You’re doing it all. 

You’re never alone.

Making sure they sleep enough and eat well and get some time outdoors and enough exercise, fresh air, and fresh ginger tea.

You’re ordering organic veggies from farm fresh. 

You try to avoid the supermarket, but every week there are a few things you really need, so you brave it, and you go. 

You’re cooking so many meals a day, your hands feel numb.

You’re weeding the little piece of earth you can’t call a garden, but you have to plant some vegetables – It’s time. 

You’re cleaning the house and somehow it’s always dirty. 

You’re doing the laundry.

And you say fuck it to folding it. 

You’re now homeschooling your children. Maybe you even love it. Then it makes you feel like a failure. Then you see that they flourish. Then they throw a tantrum. So you say fuck this shit and you take them on a long walk. The trees in your neighborhood are wearing more leaves every day. You notice. Your kids don’t. 

Spring expresses itself regardless of the Virus. 

Your children express themselves regardless of the virus. 

You want to have a dance party but it’s dinner time before you even have time to clean up the dishes from lunch. 

You’re full of ideas but have no time to act upon them.

You want to reach out and Facetime with friends, but every day you get to midnight and say: tomorrow. 

You order more books because you should have time to read, right?. It’s a joke you keep playing on yourself. 

You set up play dates on facetime for one kid, thinking you might be able to fold the laundry while listening to a lecture. The other kid wants a story. And a cuddle. Fuck folding laundry. The lecture will wait for the late night dishwashing. 

“Can I go inside a big car, with a door, and close it, and go somewhere?” asks the almost three year old. An LA and native. He’s missing his time in the car. 

You do yoga in the mornings with at least one kid on your back. 

Your core strengthens. 

Your meditation is basically you sitting on the floor with your eyes closed, trying to recite a mantra while answering the questions your kids keep asking you, as they run around you in circles, throw legos at each other, and complain that they are hungry.

You breathe.

You smile.

You cry.

You’re grateful.

You’re worried.

You’re feeling alive. 

You love your life.

You’re actually inspired.

You’re also really tired.

And scared.

And also strong. 

And you have no moments to call your own. 

And there are nights when all you wanna do is watch Netflix – everyone is talking about all the shows they’re watching – but you feel obliged to follow your creative spark, your vision, your muse, so you push netflix to the weekend.

The weekend comes and you’re too tired to relax and watch Netflix. 

You’re cooking more meals. And cleaning more surfaces. Putting more orders in. Doing more laundry. Not folding it. Cuddling. Teaching math. Reading stories. Doing yoga with at least one kid on your back. Trying to meditate. Going on walks. Being the ground. Breathing. Grateful. Calling your parents. Hugging your kids. 

And sending love to anyone who feels lonely right now.