Corona Quarantine: Day 60- Trees.

60 days of quarantine.
So far.
I asked my kids what has stood out to them in the last two months.
7 year old has loved all the new books- he is reading SO MUCH.
Almost 5 year old has enjoyed the snuggling, and the new shows.
What has stood out to me are the trees and all the birds and animals I've seen around our house.

"If you're breathing, it means you are alive."
On this morning's work meeting call, a colleague led us through a meditation, and at one point said the above.
It grounded me, which I needed.

There's a blend quality to the last 60 days, it's hard to feel centered.
All the known routines are gone.
"Schooling" is loose and more organic than it's ever been. There are pros and cons to that.
I wonder how they will reengage with school when it is back in session.
I wonder when that will be.
I hope it will be this fall.
I hope we don't have more than another 60 days of this.

I hope for a lot of things.
I have questions about a lot of things.

But I'm still breathing.
And for that I'm grateful.

Corona Quarantine: Day 39- Patriots.

Today, in MA, is a holiday called Patriot's Day.
It commemorates key battles at the beginning of the American Revolutionary War.
Typically, the Boston Marathon happens on this holiday, aka Marathon Monday.
That is not happening today, for obvious reasons.

Per dictionary.com, a patriot is "a person who vigorously supports their country and is prepared to defend it against enemies or detractors".

A lot of people are describing medical providers on the front lines of this pandemic right as heroes. This view, while admirable, is problematic. They are doing their work in contexts equivocal to war times and needing to beg our government for protective gear. To. Help. Keep. Us. Safe.
They are pleading with us to wash our hands correctly, wear masks, stay home and stay healthy.
Are they patriotic? 
They are medical providers. Most of us are in this field to help people stay well, vigorously at times. So, perhaps they are, but it is also possible that they don't tie the care they give to this country, being more aware at this point of being part of more global community.

There are groups of angry (white) people in states throughout in various parts of the country, protesting their right to go back to work, claiming either that the pandemic isn't real or even if it might be real, they have the right to go to work. They are protesting in groups, without masks, yelling. 
Their privilege and fear are palpable.
Are they patriotic?
I bet they think they are very patriotic. They certainly feel threatened, of that there is no doubt. They feel their way of life is under siege. They feel they need to defend their rights. Their narrow and short view of the world and what they feel they need speaks volumes to what they have been conditioned to believe. 

There are pictures circulating from Denver of nurses standing in the middle of streets in fronts of cars with angry unmasked protesters screaming at them.
Are those nurses patriotic?
I think they are pissed. And tired. And scared. And trying to do their incredibly hard jobs. 
All while being met with fear and ignorance.

I can't call the front line medical providers patriotic, because I think it is not a fair label. I can't call them heroes because that implies a pedestal that they have made clear they do not want to be on and it highlights the ongoing horrific imbalance between the expectations placed on the healthcare system and the lack of resources and support.

Patriotism is a limited and antiquated term that cannot encompass the nuances of where our true battles are right now and what we truly need to protect.

There are no patriots right now.
There are survivors.
There are helpers.
There are front line workers in multiple fields.
There are children whose live have imploded.
There are scared loud ignorant people.
There are humans who are feeling the best and worst of humanity right now.

Corona Quarantine: Day 31- Chrysalis.

It's been a month.
A month, 30 days (in our little corner of the world) since the schools closed, jobs stopped or changed and our realization started to shift from the abstract (that virus happening over there) to our new reality (it's already here and shaping our world in ways we cannot yet fully comprehend).

A part of me can't believe it's already been a month.
The rest of me can feel every emotion, every gradual shift in my mind, every day my kids have missed their routines/friends/schools, and all the days I've not been able to see my patients in person.

I started this experience holding onto slivers of hope in the shape of reassurances that it would 'probably' 'only' 'maybe' be X number of weeks long. These slivers have morphed, stretched into thin threads of determination, optimism, lucidity, endurance, so much anger, strength and acceptance. These threads are SO thin, and their ends are frayed with fear, anxiety and at times panic.
But they are still there and I didn't know how strong these parts of me were, until now.

