File 61 - Jammies. Workout gear. Shower. Jammies. Repeat.

Jammies.  Workout gear.  Shower.  Jammies.  Repeat.  Monday, Tuesday....whatever day this is?  At least there is some break in the monotony, on rest day - Jjjjaaaammmmiiieeessss, and on laundry day - Jammies.  Workout gear. Shower.  Clean, fancy jammies.  There really isn't anywhere to hide, mentally or physically, when you are quarantined to your home.  Your most basic self emerges.

My husband.  Aka, The Cool Dad.  Aka, The Rona Expert.  Aka, The Talker.  This man has emerged as a hero, with our littles, during this crazy time.  He always makes time to play with them. To chase them around.  To colour with them.  To make fun of me, with them.  When he is not being the best Dad ever, he is keeping up with the latest on The Rona.  He is scowering every news site, watching every press conference, absorbing every statistic.  Ready for a fact-off, at any minute.  I pity the fool that walks unknowingly into that detail duel.  He also really likes talking.  Pretty much all the time.  While I'm working, while I'm reading, while I'm writing, while I'm watching my show, while we're watching our show.  It is really quite something.  Even his texts are short stories.  I guess that I never realized before because it was spread out among co-workers, friends and family.  Now it is just me.

My oldest little.  Aka, The Soft Heart.  Aka, He Who Has No Time For Anyone's Shit.  This sweet baby has a lot of questions about The Rona.  Just yesterday, he asked how many people had died from it.  When he talks about it, or anything where someone is hurting, or scared, or sad, he gets choked up.  He is the tiniest boy, with the most ginormous heart, that feels the weight of the world.  At the same time, he isn't going to let you live down any of your crap.  This child is always watching and listening, donning his invisible judge robes and gavel.  Didn't turn off your true crime show fast enough, when he entered the room?  Guilty!  Used the word "stupid", when you described something?  Guilty!  You didn't brush his teeth for as long as Daddy?  Guilty! Guilty!  Guilty!  My offences are accumulating at an alarming rate.

My youngest little.  Aka, The Dude.  Aka, The Objector.  The fact that school has been cancelled, indefinitely, is the best thing that has ever happened to him.  This is the life he was made for.  Pajama shirt on backwards, spaghetti sauce from lunch on his face, one sock.  Living his best pandemic life. Giving zero f**ks.  Well, that's not entirely true.  Don't ask this beautiful baby to do anything.  Do not cramp his style.  You will get hit so hard with the "Why do you always..", you won't know what happened.  "Why do you always say we have to clean up?"  "Why do you always say we have to change our shirt?"  "Why do you always say we can't play video games?"  Personally, I think he is being a little careless with his use of the word "always".  These boys are playing a hella lot of video games and not changing their jammies that often.

Me.  Aka, The Neurotic Mama.  Aka, The Hot Mess.  I basically yo-yo between feeling extreme gratitude and feeling overwhelmed by Anxiety and her constant chatter.  I am so grateful to have this time with my boys.  To get to see their gorgeous faces and hear the sound of their sweet voices, all day.  Well, when they're not judging me or telling me "You always".  I love knowing that they are safe at home.  But like the vampire she is, Anxiety feeds on my feelings of no control and uncertainty.  She follows me around, whispering her "What ifs".  I become tense and snappy.  At times, emotional. But, I am using my weapon arsenal of running, writing and yoga, to keep that b*tch at bay.

And, here we are.  Jammies. Workout gear.  Shower. Jammies.....


Does Mommy need to lose her shit?

Not this week.