Hey Parents: Our kids are listening.

The photo above may not mean anything to you, and that’s okay but it means literally everything to me. Let me explain.

Like so many of you, the recent pandemic has upended our normal life. Our daughter no longer goes to school or daycare. Under normal circumstances, I already work from home but have surrendered the official office space to my husband, and I’m now conducting what feels like hundreds of virtual work meetings a day from the comfort/lack of comfort of our dining room.

The scene is messy, I’ll be honest. Papers litter the countertops, cords everywhere. It all gets piled on each other at the end of the day when we convert office back to a working kitchen, and then spread back out the next day. Normalcy is gone and I’m having trouble even remembering what it feels like.

Where’s that pen? My notebook? Is this meeting on TEAMS or Zoom or WebEx? How did I get double-booked and Why is this day taking so long and How is it already almost over?

The good news is the coffee machine is now at arms reach and the fridge about ten steps away. And the other good news, yet a difficult part, is that through the kitchen I can see our five-year-old in the living room, with her ABC Mouse or PBS Kids, or with her workbooks and crayons and baby dolls trying her best to play independently while not being ignored.

A schedule hangs on the door of the fridge, signaling meal times. That, I can say for certain, is being ignored. We’re doing our best. You are too.

We’re operating in different spaces, mentally and physically all-day long until we come together at the end of muddling through the chaos, getting back to our few hours of what sort of feels like normal until we rest our heads on our pillows that night.

I know I’m not alone here. There’s comfort and uncomfortableness in that.

One evening, I was talking with a friend on the phone about potential layoffs at her company, how things were going where I work, and just life and parenting overall. Elsie, our five-year-old, hands me the note you see above. “Mommy, I wrote you a letter.”

I replied. “Thanks love. I am so proud of you with how well you wrote your name!” and was back to my conversation with my friend.

“Mom! Do you know what it says?”

No. (I mean, what does she want it to say?)

“It says - Mom, I know work is really hard right now and just tell me how I can help you.”

I melted, right there on the floor of my new office/old kitchen. It was time for a heart to heart.

First of all, I felt so proud of the empathy this little person was showing in this true and honest moment. And secondly, I felt the whip of the world right there, realizing how much of my every day she was listening to, absorbing. I felt, quite honestly, that during those hundreds of virtual meetings she was so tuned into her living-room activities that she wasn’t listening to mine.

I was wrong.

Parents, our kids are listening more than we know. They’re listening especially close right now, as their worlds have turned upside down too and they’re working to make sense of it all, just like we are. They’re listening for clues, for pieces to the puzzle, to shape their reality of life. How they shape it will inform their memories of this time, and quite possibly the actions and reactions in the future. So yes, they’re listening.

I’m not saying let’s stop talking or start hiding what’s happening in the world around us. I’m actually arguing for the opposite. I’m just hoping that the lens we view our struggles through is one of optimism, of truth, and is met with all of the things we want to instill in our children - resilience, faith, trust and hope. And of course, belief that no matter the barrier, we can get through hard things together.

All of this happened a couple of weeks ago, and just today Elsie and I were having a conversation about my pregnant belly growing bigger and bigger. I pointed it out and said “Look how big our baby is making my tummy, Elsie.” with a warm smile and a hand to my middle.

She replied, “…and your legs too, mom!”

I really wanted to roll my eyes, say something self-deprecating about the growing thickness of my thighs. I looked into her green eyes and took a breath. There’s no way I could spoil this sweet moment for her, or for myself really by doing that. And I’m so glad I pivoted from that dark space to one of light.

“Well a growing belly needs strong legs to support it, don’t you think?”

She agreed, and we went on with our day.

Parents, we can’t control everything and in fact, we can control very little. The world is moving fast and it feels like those things we can control are slipping through our fingers like sand, so fast and unmanageable. Nobody is going to swim through these uncharted waters perfectly, and so we have to give ourselves a little grace. But remember this, and I really believe it - we control the narrative. We control our reactions. And that’s a good thing because there are people watching and listening with a whole lot at stake.

XO

Meagan