COVID-19 Lockdown…With Kids.

Pre pandemic life was going well. I’m an at-home-parent with school-age kids, loving the school year when our house is empty for 7 hours during the day. There’s plenty of time for exercise, writing, and, hypothetically, an occasional Netflix binge. Or two… maybe a nap.

When Denver Public Schools cancelled the party, it wasn’t the end of the world. At home parenting at this stage can get lonely; it’s nice to have a house full of rowdy people, a break from our insane calendar, sleep in a little later, etc.

Then came online learning and the legal expectation that our children would continue their education – and I’d be in charge. If you’ve known me for any length of time, you’re laughing. The transition from, “Hey! Summertime’s starting early!” to “Hey! Let me plan your day and force you to do a bunch of stuff you don’t want to do” was tough.

I hate structure and routine, even more so when I have to force them on someone else. I’m 1/2 extrovert with a million hobbies and a raging case of ADD. The cold, icy fingers of my arch nemesis, Impulse Control, are never welcome.

Thankfully for everyone in this household, I’m married to someone with little tolerance for time wasting and bad grades. Over the years she’s helped me understand the role of healthy choices in the formation of our future adults. Now, in this current goat rodeo that we all find ourselves in, it’s more important than ever.

So, on the weekdays I get up 2 hours earlier than I would otherwise, cook breakfast, break up a million fights about nothing (our two youngest kids don’t have the best relationship), and get the day going.

The toughest things for my kids are the transitions between assignments. They finish one, I give them a break, then gently push them into the next thing. “What?” they say, every time, and “Ugh,” etc. Then, about 30 seconds into the next thing, they settle in and work hard to get things finished.

Our 9 year-old now loves the challenge of “Khan Academy” where she does math quizzes 30 minutes a day and gets to level up when things go well. Our youngest has turned out to be a hard worker, with high expectations of herself when it comes to school work.

I didn’t know this about my kids.

I’m thankful to witness it firsthand.

I’m also thankful for this latest brush with structure and routine. I know they’re good for me, and for our family. My wife’s approach to productive living is a Godsend.

I’m also learning that my personality has specific needs in a time like this. I’m a “7” on the Enneagram Institute’s personality scale, wired for fun, always in dire need of a party – the opposite end of the spectrum from my wife, who’s not a 7. After a long day of being dad, teacher, lunch lady, sherrif, etc., my soul is ready for something that more closely resembles a frat party.

As such, I’ve instituted the weekly, mandatory, holy observance of Grog Night. The only structure and routine here, my friends, is the amount of rum that goes into the Mai Tai’s.

In addition, I’m in need of some time to create things, armed with a ton of experience/skills and frequently distracted by the millions of possibilities there are in this world for DIY type projects.

Years ago, I got into Bonsai, i.e., small, very old trees that are grown and styled in shallow “pots” to look like minature versions of full grown trees. My first impression was that these were grown from seeds and passed from generation to generation. How else could one come to possess a 200 year-old japanese maple? When I learned, however, that the oldest trees are harvested from mountainous, rocky places, like, say, the Rocky Mountains, just down the street, I just about lost my mind.

I was hooked, and could be frequently found off-trail in the middle of nowhere, on the hunt for trophy material. My claim to fame is a 150 year old Ponderosa pine that I harvested back in 2017.

Last year, I drove our minivan up and down a 15 mile Jeep trail looking for trees. When I arrived home with a busted catalytic converter and multiple scratches (we call them “Colorado pinstripes”), Elaine suggested that we buy a Jeep. God love that woman.

Now, in the garage, is an old wreck from the ’70’s, torn apart and undergoing a full rebuild. There’s enough welding, grinding, painting, sandblasting, wiring, praying, and cursing to last me the next 3 pandemics.

It’s saving my soul.

But jeeze am I ever ready for this lockdown to be over. I worry about the essential workers on the front lines who might be exposed, and about those who were already struggling financially before this hit. At the same time, as the spouse/friend of the medical world, I’m hoping and praying that we move forward cautiously – if coronavirus intensifies in the US, things will get much worse.

For now, life feels a bit like prison, with one exception. Each night in Denver, around 8:00 PM, people walk out of their houses, into their yards, and howl, really loud, in support of Denver’s essential worker community. It’s one of the coolest, most unified things I’ve ever seen in my city.

It feels good, and a bit free.

When we care for each other like this, when I watch people put the value of others on display, it somehow makes me feel like I matter.

That’s also saving my soul.