24 March
Isolation Update – ‘There has been a terrible problem’
I am stunned to be sharing this information with you all, but I think I enjoyed today. What is most peculiar is that I didn’t start drinking until 4 p.m. That means there were nine hours of daytime that I genuinely didn’t hate. This could be because of three things:
The kids slept until 7 a.m., which felt like a holiday. Chris and I take it in turns to get up and do breakfast. This morning he said, ‘Whose turn is it?’ I said, ‘Yours,’ and he went into the kitchen muttering about waffles. It took me a moment to remember that he had made the kids waffles for breakfast yesterday, and it was actually my morning. I sent him back to bed with a coffee, and popped some bread in the toaster. I’d slept well, so was more than happy to get up. Aren’t I being lovely and affable so far?
In that short moment where I lay in bed, thinking I had the morning off, the dull ache of relentlessness consumed me. Here we go again, another day of exactly the same thing. More drawing, more playdough, more throwing their squidgy fake-poo toy at the wall and howling with laughter as it falls to the ground. More time on my hands and knees scraping food off the floor. More time in front of a mirror scraping food out of my hair. As I took those thoughts in, I could have cried. But I didn’t cry. I reminded myself that this might be my only chance to spend this much time with my kids, without work pulling me away. To enjoy it. To take it on. Embrace it. And so, I did. I went into the kitchen with a smile on my face, and I managed to maintain it for most of the day.
As always, while I saw to the kids, I was also on WhatsApp. Because of the time difference with the UK, I usually wake up to a flurry of messages. This morning, a friend in London asked me how I was feeling about Caroline, she was checking in. I told her the truth: it still hurts like hell, but I am powering on because I have no choice. I mean, I do have a choice – I could totally fall apart. But I have a family to hold together, so I can’t do that. Sometimes it feels like my WhatsApp groups are the places where I can sink my true feelings. If I feel tears coming, I message a friend, maybe even a few at once, and say, ‘I’m having a bad moment. I can’t do this. I miss her too much.’ And almost immediately I am met with support. Words that pull me together. Or sometimes their own sadness is reflected back, which reminds me I am not alone in mine. I think one reason I have never really committed to therapy is because I don’t see what more I could get out of it than what I get from my girlfriends. Whenever there’s a heavy hand pressing down on one of my shoulders, I feel it lift a little the moment one of my friends gets in touch to ask me if I am OK.
Anyway, on to the rest of the day (what day even is it?). I did twenty minutes on the Peloton. I think that is my limit on the amount of time I can work out before I get really cross and hate everyone. It’s as if that twenty minutes releases just the right amount of pheromones, or whatever the fuck exercise releases, and it suits me just fine. If I try to do more than that, I just won’t keep it up. I promised myself that I would do twenty minutes every morning while this isolation continues.
We all know that this will never happen.
Admittedly, I totally forgot to educate my kids today. Again. We are supposed to log in and watch all the videos the school has made. Although I appreciate the effort, I do think these first few weeks have to be about adjustment. For most of you in the UK, today was your first day of ‘Remote Learning’. It’s full-on, isn’t it? Especially if you have multiple kids. That’s where I was at last week, and on Tuesday I had a massive meltdown and felt really scared of it all. It seemed so much, so soon. School’s cancelled and BAM, we’re supposed to follow a syllabus. I am lucky that Art is only five and the stuff they are asking us to do is minimal. They don’t even learn to read here at five. Which is why I am being quite chilled about it. I am not deliberately trying to hold my kid back. Promise.
The WhatsApp group for Art’s class is alive with swearing. Messages like ‘NO NO NO’ in capitals. ‘FUCK THIS’ or ‘THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE’. ‘My kid hates this’ and ‘I need my computer back’ are on a loop. We constantly question how long this will last. Most of us need to work but we’re having to guide our kids through tasks set by the school. No one can quite believe what we are being asked to do. Remote learning with a five-year-old? That’s as bad as it gets.
The mum group is comforting though, and they’re a fun bunch. It’s nice to know Art isn’t the only one in his class with a parent who is tearing their hair out.
I downloaded Demi Moore’s autobiography, which I listened to in the kitchen while making one of the 638,909 meals I had to make today. It’s good, I recommend it. She’s had a mad old life, and she gets all juicy about her marriages, which is fun.
I hate baking, but I know kids love it. I defrosted some pastry this morning, and the kids rolled it out and we cut it into shapes. Valentine ate raw egg then spat it all over the pastry, then Art and I sprinkled cheese on top. I put them in the oven and they were yummy. Little cheesy parcels. We had them with crisps, so probably have scurvy now, but according to the radio we are all GOING TO DIE anyway, so what does it matter?
Valentine took all his clothes off and pissed in the tent. A horse-like piss, that created a shallow pool that took up the entire tent. He thinks potty training is about finding the most inventive place to take a slash. Anywhere but the goddam toilet, apparently. I put on a really bossy voice and said, ‘Do you want me to put a nappy on you, like a baby?’
He just said yes.
After that he disappeared outside and came back a while later holding a cup. ‘Mummy, there has been a terrible problem.’ (He is two.) He handed me the cup.
There were three dead bees in it.
‘Valentine, did you hurt the bees?’ I asked.
‘Or they would sting me,’ was all he said. I pushed him to add a few words to the beginning of that sentence, but no, ‘Or they would sting me’ was all I got.
