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| Everything I Know About Parenting in a Crisis, I Learned From My Mom | Everything I Know About Parenting in a Crisis, I Learned From My Mom |
| (about 20 hours later) | |
| As coronavirus continues to spread across the globe, we’re working to answer the questions on many parents’ minds. This is a fast-moving situation, so some information may be outdated. For the latest updates, read The New York Times’s live coronavirus coverage here. | As coronavirus continues to spread across the globe, we’re working to answer the questions on many parents’ minds. This is a fast-moving situation, so some information may be outdated. For the latest updates, read The New York Times’s live coronavirus coverage here. |
| My most prominent memory from the Persian Gulf war was realizing my brother is a stone-cold genius. I was 10, he 5. We lived in Riyadh at the time, and our nightly routine included waking up to blaring air-raid sirens. The family would stumble down to the “bunker,” a large storage closet under the stairs. There we strapped on our gas masks, tried to get some rest on the floor and then crawled back up to bed at dawn. | My most prominent memory from the Persian Gulf war was realizing my brother is a stone-cold genius. I was 10, he 5. We lived in Riyadh at the time, and our nightly routine included waking up to blaring air-raid sirens. The family would stumble down to the “bunker,” a large storage closet under the stairs. There we strapped on our gas masks, tried to get some rest on the floor and then crawled back up to bed at dawn. |
| After a week of this, my brother had had enough. He asked me for help dragging our twin mattress to the bunker, then promptly fell asleep in his gas mask, and that’s how we did the rest of the war: well-rested, on our backs. Comfort, and common sense, can come from the most unexpected of places. | After a week of this, my brother had had enough. He asked me for help dragging our twin mattress to the bunker, then promptly fell asleep in his gas mask, and that’s how we did the rest of the war: well-rested, on our backs. Comfort, and common sense, can come from the most unexpected of places. |
| The war was scary. I remember running into my parents’ room the first night the sirens went off, sobbing and shrieking, “But I was going to be a doctor!” (I am not a doctor.) My mother burst into laughter, and said, “You’re not going to die.” “Are you sure?” I asked, wiping away my tears. “No, you’re not,” she said. “Everything is going to be fine.” She was, unfortunately, an old hand at air raids from a childhood in Kashmir, and her confidence in my safety was contagious. | The war was scary. I remember running into my parents’ room the first night the sirens went off, sobbing and shrieking, “But I was going to be a doctor!” (I am not a doctor.) My mother burst into laughter, and said, “You’re not going to die.” “Are you sure?” I asked, wiping away my tears. “No, you’re not,” she said. “Everything is going to be fine.” She was, unfortunately, an old hand at air raids from a childhood in Kashmir, and her confidence in my safety was contagious. |
| Whatever fear I felt after those first nights has been lost to time and replaced by silly gas mask anecdotes, family hangs and memories of my first crush — regular kid things. Because children are, thankfully, exceedingly self-focused, but also because a parent’s reassurance that everything is going to be fine can sometimes cure all. | Whatever fear I felt after those first nights has been lost to time and replaced by silly gas mask anecdotes, family hangs and memories of my first crush — regular kid things. Because children are, thankfully, exceedingly self-focused, but also because a parent’s reassurance that everything is going to be fine can sometimes cure all. |
| Today, thanks to “The Fiona Virus,” as our son calls it, I’m navigating a different crisis, this time in Mum’s role. Because my husband and I both work on a freelance basis, we split shifts home schooling a 6-year-old, with a toddler on one hip. It’s very “Little House on the Prairie.” | Today, thanks to “The Fiona Virus,” as our son calls it, I’m navigating a different crisis, this time in Mum’s role. Because my husband and I both work on a freelance basis, we split shifts home schooling a 6-year-old, with a toddler on one hip. It’s very “Little House on the Prairie.” |
| “Well, the war was much easier,” Mum told me via FaceTime, from Michigan. “You went to school, you could play outside, the air raids were only at night.” But she underestimates how her homemade science experiments, her gift for pulling out the perfect crazy family story that made me cry laughing and her knack for engaging us in the most boring of household tasks made us feel safe. Her ability to be truly present, and to infuse every difficult day with small moments of joy, kept our spirits intact, through endless moves, armed conflict and terrorist activity. | “Well, the war was much easier,” Mum told me via FaceTime, from Michigan. “You went to school, you could play outside, the air raids were only at night.” But she underestimates how her homemade science experiments, her gift for pulling out the perfect crazy family story that made me cry laughing and her knack for engaging us in the most boring of household tasks made us feel safe. Her ability to be truly present, and to infuse every difficult day with small moments of joy, kept our spirits intact, through endless moves, armed conflict and terrorist activity. |
| When my family first heard that school was canceled last week, and then came the governor’s stay-at-home order, I emotionally disintegrated for two full days. The weight of work, existential dread and raising two children, all at the same time, nearly sunk me, until I realized I could just channel my mother. | When my family first heard that school was canceled last week, and then came the governor’s stay-at-home order, I emotionally disintegrated for two full days. The weight of work, existential dread and raising two children, all at the same time, nearly sunk me, until I realized I could just channel my mother. |
