Day to Day

March 19, 2020

We have become a society of three.  Me, Mae (newly 18) and Lana (newly 16).  Their brother, Mihiretu (13), is at school in the remote reaches of Southern Utah.  On a zoom session with him this morning, I tried to describe what his friends here are up to.  

“So, Ellis?  Honey, Ellis is alone with his parents.  All day every day.  He has hours of online homework.  He can go outside but he can’t interact with anyone.  He is not having fun.”

Grumbles from Mihiretu, who, on principle, is jealous of anyone at home.  Then a long description of the kayak trip two days ago when all the boys ended up covered in mud, complete with war stripes on their faces.  Mihiretu loves to win.  Especially when it comes to Ellis.

It was harder to explain why this virus is such a big deal.  

“More people have died from the flu,” Mihiretu said, clearly parroting what he’s been hearing at school.

“So far, yes,” I said.  “But the tricky thing is that no one has gotten this before.  It’s brand new.  So over time, it might be more dangerous than the flu.”

“But only old people die from it,” he said.

“It’s more than old people, honey.  Healthy kids do well.  I’m not worried about you and your sisters.  But for everyone else it’s harder to predict.”

“Fine,” he said.  “But I still don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”

This, from what I’m hearing from my parent friends, is common with kids.  They don’t feel the danger but they sure feel the sudden lack of friends and fun.  My girls, so far, have taken this seriously.  Maybe because I’ve had symptoms.  Probably because I’ve had symptoms.  Today they made me temporarily renounce my boyfriend.

“He’s out in the world,” they insisted.  “He can’t see us and see other people.”

He barely sees other people.  But he does go to the store when he needs to.  The girls and I have completely quarantined ourselves.  We don’t want to be responsible for any spread.  And because there’s the distinct possibility that we’re infected (the girls have had an odd symptom or two, as slim as their years) that feels reasonable.

The girls like Jamie.  They appreciate his company.  I think particularly now that we have none.  But they are feeling their civic duty deeply.  And wear it surprisingly cheerfully.

The big set piece of our day has been a mid-morning hike.  We are lucky to be able to walk 100 yards and step onto a trail system that goes all the way to the ocean.  Every day has been a different route.  I don’t know if it’s the quieting of our busyness and the narrowing of our daily society but outside seems especially vibrant right now.  Nature seems loud.  Yes, it’s the first day of spring.  Everything is waking up.  But there is also less human sound.  Less cars driving around, no saws.

We walk fast, we three.  I didn’t raise dawdlers.  But we have all the time in the world to walk these days.  Our walk is the big event.  So maybe we take that narrow trail off to the left.  Maybe we stop and watch the hummingbird high in the oak, who is also in a rare state of stillness.

We come home and go our separate ways for awhile - eating, bathing, working.  The afternoon stretches.  The boy cat has taken to joining me in bed around 2:00, expecting a nap.  A nap that, because I am fighting off the plague, seems appropriate.

Evening finds us in our favorite place - on the couch watching TV.  We pondered a shared tattoo awhile back.  Something small on the same spot on each person’s ankle.  But what would it be, we wondered.  A couch?  An old-fashioned TV with bunny ears?  Because those are some of our fondest commonalities.  "God, that's sad," we laughed at the time.  Sad, and not sad.

Eventually, towards nine, things devolve.  The girls are on top of each other in one way or another.  Physically, “affection” that often veers towards minor violence.  Or just on each other’s case.  Or mine.  So I call it a night.  They protest.  I insist.  

And then the house is quiet.  And I’m in bed with my book (I’m currently re-reading Station Eleven, about a virus that takes out 99% of the population, which I am finding strangely comforting).  And then, the best part, sleep and dreams and escape from the coronavirus update page on the New York Times website.

  

And then the next day we do it again.  When I think too far ahead, when I contemplate doing this until April 7th as has been mandated (and, let’s be real, probably longer) I get a little panicky.  But for now, beat by beat, hour by hour, I’m going to work on being present.  With my kids.  With myself.  With the boy cat at 2:00pm.  With that hummingbird high in the oak.