back to school

Back to School we Go!

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It’s a nerve-wracking time of year for everyone, (not to mention we are still in a pandemic)…add in back to school, a new school, new classes, new teachers, new dress code, and it ends up being a lot. The house has been a powder keg of emotions, raw nerves that flip flop from calm to not calm in a blink. I have practiced my yogic breathing with both boys, smelling fields of flowers and blowing out more birthday candles than I can count.

Personally, I don’t know what to do with my anxiety around sending the kids back to school. Honestly, after the last year and a half of having them home much, if not all of the time, and homeschooling for periods while we continue running our business, I need them to go back to school. Badly. I am not a teacher, and I seriously, seriously tip my hat to all those educators out there – especially the middle school ones who successfully impart knowledge in seas of hormones.

However, we are still in a pandemic, and while we are a fully vaxxed family, I look South to the petri-dish experiment in the States and the rising rates of infection among school-aged kids. This is not good, and it is sure as hell not over. I am fully, fully bracing for the day the school has to suspend a class, a grade, a team for two weeks as they enter self-isolation due to exposure. I realize our isolation plans must remain, and we must be ready to go back into lockdown at a moment’s notice.

The good news (?) is that we are now all well-versed and fairly good at it. We are blessed with the space we need to isolate virtually any family member(s) at any given time, and we continue a stocked pantry.

The bad news is that this whole process has somehow become blasé. The degree of numbness which I greet the prospect of lockdown is terrifying. We, none of us, should be normalizing any of this, but as a matter of survival, everyone has built in a level of acceptance and malaise over it. That is the worst part – to see a collective wall being hit, and limits being reached, still, still with no end in sight. I feel like this is the stall-out, the seventh-inning stretch, the moment where we need to all collectively dig deeper, gather more strength , and find that last vestige of energy to take us through to the goal, the finish line, the end.

All while heading back to school…….

Back to School we Go!

Cue the Petri-dish

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The kids are back in school this week, and it has already done wonders for their mental health. They are not mooning about the place with long faces and crushed social dreams. They are stimulated, engaged, interested and once again full of life.

They are disengaging from the gaming consoles, and their constant screen companions these last six months. They are seeing real faces, attached to real people, and it is doing them undeniable good.

I have heard, I have heeded the Provincial health officer’s warnings and decrees and I have followed them. But I don’t quite understand this next step.

As aforementioned, I understand that the kids need to go back to maintain positive mental health, and so we don’t create a mass group of children who have unrecoverable gaps in their learning. I understand that school, for a large part of the work force, functions as a day-care, and British Columbians need to get back to work. I inherently understand this economy needs to get back to (semi) normal in order to move forward and not collapse in on itself.

But walk with me…

We are to have a bubble of no more than six. This keeps us safe. And my children (middle school) are to have a bubble (or cohort) of no more than 60. But what if my older son’s class doesn’t wear masks in the classroom? Doesn’t that make his bubble the size of his classroom, plus all his peers’ personal bubbles of six? And what if each of my children goes to a different school, thus cementing the fact that each child is bringing home possible exposure from two completely separate cohorts?

My younger son’s class does and doesn’t wear masks; some around one ear, some under the chin. So is he now is bubbling with his cohort of 60 plus all of their bubbles of six?

And while math is not my strong suit, doesn’t that mean that our bubble just expanded to 2 x 60 for each child’s cohort plus 2(6 x 60) for each student’s personal bubble, exposing me to a potential new total of 840 possible new people I just got exposed to when my children came home?

Is my math off?

And while the Government insists we must reopen carefully and we must move forward with measured, controlled unavoidable exposure and cases, is it just me, or does it feel like we have all just been thrust into a giant social-experiment-petri-dish with a “wait and see in two weeks” kind of shrug?

I guess we’ll see in two weeks.

Cue the Petri-dish

Totally. Overwhelmed.

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It’s back-to-school time, or should be what would normally be back-to-school time, in a normal world, in a normal Fall, during a normal September, which it (let’s face it) is anything BUT. Both my kids have physically grown, grown, GROWN during COVID-19, and consequently NOTHING fits. Not the runners, dress shoes, shirts, pants or cleats. (that is to say IF some form of organized sports in-school gets the green light.) Nothing. Fits. $$$…….

Super-excited to drive to Metrotown, where (thanks, everyone wearing one) 90% of those wandering around are wearing masks, save a few 10% – and this is me being SUPER-judge-y – I would hazard a guess that 50% of the mask-less are just ignorant, Wreck-Beach-attending assholes. (Save your commentary – I know there are a number of individuals who, for completely legit medical reasons cannot wear a mask)

Metrotown is thankfully very organized – spaced out line-ups for the popular stores, security working the lines, and mercifully, (MERCIFULLY!) wicked good sales on shoes and shirts and service. My 13-year old officially has a year for every shoe size, and as a result, if they do have it in his size, it is likely a perfect fit and/or heavily discounted. (YAY!)

