I am quarantining with four restless children who balk at any schoolwork and my hardworking husband who remains shut up in our bedroom office all day, only emerging for a short lunch in our backyard.
We are blessed. Our family is healthy. My husband has a job. We can afford groceries.
But I am also quarantining with mom guilt. It has been sheltering in place in my mind and heart for nearly 18 years since the birth of my first child. It is one housemate I do not feel blessed to share space with at this crazy, challenging time.
With mothers everywhere, I am doing my best.
I am trying to teach and motivate the kids to continue learning outside of a school environment and remain on a reasonable schedule without nagging too much.
I am attempting to entice my children away from hours on screens by regularly giving them chores, playing board games with them, and taking them on long bike rides.
I’m doing my best to think up interesting or at least decent meals multiple times a day.
I am trying to work on my own important projects while supporting my family’s well-being more than ever.
And I am futilely devising ways to get my teenage son and daughter to go to bed at any hour ending in pm.
