2 weeks. A was very excited about this, thinking that meant only 10 to go. I had to break it to her that we don't know this, that we may have much longer to wait, and that no one can give her an exact time frame for potentially quite a long time. This did not go down terribly well; my girl needs numbers, facts and figures. I think we all do.
Meanwhile my boy was not impressed that the garden has become an arctic wasteland; bitingly cold wind along with freezing rain interfering with his circuits of bouncing climbing sliding. Meanie Mummy wasn't willing to stand outside and push the swing either; a process which involves tipping the entire swing frame onto its side, in order to give a little extra clearance for his feet. Baby swings are not intended for leggy three year olds with Piers. We've a larger SN swing coming at some point this week; my next mission is to persuade the apple tree to let us have a branch for it. Could be interesting.
Some schoolwork for A this morning; her set tasks whilst school is closed involve doing a load of laundry, drying and ironing it, planning a meal or light snack, or working out a weekly grocery shop, then entering it into two online supermarkets and doing a price comparison. So far, her weekly necessities include Diet Coke, biscuits, chocolate spread, and bread. It's a work in progress.
Ridiculously, our carers have all been ordered to work from home. I'm not entirely sure how this is supposed to work, however our best carer did WhatsApp A this morning in order to check in with her. Perhaps I should negotiate for her to join us over WhatsApp as I attempt to wrestle A through her shower next time; at least I'd have a witness to agree that the murder was justified.
Today in addition to being our own carer I was attempting to be our own cleaner. I did achieve hoovering the cobwebs off the ceiling. I did not achieve actually hoovering the floor; madam sensory refuses to allow the hoover anywhere near her and also refuses to move out of the room so she is away from it. Not sure how this will work with another of her Learning Objectives (and I promise, these have come from school, I have not set them myself), to clean and tidy a room. Incidentally, why clean and tidy? Doesn't it make more sense to tidy first and then clean? Or is this where I am going wrong. D enjoys the hoover nearly as much as A hates it. Or, he enjoys turning it on and running away when I take a break, and turning it off then running away when I try to use it.
Tomorrow we have a supermarket delivery. The anticipation. The wonder. What will be in stock, and what not? Exciting times.
I realised I have completely stopped looking at my calendar. There are appointments on it, but all cancelled. Now, the only fixed things we have going on during the week are Sunday's online church services. The rest of the week is fluid. If it takes us until 11 to get up and through the shower, then so be it. If we are all enthusiastically demanding breakfast at 7, then breakfast at 7 it is. There's nowhere we have to be, ever. No one we need to be ready for, ever. A message from podiatry made me realise we should have been there this afternoon (except it was cancelled). Helpful tips from the podiatry team until they can see clients again. "You should keep your feet clean and dry. You should avoid infections." Thanks, guys, I'll get right on that. No survival guide from NHS Coronavirus today. Disconcerting. Perhaps podiatry were stepping up instead?
So, another day done. Crossed off the calendar; meaningless though without an end date in sight. Just another day done.
Monday, 30 March 2020
Day 13
Church today. Last week, broadcast from an empty church, with worship team and clergy carefully two meters apart. This week, broadcast from assorted houses across the town. Church together, apart. Subtitles for the music though, so much easier to sing along to, hurray! Thinking about Noah and his family on the Ark, and interesting theme.
And of course, a birthday in captivity! Pizza delivered to the doorstep, presents somehow assembled, and untold wealth appearing in cards and e vouchers. Much virtual shopping and making of lists. Maths practice, although she doesn’t realise that.
A quieter small boy today. Cuddly and less screechy than usual. A nice respite, but always the worry, is he coming down with something? And if so, what?
And sadness. Opposite our house is a beautiful deep, thick, impenetrable hedge. Dark green, and alive with birdsong. At least 30 small birds call it home. This afternoon for some reason, my neighbours cut it back so thoroughly that it is now see-through and 2/3rds the height it used to be. And the birds are huddled forlornly on one of the few remaining branches, wondering what has happened to the nests they were so busy constructing.
Windy today ; our trampoline took a trip across the garden and landed on its side, whilst our precious trellis increased the angle of its lean to dangerous levels. I have weighed the trampoline down, but the trellis will have to take its own survival measures; now is not the time to be shopping for new fence posts.
And of course, a birthday in captivity! Pizza delivered to the doorstep, presents somehow assembled, and untold wealth appearing in cards and e vouchers. Much virtual shopping and making of lists. Maths practice, although she doesn’t realise that.
