I watched Brock go through different stages. Here’s what to expect.
Our display at my husband’s memorial service.
They told us my husband’s cancer was terminal: He had months to live. Maybe as long as a year. From that moment in the doctor’s office, we waited for death.
One day, Brock napped for an extra hour. Was this the end?
He woke up with a cough. Was this it?
With both of us in our late thirties, we had never witnessed death up close. On television, we watched Steve Jobs and Jack Layton (a Canadian politician) become skeletal as their cancers progressed.
“Will that happen to me?” Brock asked. We didn’t know. I patted his healthy tummy, assuring us both we weren’t in that final stretch, yet.
The isolation & uncertainty of caregiving
I read the books, found a spouses’ support group, and was matched with a hospice counsellor. We met with Brock’s palliative care doctor and chatted with the home care nurses. We were surrounded by supportive experts.
And yet, I felt very alone.
In that final year, Brock slept or was sleepy much of the time. Eventually, he was not capable of making decisions. It was up to me to decide when to call for help, and when to let a new symptom play out. If it was after clinic hours, I had to figure out whether our questions and concerns justified calling an after-hours emergency line, or even texting our doctors’ home numbers.
One evening, after many months of this anxiety and uncertainty, Brock was suddenly unable to swallow or communicate. It was 11:30 p.m.
First thing the next morning, I texted an update to our palliative care doctor and she told me this was the end. After living with stage four kidney cancer for three years, my husband was dying. Of all the emotions I could feel at hearing this, I felt relief. I was relieved because, while this was the moment we’d feared and dreaded, at least we knew what was happening. Finally, there was certainty.
There are books, hospice resources, and palliative care pamphlets that describe the common stages of death. Here is our own experience with those stages, shared with the hope that hearing our story will alleviate your own anxieties when caring for a loved one in their final year/months/weeks/days.
What dying looks like … months before the end
During our final year of Brock’s life, I joined a Facebook group for caregivers, and someone posted a photo of her husband in the afternoon: asleep on his side in bed, in a dark bedroom.
I looked up from my chair in our darkened bedroom at my own view: my husband was asleep in bed. Other group members posted their own identical photos. This was when I realized how similar our experiences were: like pregnancy and childbirth, death is a common experience. There is a predictability to how we die.
The earliest sign that Brock had cancer was his afternoon naps. My energetic, entrepreneurial husband never napped. This need to rest and sleep increased over the three years he was sick, and in that final year he spent more and more time in bed.
How to support this stage
To make Brock’s life easier, I sourced a fancy hospital bed that let him raise the back, legs, and feet with a remote control. (Our preschooler loved this bed.) When Brock found the plastic-lined mattress too hot, I bought a cooling pillow-top mattress. I bought extra sheets and changed the bed daily, whenever he went to the washroom or sat in the living room.
In addition to these fancy beds, the Canadian Red Cross and other agencies loan out easy-rise chairs, bath benches, commodes, toilet seat risers, and much more.
To protect Brock’s limited energy reserves, I became his gatekeeper: when family or friends visited, I set a timer and asked them to keep their visits to the half-hour limit (a limit Brock set with me beforehand). When we visited family, I explained he might need to close his eyes mid-conversation, to rest. As Brock got weaker and less able to advocate for his own needs, I became his tough guardian.
Somedays, Brock didn’t want to eat anything, while other times he craved the same foods day after day. He went through phases where all he wanted to eat was Spitz sesame seeds and apple juice, then chicken burgers from the pub, then chocolate sauce cake with whole cream poured on top. I enabled him, shopping and ordering takeout and baking whatever he felt like, at any time of the day. And if he didn’t want to eat anything, I didn’t force him.
My retired farmer plants seeds for a backyard garden, not knowing whether he’ll live long enough to harvest the vegetables or admire the flowers. (He did.)
What dying looks like … one month before the end
When we get close to death, that line between being awake (conscious) and being asleep (unconscious/subconscious) starts to break down. A common metaphor is having a foot in both worlds at the same time.
Seeing ghosts
Brock and I weren’t spiritual people, so it surprised me when he told me he was seeing faces. He saw them around the room, in the patterns of the dresser’s wood, and so on. He didn’t recognize these faces. While seeing a mysterious face sounds scary, they didn’t make Brock feel anxious. He knew it was a weird thing to see, and was embarrassed to tell me about it, in case I’d judge him.
I am not a neuroscientist, yet I interpret these hallucinations to be an example of how our brains play a role in the dying process; those synapses misfire and start shutting down, leading us to misinterpret our sensory input.
Psychologically, our brains assure us: “Yes, death is scary, but look at all these people around you, keeping you company.” I think this explains why some people close to death see their loved ones at their bedsides, or ghosts.
Fragmentation of the self
Brock also started to feel like he was (sometimes) three people. For example, he said he knew he’d have a good sleep if all three of him were ready to go to bed. If one or two of him were missing, he’d have a hard time falling asleep or wouldn’t sleep well.
I once brought him a glass of chocolate milk, because he’d asked for it, and he said: “Phew. I can drink that. I thought I’d have to drink all three glasses.”
Or when he made a physically strenuous journey to the washroom, with help from me and a nurse, and he said: “Oh, that wasn’t as hard as I expected. I didn’t have to do it three times.”
Brock and I brainstormed where his three people came from. The father, the son, and the holy ghost. Ego, superego, and id. Given Brock’s experience, maybe there’s a reason that a lot of cultural patterns occur in threes.
Here are some of the things Brock said during that half-conscious, half-unconscious stage:
“I was about to offer you whatever I was eating in my head.”
“I think we’re done with the bread, if you want to put that away. And, as I’m saying this, I’m realizing there is no bread.” (Said while I gave Brock a back massage.)
“Is that the smallest letter?”
How to support this stage
When someone sees something that (to you) isn’t there, it’s tempting to argue. But I wanted Brock to share his experience with me, and so I accepted everything he said. I listened without comment, without joking or questioning the validity of what he was seeing, thinking, and saying.
When Brock would see or share something especially weird, I resisted gossiping about it with other people, or being silly. Instead, I wrote it down.
(Brief tangent here: I wrote these funny quotes and stories down, thinking that I would share them with Brock when he was better. Some day, I thought, we will laugh together about how funny he’s being. That’s how powerful denial is: I was watching my husband die, and yet some part of my monkey brain thought there would come a time when he’d be back to normal.)
On our last family road trip: Brock teaches our son the fine art of toasting marshmallows.
What dying looks like … weeks before the end
A familiar theme among the dying is travel. My theory is that some part of our brain understands we’re about to undertake a significant departure or change (i.e. death). In order to break that reality down so we can psychologically grasp and accept the idea without freaking out or getting depressed, our brain tells us to expect travel.
