Here comes the sun

The philosophy of Colfax Avenue

When the COVID craziness started over a year ago, it felt weird and somewhat scary and a little bit like an adventure. We'll create an in-home movie theater, complete with tickets and concessions! We'll bake things! We'll do zoom calls all the time! Whee!

And temporary. When the closures started, it was communicated that we would reopen in two or three weeks. We just needed some time to "flatten the curve."

In hindsight, it sounds adorable. 

Some people said that we would be living in lock-down for at least a year or more, which struck me as horrifying. I felt like I couldn't live like that for a year or more. I would rather die.

Which is obviously ridiculous. It was a year or more. And I didn't die.

But the novelty definitely wore off. I got tired of baking. I got tired of doing mountains of dishes all the fucking time. I discovered that doing a Passover seder via Zoom was the most depressing thing ever.

I worked from home and the kids did school from home and we muddled along as best we could. Much of it sucked, but knowing how hard the pandemic hit so many people, I'm very fortunate. None of my close friends or loved ones died. I suffered no financial hardship (except the lightening of my wallet because I staved off boredom by shopping online like my life depended on it). 

Some of it didn't suck. I had an amazing ski season, which went a long way toward keeping me feeling happy. Being active and outside feeds my soul. 

Towards the end it felt like such a slog.  

But now it's summer. We're vaccinated. We're ready to go.

My kids have been out of school for two weeks. Two weeks of not having to fight with them to get up in the morning. Two weeks of not saying to Zeke (who continued to do school remotely because he couldn't be bothered to get up, and I let him because notwithstanding all of his school-related fuckery, he made the honor roll), "let's have one day when I don't get a 3:30 p.m. tardy call, OK? Just one?" 

The end of the school year also lightened my load considerably, both in terms of stress and actual work. Much of what I do involves student-specific and school administration issues. When school isn't in session, the phone calls and emails drop off immediately and significantly. 

The weather is beautiful. I've been doing some mountain biking and hiking. Restaurants are open. We take the SUP to the reservoir. We see friends and are out and about.

In a week, I'm going to Iceland with a man-friend (I don't date boys). After going in 2015 (when it was winter and freezing), I've wanted to go in the summer. We'll be there for the summer solstice, which is celebrated with a big party in Iceland. We're doing a road trip around the entire island - it looks fabulous and I can't wait. 

Next month is the annual trip to the Outer Banks. While I'm there, I'll do a little jaunt to Richmond for a girls' weekend with my UVA buddies.

And tomorrow, the kids and I head to New Hampshire for the high school graduation party for one of Josh's kids. The whole mishpachah will be there. It will be the first time since Thanksgiving of 2019 that we will all be together. The thought of it makes me choke up with happiness. I love them and have missed them so much.

Y'all know how much I love reunions and family gatherings.  

The feeling I have reminds me of when Jason and I did our road trip across the country when we moved to Hawaii. We spent a number of days driving through the desert in New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Nevada, before descending from the Sierra Nevadas down into Sacramento. We had spent so much time in dry air looking out at brown desert landscapes that when we got to California. all of the warm air and green grass and flowers and trees were startling. Especially because I don't like deserts - give me humid air and lush vegetation any day.

We have wandered in the COVID desert for far more than 40 days and 40 nights. Science is now delivering us to the promised land.

(How's that for a tortured metaphor?)

 It feels amazing.

Love and bribery

 An article in today's New York Times talked about how the pandemic has made mothers feel like failures. We lose our tempers and yell. We have run out of the ideas and the interest in making being at home "fun." We increasingly feel like, as parents, we are not doing right by our kids. 

I know these feelings all too well, especially when it comes to Zeke. Josie has always been the resilient one. She rolls with the punches, she deals with the adversity. Now that she's back in school a couple of days a week, she is making friends and feeling connected to her world. 

Zeke, on the other hand, struggles. He suffers. His energy and motivation are low. He seems depressed. 

