My husband and I recently slipped through the mountains on the way home from a soccer game, the sun at our foreheads. The conversation meandered toward politics, then toward economic issues.
I confessed to him that as a buyer, correcting ethical issues through my purchases feels challenging without shifting some of my life priorities. (Yikes. Maybe I’ll make you overwhelmed with me.)
I know I wasn’t the only mom whose gut sunk like a stone when I heard of the death (“passing” seems a misnomer) of George Floyd. Just weeks after our family discussion about Ahmaud Arbery, we sat down in lieu of online church to talk again about racial discrimination.
Truth: Sometimes I wish I didn’t tell you I’d help with “uncomfortable conversations…worth having.”
But here’s another truth: Those of you readers of color probably didn’t have an option for this uncomfortable conversation with your kids.
First week of COVID-19 closures: a week of strange dreams.
Once, I dreamt I was driving in the dark, but my headlights kept flipping off. I kept protesting that I could hit something.
Another night, I was unprepared for a trip to a writer’s conference I wasn’t sure why I’d signed up for–but my editor was there, anticipating I would have great things to say. I’d forgotten shoes, blouses, my computer charger.
So maybe like me, you got the automated notice from the school yesterday that your kids–surprise!–have an extra week of spring break next week, because #coronavirus.
And maybe like me, a member of your family braved Costco this week. Or maybe you now possess a weird amount of toilet paper–which according to a meme I saw yesterday, is now the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
My daughter’s headed to winter camp soon, which she adores. This morning, over an increasingly plain-looking Greek yogurt parfait, she gushed about camp’s breakfast buffet. She loves the free time, the reconnecting with old friends.
But in light of her anxiety issues, and apparently a night last year when she laid awake till 2, she’s already nervous about getting to sleep.
(All those suggestions in the Help! My Kid Can’t Sleep post? Those are hard-won, peeps.)
Sitting with my daughter yesterday, she expressed she had a little fear for 2020. It’s a big year, she explained, with some personal stuff, plus elections and Olympics and what-not.
My first inclination–in light of how young she is, of course–was to brush away her fear.
It was the second time in a week I’d misread her texts. GAH.
We’d been trying to go on a walk together, but if I wanted it to rain? I should just schedule a walk.
I don’t know about you, but back-to-school prep is real, folks.
Your kids are asking if they need shots (which makes you, in turn, ask if they need shots.) You’re buying 8-packs of dry erase markers, enough pencils to take the SAT every day for an entire year, and wondering if you could still repurpose that lunchbox with the barbecue sauce stain on it that looks like Ronald Reagan.
Ever get that feeling the person in front of you is there-but-not-there?
I’m totally guilty of this–those moments my kids are telling me something and they’re like, “Mom.” Because I’m too often multitasking–probably for their sakes, but still: not present in the moment they care about.
Hypothetical question. Let’s say someone asked you to help an impoverished family this holiday season. Who would you help first?
Maybe this feels a little tricky.
Maybe like me, your house isn’t really all that close to people who need help.
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