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A Momoir, Chapter 13: Covid Edition (or rather, Still Not Skinny)

I started this pandemic the same way everyone else did. Well, obvs not everybody. I mean, I never ranted about wearing a face mask or crazily demanded my right to get a haircut but hey, ‘merica. Like many, I settled in for the long haul and tried to let go of the things that were entirely out of my control. I bid adieu to my colleagues, embraced the return of my college kids and (the worst) said sayonara to my shoes. I stayed-in-place like a good little girl scout and stopped caring about a lot (A. LOT.) of stuff.

Instead, I decided to use this quarantine time to reset. From the get-go I committed to focus on two things: gratitude and improvement. I wanted to see a difference in myself when this was all over and (well, have we met?) sure, make a splash and pop out of a cake at the end of it a better, greater version of Me. Skinnier, blonder, vegan? Who knows, but, dammit, I was going to be ready for my before-and-after close-up when this was behind me.

Well this long haul has turned into a Saturday night Easter vigil mass with four children in tow (ever been to one? Here, little nine-year-old, hold this lit candle for … awhile… GAH, only once friends, only once) – in other words, no end in sight — so here we are.

Since this pandemic is so very far from being over I decided to document a quick update.

I am currently in my fifth month of working from home and (plot twist) am neither blonde nor thin and if you know me (#bacon) will never, ever be vegan.

But I think I am better.

For starters, I haven’t faltered from feeling grateful. I’ve been grateful since Day One, if solely for bypassing that Nightmare that was Homeschool. Holymotherofgod did I dodge a bullet there. Not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought about the remarkable teachers and parents forced to reinvent the education system as we know it and whispered thanks daily for escaping that terrifying ordeal. God bless you all who did the homeschooling thing.

I was grateful for my job, my family’s health, my abundance of leggings (thanks, Steph) and my secret love of being a homebody. Sheesh, I could’ve written that viral piece of Gen X/1980s kids thriving in the seclusion of a pandemic. Stay at home? Keep yourself entertained? All the time? Joke’s on you, life: been there, crushed that. I was all in. Our nightly family dinners returned. My kids were, well, around more. Life became simpler.

Gratitude was a breeze.

So I got busy improving.

I stopped bothering with make-up and started reading — more books than I’d read in the past five years.

I stopped cutting my bangs (sorry, Marie Osmond, you’re left to carry the torch for our 50+ cohort) and started wearing Birkenstocks (I know, right? Ladies, lock up your husbands).

I stopped mindlessly checking my phone and started doing more crossword puzzles (but yes, fkkk those Friday ones. I threw the damn book away when those were all that was left and switched to another).

I stopped driving (once a week only, for groceries) and started walking 10,000 steps a day. When that became normal I shot for 15. Then 20 (again, still not any thinner so wtf but *sighs* we don’t have time to unpack that).

As the world’s pandemic fears morphed into a global awakening to racist injustice I committed to becoming more educated and turned to the people I admire most in the world for guidance: my kids.

I began listening to what they were listening to. Started reading what they were reading. Started watching what they watched (not entirely true. I will never watch that Avatar cartoon no matter how good it may be).

The podcasts getting me through my monotonous daily paces turned political, and I switched from true crime to Trevor Noah. And Pod Save America. And the NYT’s The Daily.

On television the void following my obsessive Outlander binge (oy! 5 seasons start to finish! Droughtlander here I am!), suddenly filled with Netflix documentaries. Stunned to my core by the appalling injustice of 13^th^, I was equally stirred by the peace depicted in Woodstock. The parallel themes of countercultures triggering dramatic change are an eerie nod to our present day cultural discord.

I wandered from the once-fluffy, now-fanatical Facebook and found my way back to Twitter and Instagram, where I started following educated and interesting people that have opened my eyes enormously. (No offense Facebook but you have become the Vortex of Aging Negativity and while you were fun for a while and I do still enjoy seeing the lives of my real (not faux) friends … let’s say there’s a reason the young people never really climbed aboard.

When the shocking behaviors of the country’s racist, caught-on-camera Karens started turning my stomach, I became obsessed with the Internet Detectives, the online superheroes who deftly and immediately expose each atrocious offender by publicly posting their names, addresses, license plates…. (I fanatically love this and cannot lie).

So sure, I’ve been ballin’ but my personal eat-pray-love renaissance hasn’t been all meditative serenity and yoga poses. Please. Far from it. With a son working as an EMT, there’s been a steady stream of mom-worry. I miss him. Also, we were hardly immune to the economic pitfalls brought on by Covid and still find ourselves running in place trying to grapple with financial stress and uncertainty.

