Adapting to Life in a Pandemic

It's Friday at Noon. I'm in the parking lot of my daughter's school. I turn off the ignition, throw my keys in my purse and put on my mask. I feel in my pocket for the small container of hand sanitizer. I get out of the car and move toward the front door of the school, where I will find the next batch of worksheets, labeled in an envelope, for my daughter. The flag pole clangs in the wind and I look up at it. The flag is at half mast, as it was at last week's week packet pick up/drop off. I wonder who has died and then I remind myself that over 190,000 people around the world have died of COVID.  I return home to participate in a series of video conference calls, but not before stopping to walk the dog who joins me during my only time out of the house, my weekly drive to the school. Someone is on the other side of the street and I instinctively move farther away to create more distance. The person says hello and I realize I know him, although I didn't recognize him with his mask on.  Every email and conference call begins with a version of the declaration, "I hope you and your family are well," and ends with, "Stay safe". After conversations where we vacillate between pandemic future scenario planning and pretending like we aren't working from home in our pajamas, I want to say, "I wish I could hug you".  Between virtual meetings, I snag a bag of chips, refill my coffee mug, and check in with the kids. One needs help un-muting herself in a Google Meet call with her class. The other is frustrated because she wants my help with her geometry worksheet, but I am still un-muting,  and my watch is blowing up with a Teams Chat thread from my staff.  I race back to the bedroom and hop on my bed just in time for my next meeting. I hit mute and leave the video off so that I can eat my chips as loudly as I like.  Before dinner, I ask the kids to get off of their devices for 2 hours and go outside, where it is hailing, but it is fresh air and movement, and not their faces staring at You Tube and Tik Tok. My husband goes to our favorite restaurant and brings home take out. I disinfect the outside of the containers and serve the food, but not before reminding him to wash his hands as soon as he enters the house. Weeks ago, we argued about him undressing completely when he returns from food pick ups, but he does not feel we need to do that because where we live is a low density population. Pandemic or no pandemic marriage continues to be about compromise. I finish the night by showering, though I often feel too tired to take off my pajamas and perform the simple act of putting soap on myself. I lie in my bed and scroll social media, checking my daughter's birthday party invite page. In January we talked about inviting her whole class over. She wanted a Beanie Boo theme. She had all of the party supplies in my Amazon basket ready for purchase. Now, a few friends and their children have offered to drive by our house and honk their horns in celebration of her tenth birthday. We will not share a cake or play games with these friends. We will not send cupcakes with her to school. Her Nana and Grammy won't be here to sing with us, which is what she wants the most. We used to wake up every day and leave our homes. We used to have hundreds of interactions a day, where we would play on the playground, play soccer, ride horses, go for coffee, go for walks, give hugs, shake hands, get side tracked at the grocery store talking with a neighbor, go to Target and touch every outfit on the rack, go to the movies, the park, and the gym. We used to gather for celebrations, or to honor the loss of a loved one. We used to get on trains and buses, boats and planes, and travel throughout our cities, our states, our country, and around the world. Now we stay at home, if we can. We stand as far away from people as possible. We have interactions through windows or plexiglass. The majority of our interactions take place through a computer. We juggle teaching our children and working. Some of us are no longer working and the rest of us worry that we, too, could be unemployed in the coming weeks or months. We cover our faces when we go outside and we sanitize our hands every time we touch something. And we are the lucky ones because we do not have to work outside of our home and increase our exposure, and we live in a rural area where we can go for long walks and be in nature. My family is healthy and safe, we have all the food we need, and plenty of toilet paper. But it still sucks and it's hard and scary and anxiety-fueled and not fair, but it is what it is because this is what we do now. We took for granted the way we live our lives. Wait. We took for granted the way we lived our lives. We do not know when things will change, when we will no longer be sheltering in our homes, using PPE, or planning car parade birthday parties, but we will continue to do it because we have to, so we can be safe and sane, so we can create normalcy in chaos. Some day we will leave our homes and re-discover the world around us. It will be different but it will be good. We will gather together and we will celebrate, we will work, we will ride buses to school, we will go the playground and the grocery store without fear. We will do so much more. Just not yet. For now, we pause, we wait, and we hope. This is what we do now.