A quieter small boy today. Cuddly and less screechy than usual. A nice respite, but always the worry, is he coming down with something? And if so, what?
And sadness. Opposite our house is a beautiful deep, thick, impenetrable hedge. Dark green, and alive with birdsong. At least 30 small birds call it home. This afternoon for some reason, my neighbours cut it back so thoroughly that it is now see-through and 2/3rds the height it used to be. And the birds are huddled forlornly on one of the few remaining branches, wondering what has happened to the nests they were so busy constructing.
Windy today ; our trampoline took a trip across the garden and landed on its side, whilst our precious trellis increased the angle of its lean to dangerous levels. I have weighed the trampoline down, but the trellis will have to take its own survival measures; now is not the time to be shopping for new fence posts.
Saturday, 28 March 2020
Day 12
It's Saturday today. My children decided to mark the occasion in traditional style, waking up alternately every hour of the night so they could both fully appreciate my extra company. Reader, I did not kill either of them. Long day.
Pancakes for breakfast is our Saturday tradition, even more important now that every day keeps a similar shape. So pancakes, one girl locked into zoom chat with her friend, one boy bouncing and climbing and checking all the stones for flavour. One mother feeling particularly torn today as both children reacted to my tiredness by needing me more. It's not a great cycle.
But great joy, with the arrival of the body shop's most excellent hemp and almond hand creams. My hands are currently so shredded from all the washing that my technology no longer recognises my thumbprint, meaning that my rusty brain has to remember multiple passwords instead. But eight bastings of hand cream later, the backs of my hands are merely bloodied sandpaper, not craters and canyons. Long may this last.
My boy has a new talker on trial as of yesterday. A NovaChat 8, for those in the know. Thank you Liberator for the longer loan than originally agreed. We'd just switched it on yesterday when A started her zoom chat. D looked up at the screen, saw his friend from so far away, and hit Like Like Like Like Like on the talker. Until she started blowing raspberries, at which point Like moved to. No No. Smart boy. Current mission, prevent him from eating the straps as we need to be able to return it in good condition.
No major accomplishments today. But we all had three meals, no one injured themselves throwing themselves off the top of the slide, no one fell ill, and the house is a tiny bit tidier than it was yesterday. That'll do.
NHS coronavirus helpfully texted to suggest we play sudoku, read a book, watch TV and make a plan for the day and for the week. Thanks.
This is probably tedious to read. Read it or don't; we are all in a similar boat at the moment I think. I find it useful to write, and so, for now, I shall. but if you're reading, and I disappear, don't assume the worst has happened. Assume life just got a bit busy again.
Stay well. xx
Pancakes for breakfast is our Saturday tradition, even more important now that every day keeps a similar shape. So pancakes, one girl locked into zoom chat with her friend, one boy bouncing and climbing and checking all the stones for flavour. One mother feeling particularly torn today as both children reacted to my tiredness by needing me more. It's not a great cycle.
But great joy, with the arrival of the body shop's most excellent hemp and almond hand creams. My hands are currently so shredded from all the washing that my technology no longer recognises my thumbprint, meaning that my rusty brain has to remember multiple passwords instead. But eight bastings of hand cream later, the backs of my hands are merely bloodied sandpaper, not craters and canyons. Long may this last.
My boy has a new talker on trial as of yesterday. A NovaChat 8, for those in the know. Thank you Liberator for the longer loan than originally agreed. We'd just switched it on yesterday when A started her zoom chat. D looked up at the screen, saw his friend from so far away, and hit Like Like Like Like Like on the talker. Until she started blowing raspberries, at which point Like moved to. No No. Smart boy. Current mission, prevent him from eating the straps as we need to be able to return it in good condition.
No major accomplishments today. But we all had three meals, no one injured themselves throwing themselves off the top of the slide, no one fell ill, and the house is a tiny bit tidier than it was yesterday. That'll do.
NHS coronavirus helpfully texted to suggest we play sudoku, read a book, watch TV and make a plan for the day and for the week. Thanks.
This is probably tedious to read. Read it or don't; we are all in a similar boat at the moment I think. I find it useful to write, and so, for now, I shall. but if you're reading, and I disappear, don't assume the worst has happened. Assume life just got a bit busy again.
Stay well. xx
Day 11.