***MOMENT OF MATERNAL PRIDE/CONFUSION: I sat in Footlocker listening to the 13-year old and the 20-something year old discuss shoe models, and I was completely and immediately set adrift into “Boomer-era” ignorance. Sigh……..*** 180? 240? 270?

Back to shopping…..for the most part, we achieved success. We were able to tick boxes, fulfill needs, and not completely break the bank. I am lucky. I know we are all lucky. Lucky isn’t the word. We work very hard for what we have, and as essential workers during COVID, we have NOT stopped at any point. We have worked for what we have and we are able to fulfill the needs of our kids. I KNOW there are many, many families out there with no new school clothes, ill-fitting clothes, no school supplies and food insecurity. And that’s before COVID.

On a personal note, and frankly, the raison d’etre of my blog – I, I am overwhelmed. I came home stressed, tense, angry and frustrated, and that was not from the credit card bills. I found the whole experience, exercise, moment, exhausting. Mentally draining, upsetting, sad, mourning what should have been, what could have been, what wasn’t.

What isn’t. What isn’t going to be normal for a fuck of a long time. Sure, I will still drive the kids to school, and oversee lunches, and meal-plan, and delegate, and help with homework, but it still. isn’t. normal.

My kids are exhibiting the cracks of the stress, strain and anxiety of going back to school. I am exhibiting the cracks of the stress, strain and anxiety of going back to school.

Side note – I asked my eldest to water the garden before said shopping trip, and he left the hose on, subsequently flooding the back yard and breaking the hose fitting. I countered with this assignment:

Water:  The consequences of waste

Water covers 70% of our planet, and it is easy to think that it will always be plentiful. However, freshwater—the stuff we drink, bathe in, irrigate our farm fields with—is incredibly rare. Only 3% of the world’s water is fresh water, and two-thirds of that is tucked away in frozen glaciers or otherwise unavailable for our use.

As a result, some 1.1 billion people worldwide lack access to water, and a total of 2.7 billion find water scarce for at least one month of the year. Inadequate sanitation is also a problem for 2.4 billion people—they are exposed to diseases, such as cholera and typhoid fever, and other water-borne illnesses. Two million people, mostly children, die each year from diarrheal diseases alone.  –https://www.worldwildlife.org/threats/water-scarcity

Your consequence for wasting water and subsequently breaking the water hose attachment is to write a 1000 word essay on water, the precious nature of it, the scarcity of it, the global water shortage, and the consequences of unsafe water sources for people.  

Your essay is to be well written, well thought-out and you must utilize the HAMBURGER model of Topic Sentence/Paragraph, Body 1 (vivids) Body 2 (vivids)  Body 3 (vivids and a well-composed concluding paragraph.  Copying and pasting google searches will NOT be accepted.  This must be RESEARCHED and IN YOUR OWN WORDS.   Remember:  QUOTE YOUR SOURCES!

Your phone will be returned to you once you successfully turn in your assignment.

I could cry with frustration right now, and it’s not because I just realized I killed a box of wine in 3.2 days. Okay, if we are honest, I bought it Monday. Currently writing this Wednesday night. I could kill for some normal, and honestly don’t understand how many more mines I have to go deep. O.M.G.

(On another side note, I feel my consequence was clever. )

On yet another side note, I am tired of counting the lines under my eyes as I look in the rear-view mirror.

As a final note, dear reader, I thank you for listening to me and for being here for me.

Totally. Overwhelmed.

“Surreal” just doesn’t cut it any more.

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I have been trying to write this post for over a month. I started this draft on July 22nd, and strangely, not much has changed.

I keep thinking that I have hit the limit of extraordinary, crazy, surreal, welcome-to-bizzarro-land, New World Order.

And then I am reminded that no; things can and do go deeper down the rabbit hole.

We continue this strange, COVID-19 journey, trying to stay safe and healthy while navigating the work day, and even more distressing; navigating back to school.

We are careful. So careful. Our hands crack and bleed, we wear our masks, and stay away from all but essential activity. We have seen three restaurants in the past six months. Our kids have seen so few of their friends, staying apart and safe.

And now we go back to school. My kids need it. Oh boy, do they need it. My teenager feels this is all designed to crush his social life. He gets the gravitas of the situation, but he is still a teenager. My younger son hasn’t seen more than a dozen people since March. How much of this will inflict permanent change on their development? How will it impact their future relationships? I worry about the long-term affects of these wartime restrictions.

I worry, and I worry, and I worry. And then the worry gets normalized and the past, pre-COVID days get fuzzy. I can already feel how it’s changed my personal comfort levels. Already OCD, I get jumpy when strangers get too close to me, unless they too are wearing a mask. I am now firmly compulsive about washing my hands. I no longer seek out the company of other people, save a small handful.

And then I watch the news and shake my head at the party-goers, the Wreck-beach goers, the drum circlers. I get COVID-fatigue, I have it too, but why on earth wouldn’t we all take this few months, (a small drop in the big picture, really) to really, really try to make a difference?

All I can do is continue on, keeping my circle safe, and hope that the New World Order lets up a little bit in the not-too-distant future.

