Mothering in Quarantine

On March 18th, 2020, my husband and I picked up our daughter from preschool, and there was something wrong. I could feel that she was troubled, I could feel the strain on the world around her. Her body just hung in my arms. Her eyes were puffy and red. Her mouth and chin hung with a heaviness that she couldn’t put into words. But I knew. 

We stopped at Price Cutter on the way home, and I bought her some candy that she thought looked good, and we took her home. I got her Doc McStuffins couch, pulled it out to a bed, and I grabbed her comfiest blanket and the Boppy pillow. I got her milk and her candy, and bid her to rest there and watch Doc McStuffins. Then I gave her space and silence. 

None of us knew that a week later, we would pull her out of daycare to stay home with us as we sheltered in our home to ride out the government’s “Stay at Home” order. It’s been nearly three months since that day. 

When we first heard “coronavirus,” our minds responded as they naturally would to an unexpected foreign stimuli. Some of us responded with humor and shared memes. Some of us responded with denial and blew off everyone else’s reactions. And some of us responded with fear and wondered what life was going to be like and who would make it out alive. 

I responded first in denial, but that denial was just a careful evasion to try and convince myself I wasn’t afraid of the unknown. I secretly researched coronavirus from my desk at work, searching how it was spreading and if there was anything we could do to prevent it. At every turn, I discovered more uncertainty. And the denial gave way to fear and anger at the seeming lackadaisical reaction of everyone to the virus. “If it was so bad,” I thought, “Why were we still at work? Why hadn’t we closed down yet? What would it look like if everything shut down? How will I feed my family? Should I stock up?”

I asked questions and then lived out their answers. And I realized that all of those questions were lying under one umbrella question: What is it going to look like being a mother now? 

I put so much pressure on myself in the beginning of the quarantine to make sure she was enriched nutritionally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally, all while maintaining my full time job and supporting my husband as he was working from home and learning what it meant to father in a time like this. 

We spent the first month developing a naptime routine, keeping up with making sure she had breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and appropriate snacks as she needed them (since neither of us are good at properly nourishing ourselves). We developed an outside play routine, and did Cosmic Kids Yoga when it was raining or too cold to play. We bought ABCmouse and downloaded Khan Academy kids and printed off name tracing sheets and I developed lesson plans during that first month so we could keep up the learning and make things seem like the only thing that changed was the location of where she was living out her days. The schedule was rigid, inflexible. We were trying to establish rigidity where we should have been cultivating rhythms. 

We got frustrated when she wouldn’t listen, or when we thought she didn’t recognize the hard work we did every day for her, or when it seemed she thought we didn’t know what was best. Wow, we do that to the Lord, don’t we? 

Tough Days

In some of those tough moments, I’ve uttered the words “I give up” to my parents and my husband, out of earshot of my daughter. I don’t want her to hear me say it because it’s not her I want to give up on, but I want to give up on the day. I want to let her win -- all of her fits and demands -- so I can just rest before we get up and do it all again. But I walk away, hand over the reins for a few moments, and then scoop her back up with my heart and hands because my love is unconditional, transcending every good and bad day.

These moments in parenting have been challenging and rewarding, the days when it makes it all worth it. I’ve watched her take the training wheels off her bike and try to ride without them. I’ve watched her jump on our trampoline, and I’ve joined in (and been so glad we got the kind with the safety net). I’ve watched her explore and get frustrated with her body as she tries to match all of the yoga poses in her yoga videos. I’ve watched her learn to make oatmeal and “pancake sausage on a stick” and try new foods and activities. I’ve watched her finish potty training, even night training.

She writes her name better now. We’re working on reminding her to focus when she makes a mistake and not give up. She’s preaching us the gospel every couple days. I don’t know, but I think this child might have a gift with words. I am so amazed at how much she has grown. I’m trying to absorb every minute of every day. 

She turned four this month. This year has been harder to accept than the years previous because I was excited for her to get older. We could do more together -- talk, play, get hot chocolate, bake, and so much more. 