I asked Brock once if he was scared of dying, and he said no. Again, I thank the miraculous human brain for easing his passage here. He was slowing down in every way — mentally, physically… He was very tired and weak by the end, and the idea of permanent rest wasn’t scary.
How to support this stage
Half asleep on the toilet one day, Brock asked: “Where’s the car parked?” I assured him the car was parked nearby, and I knew where it was.
At this stage, it’s all about reassurances, listening, and keeping our loved one calm.
A rare time Brock became agitated was when he couldn’t understand which medication to take. Nothing had changed, I marked the containers as usual. He asked me again and again to explain the doses to him, and suggested we write down the (very simple) steps.
I had to stay patient, assure him I would just give him what he needed, and take that level of decision-making away from him. While his physical decline was obvious, I hadn’t realized until this point that his cognitive ability was also disintegrating.
Brock uses up his day’s energy to copilot our son to his first day of preschool, 12 days before he dies.
What dying looks like … when we shift from living to dying
Three years after his diagnosis, following a year of extreme weight loss and declining energy and strength, I woke Brock up to take a pill and he wasn’t able to swallow it.
He was foggy and not really conscious, although he was able to move around.
That night, he would not stay still; he kept sitting up and trying to stand, as if he had somewhere else to be.
At first, that uncertainty I’d felt over the year returned. Did he need the toilet? Was he more comfortable upright? Should I help him get to wherever he was going?
It wasn’t until the morning, after a difficult night of constantly easing Brock back onto our bed, that I learned about this stage.
Restlessness, wandering… It’s a normal stage in the dying process that they watch for in hospices and care facilities, because if someone gets up and starts walking in the middle of the night they can fall and injure themselves.
I think it’s a continuation of that “travel” calling. The dying person knows their journey is about to start, so they get out of bed and start walking.
How to support this stage
When we expect this stage, we can have an injection ready that will calm the dying person, and keep them safely in bed. (We did not have this injection.)
Similarly, one of Brock’s painkiller medications was in oral-only form; we should have had an injection form on hand, for when he was no longer able to swallow. It bothers me to think he was in pain for that one night without his top-up painkillers.
In my husband’s final years of life, we visited all his favorite places.
What dying looks like … at the end
Over four days, Brock gradually slipped away from us. The word is “comatose” — he couldn’t control his body anymore, including his eyes, which stayed half-open and glazed. That first morning, he could grunt and gesture enough to tell us he was extremely thirsty, but since he couldn’t swallow anymore we could only wet his mouth with a sponge.
Our friends and family arrived, camping out in the living room to work, or making food in the kitchen, in between visits with Brock. We spoke to him, watched his favorite movie together (Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers) and listened to his Spotify playlist.
We adjusted his position in our bed every hour, taking care not to lie him on the tumor-y side. We sponged his mouth, changed the moisture-absorbing sheet under him as he sweated, cleaned him up when his body purged his bladder and bowels, and dosed him with painkillers religiously.
His body became hot in some places and ice cold a few inches away as his circulation slowed.
I laid beside him and felt like he was trying to tell me something. It was frustrating not being able to communicate.
How to support this stage
Brock’s mom, a nurse, assured us he could still hear us. We tried not to talk about him; instead, we spoke to him.
I reached out to all the important people in his life. Many were able to come and say goodbye. When his best friend entered the room, Brock suddenly shouted “Johnny!” When another close friend (who had ordered a Tesla) phoned from New York, Brock yelled: “I want to drive a Tesla!”
I’d done enough reading to know the things I should say to my husband at this point:
Explain what was happening.
Assure him he was still in control.
Give him permission to die (I had to lie).
Over and over, I said: “This is what’s happening: This is the end of your life. We love you and are doing our best to keep you comfortable. I’m really sorry if we aren’t doing it right. Your job is to let go when you’re ready.”
On the fourth day, at a rare moment when his parents, brother, and I were all with him in the bedroom, he died.
Death is a natural process
I believe that death is a right: We should be able to end our life before our natural time, if we choose. “Medical assistance in dying” is legal in Canada, as it should be.
At the same time, witnessing Brock’s death made me realize that death is a natural process; just like pregnancy and childbirth, our bodies and brains (usually) know what to do. When we trust this process, monitor it, and work with it, death can be a peaceful, loving experience.
(To be clear: Sometimes these natural processes need medical support. I had preeclampsia and an emergency C-section; Brock needed hefty doses of fentanyl and morphine, plus an oxygen tank.)
Understanding death lets us enjoy the life we have left
It’s terrible that my husband died at age 38. We love and miss him every day. I have no regrets about those final years together, about our choices, or how we were able to support him. We gave him the best death we could.
If you find yourself loving or caring for someone nearing the end of their life, I hope our story and knowing what to expect will allow you to enjoy the time you have together in those final years, months, weeks, or days.
My husband, Brock McLeod, before his cancer diagnosis.
A daily journal of the COVID-19 / coronavirus pandemic
April 1, 2020 (Wednesday) – DAY 17
Fresh snow! I love snow, but boy I sure miss reading in the sunshine on my porch.
I’m starting to see dust again, so I tidy up the house, clean our bathroom, do laundry and wash the dishes.
My wind-instrument band hasn’t been able to rehearse for many weeks, but we get a fresh set list and new music via email today. It will be fun to learn more songs on my clarinet.
Isaac is thoroughly addicted to Minecraft (in case you haven’t already noticed from these journal entries) and so I decree that we are going to alternate his iPad and Netflix time with non-screen activities. Today, that includes him playing, reading a book with me, folding washcloths and sorting socks, and dictating an email to his grade one teacher, Ms. Casey.
For “music appreciation,” I play Isaac his Dad’s favourite song: “Mr Jones.” I have very few regrets, but one is that I didn’t record Brock singing and playing this on his guitar.
I post on Facebook and send out an email, asking people to register their support for our grant application to raise awareness of the chamber’s online community events calendar. What a lovely idea, to think of attending community events again, and not just Zoom meetings.
Speaking of which: I partake in an online presentation on how to make the most of your LinkedIn profile, one of many talks I’ve signed up for via our local Iso-Learning Summit.
Ryan tells me that local trades are seeing an increase in business: one painter said business is up 40%. Maybe because everyone else is stuck at home, and they see the reno projects that can be done.
I get another email about concert tickets being refunded. The concert has been rescheduled for March 2021, and I wish I had a calendar for next year so I can start writing down these events. There’s a pandemic business opportunity!
My body is craving exercise. I need a schedule, to get out of this lethargic, jigsaw-puzzling rut.
