Two and a half months into quarantine, self isolating and social distancing. The end is in sight, at least for this first part. Marc is going back to work at some point – he’s been in contact with his boss, and they’re hoping to start back up in two weeks. Not sure if that means Marc will be back to work in two weeks, but at least it’s a sign that hopefully by the end of the summer, he should be back to something resembling normalacy. No idea what normalacy is going to look like in the age of covid-19, and I’m still pretty sure that we’re going to have a rough fall…
Jessie got the Nelson Fellowship, and there’s talk of it actually taking place, partially, maybe, in Boston as opposed to on her computer. She wants to ride the train in, and I’m terrified of it. Marc’s more concerned about her being in the courthouse, and less worried about the train – so we’ll discuss and debate and come to a decision together. At 17, she’s certainly old enough to be a huge part of this discussion – and reality is that I know she’s capable of doing everything right and taking all the precautions. But you can do everything right, take all the precautions and still get sick.
We’re spinning from covid-19 into protests and the news coverage I listen to in the mornings has shifted from reporting deaths from coronavirus to riots and police brutality. I can’t keep up with it – and I certainly can’t figure out how to explain it to my kids. Julie just wants to go back to school and Sam was already pretty sure that the world is dangerous and scary and he’s better off at home. Everything that’s happened in the past two and a half months has served only to reinforce that.
We’re in this odd holding pattern, on the cusp of everything. Buying a house, sending Jessie off to college, starting Sam’s orientation and mobility and more independence in terms of education. Julie’s starting fifth grade, which I’m refusing to think about because it’s not possible that my baby is going into fifth grade.
But everything feels tentative and like we’re waiting.