Our home, put up for sale shortly before the lockdowns commenced, still sits on the market. While we once dreamed of downsizing, our new normal has flipped the switch on that idea; the oversized house we felt lost in not so long ago is now filled with people on computers all day long. We’ve found ourselves in a perpetual state of pause.

Employment was lost. Worse, it was lost a few months after the quarantines took effect, which means not only were we thrust into an already overloaded, log-jammed system that is excruciatingly flawed but (wait! there’s more!) the “bonus” pandemic money is now used up so ….cool, right? My business-owner friend couldn’t get her teenage employees to return to work because they were making a killing on unemployment. I’m super glad all the kids are making more money than they’ve ever seen in their short lives because fun fact: we haven’t seen a dime yet. If I did have bangs they’d probably be silver sooo….

Truth, it really (REALLY) sucks but even still, I remain grateful.

We flew our daughter back for a couple of weeks to work from our home (hey, come join us so you, too can complain about the internet!) and we hunkered down some more as an even bigger family.

We’ve been drinking wine, playing games, listening to Hamilton, watching John Mulaney stand-up and just being.

Just being a family.

And it’s been real nice.

What will you remember most about when the world changed?

We remember where we watched the OJ chase.

We recall exactly where we were when the towers fell.

And we’ll all know precisely who we focused on when Covid came to town. The President? Governor? Fauchi? Kimmel?

I was watching my kids.

During this ultimate gift of time I’d be a fool not to.

Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and was featured in the 2014 Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone.” Her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series yet she places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements. (Next would be the home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as @Eyerollingmom on Twitter and Eyerollingmom on Facebook. and@Eyerollingmom on Instagram.

Missed the start of A Momoir? Catch up here:

Chapter 1, Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-eyerolls-chapter-1-yes-billy-joel-we-will-all-go-down-together/

Chapter 2, Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2017/08/13/chapter-2-sometimes-kids-suck-a-lot/

Chapter 3, Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2017/09/22/chapter-3-sorry-were-tied-all-kids-are-filthy/

Chapter 4, Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2017/12/02/a-momoir-chapter-4-a-moms-plea-to-seth-rogen-enough-with-the-masturbation-already/

Chapter 5, Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2018/04/20/a-momoir-chapter-5-the-magnitude-of-the-middle-aged-mom/

Chapter 6: Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2018/08/24/a-momoir-chapter-6-im-not-always-like-you-mom-but-thats-okay/

Chapter 7: Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2018/12/01/a-momoir-chapter-7-hello-happiness-are-you-out-there-hello-hello/

Chapter 8: Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2019/06/14/a-momoir-chapter-7-high-school-graduation-my-big-fat-so-what/

Chapter 9: Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2019/08/12/a-momoir-chapter-9-parenting-horrific-behavior-would-you-know-could-you/

Chapter 10: Click here: A Momoir, Chapter 10: Coming Clean: The Art of Mastering Uncomfortable Conversations

Chapter 11: Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2020/02/22/a-momoir-chapter-11-how-many-back-in-my-days-until-you-officially-morph-into-your-mom/

Chapter 12: Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2020/03/17/a-momoir-chapter-12-when-a-teen-up-leaves/

Don’t Like Me? Disagree with Me? No Debate Needed. Just. Keep. Scrolling.

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We live in a time when a lot of people have a lot to say. Nowadays, the entire world’s an audience at our fingertips. It’s so easy, isn’t it, to just spout whatever comes to mind: I like this! I hate that! That’s stupid! This is the best! Do it my way (you’re an idiot if you don’t!). Social media has placed anonymous bullhorns at everyone’s disposal and people happily—and routinely — use them. We just love it because, dagnabbit, everyone’s opinion matters. Right?

I believe in the freedom of speech (mmmmaybe my family is not always thrilled with my practice of it) and I do believe that every person is entitled to his opinion. What I’m not a fan of is all the anger and negativity that now typically comes with combining those constitutional rights. What I like less is the intolerance that surfaces when opinions are met with disagreement or opposition.

Why is everyone so angry?

Here’s an idea: how about if you see something you don’t agree with … just ignore it and keep scrolling. Imagine that. Just. Keep. Scrolling.

I am utterly confounded by the amount of people that carry on virtual arguments from behind their computer screens. The ranting, the nastiness, the back-and-forth, the insulting. Does anyone truly believe a contrary mind can be swayed simply by expounding in capital letters and angry emojis?? How asinine. For every one person that agrees with you about any issue, there will be just as many who oppose you, despite your seemingly harmless thought or statement. Many, many people are ignorant. Why is it so hard to ignore them? Many, many people are (punctuation aside) clearly not very bright. Where is the importance of shining a spotlight on their stupidity? FortheloveofGOD, why is everybody so offended all the time?

