We’re Not There Yet…

In March, we were mourning a canceled Disneyland and Universal trip for spring break. “They’re saying it’ll just be a few weeks,” we said. We waited for the pandemic to pass. Celebrated spring break at home. Did everything at home. Waited for life to be more like what we were used to with busy schedules, rushed mornings, and decisions about school lunch or lunch from home. We joked about it feeling like a zombie apocalypse. 

We’re not there, yet.

In April and May, we bunkered down for school at home through the end of the year, mourned fifth-grade graduation, and drove in a parade. I may or may not have cried seeing teachers and staff lined up in front of school waving, clapping, and celebrating with masks on. Six feet apart, but it felt together-ish.

It felt like we still had people other than ourselves. That’s something I’ve realized during this pandemic – being with people other than ourselves feels a lot less lonely when you’re not wondering whether it’s safe to type a pin code into the checkout line at the pharmacy after somebody else just touched it. Going to the movies on a rainy day felt normal and familiar.

I miss not questioning the person in front of me at the pharmacy’s routine. “Have they been sick? Sneezed into their hand before touching the numbers on the keypad? Had their nose hanging out of their mask to see the numbers better?” 

Going to the movies feels like a luxury that I used to take for granted. Going to the pharmacy does, too.

Going anywhere. 

Flights used to be uncomfortable because the seats suck, babies cry, and people eat stinky things, but flying meant we were going somewhere. 

“Are we there yet?”

The excitement of the plane’s descent. The “which Disney ride should we do first?” excitement. Now, getting on a plane feels impossible. Or, at least very far away. 

We’re not there yet. 

It’s late August, and the pandemic is stronger than ever. We’re home.

I remind myself we’re here, and lucky. Sometime between today and March, we added a porch swing to the front, and a patio sofa and fire pit to the back. Taking our vacations as we’re able to – in snippets at sunset, or a Zorb Ball session in the grass, because running into each other and falling down is a vacation from the day these days. 

This is where we are. 

We’ve been mostly at home for five months now with a couple of short road trips here and there. That didn’t change this week, even though it should have been met with a sunny or cloudy morning with Tucker telling me I’m cringy to take a porch “first day of school” photo. Me worrying about how his first day of middle school was going while also relishing being home alone. Being able to join work calls without wondering what he’s up to. 

School started this week. And by school, I mean Tucker gets online at 8:00 a.m. for Algebra and something kinda like homeroom, although I’m not sure that’s accurate. He repeats, over and over all day for Language Arts, Science, Drama, and whatever else. He can see a couple boxes of kid photos underneath the assignment, but there are no private jokes, tag at recess, or awkward “Hi my name is Tucker” conversations with kids he hasn’t met yet.

There’s no choosing the pod or courtyard or gym for lunch. Lunch is the same place he’s been since March. Here. At home, which is where school is held, too. At least for now. 

We’re not there yet.

Maybe it’s obvious that this week began roughly. In part, it was our spotty internet, which I hope (PLEASE OMG) has been fixed. But mostly, 11 year olds and every year olds weren’t prepared for this. 

Nobody was, I know. And that makes it better, too. Except when will it get better? We’re not there yet. 

How will we get there? I don’t know. Will there be a vaccine? An overall herd agreement that we’ll try to be in person for learning and life, with less people, more masks, and more Lysol? Will this be over in months, or years, or maybe be around forever, but with better odds and less fright, like AIDS? Didn’t it take 20 years or so for AIDS to be more manageable? I’d look it up, but really, I don’t want to know.

I’m not there yet.

I’m here now, it’s Friday, and Tucker finished his first week of synchronous learning. It’s not the best. It’s not the worst. It’s more organized than the spring was, but that means a lot more hours online, too. 

But we have Zorb balls, a porch swing, and a home. I remind myself how lucky we are for these immense comforts. Too many are without so much right now. 

It was my birthday Saturday, and I had the doors and roof off my Jeep, and we drove in the sun, played near a river, and were together. 

My friends gave me presents, heartfelt cards, and a flourless cake that says “FUCK 2020.” Although it’s a little hard to read in the photo, it was readable, and welcome, and made me happy. We still have people, even when we can’t really spend time with them now.

We’re not there-there yet, but we’re here, and we’re not alone in this isolation and frustration and for that, I’m truly thankful. 

If you’re feeling alone, please reach out to me. I feel alone, too. We all do. And also? We’re all in this together, I promise.

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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, with the prompt of “Are we there yet?” along with this photo by the fab Mardra Sikora.