Don't Panic. Sorry, that was the first thing I thought of when I saw "42"- which, consequently, is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Unfortunately, it isn't the answer to the pandemic, or quarantine, or any of the multitude of questions I have swirling in my head. Though towels have definitely helped a bit.
Today was okay, then it wasn't, then it was back to the routine. It's amazing how that happens- even during times of great tragedy. We can get wrapped up in that which is normal and second nature to us, and go about our business almost in a fog of familiarity until something jars us back with this is not normal.
The girls went back and forth with working, and that's okay. E. had a meeting with her class via Google Hangouts, and she was excited to see her friends and her teacher. She was happy to share a soccer drill she created this week (we held up a computer with her doing the drill on it to the camera, so her classmates could watch. Very innovative, if I do say so myself).
When the hangout was over, she wanted to finish her "habitat" drawing that she began on Earth Day yesterday. We're pretty behind with math and reading and... well, everything, since with the last few days being emotionally rough, we didn't push them to finish, and instead let them play. She took a math assessment, and while she literally knew everything (her answers on her scrap paper were all correct), she somehow managed to click some of the wrong multiple choice buttons on the computer, so her score was an 87. When we went over it together, she pointed out the correct answers on her scrap paper, and kept saying "I don't understand- I had the right answer!" I emailed her teacher and explained, and the teacher said not to worry, the program is difficult to use, and math assessments would normally be handled by writing the answers down. E. was relieved (and even more so when the teacher said her score, even with the errors, would be great at an 87, but how far she has come in math this year in general is more impressive). I'm pretty proud of my little girl- one for speaking up that she knows the material, but also for how she's gone from a kid getting pulled out for extra math help to someone who is understanding the majority of the material and excelling.
Back when she was in kindergarten, I remember the specialist telling me that her assessment in math was the oddest she'd ever seen. She was scoring in the 80-90th percentile for some things, like comprehension, but simple things like understanding "fewer" or "sum", she was getting in the 20% range. I mentioned at the time that I thought it could be that E. didn't understand the wording- the vocabulary- but she knew how to do math when it was in equation form. The teacher said that was a lightbulb moment, and sure enough, once E. understood the vocabulary of math, her scores started to increase until she was on level and even beyond in some areas.
The end of the day involved R. and I taking part in a "Family Chopped Challenge" my friend Erin shared with us. She invited a few of her friends to create a dinner dish based around a "secret" ingredient, which she revealed at 6 PM. At 6:45, we would reconvene, and share photos of our dishes, and how they tasted, if we would make them again, etc. It was fun to see more people on our screen, and interact with them, however briefly. Erin's kids held up the secret ingredient, saying "PASTA!" while the rest of us moms nodded, affirming that we did indeed have pasta options in our homes. We then signed off, and got to work. R.'s idea was to make a pasta salad- she went through what veggies we had, and determined that chopped carrots, olives, and sundried tomatoes, plus Italian dressing. She filled a pot of water and placed it on the stove, and I explained how she could carefully turn on the burner. We then searched the internet for a quick bread recipe to try to make with it, and combined the flour, water, salt, and yeast into our breadmaker, and set it to mix. I then started on chopping the brussell sprouts while R. collected the veggies to go in with the pasta.We had one minor snafu, when I turned around and realized that the burner R. had put the water on was next to the breadmaker- and that the breadmaker cord was on fire. Fortunately, it had just lit, and I was able to snuff it out before it was damaged in a major way (it didn't eat through the plastic all the way, and seems to be working, so hopefully we're okay on that one). It did, however, make the room smell a bit, so we made the rest of the food with the fan on, and the windows and doors open.
The time went quickly, with me peeling the carrots, then handing them to R. to slice (again, carefully) with my mandolin. I opened the can of olives, she found the sundried tomatoes, and I drained the pasta. She then dumped the veggies in and mixed the lot with the dressing while I sautéed the brussell sprouts with garlic and olive oil until they were crisp.
When we reconvened, everyone was quite proud of their dishes, and Riley gleefully displayed ours, then began eating it while the rest of the "contestants" shared their results. By the time Jeff and E. joined us for sitting down to dinner, R. was on her second helping. Spending some one on one time with my oldest is important, and I was happy I had the time with her (especially since her dad spent the time doing a drum lesson with E., giving her Daddy-Daughter time). Cooking is something I did a lot with my mom, and I need to do more of it with my kids.
The middle of the day was when the jarring hit. I was finishing up researching a website when I realized that my friend's funeral was happening virtually thanks to the funeral home and church's technological prowess. They had set up a television screen next to the casket at the funeral home, and the funeral home had a camera trained on it, so you could see both on the computer screen. There was a female clergyperson (pastor?) offering memories of my friend, and saying the "Our Father." I stood in my kitchen, barefoot and thinking how odd it was to see all this on screen, to hear the person offering words of hope from in front of an empty church, standing behind a pulpit. And then I saw, reflected on the monitor broadcasting the pastor, my friend's husband, and her daughter, shadowy shapes but clear enough to make out. Her daughter leaned over and half climbed into her dad's lap, her little arms wrapped around his neck. The pain they were both in was palpable, and I did my best to control my crying, so that my own kids didn't hear it from the other rooms (I didn't want to put them through watching this). When the pastor sang an Irish blessing song at the end of the service, I had to muffle myself with tissues.
"It's not fair" is something I've heard a lot in the last few weeks. Things are canceled, people are missing out on graduations, weddings, giant moments in their lives that aren't what they dreamed. But this, this is unfair. A little girl and her brother who have to grow up without their mom. A husband who will forever miss the bright light that was his wife. I lost my dad when I was 19, and it still hurts. It was too soon, and the things he missed out on pain me every day-losing a parent is something you never get over. I hope my there is something beyond this world, something wonderful that she is now a part of. And I'm grateful for all the days that I have with my family, that we have together. Finding the joy in each of them is the best tribute I can give to the people who we have lost.
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