During Ms. Prester's Advanced Algebra class my junior year in high school, an announcement came overhead: there had been shooting at Columbine High School. Ms. Prester remained seated on her metal teaching stool and calmly applied another layer of Cetaphil to her hands. She always kept a bottle of it on her desk. A number of students stood up in a panic but she insisted none of us were going anywhere until fifth period was finished.
Known as a stern and unbendable teacher, everyone begrudgingly slid back into their seats. As she rotated back to the blackboard and picking up where she left off, my mind tried to process the seriousness of what would ultimately become (at the time) the deadliest school shooting in history. I had a realization. What I thought had been a weird habit of coating her hands in soap, the same one I used at home to wash away oily teen angst, was actually lotion. The association of Cetaphil and guns now are permanently fused in my brain.
Known as a stern and unbendable teacher, everyone begrudgingly slid back into their seats. As she rotated back to the blackboard and picking up where she left off, my mind tried to process the seriousness of what would ultimately become (at the time) the deadliest school shooting in history. I had a realization. What I thought had been a weird habit of coating her hands in soap, the same one I used at home to wash away oily teen angst, was actually lotion. The association of Cetaphil and guns now are permanently fused in my brain.
On Tuesday and Thursday mornings of my sophomore year of college, I started with anatomy class at 7:30am sharp. Forty-four minutes prior, I watched two planes crash into one of the Twin Towers on my 12" TV that had a built in VCR while in my basement apartment. I tried to wake my roommate but to no avail. She was too sleepy and wasn't having it. Not knowing what else to do, I went to class. My professor was an old codger who insisted that the invention of lotion was nothing more than a pharmaceutical money making scheme. He also wore a lab coat at all times, even in the lecture hall that held several hundred students. Despite the devastating national news he insisted class should continue. Lotion, guns, and airplane crashes are linked in memory bank of terrible events.
This time it's not lotion, but rather hand-sanitizer imprinting my personal experience of our current viral calamity. Of course, I've been following the spread and have had countless "what if" conversations turn into "if then" conversations. I have seen our grocery store empty and restock and empty again in unpredictable waves. But for me, it all got real a few weeks ago when I was at a park with my daughter and saw a mom lose her mind over her kid dropping his turkey sandwich onto the ground. Like any normal kid, he just picked it up and kept on eating. Appalled, she whisked it from his hands and slathered so much Purell on him it was dripping all over the place. She hissed "Well now you're going to catch the coronavirus because of what you just did!" He was no older than two.
The smell of the hand-sanitizer was as intense as her stress level as she threw away the rest of his lunch and hauled him away crying. As the flowery-alcoholic smell wafted in my direction, I received THE email: Arlington Public Schools announced its official closure due to coronavirus. From here on out, my small, self-centered life would get a whole lot smaller.
I faced a lot of indecision about whether I should or should not write about what this new, smaller life of mine has been like. I reasoned, who would want to hear about my routine when the most exciting part of my day is choosing which direction to walk the dog every morning- clockwise or counterclockwise? But then I received emails from a friends in different places sharing how the virus has changed their lives, and I read them with great interest. So maybe sharing my own monotony might be interesting to others?
Life at home has become monotonous but surprisingly, also incredibly busy. I quit taking Russian and took over our kids' schooling. Mark continues his lessons on Skype with his two classmates and instructor for five hours a day. Since I have control over so little right now, I keep a schedule for the kids as we churn through assignments that school sends every morning. They are lifesavers to help pass the day which is a cycle of forty-five minutes of class time followed by a 15 minute break. We do school from 7:45am-2:30pm. They get story time with Grandma and Grandpa to break up the day full of worksheets and writing taskts.
On our breaks, I feel like a sadistic Simon Says, but the kids have taken a liking to my shouting out drill exercises. We are the daily weirdos doing bear crawls, push ups, and zombie walks on the sidewalk. Though they will last only a day or two more, seeing the blooming cherry blossom and magnolia trees has made our walks feel extra special.
I work out for about 40 minutes every day after school, using Nike Training Club (free at the moment), online yoga, and my current old favorite YouTube channel for women over forty, Fitness With PJ. She's sassy and super knowledgable. Plus I like that she curses. Because let's face it: working out sucks. We live on the first floor which means everyone can see in. There is a particular attention deprived child who, on her daily constitutionals loves to hang onto the window sill and watch my un-glorious grunt show. I have now resorted to closing all the blinds which makes the living room even more claustrophobic.
