Here’s my latest concern: When the coronavirus pandemic is over and schools reopen, will my kids bounce right back into the fray or will they be unable to cope with what I suspect will be the “new normal?”
One week before schools closed (and the U.S. went into panic mode), my sister-in-law took my babes to a local middle school to see their adaptation of Disney’s Frozen. I stayed home for some quality “me” time, while my husband dropped them off at the school and hung around town for the hour-long performance. My kids said they had fun but seemed relieved to be home. That didn’t surprise me because my family are a bunch of homebodies. We love being home.
But being home takes on a whole new significance now, and I’m becoming concerned. This past Saturday, we spent the morning spring cleaning our house from top to bottom (this did wonders for my anxiety!) and by the time we were finished, we were desperate for an escape. So, we took an afternoon drive, during which we passed by the middle school. My husband brought it to the kids’ attention—reminiscing about how hard it was raining the night of the play—and I heard my son say “I don’t want to go back to that school and see Frozen, I just want to always stay with my mommy and daddy.” I nervously glanced at my husband. I know he was on my page. Why did our son say that? Should we be concerned? Will we have raving lunatics on our hands when it’s time to go back out into the real world (whatever the hell that means anymore)?
Maybe my son is just at that age (he’s 4) where he’s fearful of everything, including being away from his parents. Or maybe it’s something more. I sincerely hope not. Before all of this happened, my kids adored school! My son never wanted to be home. He started the year off going to preschool only three days a week, but halfway through we bumped him to every day because he loved it so much and would beg me to take him on his days off. He was always so happy and excited to sit in the car in the drop-off queue every morning waiting for his teachers to come and get him, always exclaiming “Mom, today I’m gonna have a great day!” He even started asking me if he could go to after care, LOL! And homework? Forget it, he was so upset when his teachers didn’t send any home.
My daughter, well, we didn’t have the greatest preschool experience with her. She had severe separation anxiety, which blew me out of the water back then because I had exposed her to so many different children’s classes and play museums and all sorts of educational programs. I figured preschool would be a breeze after all that, but for whatever reason she just couldn’t find her groove. Her anxieties never impaired her intelligence or ability to learn, thank goodness, but the crying and whining and begging not to go to school really took a toll—on me and her. That all changed on the first day of kindergarten, though. Those few weeks leading up to the start of the school year in September, I remember feeling so nervous about sending her off alone on the school bus. I was positive she would freak out, but she handled it like a boss and never looked back. We did not have a single issue with her from day 1; she never wanted to miss kindergarten. She loved her schoolwork, she loved learning, she adored her teachers. She excelled. I truly believe a huge part of that is due to the autonomy it offers. And I wholeheartedly understand that; it’s something I’ve also been struggling with for the past six-plus years.
But now we’re in a rather unique and challenging situation and I’m worried about how all this is going to play out. When we began homeschooling a month ago, my kids were initially gung-ho to do their work, especially my daughter since it’s all on the computer (she loves working at daddy’s desk!). Within a week, however, my son lost all interest (“I don’t want to do any work today, mommy” became his daily mantra) and my daughter became lazy, not wanting to think for herself or practice writing or reading or even participate in the class’ Zoom conferences—even with my attempts to make the assignments fun. She still does the work, but I see no passion or stimulation in her demeanor. She also admitted she doesn’t want me to be her teacher. If she only knew how much I struggle with that, too. But we had no choice and so we powered through. And now suddenly she’s starting to say she loves school at home (my how the pendulum swings!). I cannot tell you how much that frightens me.
It’s more than just school, though. I worry that being home all day, every day, seeing only each other will create certain “home associations” (along the lines of sleep associations—feedings, rocking, back rubs—when sleep training an infant). I worry that they’ll grow accustomed to watching their iPads in the mornings while I attempt to work from home or do some writing. Or that they will become disenchanted with school because the “home” work they’re doing isn’t stimulating or challenging enough—the way it would be at school with their teachers and classmates. Or that they will develop agoraphobic tendencies because we aren’t allowed to go anywhere (yes, we can play outside, but we’re still within our home environment, our “safe” cocoon). Or that all this talk about viruses, germs, washing hands, and social distancing will ratchet up their anxieties about sickness and prevent them from engaging in any form of social entertainment once this all blows over. Or the fact that my own stresses, fears, and anxieties often manifest through my temper and impede my ability to control my anger and frustrations, which results in me taking them out on my family. That’s probably my biggest concern. I have so many things on my mind and on my plate that I can’t possibly give my kids the attention and engagement they need and deserve at a time like this. And the guilt of that hangs heavy on my shoulders.
Ugh, my brain hurts just thinking about what the future holds—or even what tomorrow will bring. In some ways, we’ve already adjusted to this new normal of quarantine. We have our revamped routines and my kids don’t seem to be acting out as much as they did when schools first closed. They’re also playing together a lot more, which is heartwarming to watch. They love doing crafts and coloring and painting and creating with Play-Doh. But how many times can they do these same things over and over again before they start to lose their minds? I see the mental and emotional toll this is taking, as well, particularly on my daughter. She doesn’t know where to put her boredom or her fears, insecurities, and emotions. She walks around this house—inside and out—struggling to focus on one activity or another. She’s constantly in my shadow, whining, complaining, questioning, asking me for entertainment options, snacks, drinks, all sorts of other nonsense. My son does this, too, but he’s better at distracting himself. And damned if I know how to help. I’m running out of ideas to occupy myself, let alone my kids. It’s a tough situation all around.
So, what is going to happen when all this blows over? Will my children be so accustomed to staying home that they won’t feel safe or comfortable venturing out into the brand-new world? Will they become so blasé toward school that they will fight and cry against going back? Will my own deficiencies as a parent living in quarantine destroy my relationships with my children, relationships I’ve spent the past few years building and nurturing? Will we be so terrified of sickness and germs that we’ll avoid fun experiences like concerts, ballgames, museums, play cafes, theme parks (my precious Disney?!), vacations that require a plane or train—anything that entails big crowds or close quarters? Is anyone else sweating over this?!
I wish I had answers or some reasonable, logical conclusion to nicely tie up this post. But I got nothin. All I know is that this is hard and terrifying. The circumstances in which we currently find ourselves make the “old” version of parenting seem like child’s play—and by “old” I mean four weeks ago. The only thing that provides any solace is knowing we are all in the same boat. We’re all fighting against the same currents and no one knows where the tide will take us. So maybe that’s the silver lining. Tragedies of this magnitude tend to bring out our humanity, so even though we have no idea where our paths are leading, we do know they will converge. And I’m hopeful that when we get there, we’ll all put our forces together and do the only thing we can: persevere.
I pray our kids will, too.