This year, though, is the last year before she goes to Kindergarten. It all feels so much faster and bigger and out of control than the ones that came before, and maybe it’s because I’ve been home with her and now I want to lock her in the highest room of the tallest tower until I find a suitable prince when she’s 64. 

When she goes to Kindergarten, it’s almost like she’s gone forever. She starts on the line of rapid growth and development and she won’t need me anymore. The next thing I know, she’ll be an adult, making decisions for herself, and I’ll still be here. I’ll always be here when she needs me, but as that time comes, oh, the gravity of it all is weighing heavy on my heart. 

I’ve heard the pithy platitude, “She’ll always need you,” and I get that, but nothing is like these early years before they have friends I haven’t met and influences I can’t control. She’ll need me in different ways, and that will be rewarding in its own rite, but it won’t be the same. 

Wisdom from Above

I need God to guide me. I need him to help me prepare her for life. And to help me remember he gives her what she needs, and me, too. And I need peace and wisdom. I need peace that the future can, and should, lead her to more independence. I need wisdom to raise her in such a way that she is equipped and ready for anything. I need patience as she learns, remembering that she is only human, just like we were as children, just as we are now still as adults. 

If you’ve got kids, no doubt you’ve been frustrated either by them or for them at some point during this time. You’re not alone. We’re not perfect, but we’re trying. That’s what I’ve been telling my daughter as we’ve been working on correcting her behavior and listening -- I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m just asking you to try. 

This season (literally Spring) has called all parents to re-evaluate how they parent. The routines that once spanned just a couple hours became all day struggles to get everything done. We have learned so much about each other, and we’ve either drawn together and created deep, “unprecedented” bonds or we’ve driven a wedge even further into the brokenness we brought into Quarantine. 

Maybe you started with good intentions and now you’re just happy to get through one day. That’s okay. God has strength for you even here, even now. He’s always had the strength to sustain you. It’s not too late to re-evaluate and restart. 

Did you start off Quarantine reading the Bible with your kids everyday and praying together, but have since fallen off the wagon because of the demands at home and things opening back up? Let them stay up a few extra minutes to read the Bible with them. If it’s hard during the day, find the time to start it up again. 

Initially, I began Quarantine diligently reading my Bible reading plans, reading with my daughter, doing Guided Prayer sessions through the Churchome app and listening to the daily Dwell readings out loud so the Word of God would fill our home with truth. 

Since mid-May, we haven't read the Bible together daily. I’m off by about a week on my Bible reading plan. I forget to do my Guided Prayer sessions (and my medicine, too…), and I haven’t opened Dwell. 

I’m not going to tell you that if you do everything diligently that your life will run smoothly and you’ll find that your kids don’t fuss. Any parent that has a diligent spiritual discipline practice will agree with me. Sometimes, you have a tough day, and a tough day or week is just that. But when you invest in the time with the Lord and the Word regularly, you know that no matter your circumstances, you can face them all through God who gives you the strength to face it. You’ll reach for God more than you reach for your phone because you’ll come to realize that your strength is not solely in the support of those who watch your stories, but the One who wrote your story. 

God says that his power is made perfect in our weakness. I don’t know that there is one of us who has parented in a place that wasn’t weak for us, but when we reach out to God, He is able to support us and guide us in love and wisdom to speak life into our kids, even here. Even now. 

Don’t be afraid to let your children hear you talk about the Lord and how his strength is getting you through this time. It is through our experiences that they make the preconceived notions about who God is and how he is for them. 

I’m going to leave you with a challenge. If you’ve got kids at home, or when they get home, walk over to them and hug them and tell them you love them. Then ask them how they’re doing. Ask them if they need anything. Don’t expect it in return. Show them love. 

Even when you want to give up, and the last thing you want to do is walk over to them and show them love after they’ve disrespected you all day long, you know in your heart that you love them unconditionally. And if you’re saying to yourself, “Yeah, but…” or “I don’t know…” take some time to talk to God about it. Ask him to soften your heart, to help you see your children. No one is asking you to be perfect. Your kids don’t need you to be perfect. Your kids just need you to try.