The pandemic lifestyle is so hard on kids. They feel isolated and bored and hopeless.

Yesterday he spent the bulk of his day in his room, either doing school remotely or playing videogames with his friends. I tried to encourage him to get outside and get some sun and exercise, but he wouldn't go. 

"Why don't you go for a bike ride? You can go ride around the lake at City Park, or head down to Teller and see if anyone wants to play football or something."

"No, I don't want to."

"What about the trampoline?"

"It makes my Osgood-Schlatter hurt." 

"Come on, honey. You need to get out and do something. It's not good to sit in your room all day."

He put his head down and shrugged.

Last night I went out for dinner with a friend of mine. I was out for about two hours. When I came home at around 9:15, Zeke was asleep in bed.

He slept for 11 hours but still woke up tired and sluggish. 

We had another argument about him needing to get up, about needing to do something other than sit around. I felt myself losing my temper. He accused me of yelling. 

"Just leave me alone! Why are you always bothering me??"

"I have to. It's my job. I'm worried about you," I said.

"Why?"

"Because the way you're living is so unhealthy. You lie in your bed much of the day. You don't take good care of yourself. You have no energy."

He put his head down and shrugged. He knew I was right. 

"Lying around because you're tired only makes you more tired. I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but it's true. You have a beautiful, strong body. You're athletic. You're coordinated. But if you don't get more exercise, you're going to lose your muscle tone. Your heart and lungs won't be as strong. You won't feel good. And if you got more exercise you would have more energy."

He shrugged again. 

A little while later I poked my head into his room. He was on a break from school and was texting with one of his friends.

"Mom, can I get a gaming PC?"

"I don't know. They're really expensive."

"I need a decent computer for school anyway."

This is true.

"You can take it out of my allowance."

I looked at him with skepticism. "That's a lot of damned allowance."

"I know."

"I'll think about it. Do some research and see if you can find any good deals."

He kept asking me about it. He found a really good one that was on sale. He does need a computer, both for school and otherwise. 

I sat down, made a list, and handed it to him.

"Ok," I told him. "You can get it. And I'll take money out of your allowance. But you will also pay in labor."

"Ok," he said.

"You're pretty half-assed about chores. That will not be acceptable. You will make your bed, put away your clothes, clean up your messes, get up without a fuss, do your homework every day. All of the things on this list."

"Ok."

"You will also do laundry a couple of times a week and be responsible for dinner one night a week."

"Ok."

"And you will exercise at least 5 days a week. It can be whatever you want but you have to do something. Go for a bike ride. Go for a walk. Come skiing with me. Do a ride on the Peloton, even if it's just 15 or 20 minutes. Just do something."

"Ok."

"And you will always be nice to your mother."

"I will." And he gave me a hug.

A little while later I was working downstairs and he came down and asked to use the Peloton. So I set him up and adjusted the seat and started a 15 minute ride for him. I didn't tell him that often the shorter rides are super-intense. 

He did the ride. "I want to do one of those every day," he said. "And lift weights."

"No problem," I said. 

Later I heard the shower running, which made me happy because smelly teenagers always need a shower. Then I heard activity in his room.

"Mom, can I use the vacuum?"

"How much laundry detergent should I use?"

"Where are the garbage bags?"

He had energy. He moved with purpose. He seemed motivated.

I know it's only one day. But it's a day I'm not feeling like a failure, so I'll take it.

Shana Tova! Tits Up!

 My fingers have gotten sloppy at typing on my phone. I used to be much better at it, but lately I'm constantly missing letters or hitting the wrong ones. I rely excessively on autocorrect, often with hilarious or telling results.

Around the first of the year I typed "happy new year" numerous times, as I'm sure we all did. Sending well wishes, hoping that the shit show of 2020 would give way to happier, calmer times. Unfortunately, insurrection proved that to be a short-lived pipe dream, but hope springs eternal, right?

