The Covid Diaries weeks 5 through 7

During the fifth week of homeschooling, the following drifts up the stairs. 'Mommmmm! Is it okay if we use this yellow chord thing? We want to um...never mind...' scuffling...'OW!'

I hurry, trying not to run down the stairs because that never ends well.  'What yellow chord? Why is there glass? How did you...? 3 minutes! I was cleaning the bathroom for 3 minutes! That light shade was was from your gran!?'

They point at each other 'Fault!'

The Sandman shrugs. The Virus made us do it...it is making my brain squirrelly.' Meanwhile, somewhere on the beaches of Florida, someone is dressing up at the Grim Reaper and is warning people home. 

Week six, after smearing fabric paint into the carpets, the kids decide to call an armistice. 

'Here mama. We got you a 'We're sorry we don't listen to you' present.'

'What it is it...Is it a bomb? Have you been playing with cleaning products whilst I was on my work call?!'

'NO! Honest!' Thrusts package in my direction. 'Open it!'

'OOH! Bananagrams! Does this mean you'll play Banagarams with me?' Shakes the bag 'Wait a minute! These are popsicle sticks! Where are the Bananagrams?!'

'We put them in the pear!'  

The next morning, my summer internship programme has started early. The BD has begun to record the taxonomy I am developing for a work project. Edit: It is one of the few times I am able to work and not be lectured about how I am neglecting the sidekicks because I am working.  I am also tired. 

I watched 'Catfight' last night on Netflix. It made me laugh. It also made me sad, thinking of the term 'Frenemies' and why friendships with women seem to be so challenging to me. Throw in the very weird dreams, and well...yeah. I spend the day exhausted and rattled.  I try to focus on metadata, on migrating records and then I realise that is a fool's errand.  I shut down the computer, stare out the window, more than a little lost. 

Later, I log on to the Book of Faces.  Courtesy of a cousin in Mississippi, I now know that the Howse famy once hailed from Norfolk...which could explain why I love that region so much...And it hits me that I have reluctantly become an amateur genelogist and that my snobbery has ebbed.  Also, I love the symmetry that my parents met in Norfolk, VA. Connected? Unconnected? Synchronicity? No idea. Quarantine is getting to me.

On a  Tuesday, it's 13C (55.4F), sunny, with a medium breeze. 'Moooooommmmm! We have to go swimming.' on repeat. From 0623, when they took turns pressing their faces into mine and trying to force my eyes open. 

We get to the swimming hole. We walk by some cattle. 'Mom! There are cows. They are staring at me.'

'Mom! Why does it smell like cow poop?'

'Because the cows are in the field for spring calving and to graze.'

'How come you're not scared?'

'Because I am not here to screw around with the cattle. They know I'm just here to walk. If anything, they are curious.'

I swear, these kids are too citified. If the biggest issue are the cows and nettles - no poisonous snakes, no prison ivy, no brown recluse spiders, no wild boar, no fire ants...nothing other than cattle and spring sunshine - how are they going to cope when the the real sh*t hits the proverbial fan? I try not to swear. I fail. 

Later that night, I sit in my window staring out at the sky. Both children are asleep, mercifully. And I'm thinking about curiosity, about how

I've always been curious about things and people we don't talk about collectively. It is the Pandora Legacy in me, I suppose, the need to open up the boxes and air out the secrets. One of the people I am curious about is my father's biological father.

I've seen a few pictures and heard unpleasant things. I know he wasn't the best version of himself but I want to know more about him and his family. I know addiction and poor judgement plagued his life and that it led him down a dark road. 

I've put in a request for the police reports in his death, but if anyone has any additional information that they would share, I would appreciate it. It will ultimately help flesh out the research I have been doing on genetics, depression, addiction, and intergenerational trauma, which doesn't sound like a fun read but I promise you...the stories our families tell and the legacies we share, these are the stories that matter.

Later, I talk with my dad and I realised I've decided: since we can't get my dad to go anywhere (and not because of the virus), when he dies, I am going to have his remains turned into an articulated skeleton and I am going to take him to all of the places he has missed out on. Cue hats he'd never have worn alive but should have.  Should I ever remarry and he isn't around, I can dance with his skeleton.  Hell, I may just throw a party where I can don a ballgown and dance with him anyway. 

Week 7, a mystery package arrived today: wine. It is a sweet gesture but also a reminder of how not seriously people take my 18 months of near sobriety.  Also, my screens have arrived, infinitely more complicated to assemble than I was promised.  I open one box, take stock of the instructions and material and put them away. I may need to ask for help.

Later in the day, I try to rally the troops for learning, nothing heavy, just you know...penmanship, a little Alphabet soup.  The four-year-old tells me I am violating his human rights.