Sleep in a Pandemic

How are you sleeping? Have you been having crazy dreams?

I've been struggling with sleep. I have crazy, anxiety-riddled dreams. Last night I dreamed of touching contaminated things and then my face. I dreamed of my family getting sick. I dreamed of fear and anxiety. Last week, I dreamed my young son (11 years old) died because I didn't get up when he asked for something so he played with a gun.

Clearly, my anxiety, fears, and feelings of inadequacy are coming through whether I acknowledge them or not. I've read I'm not alone. Many people are reporting they are having crazy, vivid, or anxious dreams.

It's no surprise, really; we are all in an absurd situation where we are asked to continue as if the world is normal when it is anything but. We must continue working and take on schooling children. I've seen more and more people on social media admitting their weaknesses and acknowledging emotions, but then they pick up their mantle of optimism and return to their spreadsheets. What choice do they have? I admire my friends, family, and acquaintances who are being strong and forging ahead in reality. There is the alternative of giving up, I suppose. But the human spirit enables us to force our fear, grief, and uncertainty back down in order to continue to put one foot in front of the other. That beast rears its ugly head when our conscious selves finally rest. And we dream.

Does it help to acknowledge this paradigm? Perhaps. Perhaps in nodding to our fears we give ourselves permission to be scared. To acknowledge we are uncomfortable not knowing when the elusive "normal" will return. To face the truth that we have no real control over whether the virus takes hold of us or not-battling an unseen, unfamiliar foe with gloves, homemade masks, and cans of Lysol. To look our daily inadequacies in the eye and admit they have always been our companion, only amplified by bizarre circumstances.

And that last admission-that the inadequacies we already battled accompanied us into this twilight zone is an idea I've seen popping up more. Why did I dream I put my son off in my dream only to lose him because I wasn't protecting him? Because I know I'm not paying as much attention to his needs, his education, his anxieties as I'd like. Because I want to wrap him in bubble wrap to protect him from every scary facet of this situation. And because I never feel I'm doing enough for him and always want to protect him-even in the best of circumstances. I think of Marlin, the dad in "Finding Nemo," realizing that he would stunt his son's development if he protected him too much. I hold my son a second longer and make a point of reading a few chapters to him in the evening. And then I take a deep breath and try to remember I am only human.

This scary time is also an opportune time. It is a gift of time to embrace our limitations and to adjust what we can. To learn to live with ourselves, fears and all, even in the apocalyptic environment of sheltering in place. And to allow our conscious selves to wage these battles so that our subconscious, sleeping selves can rest and refuel.

May this night be full of peaceful, deep sleep for you, friends.

Parenting in a Pandemic

Yesterday marked the beginning of week 2 of pandemic homeschooling at our house. The local school district made the decision to move to "at-home learning" while we were on Spring Break and we had a week extra off after that.

I have read many articles about parents during this pandemic; they all boil down to this: parents are struggling. It's so true. I have made a schedule for our two youngest children (grade 5 and grade 7) that includes art, music, free play, outside time, and all the normal school subjects. It is divided by hour so I have set a timer on my phone and every hour when it goes off, I yell, "next subject!" This is what is passing for school at my house.

This sweat shop approach to learning has to be enough because in between yelling, "next subject!" I am trying to work from home. I have printed signs that read "In a Meeting" and "On the Phone" which don't stop my son from sneaking into the video conference and mouthing requests to me. I watch my coworkers shoo off pets and children and hold babies in their laps. We are all multitasking on a new level.

I know that I am not giving my all to my employer right now. I want to. But between demands from my children, my partner's need for attention, the anxiety of the situation, and the distraction of being in my living room...I don't have much left to give to work. And on top of all that, my job is to ask people for money for a worthy charity. A nagging guilt sets in when I even consider asking for money. And so we simply reach out and talk to donors and would-be donors. It is important to let them know we are still here, we still care about them, and our mission is still as important as ever. I try to wait patiently for the day they will be able to open their wallets to help again.