Anyway, happy new year on my phone,

One time it came out as Happy Jew Year, which I guess works. 

Not long after that, it was "happy new teat," which made me laugh really hard. The word "teat" is never not funny.

That made me think of the scenes in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, when Suzy and Midge take a breath and say "tits up!" whenever Midge is getting ready to go out on stage. She squares her shoulders and marches out to face the audience. 

I feel like that's a solid approach for life. 

I know it's a ridiculous statement of the obvious, but the past year was brutal. And the past few months were particularly brutal. I mean, things have been shitty for everyone. I'm not unique. But I can only write about what I know.

We careened through the spring and summer, trying to figure out life in a pandemic, not seeing friends or family. The kids and I went to the Outer Banks in July, and to my parents' house in Virginia for Thanksgiving - both times after everyone tested negative for coronavirus AND going through the airport in essentially a hazmat suit. 

But it wasn't the same, especially Thanksgiving. No hockey game, no Turkey Trot, no Day After Thanksgiving Pie celebration. 

Zeke in particular was miserable. I mean, he's 13, with everything that entails. Meaning when he's not utterly charming and being super sweet to me, he's a complete asshole. 

At one point, I called my mom for advice. 

"I don't know how to deal with this."

"Yeah, it sucks."

"What did you do with Sam when he was this age?"

"I didn't talk to him for two years."

She's a wise woman.

School has been a disaster. Both kids hate the remote-online format, especially Josie. She's in her first year of middle school at an all-girls charter school. A big part of their philosophy is athleticism and movement, and how that complements a rigorous academic program. But she has never set foot in the building. She hasn't truly interacted with any of her classmates. They do PE online, which is stupid. She is so, so unhappy.

Zeke is inconsistent about logging in to his classes. I get calls all the time from teachers letting me know he needs to do a test or get caught up on an assignment. He's so damned smart that he'll say, "oh, ok," log in, take the test, and get a 90% without even studying. But his grades suck because he spends a lot of time doing fuck-all.

Getting them up in the morning to start class was a fight almost every day. Getting them to get their butts up to get any kind of exercise was a fight every day. Thank goodness for the trampoline. Getting them motivated to do just about anything was a fight every day. 

I was constantly worn out, constantly emotionally wrecked, constantly feeling like an utter failure as a mother. 

I decided to stop fighting. It was taking too much out of me. The solution was to embrace the suck, stop caring so much and to recognize that none of it matters that much in the long term. They're not in high school. Their grades right now won't matter when they're applying to colleges. This crazy year will, hopefully, be a blip. 

I told them, "I don't care if you get As. Just don't get Fs. Do enough to get by, and when you're back in school in person, we'll worry about getting back on track then. Log in, participate, do something. That's all I care about."

I would get emails from school to the effect of, "we're starting a new unit on geology! Make sure to check your student's grades!"

Nah. I don't care.

Because I almost always have the kids on New Year's Eve, it tends to be a low-key affair. Maybe we'll watch the Times Square ball drop on TV, and then call my family to celebrate a 10 PM East Coast New Year's.

This year I had two Zoom New Year's parties set up, one with my family, and one with my India girlies. I decided to put on a sparkly shirt and earrings, mix myself some champagne cocktails, and have some fun. 

Champagne cocktail
1 sugar cube
2-3 dashes Angostura bitters
1 ounce brandy
4-6 ounces champagne
garnish with orange slice and maraschino cherry

 The drinks and the company were delicious. It was the most festive New Year's Eve I've had in years. 

The orange abomination in the White House is on his way out. Our politics are fraught, but it's a start. My kids' schools have announced dates to start back in person. I have a hot date tomorrow. The pandemic is a nightmare, but there's a vaccine (which I'm getting this week). It feels like there's a tiny glimmer of light peeking out from the end of the tunnel. 

Deep breath. Sally forth. Tits up.

