Coronavirus Day 364 — One Year
Remember those days when we couldn’t fathom being out of school for three weeks? I felt so bad for those poor sods in Washington state. How would they survive? I was completely convinced we could not make it, having barely made it through two-week holiday breaks before we practically threw the boys onto the playground from our moving car.
Last Monday the boys went back to school for the first time in a year. A YEAR. It was so exciting! They were giddy. Unfortunately for administrators, there’s no parental credit for beating the one year anniversary by a week. This is fourth grade, we’ve already learned to round up.
We’re in the morning cohort which involves getting to school precisely between 8:05 and 8:15AM, watching your upperclassmen walk with appropriate masked, social-distancing across the soccer fields, then driving home, getting out of the car and going inside and drinking the rest of your coffee and then getting back in the car and picking the boys up precisely between 11:05 and 11:15AM. Fridays are a minute of Zoom school.
The boys were so happy… on Cloud NINEteen all week. As in it felt like 2019. Back before time froze. And we were just part way into third and fifth grades.
This weekend we held a sequel of last year’s birthday slumber party with Big Jackson, Cruz and Kai. Our pandemic pod. Chinese food and McConnell’s served on the plywood counters of our latest kitchen construction project. No one can be believed when it comes to the reporting of bedtimes as numbers are thrown around like nerf bullets. Jacob may have been the first to bed at 2 or 3AM. The other brothers never did go to sleep, until it was time for me to pack them up and deliver the zombies back to their parents.
Today was Jake’s second Coronavirus birthday, having the luck of being born the day after we went into lockdown last year. He chose a lunch of tacos and cake in Santa Barbara followed by enchiladas and chocolate dipped strawberries for dinner.
He fell asleep as soon as we got back in the car, his head back like the old carseat days. And Nate just folded forward and slept facedown in his own lap.
At last, the slumber part of the party.
Coronavirus Day 356 — Princess Fucillo
We are deeply saddened to proclaim the passing of her royal highness, Princess Fucillo, of the kingdom of San Luis Obispo, Saturday, the sixth of March, two thousand and twenty one. Princess is survived by her not-so-evil step-sisters, Perfect and (probably) Pipsqueak. The story behind the probably is better covered under a different obituary. She will be greatly missed by her adopted humans, Prince Jacob and Prince Nathaniel.
Princess, as her name would imply, was a well-known socialite who preferred to see and be seen. She had impeccable taste, choosing gourmet delicacies from Prince-approved chefs and turning-up her beak at the mealy-worm luncheons of her ladies in waiting. Her style and sophistication were regularly captured by the paparazzi, infatuated with her royal origins. Many articles referenced her likeness to Princess Di, particularly her feathered golden coiffe. Princess was determined to stay grounded, leaving the royal family to put down roots on the central coast.
Princess was not only known for her glamour, but for her charitable heart. She co-founded, with her sister Chicken Sando, the SLO Chapter of Hens Against Domestic Violence, based on her tragic first-hand experiences. Her personal accounts kept her authentic and relatable to millions, despite her independent wealth. Her generosity and philanthropy touched dozens, as she generously donated every ounce of her work to feeding the hungry. Princess looked quite peckish yesterday, moving with unusually slow grace. Given the pandemic and the close living quarters of her royal household, her cause of death is unknown. Corona does mean crown, which would be quite fitting. She was discovered in her favorite nesting bedchamber by her loving brother Prince Nate, who sorrowfully knew she’d taken her final coach to the chicken chateau in the sky.
A celebration of Princess’ life was held at the Poultry Palace with the wife of the good Reverend James presiding. The reverend was out of town, attending to his human flock with Prince Jacob.
Coronavirus Day 350 — The Great British Baking Show
We seem to run nine to twelve months behind the rest of the pandemic hobbyists. While everyone was gardening last spring, Nate and I planted our butterfly garden a few weeks ago. And when the grocery store shelves in the baking aisle were bare, I don’t know what we were watching but it wasn’t the Great British Baking Show.
Which we’ve now spent watching without pause for weeks. It’s been charming, hilarious, interesting, and weird. The perfect lovely show.
They say or-eh-gone-o instead of oregano. And something inexplicable takes place when they pronounce yoghurt and mocha. We’re not sure what’s going on there. It’s a bit of a vicarious vacation to the bake shops of the old country where they make little choux buns that look like nuns and something called Eton Mess. The boys perked up with the giggles during one episode where not one but two contestants made spotted dick. We have to watch most episodes with closed captioning and google so we can look up words like treacle, baps, sultanas, and various temperatures. They don’t broil, but grill. Math is plural. And there’s a lot of proving. Everyone seems to have a shared dessert vocab including Victoria sandwiches, Jaffa cakes, Banoffee pies, Tear-and-Shares, and Bakewell. I’ve found this show to be a font of new nicknames, particularly for Nate. I’m especially fond of dampfnudel.
They almost lost us when the comedic hosts changed to a vampire rocker paired with a grandmotherly Dane. I’m not exaggerating when I say the season finale when Nadiya won was one of the sweetest, happiest high’s we’ve had during the entire lockdown life.
We just wrapped up Season 10 and were pleased to be joined by Nate for the final few episodes. Just in time for his birthday cake inspiration. He must have finished YouTube.
Coronavirus Day 340 — March Eighth
The last night of Christmas vacation I was lying in Jake’s bed with him having just finished our book reading for the night. We’re deep into the 5 Ancestors series and it is sheer Chinese brotherly 1600’s Cantonese kung-fu bliss. As we said our goodnights, I asked Jacob if he was ready to go back to school the next day, after two holiday weeks.
He looks at me and rises up on his stomach, his eyes glimmering with hope and says, “Really? We’re going back tomorrow?”