I know that I am not giving my all to my children right now. I know that because I am giving anything to my work, I can't give my all to my children. They are scared and uncertain right now. They don't have a normal so I try to give them routine. They don't see their teachers and friends so I try to give them some happy memories instead. They are not learning at their best, either, so I give them flexibility and understanding in getting assignments done. I know that our already taxed teachers will have a lot of review and reteaching to do in the Fall semester; I only hope that everything is back to "normal" by August.

I am so grateful my children are older because the stress of little ones is unconscionable to me right now. But I know that because my kids are tween and teen, they observe all that is going on so much more accurately. They will remember a time of grieving and fear where little ones will only remember the disruption and time together. But I know many of my friends are wiping faces and changing diapers while I yell to switch subjects; my heart goes out to those dear ones also.

We parents are trying to do our very best, as we always are. We are trying to be productive members of society earning enough to provide for our families while also nurturing and teaching little ones of varying ages. And now we are doing it in less than ideal circumstances that feel as uncertain as quicksand. Please show us and yourselves grace during this time. Reach out to parents you know and offer encouragement. If you are an employer, communicate with your employees and know that you will likely get decreased productivity for a time.

My mom has always quoted the bible during times of difficulty: This too shall pass.

Saturday in a Pandemic

Yesterday, we tried to enjoy a Saturday as usual. We actually did a pretty good job of it! We hiked in the nearby state park and got drinks at the local drive through afterward. We lazed around the house otherwise and my soon-to-be-stepson took a 6 foot apart walk with a friend.

On our 6 mile hike, we took pains to step out of the trail to let others hike through. We saw a boy with blue latex gloves and a few people with bandanas on their faces. We packed hand sanitizer with our snacks, water, and sunscreen. We wondered if we should have taken more precautions.

As we nursed our aching muscles, beginning of sunburns, and dehydration (I will pack more water for the next hike), my son's dad called. This was to be his weekend with our son. He called wanting to know when he would see him. My answer was I don't know. I don't think my son should leave our city (his dad lives in another city) at this time. We are all doing our best to contain any potential contamination. My son begged to see his dad, and I felt awful depriving him of that normalcy. We all crave normalcy right now.

After telling my son he couldn't see his dad, I felt guilty that we let my soon-to-be-stepson go on a walk with his new friend even if they had promised to stay 6 feet away and not touch. He is only 15 and I only see my mom through our glass storm door. We called him and asked him to come back. We all miss socializing in all forms. I had a Facebook Messenger happy hour with my girlfriends just last week.

I know that these types of interactions and reminders of the strange times we live in are happening all over the world right now. My household is unique in some ways (as we all are), but not unique in many more ways. I've read so many suggestions to have the kids journal through this experience. They could be another Anne Frank, they say. I am no Anne Frank. I do not claim this will last any longer than the moment in which I write it. But I do know writing about my experiences always helps me process them; maybe it can help you, too.

GoFundMe: Middle-Class Virtual Panhandling or Community at its Finest?

I have seen all the GoFundMe posts on Facebook. One friend just was having a hard time paying bills, another had a friend who needed help paying funeral expenses, still another had a pet who needed medical care. I've rolled my eyes and internally thought that I have to pay my bills why don't they have to pay theirs? Or I haven't had money to contribute. For whatever reason, I've seldom helped, but I have a few times. I feel similarly when I see someone panhandling on the street. But I honestly feel more compassion for the panhandler...until now anyway. I can't imagine being in a situation so dire that I had no option but to stand on a corner and beg strangers for spare change. That has to hurt to be there. I'm there.

Two years ago I got divorced. I've mostly done really well, and I'm no longer emotionally grieving the death of that marriage. However, doing the parenting and bills thing alone is really, really tough. I made decent money at my last job, but it was just barely not enough. I have amazing parents who have helped me more times than I can count. I got a new job about a year and a half ago. A great job, really. It was demanding, though, and at a time that I didn't have enough to give to my child and a demanding job. I lapsed on my antidepressant pills, and before I knew it, I was in quite a spiral. I began to emerge from that spiral in January....but it was too late. Coupled with some other factors, it led to my being unemployed.