Report from the front lines: Remote Learning, Day 1

 5:00 a.m. - I am up before my alarm, which is unusual and surprising. I like my sleep, plus I was up last night later than normal. Met a friend out for a couple of hours last night and then one of my car's tires blew on the way home, so it was 11:30 p.m. by the time I got the tire changed and made it home. Thank goodness for kind men who jump at the chance to change a tire for a damsel in distress. I know how to change a tire, but it was nice to have someone do it for me. Chivalry is not dead.

6:00 - I get up and get ready for the day. Task number one is making sure Josie has what she needs to start school. I get on her computer and open up the tabs she'll use - google classroom, zoom chats, the email with her schedule, etc. She should do this herself but she's so freaked about the remote learning that I set it up for her so it's one less thing for her to cry about.

7:30 - Zeke needs to start school at 8:10. He's totally self sufficient - I make sure he finds the emails from his teachers with the relevant zoom links, but beyond that he's good to go. I go downstairs to make him some breakfast and coffee. I promptly break the French press when I open the cupboard above it and a plastic water bottle falls out on top of it. I go to the coffee shop across the street instead and while I wait in line, I order myself a new coffee maker from Amazon.

8:10 - he logs into his first class. All is well.

8:45 - I make sure Josie is ready to go. She has hot chocolate and I make her some eggs. Her first class is Movement starting at 9. I have a conference call for work at the same time so once I know she's all set I go downstairs and do my call. 

9:50 - Josie's movement class went well but now she has English and she's already starting to melt down. She can't hear someone on the Zoom chat. She can't figure out how to edit the document in Google Classroom. When I make suggestions she lashes out at me. She's crying and hiding under a blanket. She wants to quit and I won't let her, so I'm mean. She cries some more, I'm annoyed, and I leave for the tire place.

11:30 - Back at home, I try to work while keeping an ear out for needy children. Josie manages to get through her English class in one piece and has a break for an hour or so. Zeke is fine. I feed them lunch in between phone calls for work, one of which entails being yelled at by an irate lawyer. Fun times.

12:00 - I finish a conference call and get up to start my third load of laundry of the day.

1:30 - I check on Josie. She's doing social studies but they're taking a break. She is spending her break underneath her bed watching TikTok videos. I tell her that when it's time to start class again she needs to sit at her desk. She begrudgingly agrees. She asks if we can make cookies later. We absolutely can.

2:30 - I check on Josie. She's supposed to write a letter to her teacher about something. She can't figure out what it's supposed to be about and is frustrated and complaining. I manage to talk her off the ledge before the tears flow. Zeke is done for the day and had no trouble. He then proceeds to torment his sister until I can get him out of her room.

3:00 - Work continues for me, as it has all day. Conference calls, telephone calls, video meetings, emails, memos. This is a hard time for school districts. Teachers are stressed, administrators are stressed, parents are stressed. We're all doing the best we can but it never feels like enough. Someone's always pissed off or upset. I'm like a pinball, ricocheting from one task and one dispute to the next. I can't focus on or remember anything.

3:30 - Josie finally finishes. I give her a hug and tell her I'm proud of her for sticking with it. The first day is the hardest, I say. Tomorrow it won't be as bad, and soon you'll be more comfortable with everything. It'll be ok. She nods, hugs me back, and lies down to take a nap. 

4:45 - A friend of Zeke's is over and the kids are out back on the trampoline. I'm almost finished for the day, having worked my way through my to-do list. I'm suddenly starving and realize I've had nothing to eat all day - just coffee. 

5:00 - I eat a bowl of yogurt with a mango cut into it. I look around and realize I need to vacuum. I think about doing a workout but know that I'm going to need to eat more if I'm going to do it without passing out. I try to come up with something to make for dinner. I wonder if I can get away with going to bed at 8 p.m.

We survived.

Mean mommy

"Mom, me and Zeke are switching rooms."

