Winging It: Motherhood and a Global Pandemic


I just sat through a video conference with a lighting bolt sticker stuck to my neck. On my neck y’all. I haven’t determined if I looked more like an exhausted Thor or a prison inmate. I put on mascara. I put on earrings. I haven’t looked that put together in weeks, yet there it was in its bright holographic glory: a lightning bolt sticker.

I have learned a few things over the last few weeks, and I am continuing to keep notes, trust me. I find it interesting in a society where everyone is “keeping up with the Joneses,” it’s nice to see most people completely exposing their insecurities. Not everyone, not all the time, but so many people are completely lost (me y’all, I am lost) and it is totally okay.

At the beginning of this huge movement to a slower existence, I would wake up in the morning, rushing to get the kids on the bus.


It took about three days and a box of kleenex to overcome the fact that our family’s routine would be “recalculating” like a GPS confused about its direction. I thrive on structure. I thrive on consistency. I thrive on lists. I might as well have cut up the first half of my 2020 planner and used it for confetti… but let’s be real, I don’t really do confetti.

You know when you get on an airplane and they tell you in case of emergency, put your mask on first? Let’s just say, I am the idiot that would not be cool under pressure. You learn a lot about yourself during a pandemic. No, I didn’t buy Costco out of their toilet paper supply, and no I didn’t buy a hazmat suit. I did what any other retired teacher mom would do: I bought out teacher supply stores and fruit snacks. We would get through this with worksheets and high fructose corn syrup. Hey, you lead with what you know.

I see moms on social media with charts and interactive daily crafts and tuning in with zoos all around the world or coding incredible tech lessons on computers.

Guys, come on. The baby was in pajamas until 2 p.m., the 5-year-old has eaten an ungodly amount of processed-red dye #5-cereal circa 2018, the 9-year-old is probably wearing the same socks from last week that are as stiff as a pair of tennis shoes, and I think the oldest one is ready to move out at 11 and give up on me as a parent. I’m kidding. Kind of. I think the 5-year-old ate a bean today… so there’s hope.

We are blazing trails here, moms.

This is new territory for us all. Have you ever parented through a global pandemic? Heck, me either! Every day is a new day as a mom, and I learn from my kids and myself what the reality should actually look like. As long as our kids know they are fiercely loved, protected and that they feel safe from the craziness that looms outside our doorsteps, then we have done our jobs!

Maybe, just perhaps, we will all deserve a lightning bolt sticker at the end of this pandemic saga… after all, moms are superheroes.