“‘Sorry, I’m just tapped out.’
I said this to one of my kids’ teachers this morning as she requested a private zoom with my child and me.
At the same time as this, I had two other kids hopping on their google meets, I had to pull my oldest from her work to hold the baby, the kids’ Dad had a call just starting, and as I struggled with my laptop to even find which Godforsaken link I needed to even click, I was ready to crumble.
The laptop wouldn’t connect to the internet. The baby was fussing. My oldest was frustrated I had to pull her from what she was in the middle of. I had noise coming from each room with all the kids trying to, you know, ‘school,’ and it took every fiber of my being not to throw the laptop off the table.
I’m one person trying to juggle the schedule for 5 kids and every day I fluctuate between moments of having it together and seriously, well… losing it.
This isn’t normal.
Any of it.
Trying to function in the ‘unfunctionable.’
That’s the best way to explain all of this: trying to function in the unfunctionable.
As the teacher immediately noticed my temperament and disposition, she was kind and started by sympathizing with all I’m attempting to run here. When she asked about a couple of lower scores on my daughter’s reading comprehension quizzes, who by the way throughout the score year has had all high marks, I immediately let go.
‘This is not an environment conducive for learning. It’s just not. My children have a loving and safe home, but no, it’s not a school. To be honest, most days it’s a sh*t show. There isn’t much peace and quiet throughout the day, and when one is trying to focus on some level of the house or in a certain room, you can hear another Zoom call or a herd of cattle coming through in another. So no, she’s not getting to concentrate nor having things able to completely sink in.’
And you know what? It felt so good to say that.
I wanted to scream it.
I wanted to cry while sharing that.
I wanted to pound my fists on the table after I got it all out.
But I found some last ounce of strength to hold some amount of composure conveying my exhausting frustration.
This all will be over soon. Right?
Or at least I keep telling myself.
This just isn’t normal.
Any of it.
We’re not supposed to be able to turn to our manuals of ‘living through a global pandemic and total, utter chaos’ and just snap our fingers and handle this all with grace.
So, for those who are looking for their white flags to raise and shake ferociously high in the air, you’re not alone.
It’s okay to not love this time and feel okay or good about it every hour of every day.
I can’t think about tomorrow or the next day or how I’m going to get through next week. I’m literally taking it one day at a time and focusing on surviving the next hour.
This is no longer survival of the fittest.
It’s survival of those willing to adapt to the most abnormal time of our lives.
If you’re reading this and asking yourself how you can do it, well…the good news is, you already are.
It may not always be pretty, but you’re doing it.
It’s sufficient to say that my little breakdown to one of my kids’ teachers this morning was so well received and so appreciated on her end.
Here’s to getting one more hour in the books, my Friends.
There are crumbs on my counter.
The dishes need to be done.
The laundry needs to be switched.
The dog needs to go out.
The baby needs to be fed.
A kid needs help on their work.
There are massive bags under my eyes as I haven’t slept in 12 years.
I wore this outfit yesterday and to bed and today which is now tomorrow.
Here we go.
We’re freaking rockstars…every single one of us.”