I had just walked home from being out for a couple of hours to meet a friend for a drink. The margaritas were making my brain slightly fuzzy.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Zeke is going to take my room and I'm going to take Zeke's room."

"Wait ... what? Why?"

Zeke saw me and yelled down from upstairs, "hey Mom! Do you have an allen wrench? I need it to take Josie's bed apart."

"What? I don't know. Maybe. I don't know where it would be."

"OK, I'll call dad."

Minutes later: "Dad's got one! I'm going to bike over there."

It was 9:30 at night.

"What? No! It's 9:30 at night, you don't have a light on your bike, and I don't want you riding up Josephine and York streets in the dark."

"But I need it to take Josie's bed apart!"

Josie has an IKEA bunk bed that I can take apart and put back together easily. I am the queen of assembling IKEA furniture - I find it very zen and satisfying. But the bed takes awhile, and if you're 12 years old and impatient and don't know what you're doing and don't have the directions (they were thrown away years ago), you'll make a big fat mess and end up crying. Crying 12-year-olds are annoying as fuck.

"It's 9:30 at night!! You're not taking Josie's bed apart! It's complicated and it takes a long time to do it right, and you'll mess it up and then I'll have to fix it, and I don't feel like it fixing it. I'm tired. It's bedtime. You have camp tomorrow. You need to get ready for bed."

"But we want to switch rooms," they whined.

"I don't care. You're not doing it tonight. You can do it tomorrow. And I'm not helping."

This went back and forth for a while, ending with Zeke saying, "god, mom, why are you so mean???"

I'm mean. I'm so, so mean.

I'm mean when I make them clean their messes up before I turn on the WiFi.

I'm mean when I make them go to bed before midnight.

I'm mean when I don't let them eat upstairs because it's gross and eventually I end up rummaging through the kitchen going, "where the hell are all my bowls???"

I'm mean when I'm on a video conference for work and Zeke starts bellowing at me about something and I'm like, "I'M WORKING!! BE QUIET! I'LL HELP YOU WHEN I'M DONE!!"

 I'm mean when I get irritated that it takes me half an hour to get them out of bed to go to camp.

Thank the little baby Jesus for camp.

Colorado is actually doing pretty well with COVID. Our numbers are declining. Our governor is making data-driven decisions and slowly opening things up while still maintaining certain restrictions and precautions. The one thing I vehemently disagreed with him on was his approach to summer camp.

My kids were registered for two weeks of overnight camp, which they love because it's fun, and while I love because they're gone and I can get some peace and quiet. The gov had delayed making an announcement until late May, but the word was positive. And my assumption was that as between overnight camps and day camps. day camps have exponentially more opportunities for transmission, whereas with overnight camp, you check in, you get your health screening, and then you're captive for 14 days.

But then the overnight camps closed and the day camps opened, so day camp it was.

It's hard for them. Nothing is back to normal - the neighborhood pool is closed, the rec center a few blocks away is closed, most of their friends aren't allowed to play with anyone else. They're restless and antsy and bored.

But it's hard for me too. Zeke has been living here full time, but Josie had continued to go back and forth between my house and her dad's house. And then about a month ago, she started staying at my house longer and longer.

"Don't you want to go see daddy?" I keep asking.

She shrugs and says, "sure, but not tonight."

I think a big part of it is that they like being together. They will fight and bicker, but they really do love each other and take care of each other.

But I need a break, so I told them that I need every other weekend to myself. Two days out of every fourteen. Zeke suggested that I got plenty of alone time when they're at camp - i.e., WHEN I'M WORKING. I expressed outrage at that suggestion. They were thinking I was mean but they were smart enough not to say it. So I'm getting my weekend in three days.