| I pulled myself back together, and taped a schedule to the wall, as I’ve done every day since. We aim to activate our brains and our bodies throughout the day, with quiet time penciled in while the toddler naps. Quiet time was screaming torture for the first three days, and I had nearly given up hope, but now we’re up to a full hour of peace, a small miracle. | I pulled myself back together, and taped a schedule to the wall, as I’ve done every day since. We aim to activate our brains and our bodies throughout the day, with quiet time penciled in while the toddler naps. Quiet time was screaming torture for the first three days, and I had nearly given up hope, but now we’re up to a full hour of peace, a small miracle. |
| I write out daily menus for our meals, because for some reason it brings the entire family great joy to anticipate them, even if it’s just “nuggets.” We schedule in a “Live Show” before bed that involves an ad hoc plot, and one or both of the kids disrobing before dismantling the couch. | I write out daily menus for our meals, because for some reason it brings the entire family great joy to anticipate them, even if it’s just “nuggets.” We schedule in a “Live Show” before bed that involves an ad hoc plot, and one or both of the kids disrobing before dismantling the couch. |
| The schedule is just a suggestion. The actual shape of the day depends on our needs, and, frankly, my mood. Sometimes “brain activation” is sprouting beans. Sometimes we bake and call it math. Sometimes I lie flat on my back, in a game called “sleeping.” Today, the boy read to the baby, and we crossed off “English.” | The schedule is just a suggestion. The actual shape of the day depends on our needs, and, frankly, my mood. Sometimes “brain activation” is sprouting beans. Sometimes we bake and call it math. Sometimes I lie flat on my back, in a game called “sleeping.” Today, the boy read to the baby, and we crossed off “English.” |
| Updated July 23, 2020 | |
| I’ve begun to realize now how much time my mom spent teaching us how to do grownup stuff like run errands, grocery shop and fix things when they broke. So each day, I rope our son into some sort of family problem solving: moving our janky play structure out of the garage and into the front yard. Mailing letters, with stamps, at a mailbox. Figuring out which vegetables are going to turn, so that we can make soup out of them. Every time he’s given a little more responsibility during this Richard Scarry existence, I see him stand a little taller and become a little more independent. | I’ve begun to realize now how much time my mom spent teaching us how to do grownup stuff like run errands, grocery shop and fix things when they broke. So each day, I rope our son into some sort of family problem solving: moving our janky play structure out of the garage and into the front yard. Mailing letters, with stamps, at a mailbox. Figuring out which vegetables are going to turn, so that we can make soup out of them. Every time he’s given a little more responsibility during this Richard Scarry existence, I see him stand a little taller and become a little more independent. |
| Then again, this period of family isolation is sending me back in time. | Then again, this period of family isolation is sending me back in time. |
| “It’s like having a newborn again,” my friend Amy said about the pace at home these days — the chaos of having our world split open, while having to get little people through the day. The re-wearing of ratty clothing, the under-showering, the dazed walks within a four-block radius. The months after the arrival of our firstborn are the only other time I’ve been simultaneously terrified and bored. But then comes the magic moment when you realize you don’t actually have anywhere else to be, most days: You just have to be present, and to love them. | “It’s like having a newborn again,” my friend Amy said about the pace at home these days — the chaos of having our world split open, while having to get little people through the day. The re-wearing of ratty clothing, the under-showering, the dazed walks within a four-block radius. The months after the arrival of our firstborn are the only other time I’ve been simultaneously terrified and bored. But then comes the magic moment when you realize you don’t actually have anywhere else to be, most days: You just have to be present, and to love them. |
| I’m lucky. My children are small, they’re not missing major exams or life events. I’m not stuck in the house with two surly teenagers who cringe every time I speak. I’m fortunate enough to be able to put work on hold for now, even if it means flattening the curve of my own career. | I’m lucky. My children are small, they’re not missing major exams or life events. I’m not stuck in the house with two surly teenagers who cringe every time I speak. I’m fortunate enough to be able to put work on hold for now, even if it means flattening the curve of my own career. |
| I know, better than most, that these things are temporary. And I know that next week, when our son has his (surprise!) Zoom birthday celebration, he’ll remember that all of his friends and family ate chocolate chip pancakes in tandem. He won’t remember that he didn’t have a party this year. Because like all hard times, I suspect, his enduring memories of this time will be of our love, and his joy. | I know, better than most, that these things are temporary. And I know that next week, when our son has his (surprise!) Zoom birthday celebration, he’ll remember that all of his friends and family ate chocolate chip pancakes in tandem. He won’t remember that he didn’t have a party this year. Because like all hard times, I suspect, his enduring memories of this time will be of our love, and his joy. |
| Priyanka Mattoo is a writer and filmmaker in Los Angeles. | Priyanka Mattoo is a writer and filmmaker in Los Angeles. |