Quaran-Routine
Today was the first day of cancelled school in Oregon-- a cold bright day, snow on the hills to the east. I cranked the heat up to a steamy 63.
Last night when I saw the announcement that Govenor Kate Brown had ordered schools to close, I lay panicking in my bed. The community spread, the lack of tests, the relative severity of this virus-- it overwhelmed me. For months I've been wanting to build up good food storage, to prepare to be self-sufficient, to make my own medicine and food. But when the prospect is now, I feel underprepared.
By the morning, that anxiety had congealed into something more like a plan.
I got up and made routine checklists for each kid, with their chores and meals and vitamins and water, and also things like, Art, Read, Go Outside, Read, Music. Maile and Liko loved theirs, printed on bright cardstock (ah, out of printer paper!!)
RJ, nearly 13, was out cold when I went up to give him his to-do list and confiscate his phone.
I was worried it would be a battle, but everyone seemed relieved to have some direction. Liko carefully followed the pictures: brush hair! Put toys away! And when she went outside into the backyard, she chased an escaped chicken and picked it up.
Maile sped through her list, reading for one minute, zooming through her violin pieces, and finished her whole list before lunch. She announced she'll slow it down tomorrow.
She looks pale, with dark shadows under her eyes, and sniffling. She coughs on the couch, a leftover nasty cold that she can't seem to shake. I keep pushing cups of water and tea into her hands. If I throw vitamin c confetti in the air will she somehow be completely better? It makes me nervous to have her not fully well when there's this tsunami of an illness coming our way.
We were in our pajamas until lunch, when I ran a box of GS cookies to the neighbors (I still have a trunkful. Anybody out there need GS cookies for quarantine emergency supplies??)
RJ and I ventured out to Grey's nursery and bought bare root berries and chamomile and RJ's birthday house plants.
It was quiet in the nursery, only two other customers-- one a lady I know from the women's choir, and her husband, a tall stooped gentleman with a white facemask.
RJ flitted about the nursery, telling me the names and needs of the plants he chose. He seemed easier and smilier than I've seen him for weeks.
When we got home, hes stirred together the pizza dough and baked the salmon himself, painting each piece with oyster sauce
ginger and garlic.
I headed out to see Joe for a bit-- a bald Eagle winged low over the road. What will happen with work, with community, with family? How will things change if the world really needs to pause for months to heal?
Everything feels muffled and strange-- I vacillate between fear and relief. I am grateful for a chance to stay home and dig in, I miss my kids when they're away at school, and the amount of running around we do is crazy.
And then I think-- my two youngest have been hospitalized for dangerous autoimmune reactions to viruses. I'm a single mom in not amazing health. I cannot orphan my kids-- I can't get sick and require hospitalization.
So. Can I keep myself and my kids safe through sheer will, a forcefield of great need for things to be okay? For this bullet to be dodged?
Not everyone will dodge this bullet. I hope we can contribute to their safety.
I made whole wheat foccacia for dinner and we dipped it in balsamic vinegar.
Yesterday, before we heard, I told Maile I'd give in and get Disney plus if school was cancelled. So now we're watching Beauty and the Beast...
A strange, a loaded moment, calm before the storm.
Last night when I saw the announcement that Govenor Kate Brown had ordered schools to close, I lay panicking in my bed. The community spread, the lack of tests, the relative severity of this virus-- it overwhelmed me. For months I've been wanting to build up good food storage, to prepare to be self-sufficient, to make my own medicine and food. But when the prospect is now, I feel underprepared.
By the morning, that anxiety had congealed into something more like a plan.
I got up and made routine checklists for each kid, with their chores and meals and vitamins and water, and also things like, Art, Read, Go Outside, Read, Music. Maile and Liko loved theirs, printed on bright cardstock (ah, out of printer paper!!)
RJ, nearly 13, was out cold when I went up to give him his to-do list and confiscate his phone.
I was worried it would be a battle, but everyone seemed relieved to have some direction. Liko carefully followed the pictures: brush hair! Put toys away! And when she went outside into the backyard, she chased an escaped chicken and picked it up.
Maile sped through her list, reading for one minute, zooming through her violin pieces, and finished her whole list before lunch. She announced she'll slow it down tomorrow.
She looks pale, with dark shadows under her eyes, and sniffling. She coughs on the couch, a leftover nasty cold that she can't seem to shake. I keep pushing cups of water and tea into her hands. If I throw vitamin c confetti in the air will she somehow be completely better? It makes me nervous to have her not fully well when there's this tsunami of an illness coming our way.
We were in our pajamas until lunch, when I ran a box of GS cookies to the neighbors (I still have a trunkful. Anybody out there need GS cookies for quarantine emergency supplies??)
RJ and I ventured out to Grey's nursery and bought bare root berries and chamomile and RJ's birthday house plants.
It was quiet in the nursery, only two other customers-- one a lady I know from the women's choir, and her husband, a tall stooped gentleman with a white facemask.
RJ flitted about the nursery, telling me the names and needs of the plants he chose. He seemed easier and smilier than I've seen him for weeks.
When we got home, hes stirred together the pizza dough and baked the salmon himself, painting each piece with oyster sauce
ginger and garlic.
I headed out to see Joe for a bit-- a bald Eagle winged low over the road. What will happen with work, with community, with family? How will things change if the world really needs to pause for months to heal?
Everything feels muffled and strange-- I vacillate between fear and relief. I am grateful for a chance to stay home and dig in, I miss my kids when they're away at school, and the amount of running around we do is crazy.
And then I think-- my two youngest have been hospitalized for dangerous autoimmune reactions to viruses. I'm a single mom in not amazing health. I cannot orphan my kids-- I can't get sick and require hospitalization.
So. Can I keep myself and my kids safe through sheer will, a forcefield of great need for things to be okay? For this bullet to be dodged?
Not everyone will dodge this bullet. I hope we can contribute to their safety.
I made whole wheat foccacia for dinner and we dipped it in balsamic vinegar.
Yesterday, before we heard, I told Maile I'd give in and get Disney plus if school was cancelled. So now we're watching Beauty and the Beast...
A strange, a loaded moment, calm before the storm.
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