Heather McLeod is a writer, editor, widow and solo parent who loves adventures. She writes traditional literary mysteries and creative non-fiction / personal essays. Heather and her son live in British Columbia, Canada.
Yes, it’s a dark, unpredictable, overwhelming storm cloud — but there are some glimmers of light for those of us self-isolating during the coronavirus pandemic:
Increased kid + parent time
In 2016, when my son was 2.75 years old, we were concerned about his speech. I made a list of the words he could say: there were only about 20. Then we went on a 62-day road-trip across Canada. Just me, my husband and our son in a 1986 Ford Frontier motorhome.
By the end of that trip, Isaac’s vocabulary was too large to write down. It wasn’t as if we’d ignored our kid before then, but that intensive, 24/7/62 time together helped him blossom.
Four years later, my son and I spend all day, every day, together at home: his cough and fever on March 16 meant lockdown for our little family, just as “self-isolation” and “social distancing” became important terms in Canada.
This is my six-year-old’s dream come true: daily playtime and constant snuggles with his mom. His manners have improved. He gets angry less often. I’ve never heard him laugh this much.
It won’t surprise me if “Pandemic 2020” becomes one of my son’s happiest memories.
To nurture this, I try to keep my screen time low. It’s hard to resist checking for news, to take the pulse via social media of how our society is handling this plague.
I try to not worry about money, and the inevitable recession. When he asks why he can’t visit his grandparents or aunt, I explain that we’ve both been sick with a cough, and so we’re staying home to avoid spreading germs. There’s no need to use big words like “pandemic” and “quarantine.”
Community building
It’s beautiful to see how people are connecting and helping one another through this. We live in a small Canadian town of 3,600 people. Families are putting cut-out paper hearts in their windows, volunteering to deliver groceries, buying gift certificates to support local businesses, and posting grateful messages to essential service workers on the front lines.
Speaking of those frontline workers: We’re all realizing how critical our grocery store clerks, food producers, truck drivers, garbage collectors, tradespeople, daycare providers, pharmacists, and other service providers are.
In communities around the world, people are going outside to make noise, bang pots, and play music to show their appreciation for the employees who are risking their own health to keep our society running. My son and I go on our deck at 7 p.m. to do this every day. It feels good to say “thank you,” and it’s cathartic to cause a ruckus in our silent neighborhood after a day spent mostly indoors.
Facebook groups have sprung up to connect parents with kids at home, volunteer grocery deliverers with those self-isolating, and people in general. Our local co-working business has closed their office space, but now hosts a “work from home” Zoom channel.
Innovation
Farmers’ markets and other direct-market sales models have become risky or have been cancelled, so my friends in the agriculture world are brainstorming how to get their food to customers in this new world. Some solutions include partnering with other businesses to reduce direct contact, offering online sales, and delivering.
Organizers of large events are coming up with new ways to continue: the Social Distancing Festival celebrates and broadcasts art and talent from all over the world. WORDFest moved online. There’s even an online marathon for the runners.
Reduced spending
They say that over half of Canadians live paycheque to paycheque. While I expect a recession is inevitable and that we’ll survive this “with levels of debt equalling those at the end of the Second World War” (as Vaughn Palmer predicts), this pandemic is also teaching us how little money we need to survive. It’s an aggressive, forced lesson in family budgeting.
When we aren’t able to shop daily, when we’re limited to online purchases and courier delivery, when we can’t go out for dinner or travel and aren’t even buying gas, our spending will decline. With so many people unable to work, we’ll become more aware of which bills have to be paid. We’re about to find out which expenses are “essentials” (e.g. food, internet), and which are luxuries (e.g. new shoes, Hallmark cards).
Maybe, like those who lived through the great wars, we’ll carry these new, thrifty values into our post-pandemic lives.
Refined values
Speaking of values, being at home with my son is reminding me of what’s important. We check in frequently with my parents, grandma, and sister’s family. I’ve visited (via FaceTime) with friends I haven’t seen in a year. Our lives are less frantic, so I’m seeking out novel distractions to liven up our days by reaching out to people I’m usually “too busy” to connect with.
I turn 40 in April, and had dozens of adventures planned to celebrate in 2020: Legoland California, a two-week family camping trip, a half-marathon, a women’s retreat, a music festival. Now, these adventures likely will not happen.
Instead of a year of adventures, I face a year (months? weeks?) of confinement or social distancing, along with my son. But maybe this refocus from outward to inward is the perfect 40th birthday gift to myself. Maybe this is a different kind of adventure.
Our world is in the midst of a mandatory staycation. We are being forced to spend time alone or with our loved ones. If we can manage to put our phones down, we might rediscover why we chose these loved ones in the first place. We might rediscover ourselves.
This pandemic is a terrible thing, especially for those infected, those on the frontlines, and those who have lost a loved one.
Every morning I wake up and groggily realize I’ll be spending another day at home, mostly indoors, with my son. This is our normal, now. Compared to others, my son and I have been asked to do an easy thing: to self-isolate, and spend time together. This is our silver lining.