Last night their dad brought over the allen wrench and they got to work. Zeke tried to take Josie's bed apart and got a little turned around about exactly which pieces needed to come apart in order to move the bed, and which could stay intact, So of course I helped. We took the bed apart and moved it and put it back together. We figured out how to move Josie's enormous dresser (but not before they accused me of being mean when they insisted on trying to do it in a way that was never going to work and I said, "it's not going to work that way").

Zeke said, "isn't this fun, mom? We're bonding!"

I went back to my room and got into bed. The kids were excited about their new rooms.

Ten minutes later Josie poked her head around the door. "Can I sleep with you?"

She crawled in, threw an arm around me, and went to sleep.

Live your best life

If there is a casualty of this COVID-stay-at-home-so-you-don't-die dealio, it will be my sense of time. Lisa wrote about this, and I get the sense that most people are feeling this way, but it bears repeating. I have no idea what day it is. I have no idea how long this has been going on.

This is hard for me, because my brain generally sees things in calendar form. When I think about my schedule, I see the grid with dates and times and days of the week. I remember appointments and due dates and what day and time the flight leaves, and from which gate.

So to spend all of Wednesday thinking it was actually Tuesday - - well, it's very confusing. Every night feels like Friday night, for some reason. I find myself relating to the Dowager Countess's confusion about what a "weekend" is.

I have a theory. Not about what a weekend is - I actually do know the answer to that question. I have a theory about why our sense of time is so whack-a-doodle right now.

We're living in a fog of sameness. We stay in the same place and do the same things and see the same people. There aren't markers or boundaries or events that distinguish one day from the next. I felt the same way when I was on maternity leave.

I also think we're in a "one day at a time" mode, because if we start thinking that this one day is part of a stretch of 40 days or 60 days or 80 days that all look and feel like this one... I have a hard time with that thought.

So I just deal with today. Which, according to all of my zen yogi friends, is what I should be doing anyway. Be present.

Maybe present-ish. Present-adjacent. I might think a little about yesterday, or about tomorrow or the next day.

Anyway. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow ... I'm doing well, for the most part.

Today I went to Zeke's school to pick up a novel that he's going to be studying when school starts back up in a week.

Then I went to the grocery store. There are still no paper products to be had, but everything else is in stock. Except yeast, because apparently everyone has decided to spend the apocalypse baking.

I actually mocked a guy in front of me at the checkout at Target a few weeks ago because his cart was loaded up with paper towels and bags and bags of flour. I mean, I didn't mock him to his face. Just in my head, and maybe a little bit on Facebook.

Anyway. He sure showed me, huh?

What else?

My knee hurts.

I've been very good about exercising regularly. I alternate Peloton rides with runs. The other day I went for a run around City Park. The street leading there has old sidewalks made of slate or flagstone slabs, and over the years they have been pushed around by tree roots, leaving the slabs uneven. So I'm running along and listening to my music and admiring the blue sky and then suddenly I was on the ground.

I landed hard on my left knee. I ripped my brand new running tights. It hurt like a motherfucker.

I lay there for a couple of minutes as I took stock. Was anything broken? Was there structural damage or was it just a bad scrape? Could I keep going?

I kept going.

At one point I was waiting to cross the street and realized my knee felt a little sticky. I pulled up my tights and discovered that I had basically taken the top layer of skin off my kneecap and was bleeding.

Still, I kept going. I wanted to finish the run. My skin and my leggings are washable.

And bonus!! Now I have a matched set of busted up kneecaps!

A few months ago I slipped on ice and landed on my face and my right knee. My face healed quickly. My right kneecap is still a little bit tender - I must have bruised the bone pretty badly.

Do you know what a pain in the ass it is to not be able to put pressure on either of your knees?

But I'm fine. We're fine.

I ordered a trampoline for the kids - it'll arrive tomorrow.

We watch a lot of movies. We play a lot of videogames.

I ordered a bluetooth karaoke microphone, and it may be my favorite toy, ever. Josie sings Lizzo and Billie Eilish, Zeke sings Frank Sinatra, I sing the Dixie Chicks.