More fun with Zoon. From the girls who first invented Zoom hide-and-seek, today comes Zoom tandem baking. A screen in both kitchens, and two girls happily occupied stirring and measuring and generally chatting to each other. Meanwhile two mummies, from opposite ends of the country, got to drop in and out of each other’s kitchens inbetween doing other things, each of us sharing the familiar soundtrack of the other’s daily life. Very very lovely.
Multiple phone calls today in very quick succession. I must suggest to some of our professionals that they start working their list from Z-A to break it up a bit. But whilst we remain without carers for now - and we are ok - we are pulling together a plan for Later, as and when we are not ok. So that’s good. D’s adoption records having been restricted and shut away within social services, there is nothing on A’s file to indicate she had a younger sibling also with disabilities and medical needs. This has now been rectified. Partially. But it’s a start.
A really wonderfully lovely emergency rescue package from the Rainbow Trust. Hearing that all of A’s birthday plans had been put on hold, they delivered a fabulous birthday hamper with some wrapped gifts squirrelled away safely, and some fresh doughnuts to enjoy immediately. And a very fetching worry monster. Thank you, Rainbow Trust!
And, after four days of trying, finally success in contacting Sainsbury’s to arrange deliveries. Well, partial success. We are registered, but their systems (and staff) are overloaded, so it may take 48 hours before we can actually try to book any slots. There is hope though, which is great. We have amazing friends shopping for us, but it will be great to be able to just order what we need and know that it should be coming on a certain date. And without friends realising quite how much junk we eat!
Meanwhile, thankfully, thecweather remains gloriously mild and sunny. We are all enjoying the garden (I lie. Two of us are enjoying it. The third merely tolerated it today). Slowly I am rediscovering forgotten corners of the house - we are amassing a giant pile for the charity shops once they reopen.
One day at a time. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future. It is enough.
Multiple phone calls today in very quick succession. I must suggest to some of our professionals that they start working their list from Z-A to break it up a bit. But whilst we remain without carers for now - and we are ok - we are pulling together a plan for Later, as and when we are not ok. So that’s good. D’s adoption records having been restricted and shut away within social services, there is nothing on A’s file to indicate she had a younger sibling also with disabilities and medical needs. This has now been rectified. Partially. But it’s a start.
A really wonderfully lovely emergency rescue package from the Rainbow Trust. Hearing that all of A’s birthday plans had been put on hold, they delivered a fabulous birthday hamper with some wrapped gifts squirrelled away safely, and some fresh doughnuts to enjoy immediately. And a very fetching worry monster. Thank you, Rainbow Trust!
And, after four days of trying, finally success in contacting Sainsbury’s to arrange deliveries. Well, partial success. We are registered, but their systems (and staff) are overloaded, so it may take 48 hours before we can actually try to book any slots. There is hope though, which is great. We have amazing friends shopping for us, but it will be great to be able to just order what we need and know that it should be coming on a certain date. And without friends realising quite how much junk we eat!
Meanwhile, thankfully, thecweather remains gloriously mild and sunny. We are all enjoying the garden (I lie. Two of us are enjoying it. The third merely tolerated it today). Slowly I am rediscovering forgotten corners of the house - we are amassing a giant pile for the charity shops once they reopen.
One day at a time. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future. It is enough.
Thursday, 26 March 2020
Day 10
Friends, are you bored of seeing just your own four walls? Today I bring you a new game, courtesy of A and her sadly way too distant friend. Zoom hide and seek (also works with FaceTime, Skype, or any other video call on a portable device of some kind). Obscure your webcam, retreat to a random corner of your house, and get your friend to guess your location based on the three square inches of ceiling or wall visible past your very close up face. Much giggling! This works best when you are as familiar with your friend's house as you are your own. And provides tantalising half images of siblings and parents who are also currently so very very far apart.
Two Zooms today; the second, a family chat to wish Granddad a happy birthday. Much planned, much anticipated, and all wider family members involved managed more or less to sort the technology out in advance. Go us! A now has plans for her own birthday, having seen that up to forty people can join in any one zoom conference at a time. Hmm. We may need extra friends.
In other, equally exciting news, we finally managed to complete the new climbing frame and slide. I say we, I mean I. I did this! I built an entire climbing frame (ok, one which arrived in kit form). Two people, two hours it said. One rather harassed Mummy, two electronic screwdrivers, a bit of unofficial lump hammering, and the better part of a week. Oh, and unfortunately some duct tape doing a slide repair before we'd even begun. But. I built it! And my son climbs it triumphantly, does a victory spin on the deck, and then slides his way down, over and over again, before racing off to do circuits of the rest of the garden and a quick bounce on the trampoline. He has even learned how to side shuffle from the climbing wall over onto the deck to come down the slide. I tell myself this skill is positive physiotherapy, and will definitely counteract the damage done by bouncing for ages in a W-sit. I'm not convinced. But, for now, it is survival. He is busy. Running, climbing, crawling, spinning, bouncing, spinning, generally wearing himself outside and no longer haunting the front door begging to be let out.
