Sunday, March 15

A question: Am I experiencing PMS? Or is this constant internal tug in my lower abdomen a pit-of-despair feeling of impending doom?

Last night, my daughter was practicing her guitar. She is 11. Her teacher is a 70-something retired music teacher who bakes cookies and makes tea for my two girls to enjoy during their weekly lessons at her house. (They trade off. One gets a lesson, one gets to live the life of royalty. Then they switch.) Last night, 11yo played (and sang to) the following songs:

•Don’t worry ’bout a thing by Bob Marley
•Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da (life goes on) by The Beatles
•My Favorite Things (from Sound of Music), Rodgers and Hammerstein

My girls last had lessons on Thursday. I questioned whether they should go. They did. The following day schools announced cancellations. Since then, just about every activity has been cancelled. It doesn’t seem to be a coincidence that the songs my kiddo is currently playing (and will be playing for a while, given that we will not be heading to Pat’s house again any time soon) share an undeniable theme of “we got this.”

I’m trying to hold on to some of this optimism. We are pretty loose on practicing instruments around here, but I might have to crack down so that I can hear these joyful tunes on a daily basis.

Today I woke up at 7:38. At which point I opened Medium on my phone and began jotting down notes of things to remember for today’s log. (Guitar practicing, etc.) Here’s one of the things I typed: “Mall the time I.” Hmm… Fat fingers? Still half-asleep? I feel like Seinfeld in that episode where he scribbles a great joke idea in the middle of the night but then can’t read it. He asks everyone he sees if they can read his handwriting.

If anyone reading this has a suggestion of what I maybe meant when I typed (or, more likely, when autocorrect intervened and resulted in): Mall the time I, please, get in touch.

Per my 15-year-old son’s request, I made muffins for breakfast. A double batch. As I was getting ready to scoop the batter into the pans I realized I am out of muffin cups. I buy them by the 100 on Amazon. THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO RUN OUT! I got a little crabby, snapped at my 14yo for not noticing we were low on them when she made cupcakes the other day. (As if this matters or accomplishes anything, I KNOW.) Grabbed a can of PAM, sprayed the hell out of the tins. Result: The muffins were perhaps MORE delicious than usual. Plus no paper used. (Though I don’t really like to use PAM. It feels a little “sketchy,” as my 15yo would say.) Made 24 muffins. 14 consumed.

The text thread between my sister and my mom has been hereby renamed CHICKIES. *insert three chickie emojis here* This makes me happy. This is a very active text thread.

Another thing: Usually I want Sunday to last longer. Today? At 9:52? It felt like eons since I’d gotten out of bed. Very possibly the first Sunday in history I’ve felt bored and wished for somewhere to go.

Bike path on a sunny Sunday was practically desolate

I took another walk. Same loop as yesterday. 4.2 miles. Listened to Dani Schapiro’s Devotion, a book I’ve read and/or listened to at least twice before. Perfect balm for the soul. This is the seventh audiobook I’ve finished this year and the 18th book overall.

During this walk, to and through the park about a mile away, I did my best to choose the path least traveled. At times it felt like I was playing a game of chicken (not *chickIE*) as I approached someone walking toward me. Which one of us would walk off the path, move over to the road, verify a six-foot distance. It was weird, folks. Eerie.

When I got home, I had to tell my son that he couldn’t go play basketball with his friends. It damn near killed me. (I should choose a different phrase.) I wavered. It was so hard. It’s a beautiful March Sunday. He is a teen. His brain wants instant gratification. He is a teen. He is social. He is a teen. He is very good at stomping up the stairs. He is a teen. I want to say, YES! Go play basketball with your friends. He is a teen. He stayed home. Did I mention how much my stomach aches?

While flipping channels on the TV, we noticed that there’s a Harry Potter movie marathon. For approximately the past year I’ve been promising my girls we will watch all of the movies. We are (usually) so busy that we’ve only made it through the first two. (We are bad at watching movies. We are a sports family. I am NOT ready to talk about the impact of the lack of sports in this house. Stay tuned.)

Harry Potter movies 3 through whateverthelastoneis are currently set to be recorded.

I have decided that during this time I am going to practice 1) not making lists and 2) doing one thing at a time. These are related, no?

With access to Amazon Prime and, thanks to GG, Netflix, two of my children seem most excited for unlimited Scooby Doo episodes. I feel this reflects well on me somehow.

The kids are all outside playing now, the sun is out, it’s not yet dinner time, the dishes are mostly done and the laundry feels under control (thanks to daddio!), and it almost feels like normal Sunday afternoon. I know what I’m making for dinner, and I’ve managed to look away from news stories for more than an hour. The pit is still there, but maybe I’m figuring out how to manage it?

My sister, with whom I shared a blog a million years ago during the early days of the internet (or so it feels), has also decided to write her way through this time. I’m so grateful that in addition to texting, emailing, calling, sharing documents, and having pretty damn good sister ESP, we are also joining each other back on the interwebs again.

Stay safe, everyone.