no one is ever alone anymore

Outside, the flip just switched from spring to summer. Fruit trees got all dressed up, partied hard, and now are disrobing in thousands of pastel teardrops. A male house sparrow wakes up the neighborhood at 6:32am, a lusty, one-note symphony on repeat. Tiny wild mustards sing their yellowness on the shale hillsides.

Pre-drop:

Post-drop:

This is our new puppy, Arlo. He’s da best baby buddy boy.

Inside, there are so many people. People who are stressing about isosceles triangles at 7am. Other people who remember at 8:30pm that they didn’t actually start their past-due humanities assignment. Some people have set up work stations in the living room, hissing at family members who are “making disgusting noises” while online math meetings are in progress. And all these people are constantly eating.

And I am in my office bedroom offering support and coaching to a parent hundreds of miles away, trying to be somewhat professional. Outside my door, someone is spelunking in the cereal box and asking very loudly, “scalene triangles have no equal sides, right? RIGHT?”

Which is to say, everyone’s world has shrunk to this small space, and no one is ever alone anymore.

“They never leave anymore,” I cry to Dan after three mother-child conflicts before 8:30am. “Make them leave!”

For a week, I sit in a bathtub of grief, fear and anger. And I know that if I don’t care for these emotions they will metastasize into aggression towards myself, my family, the world. How do I know this? Every time I open my mouth, something ugly and judgmental flies out. My kids duck. I cry.

Snapchat notifications ping into our shared space like children, issuing urgent pleas for Rose’s attention; it seems Col could play video games until he loses circulation. I’ve lost touch with what I’m supposed to be doing. Protecting kids from the ways social media erodes their self-love? Accepting that social media is how kids communicate these days? Finding the middle ground? From where I stand the middle ground looks like a crevasse.

I meet with two friends who once worked for a local wilderness therapy program for adolescents. They tell me that the biggest common denominator in families whose kids need treatment is the parents inability to set and hold limits. 

I think of how so much on the internet offers a drop-kick of dopamine to our brains, or a shiny distraction to sitting with ourselves in fear, grief, boredom, awkwardness. Or even, the illusion of connection and belonging, needs so integral to humanity it’s no wonder we mistake “likes” on a post for being liked. I think of how setting limits for ourselves, for our children, is an act of love, of protection, of valuing their time, creativity, emotions, connection with themselves.

At a certain point, I meet what is with as much love as I can. And, this is what is: My children are teenagers exploring society and their role within it, while being raised by two people who thrive outside of many societal norms.

We start to talk. 

I have cared enough for my grief, fear, and anger that I no longer come across as a predatory animal, striking with fear-driven agendas and demands. Now, I can come with curiosity and care. Rose tells me that even though she “snaps” with some girls several times a day, it doesn’t seem like they’re actually becoming better friends.

Col shares that video games distract him from boredom; and with friends less accessible, he’s not always sure what to do with his time.

We keep talking.

Rose tells me that when she sees people commenting “you’re gorgeous” on a friend’s Instagram selfie, but not hers, she wonders if she’s pretty.

We set some limits together, and I can actually feel the kids relax. I feel all of us relax. The next day Rose deletes Snapchat; she whittles down who she follows on Instagram.

We all commit to shutting down devices for the evening as often as possible, which feels like freedom, not restriction.

Today is day 60 of quarantine and bizarre things are happening. Col invites Rose to take a walk around the neighborhood kicking the soccer ball. They bicker and insult each other all the way to the door, but walk out together.

Col is illustrating the headline Chimp seen Sucking Brains from Monkey. He plays Black Sabbath, both of us singing along to War Pigs. All this, at 11:30am. Later, I tell Dan, “it’s OK that I don’t like all of Col’s art, right? I mean, I like that he’s doing art.

I like that he’s *doing* art…

In the garden, it’s the season of leaves. Spinach, chard, kale, bok choi, lamb’s quarters. Everything else is under cold frames, dreaming of their future. 

Lamb’s quarters – like spinach, but free!

Chard plus smoothie

After spending all week together, we often go hiking on the weekends, together!

We celebrated Rose’s 13th birthday last weekend. Rose wrote a menu for the day and Dan performed a parody (on the tennis racket guitar) to the Flaming Lips song “She Don’t Use Jelly”

Well, I know a mom, her name is Rachie

When she gave birth, she was happy as can be

Cuz she didn’t want a puppy

She didn’t want fleas

She didn’t want another boy

Or any of these

She wanted Ro-oh-oh-sie

She got Ro-oh-oh-sie

By the end of the night, full of spaghetti and cheesecake, we all gather in the solarium. Rebecca, who lives upstairs, and sits exactly between me and Rose in age, bridges our worlds. She serenades Rose on guitar, playing Taylor Swift, seasoned with earthy funk. Rose throws her smooth and strong 13 year old legs over my unshaven and strong middle aged legs. And I feel the power and love we are, intertwined, mutually influencing each other. 

I think this is called homeschool P.E.

Love,

Rachel

p.s. If you are a parent wanting support in communication with your family, let me know. I’d love to support you in caring for all the emotions that get triggered in these weird times so you can respond with love, creativity and wisdom to your children.