Big Emotions

 10 weeks.  

That's how long it's been since classroom learning ended for the year and distance learning began.  How long it's been since children across the area have seen their friends and teachers in person.  How long it's been since we've been stuck in limbo in our homes.  

7 days.  

That's how long we've got until our school year officially ends.  How long until Gerry is officially a 2nd grader and Bailey is officially a middle schooler.  How long until whatever summer break is supposed to look like begins.  

And I'm so angry.  And sad.  And confused.  A little worried.

I feel like we were cheated out of the end of the school year and all the excitement and happiness that goes along with it.  When distance learning began back in March, I hated it.  With a passion.  I had no clue what I was doing when I began, no clue how to keep my kids focused and actually learning, and no way to tell whether they were actually learning anything or not.  I hated taking hours every day to get my kids distance learning in.  I hated trying to keep the big kids focused on their work while keeping Lincoln and my daycare kid occupied and away from the learning space.  I hated that I had no help from Scott because he was working and doing distance learning lessons and classes for his students.  I just hated it all.  And I hated it every day.  Right up until today.  

This morning we had to return the kids' iPads to school.  We picked up the iPads a few months ago so the kids could use them for their distance learning lessons, and I wasn't quite prepared for how emotional I would feel about returning them.  These iPads were used to complete lessons online, yes, but they were also used for Google class meetings.  Twice a week, the kids were able to meet as a group with their teachers.  They read books, talked about what they've been doing since being at home, played games.  It was a way for everyone to stay connected while not being allowed in the classroom.  It wasn't as good as being in the classroom or being able to play with friends on the playground, but it was the best we were gonna get and my kids looked forward to their meetings every week.

Last Thursday was Gerry's last class meeting on Google.  His teacher read the class a book, the gym teacher played a game with them, and then both teachers talked about how much they were going to miss the kids.  It was really sweet.  Then, as they were all saying their goodbyes for the last time, one of the girls started crying.  Not small tears, but big gasping sobs, and she wouldn't sign off the meeting.  The teacher kept telling her "It's okay, I miss you, I love you, I can't wait to visit you next year" and it hit me just how important this all was for these kids.  

I love our elementary school, everything about it.  The teachers are absolutely phenomenal, the principal is amazing, and there's a comfort and a feeling of welcome and camaraderie that is hard to find in larger schools.  Our school is considered low income and a very large percentage of the kids rely on school for steady meals.  Often, the teacher is their main source of comfort and normalcy from August until June.  This year, though, the kids lost all of that.  Schools closed for the year  due to Covid-19 on March 13th. For a lot of kids, especially those in our town, that was the very last day that anything was "normal" for them.  Quarantine and coronavirus are scary enough for a young child to grasp, but on top of it all many of them lost the only constant in their day to day lives when school closed fairly unexpectedly for the year.  Our district continued to hand out meals daily for every child in the district who needed one, which was amazing.  But human connection is just as important as being fed and these poor kids didn't get that they way they've been used to and I can only imagine how hard it's been for them.

The time right after spring break and straight through to the beginning of June is such an exciting time for kids.  The workload is lessening, it's getting warmer and sunnier outside, and there's just a general feeling of lightness.  The students and the teachers know that summer break is coming and it makes the next few weeks much more enjoyable.  

In Gerry's final meeting last week, his teacher mentioned something about the kids "coming downstairs" to visit her next year and it really hit me.  It seems so unimportant and not at all a big deal, but once the kids in our elementary hit second grade, their classrooms are all upstairs on the second floor.  Pre-k, Kindergarten, and 1st grade all have their classes on the first floor.  Moving up to the second floor means they're older, they're moving up, they're becoming more responsible.  They're not the "little guys" in the school anymore.  And I didn't even realize it until his teacher said something.

As for Bailey...well, I'm heartbroken for her.  The move from elementary school to middle school is a big deal in our district.  The 4th graders have a day at the end of the year where they get to visit all the teachers in the building to say goodbye.  They go from our tiny elementary school where they've all been together since Kindergarten to the middle school, where FOUR other elementary schools in the district join them.  It's much, much bigger, they have lockers and multiple teachers and more responsibility, and it's just a whole new world for them that they're missing out on getting acclimated to this year.  They have a day where they ride the bus to the middle school and get to spend the day shadowing a student, checking out the cafeteria and the lockers and the gym and pool.  This year, they had to settle for a virtual tour on their iPads.  Their teachers have done everything possible to make the end of the year as wonderful as possible for them, but they've all missed out on that sense of closure that comes with a normal ending of the school year.

When the kids all left their classrooms on March 12th, everyone assumed they'd be back in 2 weeks and would pick up right where they left off.  Instead, coronavirus and quarantine, took that away.  They didn't get to say a proper goodbye and thank you to their teacher or their friends.  They've missed out on the sense of fun and excitement that permeates every school for the last month or so of the year.  They've missed the Father-Daughter Dance, Mother-Son Night, Field Day, field trips, middle school visits ,Moving Up Ceremony, and weeks and weeks of fun and memories with friends with whom they've spent the majority of their awake hours for the last 4 years and who they may not get a chance to really get to know in their middle school years.  And that breaks my heart, especially for the 4th graders and their teachers. {Seniors...oh my goodness, Seniors. I can’t even begin to imagine how shitty this is for you. You have my sincerest sympathy.}

And, yeah, in the grand scheme of things this is just a blip on the radar and so many others have it worse.  But as a mom?  As the one who raised these kids from birth until this very moment, and been there for all the moments in between?  These moments are everything.  And I feel like we've all been cheated out of them this year, and writing about it is how I'm dealing with my emotions about it without completely losing my shit. This morning I traded in the kids' iPads for bags of their belongings that were left in their desks and classrooms when school closed unexpectedly this year.  Those bags were yet another reminder of what we've all missed out on. 

I know that a few years from now we'll remember 2020 and make jokes about how we were all quarantined for a few months of it.  These moments that feel so big right now won't be such a big deal then, and we'll (hopefully) be able to laugh at how silly and over-the-top we made it all out to be.  But right now, these emotions are still big, and the loss is still fresh, and I've learned that when it all feels too heavy to go through sometimes the only thing to do is to embrace the emotion and hang on until you're through it.  So here we are, just hanging on.