: Yes.
The quiet morning changed and exploded into frustration. Sean chased her through the main floor of our house, she screamed, he shoved her or punched her in the arm (I couldn't tell), she cried, he hid in another room, she roared at him.
Audrey: STOP IT!!
It's like the antagonistic connection is better than nothing. I sent them both to their rooms until they could cool down and speak to each other in a productive way.
Awhile later, as the dust settled and quiet descended again on our morning, Sean returned to the kitchen. I confirmed with him that he and Audrey had spoken to each other, created some new peace treaty. Then I tiptoed into the water of parental advice. There are times when this doesn't go well (in fact, many times after someone is really heated, this doesn't go well. But I'm forever an optimist). Wanting to break from my usual pattern of being annoyed at their antagonistic behavior, I took a different approach.
Instead of: you know better than to hit your sister, or
that was a huge overreaction to someone looking at a magic trick or
because you physically harmed someone today, you have lost out on any screen time.
me: Hey, buddy, you are getting a lot bigger and stronger. When you chase someone through the house, you instill fear inside of them. Even if you only chased her and didn't hit her, the feeling of fear inside her is the same. The question you need to ask yourself is this: is this the kind of person I want to be in the world? Is this the kind of person I want to be in our family?
Normally after a couple sentences of the parental advice, Sean would cover his ears, shoot daggers at me with his eyes, and begin to hum loudly. This time he didn't. He was taking this in, so I ventured another couple parenting gems.
me: If the answer is 'yes'? Then that's a sad existence. I know you. I've known you your whole life -
(Which goes without saying. But I've been waiting for years to use this line - it's so cinematic - so made-for-TV-movie. Nothing like a pandemic to bring out my best Mom Lines.)
me: - You're a loving, thoughtful, intentional kid. When I look at you, I don't feel fear. I feel like this is someone I want to know, someone I want to hang out with, someone who is fun to be around. So who do you want to be in this family? Who do you want to be in this world?
The made-for-TV-music was swelling in my mind, the single tear placed by the pretend costume crew was dabbed at the corner of my eye, the big hug, the exchange of "I love yous", the close up on the Super Mom's face.
None of that happened. However, we did remain there calmly staring at each other. Though unnecessary in our own home, he stayed an appropriate, socially distant 6 feet away from me, but he didn't storm off. So to bring the conversation to a close, I gave him a win.
me: I give it to you. What she did was snarky, and then she came in here to rub it in your face. You have every right to be mad, and every right to express that to her. But inspiring fear? I don't think you get you what you want when you make someone afraid. I think you can come up with something better.
Then I broke my stance, and the parenting moment was over. I moved back into the dining room and continued taking apart the distance learning stations we'd been using for the past two months of quarantine. Dusting off cluttered surfaces, recycling papers no longer needed, and adjusting to a new chapter of quarantine. We need to continually reinvent and re-envision our shared spaces to stay sane.
But as the day went on, the quarantine malaise set in: our children vacillate between boredom, overwhelmed, underwhelmed, and engaged in something meaningful. Distance learning school work took some of the sting out of this emotional pendulum, but now school is finished. We stare down the calendar days of May knowing that summer hasn't yet begun. The unusually cool spring we're experiencing feels more like fall, and the DIY pool in our backyard (read: horse's trough or stock tank from Tractor Supply Store) is a better place to ice your injured foot than it is to swim.
So Mother's Day and quarantine malaise eventually led to a family meeting. Tom and I couldn't take another moment of their frustrated boredom: we pointed out their eye rolls when asked to do their chores, their singular focus on receiving some coveted screen time, and the subsequent tantrums when they don't get it. We underscored their inability to eat food that someone else has prepared if it has any kind of spice, color, or flavor. We said we're stuck with each other, and complete disrespect for siblings and parents would have consequences. It was a disappointing conversation for the children. But it was a parenting win for the adults who finally got some communication through the fog around the children's brains. Quarantine Covid-brain fog takes constant reassessment and readjustment.
Coronavirus malaise is real in our home. Even when the children have the freedom to run all over the house and play games, they will sometimes inexplicably choose to wander into the kitchen and orbit me. I welcome their presence if they're telling me stories and jokes or asking random questions about life.
Frankie: Did God make this bowl?
me: Humans made that bowl.
Frankie: Yes, but did God make the cereal?
me: Humans made the cereal.
Frankie: Did God make the milk?
me: Cows made the milk.