A daily journal of the COVID-19 / coronavirus pandemic
March 16, 2020 (Monday)
It’s Day 1 of spring break. Isaac is sick. The cough he’s had for weeks is worse. He woke up crying, because I wasn’t cuddling him: for my six-year-old son, neediness is another sign of illness.
I decide to stay home instead of going to the gym class I’d signed up for.
He must be really sick because, after throwing up once, he sleeps for most of the day. This is extraordinary, for my active boy. Once, he wakes himself up by puking again.
The gym announces that it is closing. With all those shared touch points, e.g. weights, it’s probably a smart move.
My sister and her husband flew back to Canada from Cuba last night. They’re coming home from the city today. They had to read a declaration at the airport, acknowledging that they’re being asked to self-isolate for 14 days. Evy was worried about missing work, but her boss says she has to stay home. They have plenty of rum and cigars so Peter’s okay with the news.
Mom brought me a stack of mystery novels from the library.
I’m worried Isaac has the coronavirus, but Evy & the internet assure me the disease is respiratory, and his breathing is fine. I’m wondering if I should call the helpline so someone can come test him.
Isaac has a fever. His scrawny body radiates heat. I have children’s Advil in the cupboard and can drug his fever every six hours. I wish I’d bought that children’s Tylenol at the pharmacy last week: I could be layering his doses every three hours. I ask mom to buy us children’s Tylenol, if there’s any left in the stores after the panic-buying this weekend.
My boyfriend, Ryan, goes grocery shopping after his renovation job and texts me a photo of the empty pasta & sauce shelves at No Frills:
I let Isaac sleep in my bed. We watch a movie and he’s able to eat popcorn.
March 17, 2020 (Tuesday) – DAY 2
Isaac throws up the popcorn at 2 am. He wakes up feverish and asking for a cold bath at 5 am.
Ryan delivers milk, and gatorade for Isaac, to replenish his electrolytes.
On Tuesdays, as a volunteer gig, I usually deliver 190 copies of The Valley Peak around town. It’s like the Coffee News in other communities but entirely local and with way more pages. I tell the editor I can’t deliver today: I don’t want to spread Isaac’s fever-sickness to the care home, hospital, clinic and businesses to which I usually deliver, and I can’t leave him at home alone sick anyways. The editor, Rob, was in the hospital last week with pneumonia and I squirm at the idea of him delivering on my behalf. He’s vulnerable to the coronavirus. But I can’t think of any other option.
Evy and Peter are stuck at home: my 14-year-old nephew has returned home to be with them in quarantine. (He stayed with Mom and Dad while Evy & Peter were in Cuba.)
Mom and Dad do an errand run, dropping off another bottle of gatorade. Dad takes Mom’s new electric bike for a test run around the neighbourhood.
Just after noon, the British Columbia government announces that school will be “suspended” for an unknown length of time. I am soooo relieved that B.C. hasn’t shut schools down until September, as Alberta announced it was doing on Sunday.
I proofread our community newspaper on Tuesdays. Due to Isaac’s being sick, I pick up the pages and mark the typos at home instead of staying in the office. Many of the ads and even articles are already out of date: both our ski hills have closed now, instead of just the major races being cancelled. Most of the community events have been cancelled. There’s no mention of today’s school suspension announcement.
It’s incredible how quickly things are changing. A line from Instagram resonates with me: “What a year this week has been.”
My third part-time job is to maintain the online community events calendar for our region. At home, I login and start deleting all the cancelled events. With no new events being announced, this is about to become a VERY part-time job.
Mom and Dad eat the first microgreens from her new mini-farm in their sunroom. Things feel more apocalyptic today and I’m glad they live just across the road from us.
Isaac’s temperature is back to normal. He falls asleep an hour before bedtime.
I watch Outbreak, because it sounds like a funny thing to do.
Isaac wakes up as the movie finishes and moves to my bed before falling asleep again.
Across the road, my parents watch Contagion, which is now the #9 movie in Canada on Netflix.
March 18, 2020 (Wednesday) – DAY 3
Isaac throws up twice overnight but sleeps for 13 hours.
Evy is playing online board games with her friend Steph. Peter putters around the house and yard.
PETER’S FACEBOOK POST: “Day 1.25 of bring quarantined with a teenager. Who wants to have a drink across the fence with me?”
Dad exercises in his man cave and I see him out for walks. Mom bakes a rhubarb pie, reads, and works on her 2,000-piece jigsaw puzzle with Grandma, who lives with them.
I realize self-isolating will be hardest for the extroverts.
The Canadian government announces an $82-billion response package to help individuals and businesses. Sounds like I’ll get more money via our monthly Child Tax Benefit and the quarterly GST rebate. Also I can apply for support as a worker who doesn’t qualify for Employment Insurance. I wonder how long it will take for this money to get to people.
Westjet announces possible contamination on six recent flights, but Evy and Peter flew with Sunwing.
Evy and Peter realize they will need propane if there’s an apocalypse. I wish I’d bought a BBQ last fall.
