Survival Skills

When I realized that my entire skill set, my whole executive functioning capacity, is now completely invalid, I started wondering what, if anything, I could possibly know to get my family through this time. All my decorating skills, not important. All my teaching skills, completely inept. All my good humor, maybe needed in a pinch? Cleaning - who cares at this point? All my cooking skills, vital. But what would really get us through this mess? Survival skills.

I didn't know it at the time, but I think my mother taught me a fair amount of survival skills. And I have to say, my grandmother too. I always told my kids, in the face of fearful world events, that Gran and Marmee had survived and so would we. Gran had to darken her rooms and pull the shades during WWII so the U-Boats, reportedly off the coast of Cape May, wouldn't be able to spot them. Or at least that is how I remember it. She prayed every night that her brothers and later her sons would come home. And they did. Marmee had to dive under her desk in middle school in case of Soviet bombing. I had to do a fair number of drills too during the Cold War and here we are, no worse for the wear. This too shall pass. So just pray a little.

But when I think back, they also taught me a few things about surviving. Never throw a scrap away. Finish your plate. Dried beef can make a meal. Newspaper is a good absorbent. (Which may come in handy when we run out of toilet paper!) Powdered milk, when mixed with vanilla or chocolate, tastes just as good. A little milk added to eggs makes them go further. Fruit that comes in a can is just as good sometimes. And meals in a can. Don't complain. Waste not, want not. So we are trying. And my father taught me that "a little nap never hurt anybody," and God knows that is true these days.

The other lessons I learned came in early motherhood when I was home with 4 children under age 5. Plan your meals out. Shop once. If you only get one thing done a day, have it be the bed. Making the bed will make you feel successful at the start and refreshed at the end of the day. However short it is, take a shower. When you have more time, take a bath. Being clean makes you feel better., and beautiful!  Do your hair if it makes you feel better, not for anyone else but you. Bake or cook. It is relaxing and mentally calming. You will feel like the hunters and gatherers that fed their people. Don't worry about anything else. Especially at this point in time, no one is judging you, not even your kids' teachers. Actually especially not them. I am a teacher and I know what it is to be in this position. You are doing a great job!

And then I learned some things from friends along the way. Stick to a schedule. Kelly taught me this when I would meet her for playdates. "Joannie," she said, "I'm so impressed that you can meet me at any time, and you don't worry about the baby's nap schedule." She got me thinking. We started a nap schedule the next week.  She also taught me this: Only do the dishes once a day - a sinkful of soapy water will hold them until you get to them. Why spend all day in the kitchen? Kealan taught me the power of lists. A list does a little but goes a long way. Checking those boxes off is cathartic. My friend Jennifer taught me this - always put your shoes on. It will make you feel empowered and ready to go anywhere, even when you have no place to go! My friend Becky taught me that Dirty Rice feeds a crowd and with 6 at home right now, it is a lifesaver. Susannah taught me to get out for a walk every morning, and that is how I became a runner, at least for a few years. They all formed me as a young mother and prepared me for this in ways that none of us could foresee, and for that I am eternally grateful. You never know the impact you have on someone. Never.

I haven't talked to some of these friends in years, but I still think of them. I think of them more now that we are all going through this crazy time together even though we are spread across the country. While I love Kelly's Christmas card, and display it with great love and memories and auld lang syne, I know I should reach out more. I don't use Facebook a lot; it is too much for me sometimes. But maybe that is what this is all about. Maybe we are being brought together by forces we don't even know or understand. So, now that we aren't so busy, who do you need to reach out to? Reach out and thank them. Do it. Just do it. It's a matter of survival. For you and them.

Hope

Last night I was talking to my mother on the phone. Gone are the days when I could run or walk the dog over to visit her for a quick chat or a cup of tea. How did that happen so quickly? As she and I talked about everyone's health, (mental health, too) she remarked that she hasn't done a thing all week and she didn't know why. She had been meaning to put away the Saint Patrick's Day decor (my mother decorates her mantle with a monthly theme as if she still taught second grade, and it's a big hit with the family) but she hadn't touched it. I told her that I have been meaning for three days to clean out the closet of all our winter gear, which we never actually used, and I just couldn't. We are in survival mode, I told her. This is one of the favorite things I've learned from my kids playing MineCraft, that you can play in Survival Mode or Creative Mode, and right now we are playing in Survival Mode. That means that instead of organizing the winter closet, I organized our stash of food and realized that what I thought would last a month might only last a few days. Then it was on to Acme online to try to find some things that would sustain us. It really sounds like a video game, but it's our new reality. Creative Mode will have to wait. The winter gear and the shamrocks are just going to be there a while.

