Well that's a wrap! (sort of). The official announcement came on Tuesday that schools will not open again until at least September. And with that announcement, and the arrival of good weather, I can feel everyone's energy and dedication to online fading quickly, including my own. I continue to have excellent participation in my French class, regardless of the fact that it is optional. But I will be shifting what we are doing going forward. Instead of the learning choice boards, we will work on a very neat story writing project, which will have the added benefit of providing many easy readers for school next year.
My own kids are starting to rumble even more about school now, and with the sun shining and the skies blue I just don't have the energy to insist that they stay stuck at the computer anymore. And so I have proposed a deal: school can end on May 31, but they must give up screens for June. They will have 8-9 in the morning still, mostly for Caleb who is deep into the world of coding, and I don't want him to lose that momentum, as that is the best learning he has done over these months. And we will still have some family movies nights or video game nights. But other than that, the screens are off. I'm still hoping to cultivate both deeper friendships between the kids and the ability to fill their own time with creativity and imagination.
Recently there has been a shift in the media narrative and focus relating to Covid-19, and that's toward mental health. There are articles acknowledging that we as adults are struggling. We are struggling with illness and lost wages and uncertainty in our jobs and homeschooling and loneliness. Mental health strategies are emerging to help us cope. For my own mental health, I am taking lots of walks - often more than one a day. I have also eased off the constant media check. I used to check the worldometer.com Covid-19 numbers count daily, but now I check in once a week. The result of this is that I don't see the numbers every day, but seeing that number grow in such leaps and bounds each week is jarring.
Another aspect affected by the Quarantine is moving. We have observed houses going up for sale and being sold in our neighbourhood. Obviously there aren't hoards of people at open houses going through to look at houses. I'm not even sure if people have to buy a house without actually walking through it (not sure I would love that). But we have friends who had planned to move to New Brunswick back in January, and are now facing some difficult circumstances. Each province has its own rules and as our friends have to navigate multiple province guidelines as they travel. Through Quebec they must avoid Montreal, considered a hotspot of the province. Schools have opened up everywhere else but this main city. Once they cross into New Brunswick, they must drive straight to their new home without stopping, as the rule is that the first place you stop you must quarantine for two weeks. My friend contemplated all the difficulties about this journey, with six kids and a pregnant dog in the van, along with two weeks worth of food as they cannot even go to a grocery store during the quarantine period.
As I watched my dear friend prepare to leave, I had to prepare myself to watch her go. Her husband is good friends with mine, her children and my children have grown up the last seven years together. Not a heart in our home isn't heavy, and yet we must say goodbye from a distance. The elaborate farewell party was cancelled, planned sleepover for the kids put on hold until they visit next year. Over seven years it was our habit to sit and watch the children play in the summer sun and dissect the world around us for hours. All of these experiences will not get their "last one." Instead we have spent the last two months apart and they will quietly disappear from their country home. Perhaps this is the most gentle way to say goodbye, as we will not have the pressure of a last visit with heavy hearts and lumps in our throat and a sting in our eyes.
Finally this week there has been an easing of restrictions. The world opened up a little, or rather, it peeked through a clenching eye to see what was left of the economy. Some businesses started to open, the ones that were breaking because they could not be shifted to home-based work. The rules seem arbitrary - as though the virus cannot travel through a Wal-Mart but would bring instant death to a small business. My favourite image thus far was a bank line up - dots on the floor spaced dutifully six feet apart from the person ahead, but a mere 18 inches from the line beside, willing the virus to not travel horizontally. We can once more walk through our local conservation park. Small gatherings of up to 5 people, as long as everyone remains 6 feet apart. No one is quite sure what the rules are, and how we might be unintentionally breaking them. Rumours of $900 fines for two families gathering in a house make us look furtively around in case a neighbour rats on my sister's visit.
No matter. My daughter Juliette is breaking down. She is the only girl, the youngest sibling by three years, highly social and the only extrovert among us and begs every day for a small gathering of her friends or a sister (as though it were up to me). I have begun to arrange some "social distance play dates", knowing full well the concept is beyond a 7 year old. Yesterday we "happened" upon our best friends (the family we have known since our oldest children were toddlers) on a hike. We trusted the open air to carry away any trace of virus. Upon returning from the three hour dawdle (a more honest rendering of our pace) Juliette drifted into the backyard, sat upon a chair and sang her little heart out to herself. Much needed medicine for her mental health, and we could all see that she was well again. A backyard visit from her cousins today was a further balm for her aching soul. I have a few more planned next week.
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