Evy has created a schedule for her family, mainly to get her teenage son outdoors and away from his video games a few times a day. Isaac is getting rude again and we need some structure here too.
I’m hearing more reports that this isolation / social-distancing will continue. Through April, likely into the summer, and then they expect a second wave of the plague in the fall.
This motivates me to consider the bigger picture: schedules, yes, and more exercise, and some structure so I can start writing my second book next week. This is not just one long weekend.
If this is going to be our new normal for the long-term, we will need to do something to help Dauna, who lives alone. I don’t really understand extroverts, but I know my extrovert friend is struggling. So I call her and invite her to join our “germ circle.” She can visit us INSIDE the house, come for meals, sit and work, sleepover in the germ-free guest room, whatever she needs. Sometimes mental health is more important than physical health.
I mess up my clean kitchen by cooking a deer roast (with thanks to Evy and Peter for the meat), carrots, mushrooms, gravy and Yorkshire puddings. I eat waaay more than I should.
At noise time, we are joined by three other households, banging their pots from their decks and doors, and this makes me so happy.
Dauna comes over to eat Yorkshires and play a game, then she leaves and it’s books and bedtime.
I read a very long Minecraft book about creating circuits with redstone before my son falls asleep.
The federal government has launched their Canada Emergency Response Benefit. I am disappointed to read that the criteria have changed since the original announcement, and it is now only for those who have lost 100% of their income due to COVID-19. I’m down at least one job and many hours, and my son is no longer in school, but there is nothing (yet) that will help us financially.
How decadent this is, how Canadian, for me to have expected help. I make myself stop whining and instead be grateful for everything we have.
April 2, 2020 (Thursday) — DAY 18
Snow, again. Okay, this is REALLY feeling like the same day on repeat.
I watch a super useful presentation on Google tools as part of the (free!) iso-learning summit, and then spend 15 minutes sharing cool tips I learned with my professional friends via email and Facebook messenger. If I wasn’t so determined to prioritize my writing dreams this year, I’d start a career in digital marketing: I’ve always had a thing for SEO.
Isaac and I find a Minecraft-themed workout routine on YouTube and I get him to jump, run and swing his arms for awhile. First parent win of the day!
Last night, Evy sent me a link to an online fitness class that’s running every Thursday morning through The Lady Alliance, so I get sweaty doing that for an hour.
Then Mom and Dad invite us to join them on a walk around the neighbourhood. Isaac brings his shovel and unearths all the chalk drawings we did a few days ago.
Back home, we get Dad’s advice on where to set up our 12′ trampoline, and then we set up an outdoor barber shop. I cut Dad’s hair with the clippers, and then Isaac attempts to cut his own. I finish the job: it’s actually not terrible. Just bad. The first of many pandemic haircuts, I expect.
Pandemic haircut #1.
Back inside, Isaac and I work on the castle we’re building in Minecraft. He wants to buy more Minecraft skins, so we call Dad and ask if there’s any work to be had at their house. Isaac spends an hour painting bird houses (and playing soccer) with Dad, and I buy him more Minecraft coins.
It appears the school district will continue to pay me, at least for now, even though my job as a noon-hour supervisor is entirely irrelevant these days. Yay income!
At 3:30pm I visit with my Victoria, B.C. friends Laura and Jessie via Zoom. Laura’s supposed to be starting a new job on May 1, but has no idea if or how that will happen. Laura’s husband, Jessie and Jessie’s husband are all working from home. With kids. So that’s challenging.
My sister invites Isaac to join her, my nephew and their dog on a walk. He meets them on the sidewalk and I’m left alone again.
I’m happy with how much my kid has been outdoors today, and he’s spent time with people other than me. Best pandemic day yet?
One other household comes out to join us for “noise time” at 7pm. We watch Shrek (“film study & social history class”) and Isaac rates it two thumbs, two hands and two feet up.
We read books (of course) and he falls asleep.
Heather foretells the future
I trust the experts and understand why we’re supposed to be in lockdown. BUT the only ways I see out of this pandemic are: 1. we get vaccinated, or 2. our community develops herd immunity, which means that more of us will have to be infected first. And the sooner either/both happens, the better off we’ll all be financially and mental-health-ily.
I suspect our human nature will result in option 2: despite our good intentions, we will start craving contact again and gradually broaden our “germ circles.” Yes, this will lead to more infections, but it might save some of us from other dangers, like depression and alcoholism.
We will invite our isolated extroverts in. Separated families will reunite. Single people will fall in love. Our kids will want to hug their grandparents, or hold hands with their aunts. Extended families or neighbours will choose to form their own closed systems, so that their kids can play together.
Maybe those circles will continue to widen, encompassing streets or neighbourhoods. Gradual exposure. Within some of these circles, infections will erupt. And, eventually, we’ll have herd immunity and a return to almost-normal.
Or, we’ll all be locked down separately in our homes forever …
On a happier note, my 40th birthday Lego set arrived today!
Isaac studies the back of the box. My new modular building set is the one on the right. Mmmm.
April 3, 2020 (Friday) — DAY 19
My sister starts our morning (at 9:30am) with a group Facetime call: me, Evy and Mom. I’m on my second cup of orange pekoe, on the couch beside Isaac, who is playing Minecraft. Mom and Evy are both still in bed.
Peter returned to work this week. He drives the sweeper truck today, cleaning the roads, and dumps two more piles of gravel in our parking area.
Isaac loved Shrek so much last night that we watch Shrek 2 before noon. In other words: we have “film appreciation” class. We both love spotting references to other fairy tales in these movies. I consider this part of his literary education.
We play Lego: I work on my Assembly Square set, while he builds Queen Watevra Wa-Nabi shapes (from The Lego Movie 2). We bring his shapes down to our “master-building” rug, aka The Plains of Chaos, and create a story using all the Queen shapes.
He tells me we aren’t doing much schooling. I disagree. Our version of school is just different.
My butt cheek muscles hurt from the exercises yesterday morning.
I have a video date with my friend John Close: he and his pal Andrew started their Obstacle Course podcast 13 months ago. (My episode on grieving Brock holds the record for most downloads.) John and Andrew want to give their listeners a chance to engage more, so we brainstorm ideas.
I hear firetruck sirens and end our call. It’s our young neighbour’s birthday, and the Invermere Volunteer Fire Department is scheduled to make a (free!) appearance. They’ve been offering this to local kids, to make birthdays special during lockdown. Isaac and I race up the street, watch the trucks from 100 feet away, and sing “Happy Birthday” with the family and fire fighters. Everyone’s standing so far apart it seems weird.
Back home, I rake down the gravel piles. Isaac gets a garden tool and creates Halo storylines: he played that game with Dad pre-pandemic.
