As April whizzes past

Although the days are rather dull and anxiety-filled, I feel like they go by quickly. Here it is April 26th and it seems as though March were yesterday. I suppose that's because time stopped in mid-March and we're still waiting for it to resume.

April is not my favorite month, but it is not my least favorite either (that would be March). Things start to green up in April, followed by massive, messy snows. I remember thinking, last December when I was putting this calendar together, that the background was ugly. It's kind of a pale, unpleasant Aegean blue, not a color I like. Also, I couldn't find good photos, just some Easter stuff, the kids at the neighborhood egg hunt, that kind of thing.

And whaddaya know, the actual month turned out to be really sucky too. Or dull, I guess. Just waiting for this all to be over.

This wasn't a bad week, as stay-at-home weeks go. Last Sunday, the kids and I set out for a walk only to be stopped by the rapidly-melting snow on our front lawn. We ended up not going anywhere, just playing in the snow. This could be our last snow of the season (or, alternatively, we could get two more feet), so it made sense to enjoy it. The boys threw snowballs down the street competitively, they threw them at each other, and they rolled up the snow like a carpet and built a snow chair, which for a while was a snow wheelchair. I think this photo shows the wheelchair stage, but it's a little hard to tell. Before we went back inside, they destroyed it, hacking away with glee. When I told Rocket Boy about this later, he expressed disapproval. "It's going to be in the 50s tomorrow," I told him. "The sun would have destroyed it if they hadn't." And sure enough, by the end of the day Monday you could barely tell that we'd had any snow, much less 17 inches. Springtime in Colorado.

It feels crazy to say this, but I'm starting to enjoy distance learning. Maybe "enjoy" is too strong a word, but I need something stronger than "tolerate." Some of the time it's still awful, but some of the time it's fun.

What I love is when I'm dragging them through some assignment and then they take over and do it themselves -- and do it well. However, this photo is not an illustration of that. For Earth Day (Wednesday -- see the total absence of snow by then?), their science teacher suggested they go outside and pick up trash, and then analyze it to see how much plastic it contained. The other option was to make a poster, and that would have required research, so the boys both chose trash, but they were really not enthusiastic about it. I found bags for them to carry and gloves for them to wear, and they objected to both. "So, what, are you going to pick up trash with your bare hands?" I asked. No, they were planning for ME to pick up the trash and carry it home. Yeah, right. It turned out that there was essentially no trash in our neighborhood, not even on the creek path where I always see trash. Clearly, other science students had been out before us and picked it all up. But even when someone spotted a candy wrapper or a piece of styrofoam, they didn't want to pick it up. After much screaming and fighting, I got them to put a couple of things in their bags and we went home. On Friday they made videos about their trash and posted them.

Not much else happened this week, but as the days went on I started to feel really anxious. When this whole pandemic thing started, I believed (as did many people), that I would not get it, or if I did, it would be a mild or symptom-free version. I was worried that Rocket Boy would get it and die, but I wasn't worried about myself. But as time has gone on, I have gotten worried about myself. One of the main risk factors is obesity, and, well, that's me. My BMI is over 40, and since this whole crisis started I've gained a few more pounds from crappy eating (chocolate, chips, more chocolate). Rocket Boy is six years older than me, but he's skinny.

Every day, sometimes several times a day, I suddenly feel convinced that I have it -- a dry cough, a moment of chills, the scary few days when I couldn't smell the cats' litter box (still can't figure out that one). I've started imagining terrible scenarios where I get the virus, get very sick, have to go to the hospital and into Intensive Care, DIE, and then Rocket Boy comes back to Colorado to take care of the twins, catches the virus because they probably have it too, goes to the hospital, and DIES, etc. What would the twins do? Who could take care of them? Could they take care of themselves for a few days if they had to? Could they take care of the cats?

My anxiety for some reason seems to be focused on the cats. I worry that I should have had Pie Bear put to sleep, because no one can take care of him except me (those insulin needles, you know). I worry that if someone did move in to take care of the twins, they would be baffled by the cats. Finally, Friday night, I decided that the time had come to write up cat care instructions. And also a phone list, so the twins can use our home phone to call their relatives to ask for help. So when I got up on Saturday, after making tea and feeding the cats, I went straight to the computer and typed up those instructions. They're now taped to the kitchen wall and the phone list is on the little wall by the kitchen phone, and I feel somewhat comforted. I imagine a kind rescuer reading the instructions and knowing what to do (with a little help from the twins).

The other thing I did on Saturday was finish making masks. Although I had managed to make one a week ago, I couldn't seem to make any more, and the stupid ironing board sat sulking in the middle of our tiny kitchen. As part of my "let's beat anxiety by doing practical things" challenge, I decided to make three more masks -- a second one for me, and one each for the boys (doughnut fabric for Kid A, orange cat fabric for Kid B -- the photo also shows an old mask of RB's that I wear sometimes). I did this, though my sewing machine broke toward the end and I had to sew the last bits by hand. But I did it. And I was so happy that my sewing machine broke! I felt as though it broke on purpose, to let me off the hook for any more sewing. Of course, if it's not fixable (whenever the sewing machine repair shop opens up again), I'll be sad, but right now I don't want to be able to sew. I'm too anxious, still, for that to be fun.

I just want this all to be over.