ESPECIALLY the teachers.
Speaking of teachers, I mentioned in Tuesday's blog, which feels like forever-ago, that I've been painting a mural at my kids' elementary school. Just typing the last part of that sentence brings me an overwhelming sense of calm as I think back to just one week ago when it was me, my paintbrush, and some really interesting podcasts that definitely weren't all about rehashing the final episode of The Bachelor.
A simpler time, even if Pilot Pete might not agree.
And, although my ear buds blocked out much of the goings-on in the kinderarten/first grade hallway, one thing that I have noticed in the past month during my artist-in-residence at Dorothy Lewis Elementary School was that Fridays are legit insane. And that's coming from someone who's raising three boys. Here are some of the conversations I overheard several Fridays ago:
"You may NOT spend silent reading time with your butt in the air kicking your legs in your neighbor's face. If you need something to kick, get a ball. Balls are for kicking, neighbors are not."
Seems like something that could also be a post on my neighborhood's Next Door website...
"Why would you hold the bathroom door shut so that your friends could not get inside?"
I assume the student in question had some insider knowledge of the coming epidemic and was hoarding toilet paper. They should definitely run for Congress.
"That red block belongs with the other colored blocks...oh you say you brought that block from home? Do I need to call your mother and ask her if you own a red block? A red block identical to the red blocks we have in the classroom? That you can only get from the teacher store? You OWN that block? Because I WILL call your mother and check....is that what you want? IS IT? OK, I'm calling now...."
I was dying to hear how that phone conversation went, mostly because there is zero cell reception in that school and if she was able to get a signal I needed to know where it was.
At one point I saw a kindergarten aide walking down the hallway shaking her head (I believe it was after the bathroom door conversation) and I said to her, "Crazy day?" and she just shook her head and said "Fridays."
Not in a "TGIF" kinda way, more like in a "F#ck Fridays" kinda way.
F#ck Fridays is basically where I'm at right now. Because even though we are at the end of the work week, being in the sheltered-safe/social-distancing phase of the COVID pandemic I don't see much of a difference between today and the next two days, other than the addition of my husband as someone whose needs will also need to be met.
And the kids, who I must admit, have taken the week's slow pace and mounting restrictions in stride, are acting like they've been chained to their desks trying to cure Coronavirus and have just been let loose like college students on spring break in Clear Water. Raging like they've been drinking since breakfast with no sense of personal responsibility or social conscience whatsoever.
It started at 10 am when my 11 year old walked into my bedroom where I was halfway through my first Beach Body On Demand workout. Up until this point I my COVID-19 physical fitness "journey" has consisted of daily dog walks and carrying laundry up and down the stairs (somehow our lack of mobility still manages to generate a ridiculous amount of dirty clothes).
But Friday is trash day and my dog is more terrified of garbage trucks than Donald Trump is of the media so I decided to give Shaun T a chance. I picked a workout called 'Cize which was advertised as a "hip-hop cardio workout" and maybe I'm still daydreaming about Shakira in the Superbowl but I was pretty pumped to try it. I thought hey, when this whole quarantine thing is over maybe I will have a hot new dance routine to embarrass my kids -er- impress our guests with at my son's bar mitzvah next May. I can teach it to the whole family! We could do a flash mob!
Well, 2 minutes in and I remembered I have very little rhythm and less coordination. I also have a hard time remembering which is my left side and which is my right side.
12 minutes in I was sweaty and panting and having flashbacks of trying to learn the Roger Rabbit twenty minutes before a middle school dance. That was when I caught my 11 year old watching me.
"What?" I gasped, while attempting a combo Shaun T referred to as "drive the car." I'm not sure who squats while driving their car, but that was less concerning than the move called "the vacuum" which involved gliding lunges and the feeling that I have not been doing housework right.
"What are we doing today?" He asked.
WTF. I admit, I have been trying to be calm and non-alarmist when watching the news and relaying it to my kids. I don't want to freak them out or depress in the same way that I have been freaked out and depressed all week. I know how hard I would have taken this experience as a child and I want to do everything in my power to make sure that they are not scared to close their eyes at night for fear of getting infected or knowing someone who is. We just got them all to sleep in their own beds, we are NOT going backwards.
But maybe I've been too gentle? Maybe it hasn't been clear that this isn't just a super long spring break where getting dressed has become more of a choice than a requirement and girl scout cookies for lunch is part of a new don't-ask-don't-tell policy. I could have sworn that last night at dinner we reviewed which countries in the world are on lockdown (all of them) and which friends they are allowed to play with (none of them). I mean, seriously, how could he have the nerve to look me in the eye, mid cha-cha, and ask me what we were going to do?
All I can say is he's lucky I was doing 'Cize and not Kickboxing. The closest I could get to punching or kicking him was a move that ended with jazz hands. Instead I just told him we'd come up with a plan when I was done with my workout. Clearly another day of video games in the basement, face-time calls with friends and family, basketball in the driveway and a movie after dinner, with some quality home-school time (yes, mom and Mrs. Koski, I know you're reading this) thrown in was not going to cut it.
So I toweled off and here's what we did:
Played Chinese checkers. This was by no means a racist move on my part to blame China for Coronavirus or an attempt to warn the kids about the dangers of international travel, although the act of moving different colored marbles from one area of a board to another did strike me as an appropriate metaphor (and made me want to Lysol the board and all of the pieces as soon as we were done). Shout out to the six year old for repeatedly bumping into the board and causing all of the marbles to leave their spots and bump into one another. It was like his own little revolt against social distancing.
Took a walk with the dog. The garbage man was long gone by this point and the dog was anxious to get out. It happened to be 65 degrees and humid in Solon today, and the first thing Kid #3 said when we stepped outside was "Wow, it feels like Florida in the morning." That was like a punch in the stomach.
You see, we were supposed to have just landed in Florida this morning and should have been en route to my parents' condo in Naples. First world problems, I know, but disappointing nonetheless. I didn't know what to say to cheer my kids up, so I just said "Hey, this is shitty, I get it."
Weirdly, that seemed to work. An elderly neighbor saw us out walking and cheefully exclaimed (from a safe distance) "Oh! This must be gym class!" I guess she has been following moms on Facebook who have really embraced the home school color coded schedule thing. I waved back and said "Sure!" She doesn't have to know that my idea of doing gym class is having my mom write a note saying I can't participate because I have cramps.
Served three different lunches. I may not be cut out to be a Cavs dancer but I'm one hell of a short order cook. Macaroni and cheese, french toast and a side of a soft pretzel? Clearly these kids know that this is not a sprint, and they are carb-loading for a marathon of togetherness...
Made my husband take a break from work to play a game of PIG in the driveway so I could catch up on Twitter and then curl up into the fetal position and hyperventilate for a bit.
Played Uno. Played Sequence. Played Uno again. Learned that when you have the Pick Two card you forfeit your turn. Learned that when you don't follow the rules you get kicked in the face. Thought about having the "balls are for kicking, not our brother's faces." Worried that they would misinterpret "balls" and I'd have to have another talk about how, despite the fact that I've been muttering "leave me alone" under my breath for the past three hours I'd still kinda like grandchildren. As long as I don't have to be quarantined with them.
Luckily for dinner my husband suggested we support local restaurants by getting carry-out, which may have been a dig at my cooking but I was too grateful to be off the hook to feel offended so I let him order away. After lighting Shabbos candles the kids jumped right into what has become a dinner time ritual of saying what they were thankful for that day.
"I'm thankful for Dad for picking up dinner."
"I'm thankful for Dad for playing PIG with us."
"I'm thankful for Dad for working so hard for us."
TGIF. F#ck Fridays.
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