Isaac sets up a sprinkler and we cuddle under a blanket in our porch chair with hot drinks, watching our new water feature.
When it gets cold, we drive and deliver a present to Isaac’s friend Ella. She’s at home with two twin infant brothers, and I bet she (and her parents) are going squirrelly. I’m very careful about germs, packing the book, sidewalk chalk and small Lego set. Isaac uses hand sanitizer before he delivers the present.
Karma is a funny thing: when we get home, our friend Juli arrives and delivers wrapped presents to me and Isaac from the toy store. Isaac’s is from “a secret admirer.” It’s exciting.
His pandemic haircut is growing on me.
There’s a board game and some creepy black sticky things that crawl like bugs on the wall. I don’t open my present or the card, assuming they’re for my upcoming birthday.
Every business and public service body has been sending out reassuring COVID-19 emails these days. Today I get one from Alistair MacGregor, the Member of Parliament from my old riding of Cowichan-Malahat. It’s the usual info about federal programs, and then an offer to help out constituents with their applications.
And THEN there’s a bit about how he understands the CERB won’t help lots of us (e.g. students, “those with multiple part-time jobs”) and that he’s lobbying for financial support for these people. I’m cheered by this news, and then realize I’m supporting what the NDP party calls “Universal Basic Income,” which is something I disagree with, and feel conflicted.
Brock would love watching me work through these internal struggles. Not for the first time, I wonder if my deceased husband has sent us this virus, to teach us lessons in economics or as part of some philosophical experiment.
We have dinner, do “noise time” (with one household joining us), then watch Shrek 3. Isaac has some time for Minecraft, and then we read books and he falls asleep.
April 4, 2020 (Saturday) — DAY 20
Yet again, I wake up to find Isaac in my bed. This has to stop. Bad habits! At least we’ve broken the “sleeping in” habit: it’s 7:40am, which is much better than the now-usual 8:30am.
It’s frosty and overcast but looks like it might clear up: Evy and Peter have offered to pick up our trampoline and set it up for us in Mom and Dad’s backyard, so I use the morning to get some work done, adding more virtual events to our community’s events calendar.
While they work on the trampoline, I leave Isaac with my sister and drive the 15 minutes out to Radium to pick up a used XBox 360 I bought off our local buy & swap Facebook group last night. This is a long-term lockdown investment. If I can keep it a secret long enough, it’s what Isaac currently wants for Christmas 2020. I wanted the older, 360 version because two players can play together on it.
When I return, the trampoline is all ready (thanks, Evy and Peter!). Isaac and I bounce and wrestle and play for a long time, until it gets cold and I’m hungry.
We go back indoors for lunch-dinner, Netflix and Lego.
Sitting on the floor together, watching Shrek mini-movies.
I’ve subscribed to Acorn to sate my addiction to mystery shows, and watch the first episode of Midsomer Murders, season 23 while working on my current Lego set: Ninjago City. Isaac acts out his own dramatic story line with various toys.
I find a Q&A interview with an ER doctor in Chilliwack. It is positive, realistic, and informative. Dr. Marc Greidanus expects this extreme lockdown to last for another month or two, followed by gradually reduced restrictions, with a vaccine or treatment in 18 months-ish. He recommends wearing masks when out in public, and washing our hands constantly rather than wearing gloves.
We decorate Easter eggs with crayons and food colouring. This is our tradition: I buy a dozen of those fake, dye-able eggs from Walmart, and we decorate them over and over again until Easter. I save them every year: this is dozen number six.
My neighbour Camille comes out for noise time. Mom reports that she did too. We couldn’t hear her banging because we’re so loud.
Isaac makes a bowl of popcorn while I prep two chocolate ice cream cones: this is our new normal. We watch Netflix, then read our books. Tonight is: Flat Stanley, Dora, nursery rhymes to enhance our Shrek experience, and Sesame Street stories.
I am sleepy. A shower and bedtime for me.
April 5, 2020 (Sunday) — DAY 21
I’m awake before Isaac, which is a rare and magical thing. Our morning is, as always these days, spent drinking tea, playing Minecraft and having adventures with our Lego.
Isaac asks if we can play on the trampoline again, and I remind him we bought it, it’s ours, and we can play on it every day.
We watch a YouTube video on how to do front flips, and then spend time on the trampoline bouncing, somersaulting, and doing tuck jumps to help us work up the courage to flip: not yet. I practice cartwheels, which I have yet to learn even though I turn 40 next week.
I’m grumpy today, and can’t seem to shake the mood. This makes Isaac moody too. We need a change of scenery, fresh air and more activity, so we head down to the beach at 1:30pm. The ice is melting on the lake. Isaac smashes the ice with his hammer while I use his little-kid rake to scoop up big pieces and step on them. It’s fantastic therapy for two people who have been together every day for three weeks.
Isolation therapy at Kinsmen Beach.
Eventually, Isaac is soaking wet so we go home. He cuddles up in warm pajamas on my bed and watches Netflix while I work on my Ninjago Lego set.
Evy and Peter bring us groceries, and I make us an amazing lunch-dinner.
Our local fire department and RCMP detachment are doing a procession past the hospital and ambulance station at 7pm to thank our local health care folks, so we drive down, park, and cheer them as they drive past.
Isaac and I have the inevitable fight as we get home: we’ve been working toward this explosion all day. I get him into his bed and try to talk him through it, apologizing for being grumpy. We read Elephant & Piggie books together, and I’m amazed at how well he reads.
At 8:30pm, when he usually falls asleep, he opens his eyes and says he’s too scared: he thinks he’ll have nightmares. I read another story, and try to distract him, but it’s no use.
I update this journal, and then check on him: he’s still awake. So I let him move to my bed. I know he’ll fall asleep here. This is a bad habit to start, but at least I’ll have some time to build Lego tonight and try to cheer myself up.
April 6, 2020 (Monday) — DAY 22
It’s 5:30am and I wake up (in my own bed, with Isaac asleep beside me) because I’ve had a scary dream.
My grumpiness makes me inclined to lie there awake, alone: to put up walls and lock out the world. But then (this is so random) I think of Frozen 2:
PABBIE: “When one can see no future, all one can do is the next right thing.”
So I pick up my phone and reach out to my boyfriend, texting him about my nightmare: I tried to open a door in my house, but it was stuck, and when I shoved it I realized a man was hiding behind the door.
RYAN: “I’m getting dressed and coming over right now.”
And he does come over, which is so nice: we cuddle on the couch and watch the sunrise until he has to leave at 7am.
And then I go back to sleep. Isaac checks on me (aka harasses me) every 30 minutes until I am finally ready to get up at 9:30am.
It has snowed again. The skies are clear blue, and it promises to be a beautiful, warm-ish day. My grumpiness has dissipated.