New improved advice from NHS England arrived today, with "The Letter", containing more impractical advice on how to keep A alive during this time. And some helpful tips I might not otherwise have thought of, such as keep eating and drinking well, and think about how you will get your food and medicines whilst you cannot leave the house. Thanks, guys. But, usefully, the original advice "You must stay inside. You must not leave your house. You may sit by an open window" has been expanded to include "You may go out in your garden" so we made her. And she enjoyed it.
Two Zooms today; the second, a family chat to wish Granddad a happy birthday. Much planned, much anticipated, and all wider family members involved managed more or less to sort the technology out in advance. Go us! A now has plans for her own birthday, having seen that up to forty people can join in any one zoom conference at a time. Hmm. We may need extra friends.
In other, equally exciting news, we finally managed to complete the new climbing frame and slide. I say we, I mean I. I did this! I built an entire climbing frame (ok, one which arrived in kit form). Two people, two hours it said. One rather harassed Mummy, two electronic screwdrivers, a bit of unofficial lump hammering, and the better part of a week. Oh, and unfortunately some duct tape doing a slide repair before we'd even begun. But. I built it! And my son climbs it triumphantly, does a victory spin on the deck, and then slides his way down, over and over again, before racing off to do circuits of the rest of the garden and a quick bounce on the trampoline. He has even learned how to side shuffle from the climbing wall over onto the deck to come down the slide. I tell myself this skill is positive physiotherapy, and will definitely counteract the damage done by bouncing for ages in a W-sit. I'm not convinced. But, for now, it is survival. He is busy. Running, climbing, crawling, spinning, bouncing, spinning, generally wearing himself outside and no longer haunting the front door begging to be let out.
Grolly is not enjoying the peaceful empty streets. Her crowd of worshippers have vanished, and she is not impressed with having to make do with us. Always, she is there waiting to greet our carers in the carpark - and yet now the carpark remains empty. She is there to wrap her body around the children racing to school in the mornings, and those coming home in the afternoons. And they are also absent. Those few who do come past our door cannot stop to fuss her. Strange times. She has decided it is best to watch the children's antics in the back garden from the safety of inside, not being a fan of the small one's enthusiastic grabs.
Wednesday, 25 March 2020
Day 9
New screwdriver arrived today, so after a crazily long charge, I could finally get on with sorting the climbing frame. Just in time; D has learned how to climb up the wall but can't get back down again. Alas, the screwdriver ran out before I could fasten the slide in for him, but at least the rest of it isa little more stable for him.
Crazy that I have been able to leave the boxes out in the back garden with instructions and everything else, for nearly a week now and no rain or anything else to turn it into a soggy mess.
A has kept herself very busy looking through her ASDAN home learning options and ignoring them all in favour of downloaded colouring sheets and maths problems.
And much much happiness this evening, D's toddler group page posted a video of his favourite singing lady complete with her real guitar and ability to play real tunes properly. Much applause (his new skill) and jumping up and down, and utter delight that as his world seems to have shrunk beyond measure, some things in it are still out there, even if he has to stare through a screen to reach them.
He keeps bringing me his coat and wellies with an Oliver Twist expression in his face; never in his life have we spent so long at home. Going for a walk at least once a day has been essential for him. I think I find that harder than other things really; he trusts me, he is so very good at communicating what he wants, and I am so completely unable to explain to him why he can't have it. He finds new ways of telling us, and we still say no or fail to understand.
A pause this afternoon, and a virtual coffee with a friend. An hour, she with her peaceful adults only house and uninterrupted chat, me with my toddler begging for a walk and teen grumping if I moved into earshot but shouting for attention if I moved away. Still, it was very good to be able to see her face. To have a conversation where facial expressions play a part, rather than relying on tone over the phone or via messages. Connection. But one which emphasises the difference now as well as the similarities.
Outside, silence. Yesterday we had planes and helicopters buzzing but today, just clear empty blue sky. Tonight the helicopters appear to be back. This world, paused. It is disconcerting.
Tuesday, 24 March 2020
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."
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."
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