Dispatch from a (social) Distance. Day 2.

Day 2:
Morning. It’s raining. So now the dog smells, prompting the question from my 16 year old, “Imagine how bad wolves in the wild must smell up close?” Before I engage in this conversation, I need to know if this is science or philosophy? We need the credits. Also, I need coffee.

In preparation for virtual learning, the seven year old has agonized and debated over what to call me during “school hours.” He settles on “Mrs. Madre.” I notice this new title doesn’t earn me any more respect or authority.

The garbage trucks came by today. I haven’t been so excited to see a garbage truck since my children were toddlers. The hissing of the brakes and grinding of the compactor bring a sense of normalcy.

Lunchtime. The 7 year old melted down because his mac and cheese was too hot. If he wanted something to cry about, I could’ve told him that was our last package of mac and cheese. The 16 year old checked in to tell me he “hates homeschooling.” The 17 year old is functioning on the brink of tears because it feels like her “senior year is cancelled.” I’m thinking we need to add a school psychologist to our staff.

Checked Instagram to see if Scott Avett posted a new #emptylivingroomconcert. We can call it music education, but I tend to watch these alone and away from the children.

A familiar feeling washes over me as I hide in a dark room. Reminded of those early, disorienting weeks of motherhood when the world felt askew. Mostly, I remember feeling alone and disconnected. And eating a lot. There are a lot of parallels.

Afternoon. Sun came out. Went for a walk on the beach. Now there’s sand in my shoes, in my car and in my house. Sand is annoying, pervasive and it’s everywhere I go. In every room of the house. Tomorrow’s first lesson? Metaphor.