The kids have moved on.

I agonized for weeks before camp last summer. 

I couldn’t imagine what it would be like for all of us to wear masks- kids unable to see my expressions, me struggling to fully hear what they were saying. I was certain they would be too hot wearing masks, and would struggle to keep them on all day… but I also knew it was critically important. 

So I braced myself and was met by… nothing. A few kids needed help learning to wear them snugly, but no one complained. 

The kids didn’t care about masks.

Well, no one except for me. 

I noticed my complaining when 3rd grade Stella told me that she could see how much I didn’t like wearing masks, and that she’d ask her mom to send me a mask like hers, because it “was so soft and easy to breathe in.”

When school started in the fall, I felt an enormous weight about how much the kids were losing, and I over-thought ways to help it feel “normal.” We bought outdoor camping desks and rolled out whiteboards on the lawn. We bungee corded our TVs to carts and rolled them out, too. 

Class outside? OK. The kids were good with it.

Because outside was outside, it was loud, there were bugs, and the wind dramatically blew over our unanchored whiteboards daily. I responded by obsessing over the weather, buying voice amplifiers for teachers, and fighting with five tents that gave way in one unremarkably stormy night. 

The kids weren’t bothered. They laughed at loud leaf blowers and waved to speeding cars. One kid suggested I get “those big heavy bags of sand” for the whiteboards. I did. They worked.

Eventually, in early November, when it became clear that COVID was not transmitting wildly in school, I brought everyone inside, but kept the windows open for airflow. I felt terrible. These poor kids were so cold. They kept their hats and coats on inside, but didn’t complain. When our drama teacher knit them all fingerless mittens so they could stay warm and easily use their Chromebooks, they were thrilled that someone hand-made a gift for them, and eagerly chose a color. 

I knew in my gut that we would see COVID numbers spike dramatically through the holidays, and while I really didn’t want to do it, I felt that remote learning for the two weeks before and after holiday vacation would keep us all safe. I broke it to the kids gently, assured them that it wouldn’t be permanent, and offered a Minecraft server as a project to keep us all connected. They had a couple of questions about the remote learning plan, but most focused (with enthusiasm!) on the Minecraft server. 

Coats indoors? That’s fine.

When we returned to school after our remote period, I took a cue from public schools, swapping class rotation for individual workstations- this meant that the kids would have to stay put in one room all day. 

At the end of the first week, I told them that I wanted to use this model for just a while longer, until the numbers dipped down again. One sixth grader laughed about how we all know what “‘the numbers’ mean now, and isn’t that so funny? Numbers used to be numbers, but now they have a different meaning!” Another boy let me know that he really didn’t mind staying in one place, it was kind of nice for a change.

I told this story aloud on a hike this weekend, and suddenly noticed that all along, while my focus has been on the kids, I have been the one who is stuck:

• I worried about masks. 

• I tried to psychically control the weather. 

• I felt guilty about indoor coats, home learning, and individual work stations. 

But every time we have been met with a new situation, the kids adjusted, and moved on… It was me who was grieving “normal.”

As always, when I just keep my mouth shut and my eyes and ears open, the kids show me the way.

Our “normal” is gone. A lot of it won’t come back. Our kids understand this. For some of them, the old “normal,” at least the day-to-day feeling of it, has mostly faded. Now is what is normal. 

We adults are the ones struggling. And I’m starting to fear that if we decide to stay stuck, the kids will follow our lead and get stuck too. I don’t want that.

It’s a new week. I’m following the kids.