Right now, there are leaves swirling around my living room. The other day, we made yet another trip through the drive-thru (a frequent occurrence these days), and my son insisted on bringing his comforter along for the ride. Normally, I’d roll my eyes and urge him to leave his bedding where it belongs, free from spills and crumbs. But honestly, what else does he have to look forward to during these monotonous afternoons? Not much, really.
So, I let him take it, and predictably, he dragged it through the garage and into the car, bringing some outdoor debris with him—some leaves, a few sticks, and a couple of pine needles. And you know what? I couldn’t care less. The mess on my floor reminds me of carefree drives on sunny days, munching on fries in parking lots.
The pandemic has shifted my perspective on life. Perhaps it’s because I’ve learned to appreciate the present moment or because I’m cooped up with my kids constantly, saving my energy for the battles that actually matter. I realize I’ve got all the time in the world to tackle chores or even shave my legs, so there’s no rush.
A bigger factor might be that the initial stress of this chaotic situation drained me completely. To cope, I’ve adopted a more relaxed, carefree approach—almost like a dude. My laundry pile isn’t as organized as it used to be, and my pantry is stocked with frozen pizzas, burritos, cookie-coated ice cream bars, and all the ingredients for nachos, not to mention every variety of ramen imaginable.
Sure, I used to encourage my kids to eat fruits and veggies and attempt decent meals, but this is quarantine. We’re at home all day, uncertain of when life will return to normal. If my son wants to grab his leftover soda and heat up some chicken nuggets from last night’s fast food outing, more power to him. He deserves it. Frankly, I can’t keep up with the pressure to be “the perfect mom” right now.
My daily attire has become a sweatshirt and underwear—because I can. At this moment, I’m wearing my son’s sweatshirt since it’s the only clean one available. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve stepped outside in my underwear since the stay-at-home order began.
The other day, I saw a news segment about replacing toothbrushes every three weeks, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Our toothbrushes are perfectly fine since my kids and I haven’t interacted with anyone else in weeks, and keeping up with that guideline just isn’t feasible.
When emails from my kids’ teachers arrive, notifying me of missing assignments, I simply forward them and tell my kids to handle it. No sweat, no fuss. My children hardly recognize the mom who used to be uptight, constantly hovering and striving to keep everything pristine and orderly.
What I’ve embraced instead is a lifestyle filled with soda, casual belching, and a little more ramen than I care to admit. I don’t have the energy to color-code their school schedules or clean out the pantry. Our wardrobe choices have greatly expanded, and I plan to enjoy that freedom. I won’t be changing the toilet paper roll if I don’t feel like it because, in the grand scheme, it’s just not a big deal. Whoever uses the bathroom next can figure that out.
This newfound approach feels liberating. Parenting during a pandemic doesn’t come with a manual, and each day, I’m just trying to survive while doing what feels right in the moment. I remind myself of my ex-husband quite a bit—and honestly? I don’t mind it.
Society has long burdened moms with the expectation of doing it all: bringing home the bacon, cooking, cleaning, and ensuring everything runs smoothly while caring for the kids. I fell into that trap, as many women do, assuming someone had to hold everything together. Men, however, seem less weighed down by the judgment that comes from not cooking or cleaning after a long day at work.
This trend of overextension has been exhausting, but breaking free from it has been refreshing, even if it took a pandemic for me to realize it. Yes, I want this all to be over; I care about my kids’ well-being and crave normalcy. Who knows if I’ll revert to my anxious self once this is over? For now, I relish not worrying about how many veggies my kids are consuming or scrutinizing their every move.
In this moment, life looks like ice cream for dinner and popcorn as a bedtime snack. It means an overflowing laundry basket and questionable fashion choices. This is my best self right now, enjoying the freedom of disregarding anyone’s expectations but my own—and it’s just fine.
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