And in an instant I realize the literal mistake I’ve made. He does not take my clarification gracefully. The light is extinguished and he harrumphs his displeasure and disappointment. I’m not making that mistake again.
So last week when James showed me something on his phone that had the words March eighth buried within three Parent Square pages of blah blah blah, I didn’t take it too seriously. We’ll see Dr. Prater. Or is it Praetor?
Yesterday we got another message with this whole March eighth date again for third through sixth graders.
So I’m thinking of telling the boys… on March eighth.
Coronavirus Day 336 — Quaranteeth
A day or so ago, the Tooth Fairy finally showed-up and emptied the little kitchen glass where Jake’s never-ending tooth torrent temporarily tarries until she has time. We’re pretty sure she must have either had COVID, or has been in quarantine, as two teeth sat on the windowsill for close to two weeks.
Jacob lost a tooth the night before we left for Yosemite, leaving a snowball-sized gap on one side up top. She left him $5, which either shows a high rate of inflation, or that she’s so engaged in her work that she never leaves Tooth Mountain for cash.
Jacob lost another tooth today– for the love of miniature fairies. I know it’s rare, but so sad that she has to quarantine AGAIN. The perils of international travel.
Coronavirus Day 335 — Soap
The pandemic life seems to have left some people questioning why they bathe so much, and by some people I mean the littlest person inhabiting our pod. He’s always enjoyed bath time and never put up a fight. But, a few months ago I noticed that after dinner, Nate would claim he’d taken a shower in the morning. And in the morning, he’d claim to have taken a shower the night before. Super sus. I’ve implemented a system of adding confirmed shower symbols to our dry erase calendar, and smell checks. Preferably of wet hair. He takes extreme delight in hoping I’ll take him up on smelling his armpits. “Cut me a break,” as Grandma would say.
This afternoon we decided to do the plastic knife soap carving artistic project from this month’s school Challenge box. Nate’s rationale, “It sounds really satisfying.” It involved turning a cheap bar of ivory motel soap into an inch of fragrant snow dusting the kitchen floor. And an elephant.
Part way through I looked at Michelangelo and was like, “Wow, this is probably the closest you’ve gotten to a bar of soap in a couple of days, huh?”
The side-eye was so worth it.
Coronavirus Day 323 — Warriors
On Friday I take the boys for shots. The sharp kind, not the fun kind.
It’s been so long that no one remembers what to expect. Apparently it’s been eons since those needles were put into the little dough-balls we called thighs. At lunchtime James admonishes me for trying to prep the boys by mentioning it the day before. Apparently it created a lot of visible Nate anxiety.
We arrive and there are some new COVID protocols, but honestly, I prefer waiting outside in the sun versus in the germy little kid waiting room. Nate’s scheduled for one flu shot, and Jake’s scheduled for… wait for it… four. Unfortunately there is a buffet of middle school shots I seem to have blocked out from my sixth grade memory bank.
Nate goes first. The nurse tells him to count Orcas on the aquarium wallpaper border and “What? You’re done?” Nate hardly even notices.
Jake’s up. He has to have two shots in each arm. He powers through with nary a peep. The nurse is sincerely impressed. The warriors leave with their various multi-colored cartoon bandaids.
I work for the rest of the afternoon and when I come in at the end of the day, Jake has set himself up on the couch with a blanket and a movie. He’s not feeling great. I’m struck by his independent, self-soothing set-up. We feed him his fave spaghetti for dinner. Jake’s a T-Rex. He can no longer extend his arms. The soreness has really set in. Before bed he confesses he’s lost half his dinner to the porcelain gods. Poor kid doesn’t have a fever but the shots send him willingly to bed.
Saturday morning they both wake-up almost good as new, and vaccinated for almost all things except the one thing we all really care about… the Corona. Nate shows me evidence embedded in the little crease of one of his fingers where it appears he has a permanent graphite tattoo and declares, “I’ve poked myself harder with a pencil!”
I don’t doubt it.
Coronavirus Day 308 — Melazeezee
Nate’s go-to sayings continue to roll-in. “Pizza” is a common response to any question. He loves to find a reason to tell me, “I like your cut G.” He definitely says it with swagger. As far as I can tell, he’s talking about my haircut. Despite it being months since I’ve made it into a salon.
The do-be’s are also in full swing as in, “He do be looking thick though.” Or in his case we might say, “You do be going crazy though.”
He’s regularly singing, “and the melazeezee” which is a creative interpretation of the Sublime song, Summertime. The rest of us dully sing “and the livin’s easy.”
This morning Nate woke-up and was sitting with me on the couch. They spent yesterday at the beach with their buddies and according to Nate’s new Fitbit, he had over 16,000 steps. He shows me a wound on the bottom of his foot and says to his own sole, “I like your cut G.”
Coronavirus Day 303 — Snacks
The monotony of the lockdown life…
I find myself waking-up again. Making coffee again. Time to set the table again. Time for bed again.
Mostly I find myself standing in front of the pantry cupboard, staring at the same shelves. The same snacks. I say, “I’m ready for this pandemic to be over.”
And James says, “You always say that.”
And I say, “Well I’m always thinking it.”
Coronavirus Day 298 — Unprecedented
There have been many surreal milestones and unprecedented events this past year. While it seems like our days are dragging, they just keep coming.
Sickening images of abuses of power.
Store shelves empty.
An uninhabitable temperature of 120 degrees on September sixth.
Weeks of unnatural orange light and ash in place of rain.
A profoundly accomplished woman elected as Vice President.
More than 4,000 deaths in one day from COVID.
And yesterday, an insurrection at the Capitol building.
Oh the nostalgia for precedented times.