My recent experience with a total stranger on Twitter touches on this.

After I’d tweeted head-scratching disbelief about the sudden allure of Tonya Harding, a gentleman responded to (and disputed) my opinion of her. I have to admit, I was a little taken aback. Living here in the Nancy Kerrigan quadrant of the country it never even dawned on me there might actually be Tonya Harding supporters still out there but apparently, he was from her home state of Oregon. Geeze, well I’ll be. I attempted to mollify his anger with an LOL (and a laughing emoji of course) and gave a sort of Oh Well, To Each His Own retort but it was unsettling. I’d never heard from him before (and likely won’t ever again) so it was curious to me why a total stranger would bother to take the time to drop the gloves with me. Really, over Tonya Harding? Could we even come up with a more insignificant topic? Let it go, man.

I try to stick with Oprah on this. She was recently being pressured to give a response when our fearless leader publicly insulted her (because, heck, with not so much going on in this country, why not spend some leisure time degrading celebrities?) and her simple reply was: “I don’t like giving negativity power.”

Fist pump, girlfriend, me neither. I think of all the times I type something, then think a minute about the implications, then often keep my finger on the backspace button until it disappears. With a public page/blog/feed I’ve learned the hard way: sometimes even tongue-in-cheek comments bring out the crazies. You just never know. The truth is, not every thought-provoking comment needs to be controversial and not every difference of opinion needs to be documented and debated. It’s not that I’m above a well-versed discussion of opposing views; it’s just that I’m certain none of the world’s ills are ever going to be solved via Instagram argument. And it has nothing to do with accepting criticism. Ha! I’m a mother of four — my thick-skin suit is impenetrable.

Don’t like me? I am perfectly okay with that. Just. Keep. Scrolling. Find someone or something you do like and spread THAT around instead. Wouldn’t it be great if people paid attention to just how many positive-vs-negative posts they were putting out there? We talk ad nauseum about the bullying epidemic of our kids and yet we-the- adults are kinda sorta doing a lousy job as role models for them. Isn’t that a shame?

After the frightful events of late I’ve seen posts from some friends touting the 2^nd Amendment, the NRA and certain red baseball hats. I also have friends who spew venom at our Commander in Chief – legit – every single day on his social threads. I get it. This is a hot topic right now. This is THE topic right now. But this serious, dire, deadly problem is never going to be solved in a Twitter rant. After plenty (and – most important — private) throat clucks and eyerolls, I watch all these posts go by and Just. Keep. Scrolling. I don’t chime in, I don’t respond, and I even refrain from throwing in incredulous hashtags (#useriousgirl?). Why? Because my friends are entitled to their thoughts and I am entitled to my eyerolls and – like Miranda Lambert says – it takes all kinds a’ kinds. I am an educated woman. I know if anything is going to effectively change my mind about gun control right now it might be words spoken by a parent who just lost his child in a school shooting but it is never, ever going to be because of a Facebook post by someone without skin in the game … sitting behind a computer … or staring at a smartphone. No way.

So to all the people that happen to be gun lovers …

and keto champions ….

and crossfitters …

and animal rescuers …

and vegan worshippers …

and (endless) fundraisers …

and any other enthusiasts of ANYthing I wouldn’t be apt to give a swipe right to …you should know: if I’m not interested in joining the cause – and especially if I don’t have anything nice to say, I’m simply going to Just. Keep. Scrolling.

If everybody else did the same, that’d be just great. No offense taken.

* * * * * *

Read any good books lately? Start one here: A Collection Of Eyerolls: A Momoir

Chapter 1, Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-eyerolls-chapter-1-yes-billy-joel-we-will-all-go-down-together/

Chapter 2, Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2017/08/13/chapter-2-sometimes-kids-suck-a-lot/

Chapter 3, Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2017/09/22/chapter-3-sorry-were-tied-all-kids-are-filthy/

Chapter 4, Click here: https://tinadrakakis.com/2017/12/02/a-momoir-chapter-4-a-moms-plea-to-seth-rogen-enough-with-the-masturbation-already/

Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and was featured in the 2014 Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone.” Her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series yet she places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements. (Next would be the home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as @Eyerollingmom on Twitter and Eyerollingmom on Facebook. and@Eyerollingmom on Instagram.

