Happy April Fool's Day! One of my friends thought it would be funny to share a "letter" sent from the superintendent saying that spring break was canceled, and that school would be going through July 21st. I'm sure most of our friends who received this were upset at school going so long, but my head immediately went to "I'll get PAID through July! Woo-hoo!" So... different kind of April Fool's.
And today marks 20 days in lock down. TWENTY days. And with the quarantine now running through April 30th, that means we're going to be here for another twenty nine. WOW.
It's a big number. It's also one reason I keep holding onto the "one day at a time" mantra. I remember my doula, years ago, telling me that you can do anything for thirty seconds (at the time, she was talking about pushing a baby out, something I never really got to do thanks to two c-sections). But it popped into my head today, because I amended it to "we can handle this for a day". As long as I focus on the now, I can do this. My family can do this. As a society, we can get through this. It's just one day.
And today was beautiful. It was warmer than it's been, somewhere in the mid-50's, which meant we could go outside. I helped Jeff with some yard maintenance. He had ordered a replacement chainsaw last week because our wasn't working anymore, and we put it to use trimming the hedges (which hadn't been cut back since we moved out of our house almost three years ago). We're trying to put in a garden, and they were blocking the light. This involved me getting detailed instructions on using the safety on the saw (push forward, then pull back to release), and pushing a button while pulling the trigger to make it go. I wore the requisite safety sunglasses, gloves, and work boots, and was quite proud of the progress on the bushes. The warmth from the sun was a gentle reminder of how important it is to get outside, and the vibrations from the chainsaw were a not-so-gentle reminder that I'm 41, and my shoulder doesn't like chain saws knocking it around for long periods of time. Still, we made substantial progress.
E. wanted to practice being a goalkeeper after she was done with school work. She was using a soccer ball attached to an elastic band that goes around her waist, practicing punting it so it flew back at her. Jeff gave her a quick physics lesson, reminding her that the harder she kicked it, the faster it would fly back at her.
She enjoyed it for a while, but then wanted "Mommy to shoot on me." I obliged until two things happened: my knee started screaming at me that this wasn't a particularly good idea, and I hit one hard enough that she hurt her fingers (the last thing I need to do is be taping her potentially-broken fingers together because we don't want to go to get an x-ray). Her fingers were fine, but we decided to take a break from keeping and instead went back to working on her shooting. I fully expect her to be able to hit the ball from distance on net by the time she gets to go back to playing real games.
Speaking of which, she did have a minor breakdown today when she realized that soccer is not
But this is the world we live in, and missing a bunch of little girl soccer games is a drop in the bucket. We can play in the backyard to keep her skills sharp, and we are hosting regular family tournaments so there is some competition. I think that's the part that is frustrating her more than anything- that she can't play against others (she thrives on competition- she's like her mother). Put her against better players and she is at her best.
We're also watching older clips of sports on YouTube, which is helping a bit. I'm going through soccer and baseball withdrawal, so tonight, I tuned into a special event. MLB was replaying Derek Jeter's last home stand and I watched it on Facebook Live. I'll never forget that game for a few reasons. The first is, of course, that Jeter was an iconic Yankee. I've been a baseball fan since I was a little girl, and my dad took me to my first Yankees game. There was something magical about the stadium- the smell of hot dogs and pretzels, the breeze whipping around the stadium, the sound of thousands of people cheering with a singular voice. Years later, I would stand with my father in box 39, row 8- and watch as the Yankees won their first World Series in my lifetime right in front of me, and the Bronx rained down with a communal joy I'd never experienced. The electric energy swept me up, and hasn't let me go since.
The second reason is that the night Jeter played in that game, I was waiting on pathology reports from abdominal surgery I'd had a few days prior. During the game, I got the message from my doctor that I was okay. I wrote about it here, and the relief I felt was buoyed by watching one of the most respected baseball players of all time electrify the fans with a walk off single.
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