So maybe like me, you got the automated notice from the school yesterday that your kids–surprise!–have an extra week of spring break next week, because #coronavirus.
And maybe like me, a member of your family braved Costco this week. Or maybe you now possess a weird amount of toilet paper–which according to a meme I saw yesterday, is now the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
My daughter’s headed to winter camp soon, which she adores. This morning, over an increasingly plain-looking Greek yogurt parfait, she gushed about camp’s breakfast buffet. She loves the free time, the reconnecting with old friends.
But in light of her anxiety issues, and apparently a night last year when she laid awake till 2, she’s already nervous about getting to sleep.
(All those suggestions in the Help! My Kid Can’t Sleep post? Those are hard-won, peeps.)
Sitting with my daughter yesterday, she expressed she had a little fear for 2020. It’s a big year, she explained, with some personal stuff, plus elections and Olympics and what-not.
My first inclination–in light of how young she is, of course–was to brush away her fear.
A friend asked me today on email how my Advent was going. I may have remarked it was still tightly sealed with the rest of the decor in the garage.
My lack of decorating thus far allows me to ignore the fact that I would like to be preparing my heart.
At dinner each night of November, see if your family can collectively think of 10 more things you’re thankful for. Keep a running list.
A vase filled with your list written on slips of paper, or written scrawled on kraft paper doubling as a Thanksgiving tablecloth—complete with Sharpies or crayons prompting guests to add their own.
Print polka-dot thank you notes here.
Maybe you know all too well that awkward, disappointing moment. When a spouse doesn’t step up.
When the person you’re married isn’t the spiritual hero. And then? Your kids ask about it.
Back in high school, I took a crazy-cool trip with an organization, performing evangelistic street theater as we camped through Europe. It was unforgettable.
But I’m sure it was no easy feat. Our team consisted of 90 teenagers (not a typo). Tents were lined up with military precision, and meals were planned down to the number of boxes of macaroni and the packets of oatmeal.
In a similar spirit, free time wasn’t called free time, but “O Time”: Organized time. As in, be intentional. Don’t fritter it away.
Anyone else feel like they’re constantly fighting the tide of tech in their homes?
No, I don’t want my kids to arrive at college like a bat out of you-know-where. I want them to know how to responsibly handle tech as a tool for growth and entertainment. But this also means my husband and I are constantly seeking to add to our wisdom about protecting them.
So some of you parents are thrilled that your kids are home. And some of you would like to be thrilled, you really would! You are definitely working on being thrilled.
Especially if they would go fight somewhere else? Or maybe pick up their cereal bowls.
This morning I walked through my house, trying not to see things.
I tried not to see the underwear packaging left on the floor by my two teenage boys. The clothes my daughter left on the bathroom floor. The cereal bowl on the counter of a few floating Honey Nut Cheerios.
![Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language](https://www.janelbreitenstein.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/love-languages-text-1.jpg "Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language")
© 2024 THE AWKWARD MOM
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
