Day 8

More texts from the NHS today, detailing what we should be doing. Apparently A should not only be keeping a 2m distance, but eating from separate plates, at separate times, using a separate bathroom, and generally shutting herself away from any kind of human contact for the next twelve weeks minimum. Family members should not touch her, but essential carers could come in from outside to provide essential care tasks then leave.

This, we are ignoring. Family, i.e. me, will be providing care. Not much point us all shutting ourselves away only to have someone bring this plague in with them. A decision made easier by the fact that our carers have pulled out anyway.

Armed with my shiny new screwdriver and a beautifully sunny day, D and I went outside to continue building his new climbing frame. Hampered somewhat by his determination to climb it unbuilt, and fascination with the screws slotting neatly into place, I was nevertheless making decent progress until screwing into a piece of harder wood proved too much for my lovely new screwdriver, and it died a death.

We have a stronger new screwdriver on the way, but will now have to pause work until Thursday. Still, it filled a piece of time.

Meanwhile, inside, A finally decided to make contact with one of her school friends, also at home. Hurray for some normality, although as they have decided to create a rap together (part of the ASDAN curriculum and one of the school's home learning options), D and I took refuge in our newly polished playroom, where he found my old guitar and handed it to me with a pleading look in his eye.

I think it's been ten years since I picked it up last. Still, it tuned ok, and we managed a couple of choruses of Jesus love is very wonderful. He's been missing our toddler group at church. I was a hit! Much clapping and nearly as enthusiastic dancing as he does on Wednesday mornings. I started playing remembering just three chords, and by the end of the twelfth verse, another eight had floated back into my finger memory. This is not terribly compatible with all the hand washing we have been doing - fiery bleeding lizard skin pain on the back of my hands now combined with interesting finger cramps and numb fingernails. But my boy thinks I'm nearly as clever as Jill the lovely Link music lady, so it was worth the sacrifice. I might even find him a shaker next time.

It's so silent outside. No one passed our front door today. And from the back garden, the gentle hum of traffic has gone. Birdsong. No shouts, no children playing, no bottle bank crashes from the pub, no roadwork drilling. Sirens, a helicopter, but this little corner of town seems to have shut down completely. I have not seen my neighbours at all for a week now.

Phone calls cancelling all our upcoming outpatients appointments. Not a great surprise. Offers of help. And finally, A's drugs delivered. And all in stock. Breathe again for the next couple of weeks at least.

I'm thankful tonight. Thankful that we are able to isolate ourselves, that I don't have to try to go out to work or balance childcare on top of this current craziness. Thankful for everyone, professional and friend, helping us out and making sure we are not abandoned as we lock ourselves away. Thankful for beautiful beautiful Spring weather; ok so normally I'd be keen to be walking and getting out into the wider world, but our own little garden is so beautifully full of new life and hope. Thankful for A's cheerful matter of fact acceptance of the situation, and for D's ability to enjoy the tiny things in life - this morning he dropped down onto his tummy and gently, gently, played with a daisy in the grass.

Isaiah 26:20 "Go, my people, enter your rooms and shut your doors behind you. Take cover, for in a little while the fury will be over."