Friday, 20 March 2020

Day 4.

Day four and I'm pleased to say we are no longer short of nappies. It's the little things which become important.

We have a large freezer, a large 'fridge, and several cupboards full of food. We have online deliveries booked to begin in a couple of weeks (by which time, surely this mad run on the shops will seriously have slowed down?), and we have friends who are willing and able to haunt the shops for us. We shan't starve.

Nevertheless, it is different. We have a freezer full of food, but only 1/3 of it is full of food A would choose to eat. Broccoli has disappeared from the shops. I find myself eating different meals to A, choosing to extend the food she likes by eating the food she is currently rejecting. Calculating how much milk I should put into my hot drinks, or whether I should switch to black coffee, to preserve the milk for D's bottles? None of us are going without, but I have a new appreciation of the value of just being able to head up to the shops should we fancy something different to eat that night. The luxury of being able to ignore the food in the 'fridge and send A to pick up a jar of her favourite pasta sauce. The freedom of being able to eat sandwiches for breakfast and lunch, knowing we can pick up a fresh loaf in the afternoon. It's been four days. I hope that after four months that's a freedom I never forget to appreciate.

It is humbling, to be reliant on the kindness of others. When Imi was so ill at home, I knew I could rely on my friends, but I could reciprocate on days she had nurses at home. Now the whole world seems to be in the same position, and there is no way to reciprocate.

To our hand washing station, we have added a cupboard for outdoor clothing and bags. We are assessing visitors. If carers are allowed to come in, then is there a greater risk in allowing others in?

And our outdoor transformation has begun. Two adults two hours, said the instructions on this trampoline. One adult, one teen passing pieces, and one boy climbing on at every available opportunity. A long pause for lunch, but we did it! So that's an indoor swing and an outdoor trampoline; the climbing frame will need to wait for another day until I am brave enough to tackle it.

But there will be another day. And another, and another. Our world has shrunk, and our time expanded. People don't need to ask if we will be in for deliveries; the assumption is we will be here. The rest of the world seems to be getting busier. Endless queues for food, emergency meetings, whether in person or virtual. People stacking up their homeschooling timetables, planning their days hour by hour. And we potter on. Building a trampoline becomes our education for today. School say they have learning packs on their website, but we can't find them yet. A downloads maths sheets from assorted websites, enjoys tackling them, then uses Siri to check her answers. D uses his talker to tell her to take a break. I check a few emails, and suddenly it is time for another meal and meds and beds, and I'm not sure where the day has gone. I'm not complaining. I'd rather the days slipped away from us than that we were counting every minute. The thought that this might be us for a year or more is both desperately desolate and also strangely ok; we will find a way.

Song for the day as I stretched springs and snapped locking pins, surrounded by birdsong and a strange lack of traffic.

Verse for the day courtesy of my friend Alesha: "The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come..." Song of Solomon 2:12



mq cb said...

"The thought that this might be us for a year or more is both desperately desolate and also strangely ok; we will find a way". You have a gift for putting the thoughts many struggle to express into words, and memorable, striking words at that. I wish I could write half as well.

Please do keep up your diary. I promise to check in every day, if that's OK.

Tia said...

You’re very welcome!


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