Blame it on the Rain
It feels funny to complain about quarantine sometimes. Because most days we’re fine. Thriving even. Last weekend was amazing, and I felt really close as a family. We went for family drives to point out the empty parking lots, and we played in the yard. We even crossed a bunch of things off our home to do list, which made us feel like real functioning adults. Got the septic pumped! Gutters are clean! Even bought a shed for the backyard! (Something I’ll post about on it’s own once it’s actually here and functioning).
It really was a good weekend. They feel longer, now, than they used to. I think that’s a function of having no where to go, no plans, nothing to do to “kill time,” so it’s just two full days of togetherness. And that’s not a bad thing.
But then a hard day hits, and it’s really hard. It’s hard because even though both parents are home, one is always working so you’re still technically solo. Hard because there are no breaks. You just have to keep moving forward until it’s not as hard. Which is what I was thinking Monday morning as I was sitting on the floor of my kitchen crying, with two kids hysterically crying in my lap. Some days are just not your day.
I should have known when I woke up. It was raining out, but not the cute spring rain we get sometimes, the type of rain where there are waves of water gushing down the street in front of our house. The amount of water that makes you think you could float a small boat down the road. Those days are never great. We all do better when we can get outside. And it was a Monday. Mondays are always a little bad, but after our now longer feeling weekends, they’ve been almost impossible. I know it’s only two days, but by the time Monday rolls around, I have completely forgotten how to function at work, can’t remember how we make our schedules work, and my brain feels so cloudy and slow.
So it’s probably not a surprise where we ended up, even if I felt surprised as the fishing rod whacked the size of my face and my eye. It wasn’t on purpose, just a bad turn with my head in the exact wrong spot, but it knocked me back quick and hard. I had G in my lap, and his laughter was immediate, but soon E’s followed. I was in such pain, and we’ve been trying to tell them that it’s not funny to beat up your sibling, so I managed to firmly say “That is NOT funny.”
Here’s the thing. I don’t have a loud voice. I can barely yell, and I almost never do. When the kids are misbehaving I tend to get really soft and low with my voice. When I’m mad, I take deep breaths and I don’t talk until I’ve calmed down. My kids never hear me yell, and apparently never hear me stern. Because the instant I said it, E burst into hysterical tears. I wanted him to be sorry he hit me, but not to feel terribly about it! And of course since two of us were already crying G decided he needed to join in.
I dragged the kids upstairs and we cuddled for a while. I said aloud that maybe after naptime we’d all be rested, and we could reset and be happy. E told me that no, he was still going to be sad. Today is a sad day.
And I guess he’s right – some days are just sad days. With or without quarantine, we would have sad days. They may feel harder now, but maybe they would have been this hard anyway