Eyerollingmom’s Christmas Letter: Nothing But Ho Ho Honesty

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I don’t send out Christmas cards anymore and if I’m being completely honest, I kinda sorta question why some people still do.

I’m not a Grinch. Hell no. I still partake in holiday cheer (ahhh, too much, some may say) but I guess I just feel that a lot of old traditions are rather redundant in today’s all-knowing-all-the-time existence.

I never planned to stop. It just sort of happened the year my mom passed away. Three months after she was gone I struggled to put up a Christmas tree, let alone send out a photo of my kids who weren’t looking much different than all the pictures I’d been throwing up on Facebook throughout the year. And of course anything good or eventful that went down in my life had already made it into a post, or text or blog. Really now, is anyone in need of a recap?

But I’ve always thought that if I did send out a Christmas letter it really wouldn’t be like everyone else’s. Here’s what I mean:

If I sent out a Christmas letter I’d say for sure, my year was just likes yours: full of happiness and thanks and blessings and joys and laughter and (hello, four perfect kids?) plenty of proud and boastful accomplishments. But then I’d feel compelled to add it was also a year filled with a whole bunch o’ family crap, a shitload of sadness, some bitter disappointments and (hello, four slightly imperfect kids?) too much embarrassment to mention.

I’d start by bragging about my oldest, my newly minted 21-year-old. He is my unchallenged sweetheart — mainly because he is hands down the most respectful of the tribe. To this day, he’d do anything I ask without so much as a sigh. I’d say how my heart swells with pride that he is a USAF Reservist and I am duly delighted that he’s going to school to become an EMT and paramedic. But then I’d have to admit that his lack of motivation to work at anything — ANY thing — full time makes my blood pressure surge. And worse, that when I see him playing video games for hours at a time I want to scream like a crazy person on a NYC street corner. Don’t even get me started on the beer cans in his room.

I’d then go on to gush about my daughter, who’s rocking her sophomore year at college and blossoming into a beautiful and engaging young woman right before my eyes. She’s really something else. I’m genuinely in awe of her compassion for the environment and her conviction to make it a better place. Though I’ll miss her like mad, I know one day soon her dreams and plans will take her away to some exotic place far, far away from me. Still, I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit her staunch insistence that humanity is failing … troubles me greatly. Quite honestly, her woe is the world philosophy is a complete and total buzz kill at the dinner table and (sigh) an argument typically ensues when she really gets going. Truth be told, if I must nitpick, the toxic fumes festering in her room from the mess seem to be a blatant contradiction of the green earth she’s desperately seeking to save. (Apple cores: best placed in a compost heap rather than under that bra on the rug, no?)

I’d continue and blather on and on about my middle son, a high school sophomore, who is incredibly handsome and intelligent and easy going and popular and athletic and … and … so incredibly lazy I feel I should start researching boarding schools. Or wigs — since I’m dropping fistfuls of my own hair as I chase him around screaming about missing homeworks and vanishing assignments. I am convinced the sound of my voice is like a dog whistle to his immune ears and I fear he may fall out of bed one night and suffocate in the pile of wet towels next to his bed.

I’d then be forced to boast about his sidekick — my youngest — the king of the eighth grade and future president of the United States of America. Here is a fellow so incredibly beloved and kind and charming and funny … that his teachers and friends’ parents would be aghast at the shrill volume of his disrespectful back-talk to me. If he was heard by the masses on a particularly bad day he’d find himself one lonely little boy indeed — because parents wouldn’t let this Talented Mr. Ripley within earshot of their own children. If they only knew…

I’d tell about our loss this year of our infamous Grandpa Eggo, my stepdad, and only remaining grandparent on my side of the family tree. Just shy of his 92 birthday, he was one hell of a hot ticket – and — a bonus — had Carl Fredericksen from the movie UP as his celebrity doppelganger. He looked JUST like him and THAT was hilarious. We got a lot of laughs out of his couple of years without my mom as a buffer but man, I’d have to admit that the old guy drove us batshit crazy much of the time. What’s worse: his death leaves a distinct hole in the lives of my siblings, for we are now forced to reconcile our simmering differences without a neutral zone of connection. Being a grown-up becomes acutely harder when you’re left to deal with the messy family stuff without parental referees.

I’d close my Christmas letter with the unthinkable confession that some of my happiest moments are the rare occasions when I pull into my driveway after work and the house is completely – silently – empty. For a short time until the chaos begins again, I am blissful.