My son turned 10 this last October. I had been managing my mortgage pretty well up to that point...and all my other bills. I would slip behind a bit on the mortgage but catch up. I took my son out of town to celebrate his bday and spent waaaaay too much money on him. I knew it was stupid, but I needed to celebrate him in a big way. I figured I could catch up. Only I had gone one month too far-the mortgage company would no longer let me pay a month's worth. I had to pay 2-3 month's worth or not at all. Anyone who has lived paycheck to paycheck knows this is a profound struggle. I didn't have it...so the money got spent elsewhere. I kept thinking I would catch up. And I was still depressed on top of that.

Late December/early January, I decided it was time to drag myself out of this hole. I began trying to take my medicine more regularly. I began taking care of bills I had been neglecting. I was making plans at work to bring more and more A game. And then I found myself with no income. I was crushed.

I have a part time temporary job that I got 2 days after I lost my job. I had one more check from my last job. This weekend marked the first missing paycheck...or lower one, I guess. And my mortgage company finally set some dates that they are taking my house back. I contacted them and asked what I could do. They gave me an amount I have top pay very very soon to get my house out of foreclosure. It is far more than I can scrounge together. It is more than my generous parents can give me or even loan me.

So I stuffed my pride way down low and made a GoFundMe page. It feels like asking strangers (though it's really friends and families) to give me spare change even though they have to work to pay their bills. I have received a few donations. I am so unbelievably grateful for my friends that have donated the little bit they can....it means so much to me and my son. To those offering sympathy, thank you. To those who think their 5 or 10 dollars wouldn't help, it would. To those judging me, I get it.

To answer the title question, I think the answer is yes. It is a bit like panhandling. I screwed up. I'm asking you to help me fix the problem I made. But it's also an opportunity for my family and friends to show me compassion and come together to help me better myself...to learn from my mistake. I know my viewpoint will be so different next time I see someone asking for help through a social funding site.

My GoFundMe Campaign: Save Our Family Home

The "F" word

Feminism. It's become such a trigger word in our society. My girlfriends, my daughter, my sister, and I wear it as a proud badge. To us, it means something important. It truly is about equality. I wrote what I hoped would be the beginning of a book (maybe it still will be) a year or two ago. I think it's even more important now.

I sat with a group of friends a few nights ago. The three of us chatted over adult beverages and 
appetizers. We talked about motherhood, jobs, husbands, fitness, money, the gamut! It struck me more 
than once the manner in which we would rail against the injustice of some condition of the modern 
woman in one breath and dismiss it as something we must just bear in the other.

My friend, the fitness instructor, complains nearly every time we talk about her job that the women talk 
badly about her. And worse, that every person who enters the gym where she works is so unhappy. 
No matter the level of fitness, they all are unhappy with their bodies. She wants to help them feel better
mentally and physically through exercise, but she feels she is only helping them and herself feel more
miserable. Then she sighs, sips her margarita, and moves to the next topic. I’ll confess I wanted to hear
her excitedly tell me about how she has thought of some new techniques to help them love themselves
more. She did not. I don’t know if this is because she fears it won’t be accepted, she does not want to
put in the effort, or that the disappointments and many practical responsibilities of life have rendered her
unable to catch that spark of idealism. I fear it’s the latter. Or maybe I’m just too idealistic. Maybe she's
tried and got stopped short by the trappings of bureaucracy.

These two same friends live feminism in a way that I find both intriguing and inspirational. They choose 
whether they work outside the home or not, and financial considerations are not their only motivations. 
They are both great moms that don’t parent by the rule book. And, though they’re great friends, they 
aren’t afraid to disagree or criticize each other.  In a few weeks, they will embark on a 5 week camping 
trip with their respective children. Their husbands will join them for portions of the adventure, but they will 
do most of it without them. We are not talking campers and hotel back-up plans, either. They have 
reserved campsites, sealed tents (I don’t even know how one seam seals a tent!), and even planned 
sleeping arrangements within their vehicles for the long drives. Accompanying these moms are SIX 
children ages ranging from 5 to 10!

