COVID 19 Journal 3

March 16, 2020

It's Monday night. Max is pouring water from a kettle onto coffee grounds in the kitchen next to me, making decaf night coffee. Atticus is asleep after an evening full of tantrum over not being allowed to control Max's music practice. He's having a hard time not being in school, especially after last week being out sick the whole week. 

They cancelled all NC public schools yesterday, the governor made a speech announcing it. A's preschool (a private school run from a church) followed suit, cancelling school through March 30. Today when I've driven through the neighborhood the kids are everywhere--playing sports activities and having little adventures outside, jumping off the hills of mulch on the nature trail behind Enka Village. 

A couple of weeks ago Max and I were bummed out about not being able to watch a movie on our first date in 3 months. Tonight that seems silly. That was when we felt okay having my mom out to cover us for an evening. Now we hesitate, because of her age, to risk her health. And we are afraid for ourselves, for either of us to get sick.

It was our first day with a quarantine schedule--I stayed home in the morning/early-afternoon to give Max time to catch up on work, tried to work a little myself on my borrowed work computer. Took Atticus to a carwash and let him sit on my lap in the drivers' seat. He hid his head and covered his ears through most of it but in the end said it was fun! We also went to the post office--maybe a mistake--to mail a package to cousin Julia. I went to the office later and worked in a completely empty Zageir Hall. The roads looked normal--people were out in good number like it was any old day, but tonight when I drove back from taking A. to the doctor (again) for ear infection, the roads were kind of bare. Bare as the good-foods sections of the grocery store aisles when Max went shopping at 8 p.m. tonight.

It was only our first day of half-quarantine, but it felt long, and by the end I was despondent thinking of all the things I can't do anymore (eat at restaurants, grab a pizza from Little Caesars on the way home with A. from the doctor; coffee shops and the gym, bluegrass jam, contra dance, dream group, visits with family and friends). 

In the day I can kind of keep up some cheer and try to lead Atticus through this time, but by night I feel lost. 

There are many more countries than what I'm putting on this list. There are places on this map that have no red dot (indicating sickness) at all, but may just not have reporters or people to tell what's going on there.

Things that Changed Today

• Atticus's pediatrician office is cancelling their 8 a.m. clinic. The building is deep-cleaned overnight so they're reserving the mornings appointments for well children, and scheduling sick children in the afternoons.
• There was no bread in the bread parts of Ingles grocery store.
• At work, even though there's no one else around the air feels too close, and poisoned somehow. The only air that feels safe to breathe is air at home, or anytime I'm outside.
• First case related to my county (Buncombe County). A man from New York spent 5 days here last week, got sick and got tested here, then went to quarantine in Macon, NC.
• Governor Cooper's executive order limits restaurants to takeout and delivery only (March 17)

Making It

I drew the pictures above for my spouse's birthday. 

They went with the gift, which was coffee.

Max drinks caffeinated coffee in the morning, and decaf at night. He does this with an air of ritual that I really love. There's a pretty, shiny kettle: 

and a pour-over funnel

and special filters

and a special thermos that it all goes in, with a lid that squeaks and rattles when it's tightened down. There's something very intentional about his coffee process, and how he drinks his coffee. It's the same with his fly-tying enterprise. And whenever I go in spaces that are specifically "his," these spaces radiate.

I know I'm not alone in my fascination with these items and spaces because Atticus also shares it. He's drawn to Max's desk. Anytime I leave him alone he beelines to the desk and makes off with something- a pipe tamper, a bottle of sealant, spools of glittery fly-tying thread. He loves to put a sweet potato in the silver coffee kettle, and then put the lid back on.

It's hard to claim space in a small house with an active toddler.

It's also hard for Max and I to claim space for our relationship. Our son has an aversion to the sound of us talking, so any attempt at conversation is interrupted by miserable wails and sputtering. We can get about four words in before it starts. It's like an alarm. We both brace for it.

This dynamic makes connection very hard. Planning is also difficult, and intimacy nearly impossible.

But each day that I wake up I'm glad to be with him. I'm amazed that he does what he does, and I'm grateful that we are somehow making it through this time in our lives.

Very Little Can Slow the Balloon Down