We talk a lot around here about 'reading the room' with the kids. Example: when you walk into a heated conversation between your parents and your older brother about his curfew, maybe don't ask in that very moment if you can have a sleepover. Or, perhaps when Mom is juggling making dinner and also what appears to be a work phone call, pause to think if you really need her to find that sweatshirt you've been looking for right in that very moment. Or, flipping the idea around, let's say you walk into a room looking for that sweatshirt and instead find your little sister crying about something, maybe you let go of finding that sweatshirt in that moment? You get the idea. Read the room.
For a moment on Thursday, I forgot to read the room myself. Yes, I know, even after I just told you - and my sisters - and myself - that we all needed to lower expectations right now and be flexible and loving with our children. Yup, right after that, I started the day off by not heeding my own advice. We're still in the early days of what I think will be a long haul of being at home learning and working together, and I honestly wanted to get us off on a good foot - establish some rhythm and rules for how it was all going to go. Be consistent with our schedule and expectations and all that.
Except I didn't read the room. I failed to notice that not only were the kids extra cross with each other but also more than a little sassy with me at the breakfast table. I also failed to check in with myself, and ignored that rising feeling of stress in my chest. And the grief, quite frankly, that comes out of nowhere sometimes. Nope, I ignored all of that and forged ahead with two simultaneous main lessons for the day. But as my voice rose, and so did theirs, and then I couldn't tell who was talking louder and what any of us were even saying....I finally read the room. And I decided that learning place value (for one) and ancient Egyptian history (for the other) were very important things to learn, but not like this, and not that day. Finally, at about 11am after too many hours of not reading the room, I read the room and called it a day.
"I'm going outside" I declared, not insisting that anyone join me nor that they don't. And with that, the day flipped right on its head. I decided not to do the laundry (what's one more day?). I told the Taproot team that I just had to call the day off (knowing that we'll all have days like this right now). I grabbed a basket of handwork, started a fire in the outside fire pit (first of the season) and just sat with it all. My breathing changed as the day went on...and I felt better. But I also noticed - because apparently I'm still learning this lesson nineteen years into this gig - that as my breath slowed, so did everyone else's. Sometimes we can do that magical thing, Mamas, set the pace back to where it needs to be by going there ourselves.
It was a lovely afternoon out there, truly, as one by one they followed me out. Ani slowly stripped off layers of shoes and socks and clothing, as all Maine kids do on days like that (with snow still on the ground). Harper brought out his bow and arrow for some target shooting and kept the arrow pointed away from us the whole entire time. Ada and her pup Sonny practiced new tricks. Eventually Ezra came out with a guitar. And Calvin found his way to the half pipe, skateboard tucked under his arm.
The next day returned to a regular groove - or the new regular groove, that is. Lessons went smoothly. I managed to get some work done. The house was fairly tidy, and it all felt a little less dire. I don't know what makes those kinds of hard days come up when they do, but I do know that it's going to happen. And the best thing I might be able to do, is read that room and just let it be what it is. And get outside of course. That always helps.
(Thanks for your incredibly kind and warm words this week. It's really nice to see you too!)