I’m drinking tea beside Isaac on the couch when his school’s speech therapist, Karin, emails. He’s the first kid to request online speech therapy during lockdown so we’ll be her guinea pigs. We test Facetime, then she sends us a video to help us practice Isaac’s “L” sounds: our homework is to say “I like ___” sentences, carefully pronouncing the “L.”
While making our breakfast, I stumble into a Facebook conversation on my friend Morgan’s feed about the Canada Emergency Response Benefit (CERB). I’m not the only one whose income has been affected by the plague and yet doesn’t qualify for the CERB. The musicians are roused.
Dauna invites us to join her on a walk along the paved Westside Trail. We bring Isaac’s scooter and shovel (some parts still have snow). It is sunny, warm and gorgeous out in the forest.
Back home, we do some “school,” doing literacy with Teach Your Monster and then numbers with a Sesame Street app on our iPad.
We head outside to plant the pinecones and burrs we collected on our walk in potting soil. Isaac creates a storyline with the hose: from what I overhear, it sounds like he’s waterboarding a rock.
On the trampoline, we practice our front flips, corkscrews and cartwheels, and then Isaac goes inside to play Minecraft while I work on my mystery subplots on the sunny porch.
It’s nice to have experts on-call while plotting my book.
I do a Zumba Strong workout via Zoom for an hour, while Isaac roasts hot dogs with Dad and my nephew at Dad’s fire pit.
We do noise time (joined by Camille and mom), and then watch Peter Rabbit for the second time. I’m so disappointed they’ve postponed the sequel’s release until January 2021.
We read books in bed and Isaac falls asleep quickly. This has been one of our best days in captivity yet.
April 7, 2020 (Tuesday) — DAY 23
We agree to tackle our “schooling at home” in the mornings. I chug orange pekoe tea beside Isaac on the couch and we practice phonetics via Teach Your Monster on the iPad, followed by addition games with our Osmo. It’s fun, and Isaac continues “school” even when I go make us breakfast.
I check in with Pete at the chamber of commerce, then spend multiple hours updating our events calendar, making it more COVID-19-era functional, and then posting on Facebook, inviting the community to share their events with us. Instead of becoming obsolete in this weird era of social distancing, our events calendar might be exactly what our connection-loving small town needs.
Mom and Isaac walk down to the mailbox, and Isaac returns with an Easter card from my in-laws and a birthday card for me.
It’s ferociously windy. I’m tempted to fly our new kite that Evy brought Isaac, but the wind would probably destroy the kite. We bounce on the trampoline instead: my front flips are improving, and I finish a sorta-cartwheel on my feet.
I want to make an egg carton Easter flower wreath craft I saw on Facebook, and so bring the paint supplies up to Mom and Dad’s patio: they sit in the sunshine and watch us paint until it gets cold.
Back indoors, we play Lego for a bit, then I make chocolate chip cookies from my friend Maeve’s recipe.
Dauna comes over after she’s done working (from home) and we finish painting our flowers.
Dauna participates in her first ever “noise time” at 7pm: we’re joined by Camille and Mom, outside their own homes.
After dinner, Isaac has a much-needed bath (with his colour-changing Hot Wheels cars and a bucket of ice water). Dauna and I hot-glue the flowers onto the cardboard wreath.
Dauna leaves and we watch some Netflix.
We read Franklin, Berenstain Bears and our usual Shel Silverstein poems.
Once Isaac’s asleep, I tune in (30 minutes late) to my friend Adrian Chalifour’s Facebook livestream: he has an incredible voice and plays guitar songs for us, to celebrate his birthday.
Not everyone is doing this well
I read two interesting perspectives online today:
1. A Medium article about two parents working from home, struggling to care for (never mind “home school”) their son, who is struggling emotionally.
2. Two tweets from essential services workers: “Essential retail workers aren’t heroes, they’re hostages. They want to go home. … But they can’t.” And: “I do this because I have a child at home and I can’t get unemployment if I quit.”
I am reminded of just how lucky Isaac and I are, to be safe at home together, able to play and learn and have adventures together. I have no idea how to support all these other people, who are struggling.
April 8, 2020 (Wednesday) — DAY 24
Happy Garbage Pick-up Day!
I stayed up too late on the social medias and then Isaac decided we were getting up at 7:30am, so I’m sleepy. I drink tea and work on my Ninjago City Lego set. Isaac wants to build a set too, so we choose some options from our collection and he constructs a helicopter for one of his action heroes, Skunky (a Lego skunk).
At 11am, our three households converge at the high school’s running track. Mom and Dad are on their bikes. Evy and my nephew bring their dog. I have Isaac’s bike and a soccer ball.
We get him on his bike for 25 feet, with me holding the seat, before he opts out.
So we play soccer, while Mom cycles laps around the track and Evy throws tennis balls for her dog.
We are self-conscious about being so visibly together on this open field, and joke about being shamed online by witnesses. But we’re careful to stay apart from each other, and we’re all doing our best to stay germ-free daily, staying home most of the time.
Masks have become a hot topic on Facebook and in interviews with health experts and politicians. Mom is sewing some for us. But we don’t wear them on the field, and none of the three people we see during our time outside are wearing masks yet either.
Back home, we do our “school work,” playing spelling, phonics and addition games on the iPad.
I wash my hands, bag up a toy crib (plus baby doll and accessories) and leave it outside for another mom to pick up: she posted on Facebook, asking for one. Once again, karma is immediate, because while I’m lounging on our sunny porch working on my mystery plot, a courier van delivers a large parcel for me:
It’s a 40th birthday gift basket from my best friend of 21 years, Quinn, and his sweetie. It is giant and decadent, and I spot bath treats and tea right away.
This gives me an excuse to call Q, whom I miss. Q and Taylor live in Vancouver. They have both been busy working their respective jobs via video calls from morning until dinner time. Q says he even dresses properly, despite being at home.
I remember that we’re supposed to pick up Isaac’s stuff from his school today: they’ve left a bag outside for him. He suggests we ride our bike-for-two down. Picking up this bag, containing his indoor shoes and all his artwork, feels definitive. When will our kids be back in a classroom? I cross my fingers for September.
We play more Lego, eat dinner, extend our 7pm “noise time” with a mini dance party on the deck, and then watch a Netflix show before books and bedtime. Isaac is asleep by 9pm.
A Facebook friend posts a controversial interview with Knut Wittkowski, who says this lockdown approach to the pandemic is all wrong. We’ll see what happens in Sweden long-term, I suppose.
Locally, our little town is bracing itself for an influx of Albertans this weekend, crossing the border to camp out in their second homes for Easter and beyond.