Once they were on a smaller camping trip and had a flat tire. They fixed it themselves (I think AAA might 
have been involved), but were asked many questions along the way about how they were able to do so. Not just 
questions about the tire; questions about how they were camping without their men! This is one of the 
most poignant and personal expressions of feminism I’ve ever encountered.

Shouldn’t feminism be personal? Few people would suggest that everyone should have the exact same 
job for exactly the same pay, wear exactly the same clothes, or otherwise live cloned lives. Yet too many 
times, that’s what feminism becomes. We must all work outside the home and become executives. We 
must all dress modestly or dress immodestly (depending on which message we’re sending this month). 
I am not suggesting that these are not noble efforts to gain awareness and equality. I am instead 
suggesting that we personalize feminism.

Feminism and the fight for women’s rights has been compared to and linked with the civil rights struggle 
of people of color in this nation. What is the story most told about the civil rights movement? What really 
grabbed the attention of the nation and our history books? Rosa Parks on the bus. Or a random person 
being denied a seat at a lunch counter. Were these the greatest issues facing people of color in the 
South in the 1960s? I dare say not! Of course we are aware of voting rights, lynchings, disappearances, 
and other travesties, but it is so often boiled down to the very personal experiences of eating, drinking, 
sitting on a bus, and using a toilet. 

How can we apply that to feminism? Let’s start talking about what feminism means to each one of us. 
Not in a pedantic way that suggests what works for one woman works for all women. Let’s share our 
experiences and how we overcame our internal fears. Let’s share the times that we have felt 
persecuted and how we moved past it.

The Face of Poverty

I've had some amazing opportunities lately. I was able to go to a poverty simulation in February. I learned so much about poverty! I've recently been able to speak to several groups about this experience and what I learned. I want to share with more people so I asked a friend of mine (Jody Holland with Jody Holland Training and Speaking) to film it so I could share it on the interwebs! For your viewing, sharing, and learning pleasure:

My heart just hurts. All the violence. The shootings in Orlando, a local hostage situation in my hometown, more unwarranted shootings of black men, more officers killed. It's too much-all this senseless violence.

A few days ago, I told my son that the police are our friends. Even as I said it, I wondered if my black friends tell their children the same. I asked my co-worker what she will tell her daughter. She told me she isn't sure yet. She said she knows it's different because the child is a girl, though. My black male friend posted on Facebook that he is thinking about how he and his peers have to fear this same fate. These were the thoughts that enveloped my day.

As I drove home from work this afternoon, I passed a bank with flags at half-mast (or whatever the correct terminology). I usually pay attention to that and even sometimes google to see the reason. I assume today that the flags were because of the police officers killed and wounded not so far from my hometown. Not a whole block away was parked a pickup truck with an American flag, a "Come and Take It" flag, and a confederate flag.

 This sight is all too typical here, but it created so much anger and hurt for me today. I normally get angry at the sight anyway, but today with the recent violence, it was just too much. Thankfully, I'm a nonviolent person and try to channel my anger into productive exercises. So I wrote a poem (and then a blog post).

Confederate Flag in Amarillo

I drive down the road

And see the flag half down

Further still and I see

What makes me frown

No. More than frown.

How dare you?

How dare you fly that?

While people lay dying?

People are dead.

People are crying.

While on your truck bed

That flag you are flying.

That emblem of hate.

Of war against a people.

You proudly display it

As heritage and history.

I say it hurts hearts

It drives violence.

You say it is harmless

But you’re speaking into silence.

Speaking over the bodies of those

Gone before.

Speaking of dangerous

Lies and harmful lore.

Take it down.

Take down the rhetoric and hate.

While we mourn the dead.

Take down what has hurt so many.

What has started and ended wars.

Leave our community to heal.

Hate has no place here.

In the yellow city.