I make little boats out of duct-tape and cardboard and lure Isaac outside to race them in the gutters: the snow is melting.
Racing homemade boats in the gutter. Sadly, we lost a member of the macaroni family.
Our neighbourhood is a ghost town.
The day care where Evy works shuts down. Evy is officially unemployed. She starts investigating Employment Insurance.
Canada announces the Canada-U.S. border will (finally!) close, effective Friday/Saturday.
Isaac usually has a piano lesson on Wednesdays. Instead of meeting at the church, his teacher, Arne, does the lesson via Facebook Video Messenger.
We watch The Lion King, and then I put Isaac to bed in his own room. I tell him he can come into my bed if he wakes up and needs me.
One of my renters has been laid off work: I tell them we’ll adjust rent if necessary. We’ll see what happens over the next few weeks.
March 19, 2020 (Thursday) – DAY 4
Isaac sleeps through the night without throwing up. Yay!
Isaac woke up wanting to play with his science stuff. Plenty of food colouring and water …
After some morning science fun, I take him for a run around our neighbourhood. We see one neighbour, out walking to the mailbox: we veer off the sidewalk to give her space, and say hello.
Isaac returns home and I do another lap. My body is hungry for the gym. I get home and do sit-ups, then lift my weights.
Mom is back to work at the library today. It’s closed to the public, but they’re wiping down books and doing computer work.
My friend / boss Dauna at the newspaper tells me advertising revenue is down, because so many local businesses have closed, and they can’t afford my proofreading anymore.
A week ago I had three part-time jobs, totalling about 11.5 hours/week: I’m now down to about 2 hours/week.
Evy asks about our flour supplies. I have 4lbs. Apparently it’s getting hard to find in the stores.
My renters set out for the grocery store and ask if I need anything. I request frozen spinach. I have everything else I need to make spanokopitas.
Isaac and I are back to our bedtime routine: we read books in his bed. He’s asleep within 30 minutes.
I watch Contagion. When it’s over, I have that feeling I always get, of withdrawing from the imaginary-world of the movie and returning to real life. But this time, real life is eerily similar to the movie. So much for escape.
March 20, 2020 (Friday) – DAY 5
My Instagram feed is full of funny posts about self-isolation and social distancing. We Canadians are getting giddy.
It appears this mass social-distancing thing is working in Canada, if this Facebook graph is to be trusted:
I visit via Facetime with my friend Cory. His family has a goat farm and they make cheese. Their wholesale distribution chains have evaporated overnight, and they’ve decided not to risk attending their farmers’ markets. They’ve laid off all their staff, so are doing all the work themselves now. They’re trading goats for wine, gin and other essentials.
Mom and Dad get groceries for us. I ask for flour, lard, more meat than we usually eat, eggs and plenty of fruit.
I visit via Facetime with my friend Jessie, a government auditor in Victoria. Isn’t it interesting, she says, how audits are no longer relevant? It’s all about the health care workers, the grocery store employees, the garbage collection people these days. That’s the critical work.
Our little front porch gets sunny and warm around noon: it’s become a daily outing, to sit in the padded chair with a blanket and read. Today I finish The Crossing Places, by Elly Griffiths. Isaac comes outside for a snuggle.
We go for a walk down to the recreation park, staying far away from the other people. I’m shocked by how many kids are playing together: in the field, at the skate park, basketball, frisbee. Aren’t their parents worried about all this social contact?
My kid has somehow learned plague shame:
ISAAC: “I hope no one hears me cough.”
I’m starting to feel his cough in my own chest. It isn’t surprising if I’ve caught it, what with all the snuggles.
We continue on to my sister’s house, text “knock knock,” and visit on the lawn 10 feet apart. Peter gets me a beer wrapped in a Lysol wipe.
Back at home, the courier has delivered the Lego I ordered online, and we build the bigger set before dinner.
After Isaac’s in bed, I Facetime visit with Dauna, who lives a 5-minute drive away. She’s the editor of our local newspaper, and is a bit overwhelmed by her responsibility to communicate this pandemic to our community. She’s an extrovert who lives alone, and is getting squirrelly after days of self-isolation.
Isn’t it interesting how technology has made all these friends equally accessible: the friend a short walk away, and the friends a 13-hour drive away.
March 21, 2020 (Saturday) – DAY 6
It’s starting to feel normal now: waking up, expecting to spend my day at home with Isaac.
Our morning starts with a jigsaw puzzle delivery. Our amazing local toy store is offering 25% off puzzles and free delivery.
My husband, Brock, would have wanted to support our favourite businesses in these crazy days, so I buy gift certificates to the toy store and our local escape rooms. I hope to buy from more places when I better understand our financial situation.
I turn 40 in April and have booked many adventures to celebrate: Legoland California at the end of April, an outdoor-skills women’s retreat and half-marathon in May, a Vancouver reunion in June, two weeks of family camping on Vancouver Island in July, Cumberland Wild in August. One by one, these adventures look less likely. I keep getting refunds for concert tickets and courses I’ve signed up for. It’s a weird way to “make” money.
