I’ve talked on my podcasts about this super difficult Edward Gorey puzzle I bought on Amazon because it was the only one that would arrive in any sort of timely manner. If it were up to me I would have bought something much more colorful and cheesy but monochromatic goth it is. Anyway, this puzzle has been sitting on our dining room table for days now and Daniel has been slowly chipping away at it. I recently walked in to find it like this (the above photo). He wanted to let me finish it.
On the one hand I’m insulted by how patronizing this is. On the other, putting those final pieces in was both easy and satisfying and when I strike it rich, after I put an ice skating rink and a salad bar, I’m probably going to hire a puzzler.
One of the first things my therapist suggested to me when we had our first Facetime session was to make a schedule down to the hour. She said she was recommending this lockdown work from home strategy to all her clients. I both saw the benefit of the suggestion and also knew I wasn’t going to do it. I’m not an hour by hour schedule kinda person.
Weeks later I finally made a very barebones schedule and I’m surprised at how much better I felt when I did it. Here’s what it looks like and it’s basically the same for each day. It just has basic kid stuff on it (Elliot breakfast, Owen breakfast, Owen nap) but it’s nice to have it written out and not have to worry about holding it all in my head each day. And it also makes the day feel slightly more routine which I like.
Uh oh I think something weird is happening with formatting. Is it? We shall see.
Also I’ve finally succumbed to the urge to bake. Actually that makes it sound like I’ve had the urge and I’ve been fighting it and that isn’t true. I just mean it seems like everyone is baking and now I am too.
Yesterday we made the bread and I so quickly lost sight of the fact that it was supposed to be a project to pass time with a three year old and instead worried about the mess and that he wasn’t kneading correctly.
When he left to go play with his toys I was slightly relieved as I could finally do the bread PROPERLY. Am I proud of this? Am I proud of my bread perfectionism? I am not. By the way I’m not even eating carbohydrates right now so it’s all extra silly. (Daniel and Elliot loved the bread though which made me feel good.)
Daniel assured me Elliot still had fun, and I think he did. I just didn’t feel like I excelled at this particular mom challenge.
I was a lot more patient today when we made Fiber One muffins (recipe on the back of the box). I have a kid who LOVES and requests Fiber One cereal. He also loves prunes. He will make a great old person.
I’m writing this while one kid has a dirty diaper that needs to be changed (“No, I tell YOU,” he has said when I’ve suggested changing it. HE IS THE ONE WHO TELLS!) and another who has woken up from a nap and is playing by himself in his crib but still, I should get him. And it would be easy to say this—these kids, this life taking care of these kids—is why I haven’t written or been writing. I don’t think that’s right though. Frankly I am surprised at the dull mute potato that barely thrums between my ears where my brain used to be.
It feels like a cruelly surreal version of my least favorite month which is August. Long before I had actual reasons to despite it (a couple deaths of humans and dogs close to me), I already loathed it because it’s brutally hot. When I think of August I think of cassette tapes melting in the back of a car—specifically Aerosmith’s Greatest Hits and specifically the top back part of the backseat which really, why did I put my tapes there? Anyway, August reminds me both of destruction and of stasis. A tape just sitting there melting because of the heat. That particular mindset, of a slow destruction that sets in while you hold still is similar to what I am feeling during lockdown. It’s, for me, the antithesis of whatever the urge to write is. The urge to write is dynamic and cold and crisp and active. Lockdown is hot and still and scary.
Anyway, what’s happening right now is historical and I think we always imagine ourselves in the midst of poignant historical dramatic moments and wonder what we’d do. I would have thought I’d do more. At the very least I would want to communicate about it, to record it, to add my voice to it. Turns out that’s a fictional version of me. One that is glamorous and thoughtful and vibrant. This dull mute me just wants to get through the day. However I am forcing myself to push through and try to write. At the very least (and also the very most I think) I will try to write daily here. Will I make a new tab to indicate these quarantine posts? I am getting ahead of myself! Anyway, I think I’ll wait until a few build up before announcing that I’m writing these because I know myself well and I am good at starting projects that I don’t finish.
