The Last Day of School

Today is the last day of school... but like no last day of school anyone in any time could ever have imagined.  There were no last-day-of-school photos or announcements or gatherings or celebrations.  Krinkeland is all home tonight, under our roof, safe, and that is what matters most.

Amanda is done with high school.  She took an online math final, I think (or was that yesterday?) and then spent the day working at the animal shelter.  She had her evening at home.  There was no field party... or all-night lock-in... or even a blasted sleepover.  Amanda got the text from Mom, warning of curfews and the threat of unrest, and she returned from work, ate carryout pizza, took a bath, and talked online with a friend.

Elisabeth is still finishing online learning assignments tonight, because she is a procrastinator.  She got out for a few hours this afternoon to celebrate a friend's birthday.  She hasn't seen a single friend in several months.  It was a small group, gathered outdoors.  I think they still followed the safe-at-home orders... I don't know anymore... and I am really not sure it matters.



Benjamin finished his online schooling, got his grades, and went on a bike ride.  Two friends ended up coming back here and they swam until they turned blue.  They are now officially calling themselves eighth graders.  They think they're big stuff.  They were the reason behind the pizza order.



Madeline was technically done with school yesterday.  The baby is done with elementary school.  She FaceTimed with friends today and watched too much YouTube.  She hovered over my desk regularly, asking when I would be done with work.  Grandma brought them Taco Bell for lunch, and that was the big acknowledgment of the end of a bizarre, bereft school year.



I didn't even really see my kids; I was so overwhelmed with work.  The only exchange I had during the day was with Ben, when he reported his final grades and I scolded him for the one A- he got.  I am not proud of that.  This is not an excuse, but it is the truth: We are under state stay-at-home orders amidst a global, viral pandemic.  And, now, we are also under curfew imposed by state and local authorities, after four Minneapolis police officers murdered a black man.  His name is George Floyd, though we will never forget it.

A friend texted me yesterday, as the riots and looting were spreading across both Twin Cities and into the surrounding areas.  She asked if I was at work and what I knew.  It was days and hours into continuous breaking news and minutes before the start of my newscast.  I said, "Of course, I'm working. Just stay the F home. Stay home and stay safe."  She heeded my words, assured me she and everyone she loves is home and safe.  All I could do was make sure my loves were doing the same here.

Today, while not celebrating the kids' last day of school and not being the mother they need and deserve, the doorbell rang.  (The doorbell never rings anymore... everyone is on lockdown, and staying the F home.)  It was flowers for me.  My husband delivered them to my desk with coffee, before turning to order the pizza and parent the children.  It was several more hours before I broke away for the restroom and took a moment to read the card.



I wept.  I do that a lot lately.  I have cried for George Floyd every day this week; it doesn't fix anything.  Then, I went back to work.

Eventually, I begged off... it was a 12-hour day following not much sleep the night before... and I am not young.  I am drained.  I am worried about my babies.  I want to do better by everyone, for everyone.

I made it to the deck as the sun was setting and the last three squares of pizza were congealing.  I let Maddy pick the board game... but I didn't let her win.  And now, I am going to collapse into my pillow, after one more round of hugs.  They need hugs.  I need my kids.  Stay safe and stay the F home.  I don't know how we're going to get through this, but I sure want the opportunity to try.