I may never know what happened to those poor bees. Oh dear.
It was 8.30 by the time I eventually got them both into bed. It was what I think you call in parenting ‘a total shitshow’. But they are down. Anyway, Chris is doing a Zoom poker night, and I just did a ‘House Party’ with some mums from Art’s school class. I can be terrible at things like this. Zoom chats freak me out a bit, especially with people I don’t know very well. I’d said I couldn’t do it at first, then last minute I jumped on and I’m so glad I did. It’s good to connect with people who understand what you’re going through. I still can’t believe I am a mum of two with other mum friends. Life is so surreal. Luckily, I found cool ones.
Night-night or morning, depending on where you are!
Love Dawn x
26 March
Isolation Update – Don’t fuck with eggs
Quick question before we crack on: how many more memes do I have to pretend to find funny before this crisis ends? Also, a friend of mine just told me she is dating a ‘memer’. THAT is a person who makes memes for a living. People get paid to meme? WHAT IS HAPPENING?
I actually love chatting to my single friends about their bonkers dating lives. Dating a memer in isolation? Of course, I made lots of jokes about them communicating via the medium of meme and asked if he continually quoted his own memes during lovemaking. She found it funny, because she is my friend. And she knows if she says ridiculous things like ‘I am dating a memer’ to someone like me, there will be consequences.
I woke up at 7.30, just before everyone else. I came into the kitchen and boiled the kettle, excited for a moment’s peace. Then I wandered into the living room to find a pile of cat sick next to the sofa. Behind it, some shit. Seconds later, Valentine flew in lathered in snot. Right after that, Art called me because he’d wet the bed. Before the kettle was even boiled, I had dealt with multiple urine, shit, snot or vomit incidents. This is not what I signed up for when I married a movie star. I wonder how different it would have been if I’d married a memer instead.
Over breakfast (cereal and mango) the kids had a fight with their spoons. It started off fun, but soon turned violent. I told them they mustn’t fight, then they threw their spoons across the room and, for a moment there, I considered getting Lilu’s sick out of the bin, rubbing their spoons in it, then giving them back to them. (Lilu is the mad Siamese cat who has lived with me for sixteen years – more on her later.) I managed to restrain myself. But I did tell them that if they did it again, I would give them both chickenpox. That shut them up. (They are immunised, I’m not THAT cruel. Also I said it in a jokey voice.) OK, OK, I feel bad.
When I had fed them, and released them from the table, I fried a couple more eggs, one for Chris and one for me. Valentine came over and demanded to eat some of mine. I gave it to him, because I felt guilty about the chickenpox. He ate it, then spat it out into my hand.
Who the actual hell are these people?
I FaceTimed my dad, which was lovely. I usually go weeks without speaking to him. It’s a terrible habit I have fallen into, and one that I always want to correct. This week, we have spoken every day. I really do believe that this will bring the love out in a lot of people. I realise the opposite is also true, but it’s making me want to connect more with the people I love. I am trying hard to do that.
I wore bunchies in my hair today, adding an element of cuteness to my ageing look. I have enjoyed it immensely and will be experimenting with new hairstyles as the days plod on. I was due a haircut before all this happened and am weeks away from no longer having a bob. Isn’t that just so exciting for us all? I’ll keep you posted every step of the way.
I did a strong eye, despite the order not to leave the house. I also wore a top with sparkles on it. No one can tell me I don’t bring the party to isolation.
By 2.22 in the afternoon I was longing for a drink but was determined to get to at least 3 p.m. But then my sister FaceTimed me from the UK; she was really drunk and talking absolute nonsense about God knows what. She was quite shouty, and when I put her on the phone to Art she sounded like a mad aunty in a comedy movie, so I told Art to go play while I listened to her rabbit on about some planting she’d done that day. What was nice about her call was that it made my need to drink feel more appropriate. Sometimes the eight-hour time difference can be very useful.
School recommended a game where you put an egg in a zip-lock bag, fill the bag with whatever you can find, then drop the bag and see if you’ve managed to protect the egg from smashing. I was like: EGGS ARE LIKE SACRED CRYSTALS RIGHT NOW, WHY THE HELL WOULD I RISK SMASHING ONE?
We didn’t do the experiment. Which makes this Day 12 of not educating my child. He’s FINE.
There was plenty more pant-pissing throughout the day, so I ended up taking off Valentine’s trousers altogether. He thought this was brilliant and spent most of the afternoon on all fours with his ass in the air. I always tell my kids to put their bums away, not encouraging it. Otherwise all we would talk about would be bums and poo. But occasionally, when they least expect it, I pull a mooner just so they think I’m the coolest mum ever. Works a treat. Gets me loads of hugs.
My friend Rebecca made me a loaf of sourdough and dropped it round. The bread was UNREAL. Like, proper fluffy English bread, rather than the weird, sweet, rubbery stuff you get here. She stood outside with a mask on and we chatted, and it was amazing. But I wanted more. I miss my friends. I want to hug them. It really devastates me to stand a few feet away from someone I love, not being able to touch them, and having to wear a mask. It’s so weird. Our house has always been full of friends. Most Sundays since we have lived in this house we’ve had people over. It’s the party house. Now it’s the farty house.
I miss drinking with grown-ups. Kids are way more judgey.
OK, that’s it from me for tonight,
Love Dawn x