Yesterday Evy said she’d heard this “first wave” of the virus is expected to last six weeks. Today I see an article about “social distancing” lasting months. The more I hear these long estimates of time, the more I start to believe and almost accept that school will be cancelled until September, and my son and I will need to reinvent what our “normal life” looks like.
Isaac is still coughing lots but otherwise is his usual healthy self. Our neighbour, Juli, gave him an old iPad charger cord and he’s able to play Minecraft and Teach Your Monster again, so he’s content.
We play Lego a lot today: Isaac acts out his epic storylines while I build elaborate modular building sets at the table.
This is the bakery (under construction) from the Assembly Square set. Isaac built all the cakes.
In the afternoon, I tune my ukulele and give my unsuspecting neighbourhood a rusty performance from my porch.
When my fingers hurt, I go back indoors and make spanakopitas.
I force Isaac to come outside with me. We play catch in the sunshine with our baseball gloves, then snuggle and read The Fellowship of the Ring on the porch.
Mom walks down with Grandma to pick up six raw spanakopitas, so she can bake the germs away. I am horrified when Grandma eats a cookie from Isaac’s plate: how ironic, after everything we’re all doing to keep her germ-free. Grandma assures me she grew up eating dirt, so will be just fine.
On a local Facebook group, someone calls for us to go outside and make noise at 7pm, to thank the health care workers and other essential-services folks. Isaac and I have a noisy dance party on the deck and bang pots. It feels good to cause a ruckus in our ghost-town neighbourhood.
It’s my turn for Isaac’s cough, and I feel a sinus cold coming on too.
My favourite social media quote today: “You have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to stay at home, lying in front of the TV, to save the world. Don’t screw this up.”
March 22, 2020 (Sunday) — DAY 7
Every morning there’s that half-awake lag, when my pre-caffeine brain struggles to remember what Real Life is. And then I remember we’re quarantined at home, with the Apocalypse happening all over the world, and am struck again by how bizarre this all is.
Ryan, grocery shopping. He’s being funny, but the mask is probably a good idea.
People are doing amazing things amid this pandemic: online writers’ workshops and international art festivals, Facebook groups where volunteers will deliver groceries to isolated folks, etc.
This morning I learn that people are cutting out paper hearts and putting them in windows. This makes my heart happy so I (before tea, even!) cut out a bunch of hearts and tape them up where they’re most visible to folks outside. One of our neighbours, Andrea, sends me a message: “They made us all smile.”
After tea, I decide to be responsible and figure out our financial situation. I’m not brave enough to look up how terribly my stock investments have collapsed, but I check out the bank accounts and impending credit card statement. Two of my three part-time jobs have disappeared, due to the pandemic, and the 3rd has reduced hours: this makes me panic a bit.
Research suggests that some of the 2020 adventures I mentioned yesterday are non-refundable. My two WestJet airline trips will be reimbursed in “Travel Bank credits,” not actual money. The marathon and music festival have no-refund policies, which didn’t bother me a month ago, but now … ugh.
I’m not sure how the federal government’s financial aid plans will affect us, and I can’t apply for those until April anyway, so I decide to clean our floors instead of worrying about money.
After seven days at home, I’m starting to see the dust.
I sweep, vacuum and wash the floors, then cuddle up with Isaac and read Rhys Bowen’s Love and Death Among the Cheetahs.
I make chilli and Johnny cake, my family’s sweet version of cornbread.
When I’m out reading on the porch, Ryan comes by with a delivery of Coronas to replenish my beer supply. (We both think this is hilarious.) I miss my boyfriend, but manage to resist smooching him.
After dinner, Dauna calls us as she jogs past so we can wave to her from our deck.
These long-distance interactions are unsatisfying, even for an introvert like me.
At 7:02pm, we have “noise time” on the deck: Isaac’s new favourite activity. It’s cathartic to disrupt the neighbourhood silence with our loud music and pot-banging.
Tonight is less silent, though: a bunch of 20-somethings are playing a sport (cricket?) in the field below. It’s strange how some of us are self-isolating and diligently social-distancing, while others are frolicking about in herds. My Canadian Facebook sources suggest an enforced lockdown is coming, due to this cavalier behaviour.
Every night is movie night at the McLeod house now. I make Isaac his requisite popcorn and we watch Inside Out. My six-year-old is an English literature scholar, and he asks who the bad guy is. He knows every story needs a bad guy.
March 23, 2020 (Monday) — DAY 8
I wake up laggy and with a head cold. Isaac’s still coughing a lot. But no more fever, and nothing to suggest these symptoms are plague-y.
We have bacon (a gift from Mom) and pancakes for breakfast. I’m grateful for my flour and baking powder supply.
In the morning, I write a Medium post, then share the draft with my Patreon patrons: I’ll publish it tomorrow.
Then I update our community’s online events calendar, which means deleting all the upcoming events. But I actually have a few events to add today, all of which can be enjoyed from home. People are so darn innovative.