But then, then … as my final admission, I’d confess there are unexpected moments that catch me off guard … when the house is quiet and — to the contrary — I am consumed by a wordless panic. My thoughts drift to a time soon to come when I’ll finally be without the video games and the wet towels and the beer cans and the fighting and the back-talk.

And my dread is paralyzing.

Funny how life knows when to give you a swift kick in the ass when you need it.

In those minutes of solitude and fear I somehow understand my personal charade. Perhaps I bitch and squawk so much … only to mask how crazy I may become without them?

And that’s the truth.

So anywho, even though I don’t send out Christmas letters … or Christmas photos (please. No-shave November is killing any chance of that; who wants multiple Wolverines in their family photo?) I do always reflect on my passing year, only in a warts-and-all kind of way.

Wouldn’t it be great if more people did the same?

Merry Christmas, dear friends and readers!

Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and has been featured in Boston Globe & Huff Post. She appeared in the Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone” presenting her popular essay The Thinking Girl’s Thong and her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series. That said, she still places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements (next would be as the $100,000 winner on that home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as Eyerollingmom/Tina Drakakis on Facebook, Instagram & Threads. Her fave collection of essays, A Momoir, can be found here (agent interest ALWAYS WELCOME!)

College Kid Heading Home? Release the Kraken!

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My daughter, a college freshman, comes home this week for her winter break. This means my emotions — like every other college parent’s – are running the gamut of YayyyyyyyyyyOoooooooohhhhhNoooooooooo.

Cue in collective nods from those who have danced this dance before me.

She’s had four months of independent living, coming and going at leisure, not having to answer to anyone and doing whatever in the world she feels like at any time she feels like it. These typical rites of college passage no doubt will make her transition back to home a nightmare of unparalleled proportions.

Guess I’d better get my thick-skin-suit out of storage.

We had a tiny bit of friction during the long Columbus Day weekend. We had a bit more (cough) differences of opinion during Thanksgiving. But let’s be real here. A few argumentative moments here and there are nothing compared to the barrage of discontent that will fester over five weeks.

Five looooooooonnnnngggggg weeks of

… ridiculous rules (because ‘don’t start a load of laundry and then immediately leave the house for twelve hours’ is …unreasonable?)

… crazy curfews (because bars can kick people out soon after midnight but parents shouldn’t?)

… and outrageous expectations to be – I don’t know – an active member of this family (because popping in for an occasional meal or – dare to dream – coming out of a bedroom for more than fifteen minutes at a time is … irrational?).

Yes, we are all sorts of looney over here. Poor kids – it’s just like West Point under this roof.

I know, I tell her, I remember. My mother and I drove each other nuts every winter AND every summer I was home. I keep telling my daughter that, like it or not, it is the way of the world. That it is something every college student since the beginning of time will go through. Naturally my sage sentiments fall on deaf ears. She tries to reason …

It’s not fair.

She’s responsible.

She’s intelligent.

She makes good choices.

(All true, I might add. But then she’ll throw in some crazy statistic like …)

She’s the ONLY one with a curfew

(or, worse)

No one else’s mother even cares what they do or what time they came home.

(No one?)

Nope. Not one.

I then call balderdash and bam! we’re right back to a Saturday Night Smackdown. It’s sure to be a tough time but I’m ready. My litany of retorts isn’t very creative but it’s plentiful.

This is not your dorm room.

Get used to it.

It is what it is.

I felt this way, too.

Because I love you.

Because I said so.

I do trust you.

It’s only about safety.

I understand.

I get it, I really get it.

and so on…

and so on..

But nothing is changing.

A mom is a mom is a mom.

Evidently we shall never see eye to eye on this but I imagine we’re not supposed to. I just hope she doesn’t sulk away her vacation like Greta Grump and enjoy some of the time while she’s with us.

The house, while still busy and loud and messy … is a brighter place when she is here. I so don’t want to be in Def-con 12 Battle Mode during the holidays. I kinda just want to watch movies under fuzzy blankets with her … and do a little shopping … and share some late lunches … and well, just sorta be with her. She’s eighteen and the years are moving her into adulthood faster than I can finagle. FortheloveofGod, she’s talking about Africa next year. I just keep shaking my head. And catching my breath some days.

Maybe, just maybe, she’ll go a little easy on the old lady and go with the curfew flow and pick up her room every few days.

Who knows. It could happen.

Santa, you reading this?

Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and has been featured in Huff Post. She appeared in the Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone” presenting her popular essay The Thinking Girl’s Thong and her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series. That said, she still places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements (next would be as the $100,000 winner on that home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as Eyerollingmom/Tina Drakakis on Facebook, Instagram & Thre