We usually depend on these part-time residents economically, but our little outpost hospital has eight hospital beds and one ventilator: the mayor and local doctors have asked these families to stay in Alberta. The regional district has asked the Province to close the border to non-essential traffic, but we doubt that will happen in time.
April 9, 2020 (Thursday) — DAY 25
Happy Recycling Pick-Up Day!
I wake up with a stressful dream fresh in my mind: my renters had invited two more families to live with them in the one bedroom suite, and — shocking! — they weren’t practicing social distancing.
So now I’m having stress dreams about the plague.
Once I shake off the dream, Isaac and I have a pleasant morning of breakfast decadence, tea, and Minecraft on the couch.
My financial advisor calls to check in on a matured GIC. I end up crying, not for the first time: it’s a complicated thing to explain, but money management is a grief trigger for me. Also, Brock and I were married 8 years ago today, so I’m extra sensitive.
Brendan handles my weird weeping like a gentleman. It occurs to me that this “money + grief” should be a Medium story: I brainstorm some thoughts and share them with my Patreon community.
I’m due for a shower. I go for a run first, and do a short work-out in my bedroom while watching more Community. This show makes me laugh so hard that it’s hard to do sit-ups properly.
Evy delivers groceries, plus a very thin copy of our local newspaper (they’re still struggling financially due to no one advertising). I discover a lovely “happy birthday” ad on the back page:
Aww!
Back to the plague: a Facebook friend says she’s “going to be Sweden” and I sense the rumblings of a revolt against this mandated lockdown. When I text this prediction to Evy and Mom, Evy reports that her husband has heard the same sentiments.
Another friend reports that a Tinder guy she chats with, who lives in Calgary, had his vehicle broken into and the only thing stolen was his industrial face mask.
My nephew invites me to play Magic the Gathering with him in their yard. It is sunny and warm enough for just a hoody. Isaac puts on his ninja costume and we head over: he plays jumbo Jenga with Evy while I battle my nephew.
We sit across a picnic table from each other: closer than the recommended 6 feet. This rebellious talk of Sweden’s approach and striving for herd immunity vs. waiting for a vaccine while our economy implodes is chipping away at my self-discipline.
Back home, I figure out how to set up our antique ipod so that Isaac can control his own music. He loves his “music phone” and is the happiest six-year-old ever.
We have dinner, watch some Lego Star Wars, read the usual stack of books, and Isaac falls asleep.
I really want to spend my birthday on Sunday with my boyfriend. He has two pre-teens and they aren’t as quarantined as we are, but I’m tempted to relax our lockdown restrictions.
My friend Rob posted, back in the early days of all this, that he’s seen a lot of people “stop living” out of a fear of dying, and I don’t want to be one of those people.
But just as I’m thinking this, bracing myself to risk infection for a hedonistic smooch, I scroll through Medium and see a story about a 39-year-old man who died from COVID-19 (that’s my age!!), and another with the headline: “Social Distancing is Dead Serious. Hold the Line.”
My birthday isn’t for three more days. Time enough to decide.
It takes forever for me to fall asleep.
April 10, 2020 (Friday) — DAY 26
We wake up just after 7am, Isaac in his own bed (yay!).
I’ve been drinking that nice Murchie’s Rocky Mountain black tea blend since it arrived in Q & Taylor’s gift basket. It’s lovely. I decide to let myself start on my birthday Lego set, the bookshop modular building, and revel in new Lego while drinking my tea.
My new 2,504-piece Lego set. Happy 40th birthday, me!
I try to find that Knut article to share with Mom, and recent Google results tell me the guy’s a truther hero. My Facebook friend has deleted the link from her page. I check Sweden’s situation, and it looks like things are going to shit there too.
By noon, it is sunny and actually getting hot outside. We set up Isaac’s Hot Wheels car wash and painting shop on the porch, and he plays while I work on the subplots of my mystery book.
Then we jump on the trampoline for a bit. Isaac plays rough. I think he’s frustrated with me, that I’m not playing as much with him today. This kid expects a lot.
Back home, I change into a bathing suit and toast in the sunshine: it’s 16 degrees and I get sweaty.
Later, I work on my car decorations for the Easter Car Conga parade that’s happening Sunday. I make giant flowers out of tissue wrapping paper.
Hand prints for another craft, to be revealed shortly …
Isaac’s piano lesson is at 5:15 pm. He has a fantastic ear and sense of rhythm. It’s a shame he doesn’t love his lessons more. This is one of the few things I make him do.
Then, it’s the moment we’ve been waiting for: Trolls World Tour (the sequel) is available online! We had planned to watch this in the movie theatre together, for my birthday. At least they’ve released it, instead of postponing it. The sequel does not disappoint. We pause it for a short noise time at 7pm.
After the movie, I give Isaac another thirty minutes to play while I work on my Lego set and have a video visit with Ryan.
We read books, Isaac falls asleep, and I get his Easter stuff ready.
Facebook tells me that Vancouver Island is experiencing the same influx of vacationers that we are, with folks heading over from the mainland via BC Ferries. Of course they are. Did the premiers really think “asking” people to stay home this long weekend was enough?
I predict righteous vandalism, with locals “teaching” vacationers a lesson. I predict an upswing in small community cases after this weekend. I hope they’ll close the borders and the ferries, and maybe even set up road stops to check people’s drivers’ licenses. Maybe this weekend free-for-all is a good thing: they’ll see the problem, and have time to crack down before the May long weekend and summer.
Once again I think of Brock, watching all of this with his favourite, deceased philosopher buddies beside him, eating popcorn. They’re loving these social experiments in individual rights vs. the good of the whole, the ethical dilemmas, the politics, et cetera.
I stay up until 1:30am playing Lego, because I’m almost 40 and can do whatever I want.
April 11, 2020 (Saturday) — DAY 27
Our morning is typical: Minecraft, tea, Lego.
I make a lemon meringue pie for my birthday. The government doesn’t want me to share it, so I guess I’ll have to eat it all myself. (Yay!)
Once it’s on the deck to cool and set, I make our breakfast. We watch Trolls 2 again: it’s a rental, and we only have it for 24 more hours.
It’s time to do our laundry.
To make room in my closet for warmer-weather tops, I pack away my winter clothes and some other clothes that I don’t foresee wearing anytime soon, due to the apocalypse: my concert band uniform, extra workout shirts, some fancier tops.
I’m tempted to put away my collection of nice dresses, but you never know. Maybe we’ll have a fancy clothes parade someday. I heard some people in isolation are doing “fancy Fridays,” where they get dressed up, even wearing bras and doing their hair. To stay in practice.
It’s really cold and breezy outside, but Isaac wants to practice his scootering so we go to the deck and I wrap up in a blanket.
