A typical day.
What does that even mean anymore, typical. Someone asked me how we spent our days. Now that thee kids aren’t in school and we can’t go anywhere. What do we do all day?
I don’t even know how to answer that. They go by slowly, and all at once. I have all the time and none of it. My kids play. A lot. Together. And apart. The TV is on sometimes. Sometimes it’s on most of the time. I pretend that we watch mostly educational shows, but sometimes they’re more educational than others.
We do homework occasionally (but maybe not as much as we should? I can’t be sure because the guidelines are foggy.). We read together and apart. We play outside. A lot. I cook and clean up from cooking what feels like almost all day. Some days there’s more yelling than others. We usually don’t cry. Typical day’s are so atypical now, I can’t even clearly tell you what they look like.
The days drag on and fly by, all the the same time, with an ongoing list of things that should have gotten done and didn’t. A list of things that will go on tomorrow’s list of good intentions. How things can go slowly and quickly, all at the same time still blows my mind.
Our days now circle around prepping and feeding and cleaning up meals. They work in 30 minute chunks of studying and schoolwork. They take place in between the parts of our days that need to happen in order for our optimal mental health (meaning my morning workouts and our weather-permitting neighborhood walks).
This slow season is so different for me. It’s a month of snowdays, unable to go anywhere or see anyone or do anything with the gift of time.