Finally.

Today is the very last day of remote learning for my children. On Monday, they go back to school full-time. With their whole class. In person. With their real, live teacher in front of them. And their classmates beside them.

Finally.

Finally.

An entire YEAR of learning disrupted by a global virus.

An entire year of development broken as we all focused on staying alive.

This is the end.

Remote learning has been hard on me. And if I’m being honest, I don’t really think I knew quite how hard it was on me until recently. It is a known fact that mothers of most species will set aside their own feelings in favor of the well-being of her children. It is primal. It is instinctual. It is survival. In hindsight, I’m not sure how I survived this last year – literally and figuratively. But somehow, together, we have made it to the end.

No more…

Reminder alarms set to log into google meets.

Coordinating babysitters constantly.

“SHIT! You’re late to your google meet!! Drop everything and log in and apologize to your teacher!!!! DAMNIIITTTTT”

Gym class in the dining room.

Forcing my daughter to leave her siblings playing outside in the sunshine to come inside the house and log into class.

Hissing at my kids to pay attention to their teacher on the computer.

Snatching my two year old just out of camera view and putting pants on him before the teacher catches sight of the family jewels….again.

“Mommy, where’s the expo?” “Mommy, where are the dice?” “Mommy, where is the black marker?” “Mommy, where is the glue?” “Mommy, I need marbles.” “Mommy, I need coins.” “Mommy, I need a white board.” “Mommy, I don’t have my writing journal.” “Mommy, I don’t have my math games.” “Mommy, I clicked the wrong thing.” “Mommy, my computer died during my Google Meet.” “Mommy, never mind.”“Mommy, the printer is out of paper.”

Plugging in each Chromebook long past bedtime because I know they forgot again and it’s not worth the lesson in the morning.

GoNoodle movement breaks.

“Alexa, set a Lexia timer for 20 minutes”.

Being trapped and unable to go anywhere because the kids are in school, at home.

Unfinished assignments.

Meltdowns over Google Classroom disruptions.

Trying to take conference calls while my kid needs help.

Typing emails while my kid needs help again.

On the phone with a client while my kid need help, yet again.

Closing my computer and ignoring my work calls because my kid. Needs help. Again.

Arguments over assignment interpretation.

Screaming at each other because way too many things are happening at once.

Separating because everyone needs to cool down.

Apologizing because this isn’t fair for anyone.

Crying together, in a deep embrace, again. And again. And again. And again. and again. And again. Because five and seven year old children are not meant to be sitting alone, learning through a computer. And because I am sorry for yelling and she is sorry and she doesn’t even know why.

This is finally the end.

Over the last few days I’ve found myself randomly breaking into soft tears. I often do this thing where, when something seems too good to be true, I sort of refuse to let my mind believe that it is happening. I think I’ve been doing that thing with the impending return to school. Apparently it’s time to address this. So like, why am I crying. Am I sad? I love my kids something fierce and maybe I am actually sad for them to go back full time. I sat with that thought for a moment but it didn’t feel right. A few hours later and the next onset of tears came rolling in. Breathe. I am not sad that they’re going back to school. Breathe. I am not happy to have them gone from the house. Breathe, breathe….wait, I am relieved. My body and my mind are literally crying spontaneous tears of relief.

A massive weight is being lifted off of my shoulders, and I am grateful, but I am also not naive to what this past year has shown me. We were all thrown for a loop last March when the schools shut down for a two-week deep clean….and then never reopened. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how enthusiastically I began printing out assignments for my kids off the internet, setting boundaries, and snack limits and learning schedules for my kids. It was also, “5o’clock somewhere” around noon each day, as my job came to a screeching halt for about a month. It was almost fun, and the sense of pride and accomplishment each day was invigorating. But it didn’t last. My work picked right back up, summer flew by as we were unable to go basically anywhere or see anyone, and September came quickly. I tried to make it fun with new desks, new computers, new teachers and a new schedule, but my kids weren’t fooled. And yet, they thrived. Having only owned one mask per kid all summer, we finally bit the bullet about bought several masks. We loaded up on hand sanitizer, and purchased individual crayons, scissors, glue, etc for each kid as they were suddenly not permitted to share. And yet, they thrived. “Back to school” was weird, and my kids are no dummies. They knew. And yet, they thrived.

I have always thought highly of my children. (Who doesn’t) But, wow. These kids have been forced to adapt to a new normal and they have thrived. They have excelled. They have smiled through the better part of this disaster and they have shown us that flexibility and adaptability are fundamental necessities. They are naturals. Children naturally modify their daily life based on the information set forth in front of them. A baby does not know that ice cream exists and therefore he is pleased by the sweet potato. A toddler does not know that theme parks exist and therefore she is pleased by the playground. A child does not know that normal exists and therefore they are adapt naturally to the changes.

I know that my kids would probably be a little further ahead academically if they’d had a more typical school year, but what they have been forced to gain as human beings will be infinitely more valuable. They have grown more psychologically than most adults do in an decade. They have adapted and adjusted, and I have had the absolute honor of witnessing an entire year of their growth academically and emotionally.

I am overwhelmingly relieved that this is over, but I am equally honored to have witnessed my children’s academic and emotional growth first-hand. Today, after school, we will close our computers, retire our desks, pack our backpacks with an extra mask for Monday, and celebrate the end.

It is indeed a very, very, very Good Friday.