Achy hips. A bad shoulder. Crow’s feet. A mortgage that I pay with paper checks. The realization that it has been almost twenty years since I graduated high school. At this point it should be beyond clear that I am a full-fledged, full-grown adult. Confession, though–I don’t always feel like a grown-up.
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I tried. I really tried to write this year…But my mental energy was practically nonexistent thanks to the second year of pandemic life and the addition of homeschool teacher to my mom-ing duties. But, and it’s a big but, I did read. A lot.
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Every day I look at my children and wonder how they went from tiny little babies, completely dependent on me, to these lanky, beautiful young girls who can climb trees and read and have their own strong opinions. I miss the days they were curled up on my shoulder, sound asleep, but I also look forward to the days to come. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about all the things I want to teach them as they get older.
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If any year was made for curling up on the couch with a good book, it was 2020–whether as a way to relax or mentally escape, or simply because there wasn’t much else to do.
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I think it’s fair to say that this year has thrown all expectations out the window. Everything I thought, hoped for, planned, is laying on the side of the freeway somewhere, miles behind me.
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Distance learning. The words hit me in the chest like a sack full of my old, four-inch thick British lit textbooks.
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Twelve nights, five campgrounds, two states, 40-degree temperature variances—oh and plenty of s’mores and adult beverages. That’s one way to sum up our summer vacation. Another would be relaxing. A tad bit frustrating. Sketchy at times. Awe-inspiring. The BEST.
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I have no words. I am a writer–and I have no words. There has been so much going on in our country the last few months that I feel like I’m tumbling around in a wave, unable to figure out which way is up.
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Seven-ish weeks of sheltering-in-place and I have (mostly) moved past anxiousness and have landed in the realm of boredom. So I thought it would be fun to answer some not-so-typical questions. Here goes nothing.
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I wake up to nature’s alarm clock—my two children begging for milk and Cheerios. It’s a Tuesday I think. Or Thursday? Day 8. Day 18? Who knows anymore? We’re in an alternate universe where schools are closed and toilet paper is a hot commodity.
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Jayme Stoops 