I don't pretend to know something more than anyone else, but I do know that we will return to Creative Mode one day. I also know that right now I just can't. I sit down to read and I turn on the news instead. I try to send an encouraging text, but I complain about the virus and what it's doing to our family. I think about painting or trying something new, but I can't get past the NYT news scroll. I try to make lunch and I burn the grilled cheese! This is not who I used to be! I was pretty good at grilled cheese. So the kids are scraping off the crusts and I'll try again tomorrow. And I'll learn to be patient, with myself, with my mother, with the kids, and with the stove.

We are in for a long haul it seems and there are lessons everywhere. Inside the shamrocks and winter coats and grilled cheese are some lessons. Maybe we can all lower our expectations a bit. Who cares if the leprechauns are out in April? Who cares if the coats are piled up in the closet? Who cares if the grilled cheese isn't pin-worthy? I hope that I can lower expectations for myself and those around me and enjoy the glimpses of hope when I see them. No one complained about the grilled cheese! That's a sign of hope! There are lots of signs of spring, but it feels false to enjoy them right now. Enjoy them, hope in them anyway! Part of Survival is having that hope. And hope is the thing that will get us back into our Creative Mode. Seeing the light even if we can't see the end of the tunnel. That hope is what will get us all through this. Hope anyway.

Junior Parents

I came across it by chance. In my sock drawer. I don't remember seeing it recently and definitely not in the sock drawer. But there it was and I was immediately taken back to a little room in a house we lived in two houses ago. To a little room that served as a bath space for the baby. The 'it' I found was a baby blue washcloth. Not a new one. Not the kind they sell today. The kind you got at your first baby shower.  A little remnant of love. That was 22 years ago. I don't know how or why it showed up. But it did. Looking back brings so many wonderful memories, when they were little and we would worry about bumps and burps and sleep. Back when I was a beginning parent.

Now I've been promoted to Junior Parent. Not really, but a few weeks ago we were invited to "Junior Parents Weekend" a fabulous celebration that precedes graduation, getting all the juniors and families together to see what they are actually up to at college. We were even treated to what they do off-campus (since they are now 21, haha). We had dinners and dances and open houses at their various schools and dorms. We met his teachers and advisors and dorm rectors. But the pivotal moment came to me as the university president addressed the entire assembly. "Parents, you are getting a glimpse into the lives that you have shaped, and the lives your children are now creating for themselves," Fr. Jenkins said. Well, I couldn't stop the tears. It was so beautiful. We have drawn the outline, but they are coloring in the lines now, or maybe outside the lines. It is their picture now, their art and it is beautiful.

So now what? What is our role as parents? I have always believed that there is no Parenting 101. It is Parenting 505 from the get-go. You have no idea! No idea. No map. No guide. And if you grew up in a dysfunctional household, it is not any easier. Or if you think that what you envision as a perfect family is going to be easy, you are in for a surprise. You work your way across a trail with few if any markers. And then you get to a milepost and you think, "Wow." Maybe it is easier than you thought, maybe harder. Maybe there's a rest spot there. Maybe a treat. Maybe there's danger, or darkness. You have to go. You can't wait to move on. And then you keep going. Visiting Jay at school was like a real rest spot and retreat. We had done something, gotten somewhere, accomplished something. I'm not saying it was just us, I'm not saying that we deserve recognition or congratulations or anything. We did nothing more than any other parents. But we got to stop and look out at the view for a few moments and it was incredible. It allowed us a moment to say, Wow. This is his life. This beautiful, amazing life! We could take a breather and look forward and look back. Unbelievable. We made it to Junior Parents.

About ten years ago we visited Acadia in Maine. There was a trail called the Bee Hive trail. It was one of the most treacherous trails. Jason took all four kids. I couldn't do it. I had heard horror stories from friends who had to crawl across a grate that was hundreds of feet in the air over a drop where you would surely die if you fell. I couldn't do it. There was no way. Jason led the kids and they returned safely to the beach below where I waited. I appreciate that he dared to guide them. Now there are places that I can't go with my children. College. Careers. Friends. Life. I can't go. But I trust Jay. I trust the guides who Jay has gathered around him. I appreciate his daring courage and his friends' and teachers' daring courage to continue the journey ahead while I trail behind here at home. He can always come back. He can always turn around and see me cheering him on. And when I find a baby washcloth or a sock or an old art project, I will see all of these remnants of love and know that he has plenty to take on the journey ahead and that will sustain him.

We aren't done. We aren't leaving on a different trail now or anything, but parenting now is different. We are more like spectators, maybe fellow travelers. Now we say, How's it going? That's great. Do you want to share our food? Do you need a spot to rest? No more are we saying, Come this way. Stay close. Not too far. Keep going. Maybe a little further?  He's leading now. He knows where he is going and we are on the route cheering him on.