For the first time this week, the recreation park visible from our window is empty: the usual pack of elementary and high school kids has disappeared. Via Facebook, I learn the district has posted signs and closed the parks and playgrounds.
It’s not as warm today so I don’t read on the porch. Instead, I fill three spray bottles with water and food colouring: red, blue, green. Isaac spends a lot of time spraying/melting/painting snow and ice in our driveway.
Mom and Dad walk over from their house and stand far away, watching him play and shouting hellos. Mom has a cold plus her cough now, and is stuck at home full-time, like us.
My Dad, age 69, is the only one in our three households who’s still allowed to go grocery shopping.
Today is laundry day, which is more complicated than normal because I share our laundry room with my renters, so I Lysol-wipe all the touch-points before and after I wash our clothes.
Then I drag Isaac out for a walk with me around our neighbourhood: we stay a good 20 feet away from the three other groups we encounter. We aren’t the only house here to have hearts in the windows: I count four others. This makes me smile.
At home, we play Lego, get noisy on the deck at 7pm, and then eat dinner while watching the 1995 cartoon version of Aladdin.
We usually read a pile of books at bedtime, but after the first one Isaac asks me to just cuddle him and he falls asleep.
Evy reports that my nephew, the one we skied with on Sunday, has a deep cough.
I’m more interested in the emotional and psychological responses to this pandemic than the economic or political, but I’m starting to agree that there should be more testing. I think Canada is only testing the serious cases, while instructing those of us with mild symptoms to just stay home. How can we know accurate stats when most of us aren’t being tested?
March 24, 2020 (Tuesday) — DAY 9
While making my first cup of morning tea, I feel guilty about shopping recently, now that our income has been reduced — and then remember I haven’t been in a store for over a week now, and so realize it was a dream. Yes, I dreamt about paying for something, and not being able to stop myself spending. So I guess I’m subconsciously a bit stressed out about the money thing.
Facebook tells me our British Columbia government announced their financial supports for people and businesses yesterday. It looks like we’ll qualify for some help provincially, too. Hopefully that’ll stop the stress dreams.
The hardest part of this self-isolation is not knowing when it will be over. Isaac is still coughing, and I’m stuffed up with a head cold: how long after we’re healthy again do we have to wait to ensure we’re germ-free? Another 14 days? That means at least another two weeks of self-isolation.
Not that our days are terrible. I spend the morning building a Lego set and drinking too much tea, while Isaac plays. We do some math and writing together, and I get out his painting supplies.
Lego-Heather and Lego-Ryan don’t worry about pandemics.
I plan to write letters to some friends, because getting mail is fun, then realize it’s kinda terrorist-y of me to send germ-infected letters in sealed envelopes via Canada Post.
Isaac is squirmy today. It’s our ninth day cooped up together, after all. We take his soccer ball up to my parents’ street and kick the ball around with Dad for an hour. Soccer lets us stay far away from each other, and we don’t have to touch the ball.
Mom’s sick in bed. She’s congested, with a cough, and very sleepy. In British Columbia, they aren’t testing us for COVID-19 unless the symptoms are serious (i.e. respiratory).
We play Lego, then I read while Isaac watches Netflix. I get him to watch Super Why, so it’s sort of educational.
After dinner, we visit from the deck with Dauna, who is mid-jog, and wave to Bailey and her family, who are stretching their legs with a dog in tow.
We have a one-song dance party on the deck at 7pm, then watch a short Frozen-spinoff movie and read Curious George until Isaac is too tired to keep his eyes open.
March 25, 2020 (Wednesday) — DAY 10
Today is exciting, because:
It is garbage day.
I am the first person in our neighbourhood to get their garbage can to the curb, and part of me wonders if I’ve missed a Facebook update and garbage collection no longer happens due to the Apocalypse. But, back indoors, I hear another garbage can scraping its way to the road and feel reassured. Some aspects of our world, at least, remain normal.
2. The district is cleaning the gravel off our streets, now that most of the snow has melted.
The most exciting thing to happen in our neighbourhood in 10 days.
Again, this reassures me that our governments have yet to collapse into anarchy. AND: I’m one of the households in our neighbourhood that has a gravel driveway and has offered to take the sweepings, to save Shawna the drive down to the District’s materials yard, which means I’ll have piles of gravel to rake out at some point today.
3. A local gentleman, Doug, has agreed to trade Isaac’s current bike for one that will be easier to pedal and learn on.
Doug collects donated bikes, repairs them, and then distributes them to families that aren’t able to afford bikes. I wouldn’t normally ask him for a bike, but given that we’re living in lockdown I ask if we can please trade bikes, and he agrees. We manage this with a lot of disinfectant and 2 metres of distance between us. I promise to give the new-to-us bike back once Isaac outgrows it. I am so excited for Isaac to have a healthy way to expend his energy.
It is a blue sky, sunny day, with just a bit of a cool breeze. I rake gravel in bursts, resting to read and eat and play iPad games with Isaac in between.