Frankie: But didn't God make everything?
me: Well, God set all of life into motion, and God is in us, around us, in other people, yes. But there are also some things that humans make...
Or the sketch comedy that is being written all the time.
Audrey: Mama, what if we were driving down the road, and Dada had his hair all crazy and his sunglasses on and he was playing loud music. And then he stuck his head out of the window and was _like_ rocking out. (She pretends to drive a car while leaning her head way off to the side.) Like this, "Oh, yeah."
me: ... uh ... that sounds pretty... silly... (?).
Or Sean trying to explain to me how Minecraft works or what details of Magic: The Gathering he's working on currently.
But the boredom is becoming unwelcome. Mostly because they lay it at my feet, traipse it about the room, dangle it in front of me while they search for another snack, and they expect me to take their boredom away.
I can't remove their boredom. I have it myself. Is it true that there's nothing to do? NO. I could choose to clean rooms, empty junk drawers, revolutionize our entryway. And I have. But the rooms become untidy again, the junk drawer eventually accumulates more junk, and the entryway now stands bare, taunting me to do something exciting with it.
Their boredom reminds me of my own.
They ask me to "help" with things they are perfectly capable of doing themselves. The mood in our house can swing from warm, snuggly, and close to antagonistic, annoyed fighting.
Yesterday, Sean was preparing a magic trick for the school-sponsored virtual talent show on Friday. Audrey snuck into the living room when he left the room to discover the details of his trick. Then she pranced into the kitchen to find Sean while boasting an obnoxious sing-song voice and a devilish smile on her face.
Audrey: I figured out your tri-ick. I figured out your tri-ick.
Sean: Did you look at it?
Audrey: Yes.
The quiet morning changed and exploded into frustration. Sean chased her through the main floor of our house, she screamed, he shoved her or punched her in the arm (I couldn't tell), she cried, he hid in another room, she roared at him.
Audrey: STOP IT!!
It's like the antagonistic connection is better than nothing. I sent them both to their rooms until they could cool down and speak to each other in a productive way.
Awhile later, as the dust settled and quiet descended again on our morning, Sean returned to the kitchen. I confirmed with him that he and Audrey had spoken to each other, created some new peace treaty. Then I tiptoed into the water of parental advice. There are times when this doesn't go well (in fact, many times after someone is really heated, this doesn't go well. But I'm forever an optimist). Wanting to break from my usual pattern of being annoyed at their antagonistic behavior, I took a different approach.
Instead of: you know better than to hit your sister, or
that was a huge overreaction to someone looking at a magic trick or
because you physically harmed someone today, you have lost out on any screen time.
me: Hey, buddy, you are getting a lot bigger and stronger. When you chase someone through the house, you instill fear inside of them. Even if you only chased her and didn't hit her, the feeling of fear inside her is the same. The question you need to ask yourself is this: is this the kind of person I want to be in the world? Is this the kind of person I want to be in our family?
Normally after a couple sentences of the parental advice, Sean would cover his ears, shoot daggers at me with his eyes, and begin to hum loudly. This time he didn't. He was taking this in, so I ventured another couple parenting gems.
me: If the answer is 'yes'? Then that's a sad existence. I know you. I've known you your whole life -
(Which goes without saying. But I've been waiting for years to use this line - it's so cinematic - so made-for-TV-movie. Nothing like a pandemic to bring out my best Mom Lines.)
me: - You're a loving, thoughtful, intentional kid. When I look at you, I don't feel fear. I feel like this is someone I want to know, someone I want to hang out with, someone who is fun to be around. So who do you want to be in this family? Who do you want to be in this world?
The made-for-TV-music was swelling in my mind, the single tear placed by the pretend costume crew was dabbed at the corner of my eye, the big hug, the exchange of "I love yous", the close up on the Super Mom's face.
None of that happened. However, we did remain there calmly staring at each other. Though unnecessary in our own home, he stayed an appropriate, socially distant 6 feet away from me, but he didn't storm off. So to bring the conversation to a close, I gave him a win.
me: I give it to you. What she did was snarky, and then she came in here to rub it in your face. You have every right to be mad, and every right to express that to her. But inspiring fear? I don't think you get you what you want when you make someone afraid. I think you can come up with something better.
Then I broke my stance, and the parenting moment was over. I moved back into the dining room and continued taking apart the distance learning stations we'd been using for the past two months of quarantine. Dusting off cluttered surfaces, recycling papers no longer needed, and adjusting to a new chapter of quarantine. We need to continually reinvent and re-envision our shared spaces to stay sane.
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