Seven Months Into the Pandemic and I’m…Still Waiting For My Kids To Change A Roll Of Toilet Paper.
In January of 2016, I posted a photo on Facebook of an empty toilet paper roll. Feeling sarcastic and witty, I wrote, “I wonder if 2016 will be the year my kids learn how to change a roll of toilet paper. Fingers crossed.”
I wish I could chat with younger me and tell her to keep her expectations low.
For the record, my children are not prehistoric monsters. They have their faults, sure, but they enjoy modern scientific advancements like cooked meat, hand soap, and electricity. They’ve never contracted scurvy, so that’s a win.
My kids are also not lazy. They have plenty of motivation to plead with me for an extension on their curfews; they have an abundance of energy to argue with each other about phone charging cords; and their “can’t stop, won’t stop” attitude over who gets the last slice of pizza leaves me speechless.
I do have high expectations for my kids. When they each turned 12, one of their birthday presents was an introduction to the washer and dryer. They were officially responsible for their own laundry from that day forward. And while they sometimes leave the house in still-damp, wrinkled attire, I have no regrets.
They help around the house, they know their way around the kitchen, they do homework and juggle jobs and activities.
But, for reasons I cannot explain, the absolute hill they choose to die on is changing a roll of toilet paper.
I make sure we always have enough. I stock our bathrooms with extra rolls. I have even walked each child through the actual process of changing a roll. They nod and make murmurs of agreement, but their glazed eyes tell a different story. They don’t care.
Just this morning, I went to the spare bathroom to put a new bottle of soap on the counter and found, to my complete lack of surprise but utter frustration, an empty toilet paper roll in the holder.
A new roll was sitting on the floor, taunting me, reminding me that for everyone else in my family “good enough” is just leaving it within arm’s reach, wall dispenser be damned.
I try not to lose my temper. I offer up prayers for grace. I remember that kindness covers a multitude of sins. But those words feel hollow when all you want to do is wipe yourself without having reach into the bathroom cabinet while in a squat position and grab a roll of toilet paper.
There’s always 2021. Here’s hoping.
Read more Seven Months into the Pandemic essays.
AMR Answers #52: Speed v. Endurance and Ice Baths
Dimity and Sarah serve up suggestions for:
-Aussie Carolyn on nailing a sub-2:00 half-marathon;
-strength-building moves Julie (or anyone!) can add into a run;
-Sarah so she can keep running regularly after a fall half-marathon; and,
-Amy, who is ice-bath curious!
Need more Answers? Check out more episodes!
AMR Trains #16: Adrienne Martini Runs a Naked 5K
Taking one for the vicarious living team, Adrienne Martini bared her buns—and most everything else—in the Bouncing Buns Clothing Optional 5K. On this entertaining podcast, she bares, among other things:
- the impetus behind getting out of her comfort zone;
- why she opted to wear a sports bra. (Hint: It wasn’t all for support!); and,
- whether or not she’d do it again.
Here’s Adrienne’s race account, which interweaves the story of dropping her oldest at college for the first time.
Ready for more training? Steaming hot episodes served up here.
AMR Answers #52: Speed v. Endurance and Ice Baths
Dimity and Sarah serve up suggestions for:
-Aussie Carolyn on nailing a sub-2:00 half-marathon;
-strength-building moves Julie (or anyone!) can add into a run;
-Sarah so she can keep running regularly after a fall half-marathon; and,
-Amy, who is ice-bath curious!
Need more Answers? Check out more episodes!
#438: Three Women Share about Running Through Grief
In a special crossover episode from AMR Trains, Sarah and Amanda talk with three women who used running to help them process the loss of loved ones. During the candid conversations:
-Widow Kate shares how running is a release for all the negative emotions swirling in her brain;
-Tanja tells how running is her “anchor,” starting during her mother’s cancer treatments;
-Tanja (who lost both parents) discusses the importance of “modeling” grief for our children;
-Tanja and Emily (whose first child died in utero) both talk about the positive benefits of being outdoors; and,
-Tanja reminds us to notice and appreciate light-filled moments during the grieving process.
In the intro, Amanda shares about pulling up stakes (temporarily) to decamp from Maryland to Colorado with her teen daughter. The first guest comes on the show at 13:45.
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Seven Months Into the Pandemic and I’m…Unemployed and Moving Forward.
Imagine a television comedy pilot’s opening scene about a business executive getting laid off while living in her parent’s basement in the middle of the countryside.
Spoiler alert: the business executive is me. Office in my childhood bedroom: Stand up desk, multiple monitors, headset on, dozens of talking heads coming in from the Zoom juxtaposed with the wood paneling, small sized sailor hat with “Julia” letters embroidered, and my younger brother’s Xbox posters still hanging from when he moved in following my college exodus.
The situation of living with my parents had to do with the blessing of my children’s grandma, a retired teacher, wonderfully volunteering to help with remote learning while I was sent to work remotely. My husband quarantined at his family’s farm four hours away to help with planting season, so I gladly accepted my mother’s offer.
From a fitness standpoint leading up to this real-life sitcom, I was the epitome of inconsistency. I broke my foot in September 2019, headed into a Midwest winter, and was in and out of the Train Like a Mother Return to Running program by the time the quarantine disruptions occurred.
Back to the opening scene: day after day, meeting after meeting until one day the unexpected appointment came. The one with my boss and the vice president popping up on screen to read from a letter, a letter that said due to COVID-19 related reasons, I was one of 100 employees being let go that day.
My world shifted in an instant. I was shut out of the system—files, emails, software—within the hour. I didn’t look at any files; most of that hour was spent calling my friends and just trying to process what had happened. Feelings of sadness and self-doubt crept in. What could I have done differently?
With my calendar suddenly empty, I knew I needed something to fill the time and exhaust my reeling mind and anxious body. I started the walks. The 6-mile hikes.
Two hours in the countryside with gravel roads and cornfields stretching for miles. No podcasts, no music, no pace. Just myself. I cried. I prayed. I texted. I sang. I talked to people over the phone. I talked to people in my head. I listened to the birds. I listened to the wind. I moved. I just walked.
And I did it the next day. And the next. And the next. I was never big into streaks, but for a few weeks, it was mine. Seven days a week. Six miles per day.
Over time, those walks helped me look forward and find purpose. There were additional layoffs three months later, and I was able to help those “newbies” from my experience.
One of my first pieces of advice? Get outside and walk.
Read more Seven Months into the Pandemic essays.