At one point, Isaac and I rake gravel into a volcano, nestle a container of baking soda inside, and pour vinegar in to make it erupt.
Another moment of excitement:
4. Our neighbours set up their trampoline.
I watch them from my porch and cheer them on.
Dad offers to make a grocery run for our three family households, and brings us milk and bread. Evy thanks him for risking “Coronaland.”
On the interwebs, there are stories of experimental vaccine testing on humans, and contradictory info on how long the COVID-19 virus can stay catchable on surfaces.
People are getting nervous about their groceries: can the virus spread on canned goods? On bread bags? I hear our local food bank is struggling, maybe for this reason. People have set up sanitizing stations for their groceries, or are leaving things to sit for days before bringing them into their homes.
I suspect that no one really knows what’s going on.
On Facebook, I fall into an American thread and read more than one post about how the “staying home” directive is only meant for people wealthy enough to miss work: it’s not meant to apply to everyone. I feel a chasm open between Canada and the U.S. that I suspect will widen over the coming weeks/months. We are so very lucky to have our social safety nets here.
Speaking of which, the federal government changes their financial aid plan to a temporary $2,000 monthly payment, in place of our EI program.
The B.C. government announces rental assistance.
I remember that we have Osmo educational games: Isaac and I play the math one. If this is “homeschooling,” we can do this.
Dauna jogs by and stops to visit: I Mr. Clean a chair for her, and we sit far apart, but it’s nice to see each other and not be shouting from deck to yard.
Isaac has his second piano lesson via Facebook Messenger with Arne.
After dinner, we start watching Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, which might be too scary for my boy but he’s played the Lego game version of the story and says he’s up for trying.
Once he’s asleep, I run a bubble bath, crack open my last can of Fisher Creek’s Belgian Wit, and have a video call visit with Ryan: we use the silly filters and both wear rabbit ears.
March 26, 2020 (Thursday) — DAY 11
For the first time in 11 days, I feel low and grumpy. I try to raise my spirits by playing Lego with Isaac and drinking too much tea.
We realize we need a jail for our bad guys, and I start building our Arkham Asylum set.
Somehow this turns into buying the new movie Onward on iTunes and watching it in the middle of the day. It’s about a family that lost the dad to cancer, so the protagonist grew up without ever meeting his dad, and yet I manage not to cry.
After our movie, it’s warm outside so we get our bike-for-two out of storage and take it up to Dad’s: he fills the tires with air. We ride it back to our house and Isaac gets out his Mickey Mouse-themed mechanic set to work on the bike some more.
I work on plotting my new mystery book on the porch while Isaac watches Netflix inside.
Eventually I realize I need some exercise to lift my grumpy mood. Isaac opts to play soccer with Dad instead of jogging with me, so I drop him off up the road to play and run around the high school track a few times. Someone’s at the (closed) skate park. A couple out for a walk waves from 100 feet away.
When I’m done running, I play soccer with Dad and Isaac until it gets too cold. We check the mailbox, and then go indoors.
My friend Ryan in Cumberland reaches out and we have a lovely phone chat, trading apocalypse experiences. After we hang up, we trade our favourite plague memes by text.
Favourites to date include:
and:
Ha ha.
We remember “noise time” at 7pm, and for the first time someone notices: a woman in a red car honks enthusiastically, and stops at the intersection to watch us bang pots on the deck for a bit. Isaac feels validated.
I make macaroni and cheese for dinner. Without my gym classes, my squishy belly is coming back so I decide to forego a Corona and break out the vodka instead. Mmm crantinis.
I’m craving the movie Groundhog Day. After Isaac’s asleep, I watch the start on Netflix and work on our Arkham Asylum Lego set until my boyfriend’s free, and then we video-talk until we fall asleep.
March 27, 2020 (Friday) — DAY 12
Kids deal with stress in lots of different ways: my son finds his way into my bed in the middle of the night. Not for the first time this week, I wake up to find a warm, scrawny body beside me.
I realize that I used new words yesterday, on my phone call with my friend in Cumberland. “Plague.” “Apocalypse.” Normally it’s just me and Isaac, so he isn’t used to hearing two adults discuss our situation. Maybe those words scared him and led to him needing extra Mom-snuggles mid-REM sleep. I vow to be more careful in the future.
Our day starts as usual: tea and Lego. I update the chamber’s community event calendar while Isaac watches Netflix.
Building Lego’s Arkham Asylum set.
As is typical of my relationship with money, I order a 12′ trampoline (on sale!) for Isaac (for future curb-side pick-up), and the new Lego modular building set (to be delivered) for my 40th birthday present.
It’s warm but overcast today. I work on my mystery novel plot for a long time on the porch, while Isaac plays Minecraft and has a Facetime visit with his cousin inside.
He re-watches Onward while we eat lunch, and chews over the “dad who got sick and died” plot line. This movie is grief therapy for him.
We head outside: Isaac and Dad play soccer while I walk around the block, then I join in and we play until dinnertime.
Isaac loves “noise time” at 7pm. We’ve been rocking out to Fifth Harmony’s “Worth It.”
