I have a new office.
My back is turned to all of the kid action and there aren’t any plants or birds to stare at. The desk my laptop is on is empty still, empty of knicknacks and unnecessariness. Its definitely strange. The two pieces of artwork in front of me are fascinating me. They are darkly colorful and I dig it.
I have new guilt.
I can’t really hear the boys who are remote learning. I don’t see them start milling about when it is time for lunch. This is roughly my third day with this space. Today was my first day with kids in school and an actual routine and I forgot to make them lunch. I forgot to make them lunch. I’m pretty sure they just ate snack food all day.
Hmm. Am I a 70s mom?
I don’t think of myself as a helicopter parent at all. but clearly, it is not necessary for me to be in the middle of the action.
So is this guilt or am I feeling a loss of relevance? Or, have I done my job so fucking well that they function at a subsistence level without me just fine? Like, the wolves will not get them, ya dig?
I’m here, its almost dinner time and I’m still in here, typing. I got three times as much done today as I usually do. Its all the uninterrupted time, looking at the damn computer, that’s what it was. What will happen now that I know this trick?
When the boys were little I was in a shock-and-awe phase for quite a while. They were so damn risk-friendly, I was flinching all the time. After a while, I got over it, as a survival mechanism, an adaptation to have a healthier life. There is a point you have to look away, for your own health.
And that’s where I find myself again. Looking away, at least, more often. What will open up for me? What will open up for them?
I know, I know, Virginia Woolf. I know.
but yeah, that. here it is.
1 thought on “Drop the Flinch, February.”
My mother’s house rule was , “If you’re going to make noice, go outside.” So we spent most of our time outside playing games, or walking across fields and down to the river. We were gone and she didn’t see us for hours. –Different times.