teachable

Not yet noon and we've paused to google whether rhinoceroses are related to triceratops, only a few minutes later asking Siri to myth-bust ear wig "facts."  There were balls in the kitchen at breakfast, related to the distance of the moon and the rate of speed it's traveling as it moves toward earth. Or something. 
Last week was a self-directed report about guerrilla warfare and Mao Zedong and Huey helicopters, which turned into a math lesson comparing numbers of deaths between war and covid19. 

There may be more teachable moments than there are opinions about hybrid versus remote learning.

The boys are joyful and resilient, they climb trees and correctly identify obscure insects.

We are trying to look ahead at the new school year with more curiosity and less panic. We are all going to learn something, that's for sure.

Can we raise them, somehow, outside the cult of selfishness?  Can we teach them how to roast a marshmallow right, to delay gratification.  How to dig a hole, to write a poem, to bake bread?

I find myself trying to manage unfamiliar feelings through the rearranging of objects, the ordering of things, right shoe then left, lining up the laptops and organizing the tupperware, smallest to biggest. Inside-outing the dirty laundry, following the rules as if it will keep us safe, as if it could bring her back, as if we're earning points, as if it even matters.

No one is achieving amazing things here. We'll save that for another school year. Or something.

The months ahead are going to be hard for lots of reasons, relentless generalized anxiety notwithstanding, and I want our home (and our home-school) to be a place of peace and comfort and connection. I have my own work to do.
The days may feel more liquid than solid, a vast a spreading goo, unmanageable. It's okay if we're not sure what's next, that it might be something unexpected.

None of us expected this.