We watch Paddington. I don’t know if my kid has always had an amazing laugh, or if this is a new development, but he lets out this wonderful giggle-cackle when something is extra funny. I love it. I need to record it somehow.
I’m seeing more Facebook posts about how lucky some of us are, to have this luxury of being able to self-isolate in comfort and avoid infection. One meme talks about word choice: instead of saying we’re “stuck” at home, how about saying we’re “safe” at home?
Just another amazing breakfast. Those are Mom’s microgreens on my eggs.
I do know and appreciate how decadent this is. Come on: I ordered a trampoline this morning.
March 28, 2020 (Saturday) — DAY 13
Isaac’s found his way into my bed again. He wakes up, says “I love you, mom,” and goes to the kitchen to get me a molasses cookie.
I want to shake up our morning routine so I sort Lego pieces instead of building a set. Isaac and I sit in my room, Lego all around me, and watch Paddington 2.
Around 11am, Isaac heads up to Dad’s to have a campfire and roast hotdogs. I keep sorting Lego and finish watching Groundhog Day. It’s the perfect movie for these days.
When Isaac’s home, I go for a run and then do sit-ups and lift weights. I wonder when I’ll be able to to to gym classes again: we’re all going to be out of shape, once this is over.
I shower and then wax my legs, feeling grateful to have the supplies at home, and feel civilized again.
Isaac and I sit on the couch and play with all his learning games: Osmo and Teach Your Monster with the iPad, plus the vTech “laptop” his aunt Kirsten gave him years ago. Then I work on my new mystery novel’s plot and Isaac plays Minecraft.
At 6pm I stumble onto a livestream concert from James Keelaghan’s Facebook page and start watching. I have happy memories of this singer-songwriter: hearing him perform live at folk festivals as a kid, singing along to his songs in the car on family road trips. In 2000-ish, my friend Quinn and I were in Perth, Ontario and somehow found ourselves at a music festival. I saw a poster, and we ended up having dinner 5 feet away from James as he performed in a small restaurant. That night, I requested “Timeless Love,” and he played it for me.
I watch the livestream concert for an hour, hosting my first ever “watch party” on Facebook. It’s pretty neat connecting with my family and friends this way: maybe I’ll use that tech tool for my 40th birthday in April, somehow.
We make noise at 7pm on the deck, have pasta for dinner, and then watch a few episodes of Ninjago before books and bedtime.
I’ve invited my boyfriend over tonight. Isaac and I have self-isolated for 13 days and I’m not worried about us being sick. Ryan might have been exposed, but he has no symptoms. I decide to risk seeing him.
This pandemic has put a lot of relationships on hold, made it impossible for single people to date normally, and increased the risk of exposure to divorced families that share custody of the kids. We do our best to stay safe and healthy, while maintaining important relationships. We all make our own choices about how to balance those sometimes-opposing values.
March 29, 2020 (Sunday) — DAY 14
Ryan makes us breakfast, including homemade shredded hashbrowns. Yum.
It’s an overcast day: cool and windy. We make a kite out of bamboo skewers, hockey tape, a plastic bag and an old ribbon. I have kite string in my mechanical room.
We head down to the school field and meet up with Ryan’s youngest son, Harley. The kite refuses to fly straight, circling and crashing instead. The middle support snaps. We have learned lessons from this prototype.
We kick the soccer ball around and Isaac agrees to ride his new bike around the track, as long as we hold onto the seat handle.
Ryan heads home with Harley. Isaac and I drink tea and sit on the couch together: I finish plotting out my mystery book, while Isaac builds a mansion in Minecraft.
Then we play Lego for a bit. My character is Shay. Shay always has a cup of tea in her hand, even when she’s battling bad guys. Isaac’s character is Lucy, who is also the water ninja, an Oni, a ghost, the queen, and omnipotent. Lucy’s usually the one who saves the day.
Groundhog Day has inspired me: if Bill Murray can learn to play piano, maybe I can learn to dance hip hop. I watch some YouTube tutorials: Isaac joins me sporadically.
We eat dinner, then have The Talk:
Today is the last day of spring break. Tomorrow is the start of …
HOME SCHOOL.
Isaac draws / writes what he thinks that should look like. I do the same. We compare notes.
We watch a few episodes of Trolls and I sort my new jigsaw puzzle: edges, yellow pieces, words.
Then books (Isaac wants plenty of Berenstain Bears tonight) and sleep.
March 30, 2020 (Monday) — DAY 15
I walk into the living room at 8:30am and see my son on the couch, playing Minecraft.
ME: “Oh my gosh, Isaac, we’re going to be late for school.”
He laughs.
ISAAC: “Mom, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”
For our first lesson of “school at home,” I learn how to buy a Minecraft skin with real money. It’s all part of getting my kid onboard with the day.
During breakfast, we have “music appreciation” class. I put on a song he’s never heard before: Randy Travis’s “Deeper Than a Holler.” I explain the country music genre, we discuss metaphors and I ask him to guess what a “Holler” is.
