A friend once told me that I’m the sort of woman you’d want to take westward in a covered wagon. Apparently, my domestic survival skills are top notch. Recently, like everyone else on the planet, I have had to put more of these skills to use. Ben is on board with some of the measures we’re taking, but less so with others. Here’s how the last 24 hours played out for us.
When I was sewing the masks for the family, Ben was right by my side. His role was one part support, two parts heckler. It is super hard to keep all your wits about you when Ben is making comments. “Wow, you’re doing great!… You’re breaking your sewing machine! (cackling)… Oh my gosh, this is crazy…You think it’s Halloween or something?… Hey, Mom, how are the old people doing?…You know, the virus…Are they OK?…This thing looks crazy!…I can’t breathe in here!”
Hand washing? Ben hates it. Always has. Always will. Mom insists. Always has. Always will. I have no photographic evidence of this act because it is such a fleeting moment, something you sense more than witness. I won’t be surprised if my tombstone reads, “But did you lather up? Try again.”
We hope everyone reading this is holding up and staying healthy. While our family’s recent isolation involves more hand sanitizer and less beef jerky than a Conestoga trek, I’d like to think we’d make it on the lone prairie, too.
