I think it's safe to say that we can add "seamstress" to the list of occupations I will not be taking up.
There was cursing. There was throwing. There were moments I wanted to quit. But I pushed on and the end product was not worth the two hour temper tantrum my family had to endure. He looks like a robber, but sport that he is, James wore his homemade mask to work and reported back that it didn't stay up very well so he wound up touching his face more than usual. Great. If he gets Corona Virus it's on my shoulders. #fail I think we'll try the boxer shorts method that has been circulating on Facebook next time. No stitching required.
Speaking of failing, I burned the pancakes this morning because Kaleb had a home school emergency and I forgot to take them off the griddle. I failed to feed the kids a healthy diet because I didn't have it in me to reason it out every time one of them asked for a snack with no nutritional value.
And what happens with five kids when it comes to snacks, or anything for that matter, is something I like to refer to as the domino effect. Say yes to one, and suddenly you're spending a half hour making hot chocolate and rationing out exactly six marshmallows each because otherwise it's not fair. (Drink) I also failed to put the twins to bed without screaming so loud that Abigail actually texted me, "it's okay mom. Breathe."
When one of your kids handles you delicately, like a patient in a psycho ward (drink) who went off meds, you know you've lost some ground as a parent. You also feel really guilty. (Drink, drink, drink) It doesn't help that I've completely ignored Abigail for the last couple weeks. You may have noticed her lack of mention in my blog posts, but there's really no material for a kid who needs zero help with home school (thank God because Kaleb requires help every two seconds, hence the pancake debacle), voluntarily practices her flute, and can entertain herself endlessly with crafts I wouldn't imagine tackling. You saw my attempt at sewing a mask, so you can only imagine the choice words that would fly if I took on a diamond art project like this. (Abigail refuses to be in any blog pictures, so politely declined to pose with her masterpiece)
Every single one of the dots is placed in the tiniest of spaces with a little tool that looks like a pen. She sits there for hours at a time, happily positioning the "diamonds" in their allocated spots while chatting with friends on House Party. I think. Maybe Snapchat. Anyway, my point is, she has this extraordinary level of patience which makes me think there's no way I'm genetically tied to her. But I know I am. I have proof. I wonder if she thinks the same about me. Every time she hears me lose my marbles, she must say to herself, "why can't she just chill? What's the big deal?" And then she texts me and reminds me to breathe or puts her hand on my shoulder and reminds me that I am a parent and the short temper is more befitting of a four year old. A teacher told me recently that Abigail is wise beyond her years. I take full credit for that. Because, you see, she looks out for me. I'm just doing my job preparing her for adulthood. But as the days go on, it's dawning on me more and more, that it won't be long before she's there. These days of isolation are a gift in many ways. They give us more time to enjoy the fleeting moments of our children's youth. My mom always said, 'the days are long, but the years are short," and right now, those are the words I live by.