It could be worse. We are healthy, if perhaps bored and overly frustrated with having no idea what will happen next. Mark has a job that keeps us housed and fed and that alone helps me swallow my humble pie. This week, I ran into an acquaintance who worked at the school's extended day program which got cancelled when everything else did. Luckily she has a second job to help pay the bills, because that's what it takes to survive these days. Plus she's a single mom who has to leave her child at home. Even more eye opening, she lives twenty miles away (where rent is more affordable) and relies on public transportation. However, Metro shut down several metro stops and cancelled many bus routes leaving people virtually stranded, unable to get to the jobs they so desperately need. Ironically, the few routes that were operating, the buses were packed like sardines- everyone was taking their chances of exposure. I saw her at 6pm as she making her way to her 11pm shift at a nursing home, experimenting with safer routes to limit exposure to not just for her family, but the residents too. She's a legitimate hero.
If I ever complain about how hard this is, please punch me in the face.
The smell of the hand-sanitizer was as intense as her stress level as she threw away the rest of his lunch and hauled him away crying. As the flowery-alcoholic smell wafted in my direction, I received THE email: Arlington Public Schools announced its official closure due to coronavirus. From here on out, my small, self-centered life would get a whole lot smaller.
I faced a lot of indecision about whether I should or should not write about what this new, smaller life of mine has been like. I reasoned, who would want to hear about my routine when the most exciting part of my day is choosing which direction to walk the dog every morning- clockwise or counterclockwise? But then I received emails from a friends in different places sharing how the virus has changed their lives, and I read them with great interest. So maybe sharing my own monotony might be interesting to others?
Life at home has become monotonous but surprisingly, also incredibly busy. I quit taking Russian and took over our kids' schooling. Mark continues his lessons on Skype with his two classmates and instructor for five hours a day. Since I have control over so little right now, I keep a schedule for the kids as we churn through assignments that school sends every morning. They are lifesavers to help pass the day which is a cycle of forty-five minutes of class time followed by a 15 minute break. We do school from 7:45am-2:30pm. They get story time with Grandma and Grandpa to break up the day full of worksheets and writing taskts.
On our breaks, I feel like a sadistic Simon Says, but the kids have taken a liking to my shouting out drill exercises. We are the daily weirdos doing bear crawls, push ups, and zombie walks on the sidewalk. Though they will last only a day or two more, seeing the blooming cherry blossom and magnolia trees has made our walks feel extra special.
I work out for about 40 minutes every day after school, using Nike Training Club (free at the moment), online yoga, and my current old favorite YouTube channel for women over forty, Fitness With PJ. She's sassy and super knowledgable. Plus I like that she curses. Because let's face it: working out sucks. We live on the first floor which means everyone can see in. There is a particular attention deprived child who, on her daily constitutionals loves to hang onto the window sill and watch my un-glorious grunt show. I have now resorted to closing all the blinds which makes the living room even more claustrophobic.
It could be worse. We are healthy, if perhaps bored and overly frustrated with having no idea what will happen next. Mark has a job that keeps us housed and fed and that alone helps me swallow my humble pie. This week, I ran into an acquaintance who worked at the school's extended day program which got cancelled when everything else did. Luckily she has a second job to help pay the bills, because that's what it takes to survive these days. Plus she's a single mom who has to leave her child at home. Even more eye opening, she lives twenty miles away (where rent is more affordable) and relies on public transportation. However, Metro shut down several metro stops and cancelled many bus routes leaving people virtually stranded, unable to get to the jobs they so desperately need. Ironically, the few routes that were operating, the buses were packed like sardines- everyone was taking their chances of exposure. I saw her at 6pm as she making her way to her 11pm shift at a nursing home, experimenting with safer routes to limit exposure to not just for her family, but the residents too. She's a legitimate hero.
If I ever complain about how hard this is, please punch me in the face.
 |
| Fresh air. |
 |
| Vocabulary development. |
 |
| Medical training. |
 |
| Listening to the story of White Fang. |
Oh Emily. So good. Punch me back if/when I need it, okay?
ReplyDelete