I've seen multiple articles about this being a 'great pause' (the 'great' implying significance; not positivity).
We are being forced to slow down and be with ourselves and families in ways that are not our normal.
For some this new space is dangerous or unsteady, their homes not being a safe place. 
For some this might be an awakening, their awareness of healthcare racial inequality minimal at best before this all started.
For some, this is far from a pause, but some of the hardest days of their professional and personal lives, their jobs putting them in the thick of this pandemic.
For some, this pause seems unnecessary, feeling this is all a 'stunt', their minds unaccepting of what they cannot (or will not) see.
For many there is loss. So much loss.

For all of us, our world is changing.
We are in a chrysalis of chaos and uncertainty.
How long we will be in here is unclear. 
It will end. But what we all bring out with us when it does, is up to us.
We create our future.

Corona Quarantine: Day 27- Necessary.

When I restarted writing on here, I had this fantasy of daily posts on here.
In hindsight that was a lovely idea not based in this ever evolving reality.

The last few days have been hard. On top of J's job shift, one of my sibs got sick. He is better now, but I was worried.

My anxiety has been primed over the last week. I've started seeing (virtually) a therapist again. Only one session in and I'm already aware of how helpful this will be. 

We've come up with a pretty good daily schedule. Dare I say a groove was found?
Then this morning, G was having a really hard time.
He was just really sad. We didn't let him skip out on his class's zoom, a toy got wrecked after going through the wash, we couldn't go to a beloved toy store while doing a required errand and we set up a FaceTime met up for later that he wasn't feeling today.

He needed time and space to be really sad, and cry it out.
I held him, and for the first few minutes, was feeling myself get amped about all the lost time from my allotted work time and all the stuff I needed to get done.
Then I stopped the brain spin, and took a deep breath and truly became present for my son. I even cried a little too.
We sat.
We breathed.
It was a necessary stop and regroup for both of us.
I still need to get that stuff done.
'That stuff' will always be there.
When he was feeling better, he let me know.
I let him know I was feeling better too.

No grooved schedule today.
Just survival with all the needed tears and hugs.

Corona Quarantine: Days 20 and 21- Adjust, again.

I had this notion of this post being a 'behold what is working for us!' post when it came to the kids at home, and I will share that, another time. But today led to some dreaded changes that have led me (and my fam) to adjust again.

James and his team have been furloughed- so, essentially, laid off with their jobs waiting until things calm down. They will be eligible for unemployment but this was still a sad blow.

I was processing with a friend after I found out and was venting about an aspect of this pandemic that is hard for me to hold onto.

It just keeps coming, the changes related to it. A most depressing domino chain, just slowly and surely knocking its way through our lives. It didn't all happen at once. It's been slowing chipping away at our lives, all while infusing us with fear of a serious illness.

I got home tonight and after the kids went to bed, sat at the dining room table and cried.

I remembered seeing my Dad cry at our dining room table during the gulf war, right as things were ramping up.

As things get more and more intense, in slow rushes that knock us down piece by piece, I can only hope that someday, when things start to improve, the elevations are the reverse- bringing us lighter and lighter moments until we can breathe easier again.

Corona Quarantine: Day 19- Magic.

Today was a really good day.

We have found a groove with the kids with a loose schedule that works.
They don't love it all the time (routines?!? Cleaning up!?!? Gross, mom) but they expectations were clear and that reassurance is helpful kids... and adults.

My work call this morning did not stress me out.

The kids and I had a great adventure outside today while J had to work earlier today.
Watching their imagination run free right now is breathtaking.

I just now got some work stuff done, and again did not feel stressed by it. A nice change.

I don't think it is a coincidence that it was a good day and I also did not spend much time on social media.

Need to remember that.

Also, sunshine is truly magical.

Corona Quarantine: Day 18- Waves of fear; puddles of joy

One of the parts of this whole experience that messes with me the most is at the core of it is the greatest of mind fucks.

We are all experiencing this trauma/grief cycle/process but to help stay safe- we can't physically be with each other. 

We are companions in isolation.

Our human love and connections are restricted to screens and distances.

At my lower moments over the last almost three weeks, the waves of panic and fear feel like they will take me up whole. What will this do our relationships? Our kids' relationships? Future physical contact?

At the better moments, I'll jump into a puddle of joy with a moment on the phone with a friend, or after a magical time with my family at home. The kids are having amazing adventures in imaginative play. We are having so much family time (which is great and also exhausting).

The joy and hope feel very small these days and the uncertainty and worry feel so big. But they are still there, though small feeling...:)