Life has been tough.

I used to pick a smallish, easy thing I accomplished each day so that I could cal the day a Win. If I had a little cluster of wins, so much the better. Those things you put on your to-do list that are already done, to have the satisfaction of crossing them off? They are fair game for Wins.

Days of homeschool stretch out. Projects, inspiration, and ideas languish. Dinner doesn’t get made (again), and there is little mental bandwidth to spare.

I used to text the Chaplain early in the day after a few small wins (I finished school with one of the kids! I fixed something! I started dinner! I paid a bill!) and I would tell him, no matter what I tell you later, remind me that I declared this day a win.

It’s harder to find Wins lately. It’s not that they aren’t happening. Today, I finished school with two of my students early in the day with very little struggle. That would normally count as a win. I even did a Craft with those two students. A craft! Scissors, glue, multiple pieces of paper, and googly eyes. No one cried, and the results were super cute.

That is a big win.

But I let the Other Stuff that happened today drown it out.

The phone call I got from the state this morning confirming my experience and availability to help as an RN during the current crisis, and the question they asked that I answered incorrectly.

The truly disturbing news headlines that keep populating in my browser.

The way my tween daughter has been taking her frustration about our isolation out on me, every word she says to me tinged with contempt.

The hazy unknown of the coming weeks and months.

Our truck, in the shop for an oil change, also now needs a new transmission.

Living in a house scattered with crumbs, dirty socks, and spilled milk.

A sore throat from calling people’s names and shouting at them, too.

A broken refrigerator.

I’m working tonight and tomorrow night. I can’t remember the last time I worked two nights in a row, and it will be a challenge.

Sometimes all your creativity has bled out into the repetitive mundane, now tinged with fear over the present and future that you have no control over. Projects lie untouched. Books unfinished. You’ve washed your hands for the 78,532nd time, and still, it’s probably not enough.

I’m tired of hearing people say, “stay home and stay safe!” As a health care worker married to a health care worker and parent of a teenager who is not consistently practicing the guidelines to prevent the spread of the virus, my home doesn’t feel safe, and neither does my job.

I’ll pull up my big girl pants and do my job tonight. I’ll sleep, and do it again. Then I’ll get up and try to parent my kids, who will call me Dad for three days after that.

We’re all doing this. But it’s hard. I miss my pre-COVID-19 self-care regimen, and I’m having trouble setting up a new one that works for me. It took YEARS to cobble together something that worked and I know I won’t be getting together a substitute in just a couple of weeks’ time.

I miss the library. I miss my husband being able to take the kids to the playground so I could have a little time at home, alone. I miss Normal.

I know you miss it, too.