One of my favourite pairs of shorts has a hole in the back. I track down my sewing supplies and find a scrap of quilting fabric to patch on.
We’re doing Osmo math when Evy arrives and kidnaps my son. They have a secret playdate. Perhaps it has something to do with my 40th birthday tomorrow? I use the time to hide two of the three clues for Isaac’s Easter bunny treasure hunt tomorrow.
Ryan brings me sushi (my favourite food) for dinner. He and his sons have been around too many people for me to let him in the house, so we eat our fantastic dinner outside, with a pot of green tea. By 6pm it’s chilly in the shade, so we put on warmer coats and gloves and walk around the block. I manage to resist smooching him, but we hold hands.
My bestie, Q, texts and says he wants to Facetime at 6:15pm. When Ryan and I get back to my house, we go check out the 40 flamingos that have appeared on my lawn. This makes me so happy: I’ve always wanted lawn flamingos for my 40th!
Quinn calls, and then I hear a siren and honks, and suddenly there’s a parade of cars driving past my house, led by Evy and her husband in his truck, which is decorated with balloons, a huge banner and pretty yellow pompoms. Isaac and my nephew wave from the back of the truck. The second vehicle is a fire department pick-up truck, with a SIREN!
This is so sweet. My mom and dad have inflated flamingo pool toys strapped to their car and truck. Aside from Dauna, every other driver is a friend I haven’t seen in over three weeks. Even the mayor (a family friend) and his family make an appearance.
Evy and Peter stop post-parade to decorate my porch and deck. Dallas has left me a birthday present and wonderful homemade card.
Isaac agrees to have a bath and wash his hair for my birthday. Then we set traps for the Easter bunny, as is our tradition.
I invite him for a “sleepover” in my bed, as a special treat for me (I say), and he falls asleep happy.
Once I place the final clue for Isaac’s Easter treasure hunt on the trampoline, I settle in for some quality, “last day of my 30s” time with my Lego and Netflix.
What a great start to my 40th!
April 12, 2020 (Sunday) — DAY 28
Happy 40th birthday to me! Happy Easter!
Ugh I have to pee at 6am and this means risking waking Isaac. But I’m not going to start my forties by peeing in my bed so I get up. He stirs and at 6:30am we’re checking on our trap for the Easter bunny.
Yes, the bunny did indeed come during the night, and he evaded our traps: it’s a wonder we didn’t hear the maracas, tamborine or mini cymbals crash to the floor!
One perk of being a parent is that we get to create our own traditions. Isaac and my Easter tradition is that we decorate another dozen eggs, and then the Easter bunny comes and STEALS THEM on Easter Sunday. He’s a villain.
But luckily the bunny has left a scrap of a map, which (we hope!) will lead us to our precious egg collection.
It takes a bit for Isaac to figure out the first clue, which gives me time to drink orange pekoe and start waking up.
By 6:40am we’re on the deck. It is -7 degrees and we’re shivering in our jammies. We find the next clue (along with some chocolate eggs, to fuel Isaac) and retreat back inside to puzzle over our next location.
By 7am we’ve visited the trampoline and the tree fort, rescued our collection of eggs, and Isaac has a basket of treats to make up for the emotional trauma of the Easter bunny’s annual home invasion and theft.
With Easter conquered, Isaac brings me a piece of a photo collage and a clue: we will spend my birthday on a treasure hunt.
After solving the first clue, Isaac and I start fighting (my spoiled only child doesn’t like that it’s not HIS birthday), and runs away to Mom and Dad’s.
I celebrate my birthday independence by returning home to work on my Lego set, drink a glass of sparkly wine and eat two pieces of lemon meringue pie for breakfast.
Evy comes over and we decorate my car. A local woman has organized an Easter car conga. Our three households head down to Kinsmen Beach for the 11am start. Isaac joins me in the car for the event, then returns to my parents’.
(Photo by Ryan Watmough.)
The second puzzle in my birthday treasure hunt is a sudoku. I am so happy. My sister knows me really well.
For the rest of the day I solve puzzles (a word search, a crossword, geocaching, scrambled words — which I hate, kaleidoscope puzzles, location riddles). Hunt stops include my boyfriend’s front porch (he has a hot cup of tea waiting for me) and Dauna’s patio.
The final clue brings me to my parents’ cul de sac at 3:30pm, where everyone is waiting (spaced appropriately). At the designated McLeod area is a box of lemon cupcakes, a chocolate cake with my face on it, a basket of cards, a 7′ inflatable flamingo water lounger, and a bottle of sparkly wine.
We eat cupcakes, drink sparkly and then everyone lets me go home so I can recharge my introvert batteries while Isaac plays with his cousin. Mom gives me a dish of manicotti for my birthday dinner.
I settle into a sunny spot on my porch and read through my birthday cards. I love all the pandemic jokes: this is a stack of cards to keep.
Isaac returns at 6pm. We do noise time at 7pm, then he watches Netflix while I have a bath with some of the decadent bath salts from Q and Taylor. I am so tired. My eyes won’t even stay open enough to read books. I fall asleep cuddled up with Isaac.
April 13, 2020 (Monday) — DAY 29
We wake up at 7am, after sleeping for 11 hours. Wow!
It’s another cold, clear day outside. Isaac heads off to visit Dad. I work on my birthday puzzle from Ryan, then start collecting info for my accountant. Kyla has sent me a list of amounts to gather for my 2019 taxes, and it feels like day two of my treasure hunt.
By 1pm it’s warm enough to head outside, albeit a bit chilly. I grab the kite Evy gave Isaac and we go down to the high school field, inviting my sister and Mom by text.
The wind comes and goes, but we get the kite out to the very end of its string once for a long time.
Walking home, Isaac excavates rocks from the dirt trail. We see our neighbours: a teenager and her mom. I ask Emma about her apocalypse experience. Are the teens these days faring well, since they’re so used to texting anyways? She says that physical contact is still important to her circle, and she misses her friends.
It’s actually hot in the sunshine on the porch. I get out my ukulele and discover the 4th string has snapped. To my great relief, I have an extra set of strings. I fix my ukulele and retune it constantly as I play through my music book.
Before spring break, an older kid from Isaac’s school asked if they could play Minecraft together. Konnor’s mom and I get them set up and today Isaac gets to visit Konnor’s world for the first time. Isaac is so excited: he keeps waving at Konnor’s character, even though Konnor can’t see him. I teach him how to use the chat bar.
Evy delivers A&W for our dinner. This is the first time in at least 29 days we’ve had fast food and it’s an event.
Yesterday Evy and I mused about why the B.C. government still allows take-out and delivery from restaurants: what about spreading germs via packaging? What about the sushi I ate Saturday that was hand-rolled? Maybe I could have shared that pie I made. Haha too late — I’ve eaten most of it.
