Delay

The text came through five minutes ago: "The school district will be on a two hour delay tomorrow due to the sub zero temperatures." 

I exhaled.

Another morning of not having to leave the house until after 9. Of extra snuggles with my kids on the couch before they go to school. A little more of this frigid January that I can spend doing what January is meant for: resting.

This is our 3rd delay this week and our 4th in two weeks. I feel a bit of a wash of shame at my delight over it. Ashamed of the privilege implied by being able to spend the extra two hours at home instead of scrambling for child care. Ashamed of my lack of productivity, at the thrill with which I melt into nothingness. Ashamed and afraid that once again, I'm doing everything wrong.

What is wrong, exactly? Is there a right way to do life? And if so, how do I find it? Is there a way to know that what I'm doing, what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling, are the right things? I don't know. I doubt it really. Is it okay to be happy about things that also seem like faults? 

Is my whole life just one big delay, melting into the couch to avoid the cold out there? And when I get there (where??) will there be time to do the things I had planned? Or will it just be a lost day, year, life. 

Pick up

 I am sitting in my car in the pickup line at the Intermediate school. This is where I am at this time every day. Every day, I send my children into the lion's den, into this mask optional, quarantine optional school with 40 active positive covid cases. I grit my teeth every day and I send them in here because I cannot find any better option, but I am not yet ready to add school bus to the equation. So I sit in my car for half an hour every afternoon, securing my spot in line so that they never need to wait for me.

I am 4 hours into my audiobook. I'm starting to fill journals again. I've recently upped my meds and gone back to therapy. Right now, the sun is higher in the sky than it was when I sat here yesterday. And I'm writing. 

Two years ago, I was subbing in that school. I wasn't afraid of what my kids might catch there. I wasn't scanning my email for exposure letters, wasn't picking up the pieces from damage I did myself when trying to do what was best. 

It's been a long two years.  I think, in trying to just get through each day, I've lost the thread of things.

I think it's time to pick it back up.