I bought Zeke a pumpkin pie at the grocery store this morning and encouraged him to eat it for breakfast.

For my morning coffee, I got out the Wedgwood that I inherited from my grandparents, because why the hell not?

We're going to be in this for a while, so we might as well make ourselves happy.

The play unfolds before my eyes, there stands the actor who is me

Because I do my assignments, I was determined to know the speech, off-book.

I practiced in front of Josie and Zeke, both of whom applauded me enthusiastically. They're so sweet and encouraging. It made me feel really good.

"Are you going to be in a play? Will you be famous? Can we come watch you?"

It's the famous part that they were most interested in.

I explained that it's just for practice, just for a class. Just for fun.

I wanted to have some fun.

I come from an actor-y family. My grandma Ruth was an actress and a radio DJ. Throughout my childhood, I watched my dad do community theater in Venezuela and Israel and India. I did school plays and community theater in middle and high school, and a little bit in college.

Chava in Fiddler on the Roof. Margot in Diary of Anne Frank. Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Alice, one of the romantic leads, in You Can't Take It With You.

 Let me tell you, there are few things more mortifying than being an 13-year-old 8th grader in a high school production and having to kiss a 17-year-old senior on stage.

But I did it. I kissed Trevor, who seemed ancient to me and who towered over me by well over a foot. I persevered. The show must go on.

The acting class was a 6 week series. It provided me with something that wasn't work and wasn't child-rearing and wasn't for anybody else. It was just mine. It was creative. I was in a different environment and interacting with different people.

I did the speech. I received some constructive criticism, but felt like I did it well.

And then it was over. Now getting out into the world and interacting with new people is over, for the time being.

I went into self-quarantine this past Sunday - I was skiing up in Summit County on Saturday, and it turned out they had had a cluster of positive tests. Then that night the governor ordered the ski resorts closed. Now everything is closed.

It's hard.

I'm not fully an extrovert, but I'm not fully an introvert either. I like being alone, and being around lots of people can wear me out. Big crowds can make me anxious and exhausted. But I like having it at least be an option.

My kids and I are home, and we're all getting along. We're keeping the house clean and making time to get outside, although we had a snowstorm yesterday and it's still cold and wet, so our daily games of street hockey have been put on hold. I'm exercising every day. I've discovered that deep-cleaning the house every day relaxes me.

We have plenty of food and wifi and games to play. I work for a government agency that doesn't depend upon customers or profits to keep its doors open (though our doors aren't actually open right now), so I'm not worried about money.

I am maintaining connections with people via email and text and FaceTime. My mother and I have coffee together every morning. I chatted the other day with a sorority sister whom I haven't seen or spoken with in 30 years. The Denver ZTAs are having a virtual happy hour tonight.

But I'm scared. I miss my family. I worry about them. I worry about my children. I worry about myself, and how devastating it would be for my kids if something happened to me. I mean, I'm extremely strong and healthy, but strong and healthy people have been hit by this virus and are now dead.

I'm not particularly afraid of death - once you're dead, what's the difference? But I know what it would do to my family.

It's actually not like me to worry. I'm not a worrier. My mother taught me from an early age to not worry about what you can't control. You can only deal with what's in front of you. If something bad happens, you deal with it when it happens, but worrying about a thing before it's a thing isn't helpful. My natural inclination is to stay calm. Don't freak out. Be zen.

So it suprised me when I had a major panic/anxiety attack the other day, and she was the one who was able to talk me off the ledge. She's better at this than I am.

My dad offered to drive out here, but we told him it wasn't a good idea for many reasons. Not the least of which is that he's a terrible driver.

He laughed when I said that.

We take it day by day, and play our roles. We play all the roles. In my house right now, I am mother and teacher and playmate and friend and therapist, all at the same time, all rolled into one.

We go along and try to act as if it's all normal, so that we don't go crazy.

Pretending is the only way to get through it.