I’m sleepy again by 6pm. Is this what it’s like, being 40? I won’t be able to stay up past 8pm anymore?
Noise time at 7pm. I can see people on the bike track by the skate park. A girl rides by on her bike. We are so lucky to live where we do.
After Isaac’s asleep, I have a video visit with Quinn and Taylor (and their dog, Rigby). We were supposed to drink champagne and celebrate together on my birthday night, but I fell asleep.
I work on my jigsaw puzzle and watch Agatha Raisin on Acorn via my iPhone. At 11pm I get into bed and have a video visit with Ryan. We talk until we’re both falling asleep.
April 14, 2020 (Tuesday) — DAY 30
My dreams have been really vivid lately. Sounds like other people are experiencing this too, due to pandemic trauma.
I drink tea on the couch while Isaac invents a machine to eradicate the coronavirus. Specifically: he wants to erect a forcefield around Invermere that will emit energy beams, killing all the coronavirus germs. He builds a prototype in Minecraft. I film it in operation and send the video to Quinn, so he can share it with the scientists he works with.
I send it to Evy and Mom.
MOM: “Thank goodness. It’s about time someone was proactive.”
Isaac draws a picture of his invention, and I send it to Ms. Casey, who is trying to organize online meet-ups for her students on the Teams app.
Then Isaac races off to visit with Dad for a bit (i.e. play video games). I use the time to finish collecting numbers for my accountant, so we can file my 2019 taxes.
When Isaac returns, I tell him he can do whatever he wants while I have a shower, but he needs to tell me something he’s learned once I’m dressed. He chooses to watch season 6, episode 1 of Trolls.
What Isaac learns: “Even if you aren’t friends with someone, you can still get along.”
We continue our “schooling at home” by playing Osmo number games, and then challenge each other with number puzzles using Lego.
It’s overcast and gloomy outside so I’m not eager to get us outdoors. Konnor invites Isaac to play Minecraft and they do that for awhile: Isaac loves this so much.
We walk to the mailbox to check our mail, and Isaac gets a parcel from Indigo: it’s a book, The Bad Guys, from his secret admirer. (Don’t worry, it’s not a creepy person: it’s my sister, being amazing.)
He finds a stick on the walk back and we bring it up to Mom and Dad’s campfire area, along with a carving knife, hotdogs and a Corona for me. Dad lights a fire and we end up toasting hot dogs (Isaac), veggie dogs (Dad) and elk smokies (me & Mom) for dinner.
While we’re at the campfire, the courier delivers one of the two Osmo coding games I’ve ordered from Walmart.
Back home, we set up the game and it is so fun. Isaac experiments with the commands and asks if he can please play it first thing in the morning when he wakes up, breaking our usual rule of waiting until 7am for devices.
I tell him yes: the coding game is school, and he can do school work ANYTIME.
We do noise time at 7pm, then watch some Lego Star Wars mini-episodes via Disney+.
We read The Bad Guys, three Elephant & Piggie books, two Ninjago stories, Sesame Street, and poems.
Weird thing I’ve noticed this week: I’m less wasteful than I was pre-pandemic. Specific examples include: I put the two ketchup packets from our A&W take-out into the fridge, instead of throwing them away. I kept the plastic veggie bag, to re-use it.
Am I getting all wartime-thrifty? Possibly. Good habits, I suppose.
April 15, 2020 (Wednesday) — DAY 31
Happy Garbage Pick-Up Day!
Isaac plays his new coding game before I’m out of bed, and then we continue together once I have tea to drink.
He is eager to keep his character moving, and this leads to errors: I tell him that patience and checking your work are the two first lessons of coding.
Colouring therapy. (I printed out a comic I saw on Facebook.)
Quinn alerts me that the federal government is about to announce more financial supports that might benefit me: eventually the news comes, that they’ve expanded the criteria for the Canada Emergency Response Benefit and we can still qualify if we make up to $1,000/month. Yay! I hope this will help folks working for minimum wage, aka many of our essential services people. I can apply starting Friday, since I was born in April. (They’ve staggered the application days, so as not to overwhelm the system.)
Evy delivers a bin of groceries. It’s mostly bread and eggs and she judges me a bit for not asking for any fresh vegetables. I vow to eat more celery today.
For breakfast, I cook up the last six pieces of thick-cut bacon. Isaac says it is perfectly done. This is the nicest feedback he’s ever offered on my bacon, and I tell him my happy bucket is full (that’s primary school language). He offers to say something mean, so my bucket doesn’t spill over. Six-year-old logic.
It is a beautiful day, but then the wind picks up and continues for the rest of the day.
Mom shows up with a thawed turkey. I’d forgotten that I’ve offered to cook one for our family, but it’s not like I’m busy doing something else. It’s a 12lb bird, so I put it into the over at 3pm.
Isaac goes to play soccer and video games with Dad. I try to sit on the porch, but at that moment the sun goes behind a huge cloud so I work on my mystery plot indoors instead.
I’m feeling overwhelmed with plot decisions. I write a post to my Patreon supporters, then reach out to Juanita to book our second plot consultation.
Isaac returns. We create a Lego storyline about an evil doppelganger and a super-powerful ninja with amnesia. Isaac’s teacher calls to check in and I assure her Isaac is still learning.
He’s playing Minecraft when his piano teacher texts and I remember our weekly video lesson. Isaac grudgingly plays through the exercises. He doesn’t like it that I force him to learn piano. I hate the battle, but it’s good for us to have one thing I make him do. And piano is such a great skill to learn.
Peter arrives just before 6pm to carve the turkey. We parcel out shares for Mom and Grandma, Peter’s grandma Oma, my sister’s family, and us. Peter delivers the carcass to Mom so she can make soup for everyone.
Social-distance family turkey dinner: one turkey, shared over four households.
Someone somewhere in Canada has decided that Wednesday is “Takeout Night,” to support local restaurants. My first thought is that this is a terrible idea, to concentrate all those orders on a single day. Within hours I see a restaurant ask for people to NOT all order on the same day, since it overwhelms their skeleton staff. Told you so. How about a little consultation, people?
After Isaac and I eat our turkey dinner, we play Osmo some more.
We do noise time at 7pm, then watch a few episodes of Trolls before reading a stack of books. Our new bedtime routine is to start books at 8pm (an hour later than pre-pandemic times), and then Isaac falls asleep around 9pm.
This gives me an hour or so to myself each night. Even when I’m tired, I try to stay awake and let myself do something fun. Tonight, that means working on my jigsaw puzzle and watching the pilot episode of “The Brokenwood Mysteries” on Acorn.
