doing it

Wearing ice skates at least eight sizes too big, Hank slid around the frozen lake a few weeks ago exclaiming, "I'm doing it!" 

He said it over and over again, announcing his perceived success on repeat. As he let go of stabilizing hands, as he lifted one foot to glide, as he lay on the ground in a heap of winter gear, "I'M DOING IT!"

This is what actually happened, but it's also a metaphor for my own winter survival skills. 

The snow is melting now, which means mounting slush pits and mounting melancholy.

Last week I ordered everything for taco soup except the ground meat, so that meal stalled. I stood at the stove anyway, tossing in things I did have on hand, hoping it'd taste alright and thinking "I'm doing it!"

I've been working on recording kindergarten lessons for an online program, trying to navigate a new platform and refresh any phonics knowledge I may have once had. I've also been helping the fourth grade rehearse Hamilton songs, as part of their American Revolution unit. Plus coordinating social calendars - invitations to birthday parties and CBJ games, jazz club and chess club and ski club and youth group and park play dates. I spiked Hank's bangs for spirit day this morning and remembered when the word aerosol referred exclusively to hair spray. I am trying desperately to put guardrails on a flexible, fully vaccinated schedule, to determine what is socially responsible and epidemiologically safe and emotionally necessary, and also to make dinner.

Most days seem to require more stores of patience, good cheer and coping skills than I have access to. 

Mid forties, mid winter and I've yet to find my footing. 

But I'm doing it, I think, borrowing those three words and holding them close.