Last Tuesday, my office sent us home with our computers, laptops, supplies and anything else we might need to work from home — which is what we’re doing.
For an indefinite amount of time.
On Friday night, I finally set up my home office, pulling my desk out of storage. I had been meaning to do that anyway.
I also ventured to grocery stores Friday night, spending three hours hunting for eggs, milk and produce. Luckily, I had found six rolls of toilet paper behind a bag full of bags in my upstairs bathroom cupboard.
I felt like the richest woman on earth.
Mostly because it meant I didn’t have to go out again on Saturday.
Friday night at my neighborhood Dillon’s looked a lot like Sunday afternoon the week before…
On Saturday, my husband and I cleaned the ever-loving s*** out of our house. We used the last of our Lysol wipes to scrub appliances, countertops and sinks. We dug deep into the kitchen sink with baking soda and cream of tarter. We swept, Swiffered and mopped the bathrooms and kitchen. We dusted, Windexed and vacuumed the house top-to-bottom.
I sprayed disinfectant purchased during my husband’s latest cold (more than a month ago) on every cabinet pull, door knob, light switch and surface my son might decide to press his face on.
So all the surfaces.
On Sunday, I outlined my week of billable work hours and homeschool for my son.
With the school district closed for the rest of the semester and my household #socialdistancing (and now under a shelter-at-home order), my 3-year-old no longer has access to the education, social/speech therapy and daily work he needs to improve on his cognitive and speech delays.
Now, that therapy falls on me.
Why me? Why not my husband, too?
Let me be clear: We are not a gender-“normal” household. We share the load across the board. We take care of bills, housework, paperwork, pets and the toddler equally and equitably.
But, right now, he’s taking care of even more because he works at a major hospital in our community. He has staff on the front lines of fighting coronavirus, flattening the curve and supporting the hospital.
All while they’re all trying to take care of themselves and their families.
So, that’s why me.
However, he still has to make dinner some nights because I’m generally a terrible cook (unless he wants frozen “chicken chunks” and oven-roasted corn on the cob for the indefinite amount of time I’m home).
In return, I’ll do the laundry and try to potty-train the toddler.
No promises on that second one, though.
Homeschool — and the attempt to teach my son how to string English words (instead of “his language” words) into a sentence — are my new normal for a while. I don’t know when he’ll be able to go back to daycare or school where he can learn from professionals.
Remember, this is indefinite.
What hasn’t been suspended for an indefinite amount of time is my job.
Because I still have a job.
A flexible, gives-a-s***-about-me job that understands and makes accommodations for my new normal.
I know I’m one of the lucky ones.
Sometimes, in the thick of things, we can forget how lucky we are.
I know I have.
Since Tuesday, March 17 — without a lucky St. Patrick’s Day celebration — I have been reminded over and over how lucky I am through the actions and words of people who care about me. The people I work for and with every day.
I know not everyone is going to be as lucky as I am during and after this pandemic.
Coronavirus is reshaping households and families worldwide. For an indefinite amount of time. Remind yourself, if you’re one of the lucky ones, that you are in fact lucky.
Stay home because you can.
Buy less because you can.
Donate more because you can.
Remember, not everyone can.
We’re all in this together.