They flit through my head. I can grasp on to one with a tenuous grip and it just slips through. There’s no way to place it to flow through my fingers to the screen.
I can pick up the bound pages and hold them but the synapses in my reading brain do not seem able to connect, no matter how hard I try.
It began at the start of this new normal. It got to the point where I just threw my hands up and said, FINE. I will stop. So I stopped. I successfully tuned out the ideas flitting about and the books in my home made way for a remote learning classroom.
The new normal squashed any possibility for those things. They were replaced with creativity in teaching this new way, creativity in teaching fifth grade math standards I am nowhere near qualified to teach to my own kid, creativity in heartfelt connections to those we have been separated from. Our family of trois is tight and two of the trois are very introverted and happy with our own company.
Except we’re not. Turns out introverting in a time of crisis is like how at home learning is in no way like school. It’s crisis school. So, it’s crisis introverting. Someone recently told me I need to save myself from, well, myself.
So. We’re not okay.
Except there’s the kid that is doing all the Google work on paper and taking a pic to attach because he’s on his phone and it’s tricky.
Except there’s the giggles from Maddie as she video chats with a group of friends.
Except there’s the kid who is doing video responses for assignments because his phone is hard to work on. (Spoiler alert- it’s the same kid.)
Except I teach for a district who understands this unprecedented time calls for compassion and understanding and relationship building. Not workloads to break our back.
Except that I get daytime cat cuddles. Except I can sneak a kiss to the new work at home dad in the basement any time I want. Except I can go outside and take in a deep breath. Except it turns out I can be very silly on video, more so than in person.
So, we are not okay.
But, I know we will be.