In the meantime, be calm, be kind and be safe.

“Surreal” just doesn’t cut it any more.

And so it begins.

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We are here. The end of Summer break, the end of vacation, and the start of something new. I love the Fall, with its’ crisp mornings and cozy sweater weather. I got married in September: fifteen years ago, on a day where it rained around the majority of the city, but miraculously, not on our waterfront slice of heaven.

On the cusp of Labour Day we turn our attention as a family to the coming weeks: football practice, swimming lessons, ultimate and more importantly, homework. We are working together as a family to set everyone up for success: nutritious meal planning, grab-and-go (GF)meal prep, and successful studies.

It’s going to be a full term. Our September calendar is already full, handled expertly by the good people at Google. It will be busy but fun, and full of new friends, new sports and new communities.

We are ready. Clothes are cleaned and re-stocked, the uniform is named, new shoes sitting at the door. We are blessed to be able to do this; I know many families are not able to approach back to school with the same shiny newness.

I look forward to the coming months, and all the new adventure that it will bring our family. I will also consciously remember to breathe deeply through the anxiety, take a minute to reflect and just enjoy the moment.

And so it begins.

And so it begins.

It’s complicated…

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I think I have mentioned before that parenting is like a slow water drip against the forehead, a quiet and incessant silent scream.  It is also a “V” for VICTORY, and a communal shout among us of winning a round: whether discipline, dietary, or watching our kids make the RIGHT choices at the RIGHT time.

We are hitting the Teen Years no harder nor softer than most:  for all the ten FUCKING AMAZING RIGHT DECISIONS my child makes, he makes two radical face-palm-what-were-you-thinking-wait-I-guess-you-weren’t decisions.

Sigh.

We are lucky, we really are.  So far, he still talks to me, and so far, I have a pretty good estimate of what is going on in his head/day/month/year/life.  More so than most.  I want to still believe we are close.

The stuff that matters, he is there.  He is with me.  He lets me in.  I live in terror of him growing silent and withdrawing.  I know from experience.  Silence is the worst.  Silence means you have lost them.  I went silent.  Then it went kinda sideways.

The stupid, inane, annoying, “please just listen to me and respect the rules ‘cause they are there for your protection” stuff is the stuff that he pushes boundaries on.    I should be thankful, but it still annoys the fuck out of me.  I have the latest tech.  I can shut down his phone.  I can block him from wifi.  I don’t want to, but I am a little bit at the end of my rope.

I just want him to understand that as parents go, I (like to think) I’m pretty cool.  Easygoing even,  as ‘cool’ is not a ‘cool’ word for parents to use any more.  I understand.  I really do.  I remember my earlier years vividly, and swore a personal promise to myself a long, long time ago to never ever end up like my parents.

That these stupid “boundaries-for-your-protection” things are annoying, but if we all play by the rules, then we get less and less and less boundaries.

Looking around at the peer group, I really, really am thankful.  There is no illegal, harming or habit-forming behaviours going on with him.  I am thankful.

But it’s complicated.

So tonight, off we go to bed, trying to right the wrongs of the fucked-up parenting decisions that came before us, wrestling with our own demons and previously well-laid paths,  aiming to stay tuned in to our kids, giving them an open dialogue and a platform to be them, all the while blocking the wifi signal, confiscating the TV, and threatening the Worst. Possible. Teenaged. Threat:

The flip-phone.

It’s complicated…

Changes afoot…

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The weather turned today, from the long hot days of August, to waking up to the cool, soothing sound of a gentle (but persistent) August rain.  The plants sure need it:  my Magnolia tree in the back yard is showing the stress.  The new Dogwood  would be happy to flourish with some extra rain.

The sound of rain, the cooler temperatures, the need to snuggle under a blanket is just one more reminder of the major changes about to come to the house.  Back to School is screaming at us from around the corner, we are T-minus 12. Days. Away.

The kids know it, but so far it is only bringing fun things, new things.  There is a new row of shoes at the front door, fresh clothes in drawers, and the shiny promise of fresh stationary.  They are still in bedtime denial, pushing and pushing until well after ten o’clock.  We are trying to pull bedtimes and get them up earlier, but so far, it has been totally ineffective.  And I am not pushing too hard, yet.  I know they have this week, and then the real real reality will set in, and we will be locked in a punishing schedule soon enough.

We return this Fall to two schools and another year of split-focus.  While we await the younger one’s acceptance at his Brother’s school, we are a two-community family, split between two cities, two schools, and two very different schedules.

‘A’ starts football next week, and practices will run daily after school.  It will mean getting home later, doing homework while we make dinner, and going to bed soon after.  It will be a push of discipline and precision timing.   ‘a’ is taking a break from team sports and will instead swim after school, and join his local cross country.   The little brother will not see the sheer volume of work his older brother will, so for now he can continue to ease in.  For the older one, it will be another seismic shift towards learning discipline, responsibility, and effort after the Summer.

For now, however, I am going to take my coffee onto the deck, sit under the tent, and enjoy the last sounds of the Summer.

 

 

Changes afoot…