If We Were Having Coffee And A Timeout

If we were having coffee these days, it would probably be whipped coffee on a zoom meeting.

I’ve tried two of those, zoom meetings. With the camera off. That might defeat the purpose or whatever. But I don’t need to see the size of my pores or feel bad about my chins.

A few weeks ago, I might have mentioned that my kid cut my husband’s hair. I suggested that she go from the ends, but what do I know? She cut a sizeable chunk from the top, but it’s like who’s going to see you?

She was obsessed with making it even, which I suppose is a good quality to have. But she fell asleep before she could finish her masterpiece.

And last week she got a home haircut, too. Literally chopped off her pony tail. With her permission. And now things are bouncing, I guess.

No one has touched my head. Yet.

Actual nostalgic haircuts can be found here.

And I have tried whipped coffee, though. So that’s a band-wagon to jump on.

I liked it for five seconds until I stirred it. And then it was just iced coffee. Which is delicious. But not new.

Another thing that’s new and also not new is I’m working on a new writing project. I haven’t told many people, and I’m not sure what it is, but there’s words.

I need a project in times of crisis and weirdness, otherwise anxiety wins.

So, I’m working on something. I’m also trying to keep my kid happy, and home-schooled.

We’re also watching family movies, and Isla makes me drive over bubblewrap, because that’s fun for everyone.

And then we watch true crime stuff, not with the kid. But I use true crime to unwind. I legit spend my late nights shouting at my laptop (where I watch TV) ‘I should have been A LAWYER. Because (lack of) EVIDENCE, you asshole.’

And I’m stressing. Because after all the snacks, and the three pages a day, (that I’m writing, in different colors to keep me focused) and the wipeable maths book (the one Isla asked for and her eyes lit up when Neil brought it home. Who’s child is this? His, I s’pose.) and the dancing and the yelling, and the masking and the hand-washing, are we doing enough? Where is this going? And can everyone just stay home?

Like yesterday, Isla told me to go to my room. ‘You need a timeout’, she said. She’d taken all the cushions off the couch and was flipping. I let her, because obviously we haven’t found a gymnastics class and because well, she can.

‘Please don’t break yourself,’ I ask her. I also pray to the rental deposit gods that she doesn’t put her foot through the wall, because we don’t own this house. This is not our house.

So, my kid sent me to my room. Where I stayed. Read my book, drank my coffee. I hid. And I breathed. And I went out again. Into the living room.

My point is this, we are enough. And if you need a timeout, take one. In whatever room you can find, doing whatever you do, with whatever beverage you want.

And don’t forget to breathe.

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