I often wonder what the kids will remember about this quarantine time.

Will it be how much I yelled at them? It certainly won't be the epic meals that I created with pantry creativity that they ended up whining about because #wantednuggets. Will it be that we kept the house pretty clean but there was always a pile of laundry that needed to be folded and...wasn't?

Will they remember the days we worked hard at schoolwork? Or the days that we skipped it completely? The days they LOVED reading to me and their math worksheets and our FUN spelling quizzes! Or the days they cried about how much they miss REAL school? (emphasis theirs)

Or maybe that I made them do a daily quiet time? Because nothing spells torture like a forced hour alone with all your toys and books and a soft, warm bed that you MUST stay quietly near? (I mean, WHO will play them in the movie?)

And then there's the juggling act. Work. House. Meal Prep. School. THEM. I see my perspective. They see theirs, a totally legit perspective. A different angle of view on my mom reality.

Will they resent me for doing the juggling act so imperfectly?

I will admit to saying too many times, "Go away. Leave me alone. I have to work."

OR "STOP! STOP CRYING! He hit you? Super hard? BUT YOU CAN'T CRY! Come in this other room. Now you can cry. A little bit. Shhhhh. Not too loud. We can't interrupt Addison's zoom meeting. You're not allowed to be hurt during speech therapy."

Just waiting here for all my mom awards, yo.

Today Aaron arrived home and asked the kids why his tractor door was open?

Carter, quick thinking soul, explained with great passion that "Mom kicked us out of the house and said we couldn't come back in until we played for a while. But it was SO COLD so we huddled in your tractor for warmth. Sorry about leaving the door open. But it kept us from freezing to death. So. Thanks."

🙄

So you think that award is coming now or.....

But for real. It wasn't that cold. And if SOMEONE had worn a sweatshirt like I suggested, the Little Orphan Annie act could have seriously been toned down a few notches.

But I digress.

I wonder what they'll remember. 

We are surviving. Some days are awesome. Some days are terrible. There are mostly just a lot of days in beween the two. A lot of....meh.

How will that imprint itself on their childhood memories?

Yesterday it was gorgeous so we went on a long walk. The boys were riding their bikes. As we headed home, I gave them permission to ride up ahead and they beat us home as I trudged the three girls up the big hill.

Apparently, Carter got into the house and immediately called Aaron.

"Dad? Do you have mom's number? I need to call her. We're home without her and it feels...weird. I don't like this."

My big, strong 8-year-old who never feels "weird".

My phone rang just as I was balancing the baby, the wagon, and Addison up the steepest part of the hill.

"Yes?" I gasped into the phone, completely out of breath.

"I can see you struggling on the hill. I'm watching you." Carter said.

That's why ya have kids. To get a phone call to hear about someone "watching you struggle". #encouraging #blessed

I didn't know about what he told Aaron until later. Because as soon as Carter saw me, his bravado came back.

And it occurred to me what I think they'll remember.

Not how much I've failed. Not our activities. Not our menu. Not our chores.

I think they'll remember that I was their constant. 

That for the entire spring, everything in their entire lives was cancelled...except for me.

I kept showing up. Day after day. Wickedly long quarantine. They had each other, plenty of food for their bellies, a half hearted education, lots of extra play time, too much show....and a mom who was always right there.

Yelling too much and failing on so many levels....but still.

THERE.

On this Mother's Day, I'm giving us permission to maybe not love everything about motherhood right now. This quarantine business is pretty much impossible.

I am not #killingit or managing ALL the things to all the people. I am so horribly human-- struggling with way more than that hill and the wagon-- that it's painful.

But.

It's okay that we are doing this imperfectly.

It's okay that we are just putting one step in front of the other, hoping to make it through another day.

We are DOING it.

We are their constant.

And at the end of the day, I think that's what they'll remember.

Obviously, Carter's tractor story will continue to be embellished through the years as I become more and more the villain in that tale. Because. Well, he's way too much like me.

But hey. I'm in the story.

I'm counting that as a win.

#diaryofaquarantinedmom