Instead, he requests “Old Town Road.” I explain how this song blends country with pop, but he’s too busy dancing to listen.
He needs a break after “music appreciation”: he plays Minecraft while I work on my jigsaw puzzle.
It’s windy and cold outside so we do “gym” in front of the TV. Cosmic Kids has a Minecraft-themed yoga routine. Perfect. Isaac lasts longer than I expect.
I lure him into drawing a story. He’s happy if he can sit on my lap. He draws another episode in the life of Wiggles the Rainbow Worm, and even writes some words down (“the” appears as “d,” because of phonetics). I ask him to read some words I’ve written down from his story: he reads “the” perfectly and this perplexes me.
We move to our Lego rug and act out the story he’s drawn, with Lego chains as the various worm characters. Even I enjoy it.
Then I get him back to the table and we draw out the end of the story: the baddie’s in jail. I ask him to write “the end,” and he does it perfectly. I’m an amazing teacher. This homeschooling thing is easy peasy.
Isaac’s back to the iPad for more Minecraft and I do some work: emails, promoting my Medium story that was just curated by Human Parts (woot woot!!), updating my Patreon patrons.
We read a book about how communities have changed since 10,000 BCE. Isaac is astounded that, until fairly recently, people pooped into buckets.
My sister and her husband are done their travel-caused isolation now. They go grocery shopping for us and some other families, and feel self-conscious about the full buggy.
EVY: “We’re not hoarding! This is for four families!”
My friend Maria calls via Facetime video and we visit over tea. She’s a grief expert and advocate, and is starting a new venture called the Healthy Mourning Revolution, to help people grieving through the pandemic.
Isaac has a bath while I make dinner. We go play soccer with Dad, and then walk around our block, chalk in hand to draw hearts and other happy graffiti.
We draw custom graffiti at the houses of neighbours we know: music notes, a golden snitch, kids on skateboards, initials in hearts.
Noise time at 7pm. Popcorn and a show. Books and bedtime.
We nailed this “schooling at home” thing today.
March 31, 2020 (Tuesday) — DAY 16
It snowed. In this new, Groundhog Day world, it’s pretty darn exciting to have a different view out the windows.
Isaac and I shovel part of our road, and then head up to Mom and Dad’s to shovel their driveway and patio.
Last night, while reading books, Isaac said he needed a break from me and asked if he could spend some time with Aunt Evy or his grandma.
So at 10:50am he heads out the door to join my sister and nephew on a dog walk and trip to the beach. (This is the “field trip” part of our school day.)
I have a video conference call with my fellow primary school support staff at 11am. There are plans to have the children of essential-services workers attend school again, and the school is figuring out which staff might be willing and able to work with these kids at the school. Some of us have elderly family members, or our own children at home.
My first gut reaction is: “yikes, I need to stay away from the school to minimize my own exposure.”
And then something shifts, and I realize that this pandemic is my generation’s “call to arms.” Many people are being asked, or choosing, to risk their own health to serve our community. I’m not an EA: I’m only a noon-hour supervisor. But I offer to help, if needed. Emergency under-ducks on the swing, or whatever.
On my way to pick up Isaac, I detour through downtown. It’s my first time on our main street in weeks. I see hearts in some windows. The florist has been putting out bouquets and collecting money on the honour system, but they’ve already sold out today.
Closed sign at a local bar.
I pick Isaac up. At home, I declare “choice time” for the rest of our school day: Isaac plays Minecraft and I work on my jigsaw puzzle.
He challenges me to build a cafe in Minecraft, and when I accept he keeps trying to micromanage my build.
While the box-mix angel food cake is baking in the oven, Brock’s parents Facetime call us. We wish each other happy birthday and have a nice visit. I show them Isaac’s freckles, which he inherited from his Dad.
Our chamber of commerce is sponsoring an online business summit: I tune in for the day 1 wrap-up session. I’ve registered for 12 other free events over the next few days.
The panelists concur that how we do business has changed forever, but I don’t agree with that. I think that we Canadians will be eager to return to shopping in actual stores and interacting with real people, as soon as we’re allowed to do so.
We have tacos for dinner (one of Brock’s favourite meals). I ice the cake with chocolate whipped cream.
We miss “noise time” at 7pm and Isaac is devastated. He cries, yells, and is furious at me yet still tries to nuzzle in for a cuddle. I assume this is how a six-year-old grieves his Dad. I let him get out all the anger, cuddle him, and promise we won’t miss it in the future. Then I help him move forward, with cake.
We light candles, sing “Happy Birthday,” and Isaac blows out the candles. It’s too big of a cake for just the two of us, but I can’t share our germs with our renters or my nearby family.
Instead of a movie, Isaac and I watch some new episodes of Barbie on Netflix.
What does a day in your life look like now? Please share in the comments. If you know of other online daily journals being kept through this pandemic, post them in the comments as well.
(Thank you so very much to my Patreon patrons, who continue to support my writing through this complicated time.)
Heather McLeod is a mystery writer based in British Columbia, Canada.
