On The Other Hand
The last blog I did was on the resilience of my parent's generation during crisis. I don't know for sure if I have painted them as saint like out of a fondness for golden memories, but I do believe I caught the gist of their character. I, on the other hand, am failing miserably when it comes to a resilient character during this time of Social Distancing and staying home during Covid-19. I would like a vacation from my family, please.
While there are short spurts of time that everyone is occupied with either work or school, the rest of the time can only be described as live sardines in a constantly disinfected can. I have no room of my own. If I go to the bathroom, someone knocks on the door, or actually comes in. I'm feeding three dogs, a cat and one desperately skittish fish. The cat tends to drink from the filter in the fish tank, ever see a fish try to go incognito? The cat claims me when I sit to read, the dogs claim me at all times, underfoot and vying for attention. I have tripped more times in my own kitchen, trying to wash dishes or get dinner started while maintaining silence so my husband can work from home. Did I mention he takes up the entire kitchen counter?
I'm grateful, blessed, that we have an income, hard won by my husbands work, but the kitchen counter? To be fair, the 13 year old has taken residence in the office to do school work, so the concession to space is fair, unless you need to prepare dinner in a limited area. The 22 year old comes and goes as essential personnel, and I have become chief disinfector of the premises. We are close to running out of Lysol spray, and I would make homemade disinfectant, but it calls for vodka, which I fear I would drink out of self preservation.
Good old Gwyneth Paltrow suggests we all learn a new skill or language. Come to my house baby! You'll hear a new language that is quite universal, and totally unacceptable, mostly spoken under my breath when I have to remind the teen or the 22 year old to wash hands and social distance. Also, I don't have Gwyneth's help. I am the help, and heaven help me, I'm trying to maintain calm sanity in an insane time.
The sixteen year old pup requires special care that has mostly been left up to me, the kids have reverted to leaving everything from shoes to food wrappers all over the house. I won't even discuss dishes piled into the sink when the dishwasher is right beside it. Clothes? How many times a day are they changing outfits? I've worn the same dang thing for the past two days! In seven days, my husband had 12 shirts for me to wash. I must live with fashionistas and didn't know it.
I have managed to read one book in a total of twenty days. The number of times I stopped reading to answer questions or listen to a dissertation on the Lego universe would dang near catch a spot in Guinness World Records for number of interruptions while reading. And don't get me started on social media! While there have been posts of hope, music, the arts and care, the number of political and quite frankly, in poor taste memes, has sky rocketed. When my fingers got sore from scrolling past posts, I decided to check in rarely.
I know it's a rant, I know I'm lucky, blessed and yes, I am grateful, but like everyone, I long for a space of my own, for real tranquility in uncertain times, for hugging those we love, and gathering to celebrate events and faith. But is it too much to ask to get my kitchen counter back? Asking for a friend.
While there are short spurts of time that everyone is occupied with either work or school, the rest of the time can only be described as live sardines in a constantly disinfected can. I have no room of my own. If I go to the bathroom, someone knocks on the door, or actually comes in. I'm feeding three dogs, a cat and one desperately skittish fish. The cat tends to drink from the filter in the fish tank, ever see a fish try to go incognito? The cat claims me when I sit to read, the dogs claim me at all times, underfoot and vying for attention. I have tripped more times in my own kitchen, trying to wash dishes or get dinner started while maintaining silence so my husband can work from home. Did I mention he takes up the entire kitchen counter?
I'm grateful, blessed, that we have an income, hard won by my husbands work, but the kitchen counter? To be fair, the 13 year old has taken residence in the office to do school work, so the concession to space is fair, unless you need to prepare dinner in a limited area. The 22 year old comes and goes as essential personnel, and I have become chief disinfector of the premises. We are close to running out of Lysol spray, and I would make homemade disinfectant, but it calls for vodka, which I fear I would drink out of self preservation.
Good old Gwyneth Paltrow suggests we all learn a new skill or language. Come to my house baby! You'll hear a new language that is quite universal, and totally unacceptable, mostly spoken under my breath when I have to remind the teen or the 22 year old to wash hands and social distance. Also, I don't have Gwyneth's help. I am the help, and heaven help me, I'm trying to maintain calm sanity in an insane time.
The sixteen year old pup requires special care that has mostly been left up to me, the kids have reverted to leaving everything from shoes to food wrappers all over the house. I won't even discuss dishes piled into the sink when the dishwasher is right beside it. Clothes? How many times a day are they changing outfits? I've worn the same dang thing for the past two days! In seven days, my husband had 12 shirts for me to wash. I must live with fashionistas and didn't know it.
I have managed to read one book in a total of twenty days. The number of times I stopped reading to answer questions or listen to a dissertation on the Lego universe would dang near catch a spot in Guinness World Records for number of interruptions while reading. And don't get me started on social media! While there have been posts of hope, music, the arts and care, the number of political and quite frankly, in poor taste memes, has sky rocketed. When my fingers got sore from scrolling past posts, I decided to check in rarely.
I know it's a rant, I know I'm lucky, blessed and yes, I am grateful, but like everyone, I long for a space of my own, for real tranquility in uncertain times, for hugging those we love, and gathering to celebrate events and faith. But is it too much to ask to get my kitchen counter back? Asking for a friend.
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