How are we coping? #quarantinechaos2020part2

Some gorgeous people have reached out recently to ask how I'm managing everything during this mental, mental time in our history. Some other gorgeous people's ears are bleeding from the amount of whining I'm doing at them. To them. Thank you, village, and sincere apologies. 

As I sit in my living room/art gallery, surrounded by chaos and animals (see photos for ref), whilst Emilio has a (newly reinstated and much appreciated) nap, I'm wondering why I'm deciding to blog rather than clean up some of the chaos or do some of my work. Sanity would be the reason. Writing about this process really helped focus my brain and keep calm when things were not in my control and people were demanding hand delivered papers to request information I'd already requested 5 times etc, etc. So perhaps it will help now as well. Let's see. 

Coping? Not really. Barely surviving at the moment would be a fairer description. Whilst being hyper aware of just how unfair this pandemic is on people with no home/income/too many people to feed or other devastating circumstances; whilst being smacked hard in the face with the crushing inequality we have created in our society; I think it is fair to say that we, who are priviliged, are still living our own personal hell (thanks for that, Halc). Trying to juggle teaching from home, even with the extra help I'm getting, running a home, looking after Emilio and 4 animals, doing Emilio's distance learning, cooking, shopping, washing, cleaning...it's not working. It truly is not working and I am truly not coping. Fortunately, I have an amazing friend who comes over to hang about as we are in the same building and who has looked after Emilio so I could go to the supermarket. Without her, we wouldn't have made it this far. It is exhausting. My house is a constant bombsite, there are never no dishes to wash, I'm never on top of my work, Emilio gets ignored for too much time while I'm trying to work, my animals are neglected and we have eaten sandwiches for dinner far too often. But yes, we are all still alive...though I don't know if this bloody puppy will see the end of the pandemic. Nightmare dog. Nightmare. Never get a beagle and 3 is too many dogs - in case anyone was wondering. 

Thrown into this whole mix is my son's neurodivergent brain and intelligence and bloody mindedness and sheer curiosity for the world. I have tried to flip this on its head and be grateful for the fact he is desperate to succeed at whatever he decides he wants - the paint off the top shelf, for example. Literally nothing will stop him. So I am grateful for that. But it means that nothing is safe. Ever. Today, for example, before 12pm, here are a list of things that happened: 

• He got the step for washing his hands and dragged it into my closet, having shut my bedroom door as I was trying to send emails, climbed up and then climbed onto the shelves to retrieve his paint. There is now blue paint on most of my shoes.
• He threw corn flour in the swimming pool. 
• I set up homemade chalk making. He then threw that all over the tiles outside literally a minute after we made it. 
• He poured all the remaining rice I have into the blender. Then he poured all the remaining laundry detergent on top of that. Thankful he didn't manage to switch it on as plugging electrical appliances in has become a new fascination. 
• He threw my work ipad onto the floor tiles. It is still in one piece. (His own tablet went swimming last week when he pushed it down the slide into the pool.)
• He took off all his clothes, his current favourite thing to do, and then proceeded to jump around behind me as I was Zooming my kids. 

I think there are a few more but my brain is fried. You get the picture. A few friends have asked why I don't get Santa Maria Poppins a permit to come and move in here. Firstly, because I don't think it is fair to ask her to be away from her own daughter in these troubling times. Secondly, because I'm scared she'll bring the virus to us and I can't afford to get sick. And lastly, because after a few weeks of unbearable behaviours and meltdowns, Emilio is pretty happy most of the time. I can't throw another change into this melting pot of madness and expect him not to react. I don't know how he'd react but I do know that my anxiety and nerves are shot to shit and that I wouldn't be able to cope with new behaviours. So, for now, and for who knows how long, this is our life. 

Sending love to everyone out there and eternal gratitude for you who are listening as the world experiences a collective anxiety attack (thanks Sam for that!). xxxx

Chaos in Quarantine (#quarantinechaos2020)

Day Who Even Cares? And also Who Even Knows? It's week 4 of our new normal and we have had further restrictions slapped upon us; now, there are men and women days.  Days in which the people born with the XX chromosome can gleefully, maskfully, glovefully skip to the supermarket, bank or pharmacy, do those jobs that need done and get the hell home as quick as quick can be. Those days are Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. XY types go on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and hold up all the lines in the supermarkets as, in these parts, they've never been sent the 'big shop' before. Sundays are for quedo-ing en sus casas. Dinnae go oot at all, that is. Blessed be the fruit, under his eye, etc, etc. The parallels with dystopian Atwood settings are, frankly, stark. However, I am actually quite excited by the prospect of going to the supermarket tomorrow (women day) and only seeing women. Not suggesting for a second that I'd fancy this idea as a long term way of living, but as a wee novelty, it'll be interesting for sure. I am entirely unsure as to what non-binary people, or anyone whose gender may not be the one with which they were born, are supposed to do. Entirely unclear. May the odds be ever in your favour, friends. 

Whilst these measures may seem Handsmaid's Tale-y, they are clearly necessary. People are still being totally ignorant, or naive, or rebellious, or whatever, and choosing to go out in groups or couples or herds or whatever. I mean. It's not fair to assume that everyone is getting the same message because CLEARLY the message in different countries is a different thing. And obviously not everyone has internet. Or TV. Or family. So sometimes the daily messages by our President may slip through or just aren't understood? I don't know. He's getting ripped for sounding like a primary school teacher at the moment but if you aren't going to follow a simple instruction like STAY IN YOUR HOUSE, then what do you expect?? It's a frightening place at the moment, this here world in which we do live, but it's more frightening how little attention so many people are paying to this thing that's ripping through the planet like a cull.

Emilio and I are rollercoastering through this, like everybody else. The weekend was absolutely hideous. Not least because I was awakened to find Picasso decorating the apartment. With paint. Without a paintbrush. I'm still cleaning up. He hasn't been 'up and destructive in the night' for a while so I'm inclined to believe that the caged animal/boredom/lack of understanding of just WTF is going on, is taking its toll. I have to laugh at stuff like this. So there's paint everywhere. So what? It's been suggested to me by countless people, (people I love and adore and am grateful for their advice), that I do This, That or the Other to stop him doing This, That or the Other. After 14 and a half months of living with my little Tempera Terrorist as one friend described him, I can honestly say that NOTHING will stop him. No baby gate. No things up high. No locked box. No change of location. No telling him (obviously). No hiding things. Nothing. This child has a determination and a curiosity for life that equals no other I know. Where I put things, he will get them. Where I try to stop him, he will find a way. Where I put barriers, he will bulldoze through them. And when I'm sad or stressed or overwhelmed or feeling like I can't do this, those feelings can almost paralyse me. They can make me feel like the biggest failure as a mum, as a person. They can make me feel like someone else would be a better mum for Emilio. They can rip my heart apart and smash my soul to pieces. But when I'm calm and rational and reflective, I am unbelievably grateful and proud that I am raising this incredible Tiny Human to believe that he can do ANYTHING. NOTHING will stand in his way, NOTHING will stop him. When I'm in that frame of mind, which is the majority of the time, I know that I'm doing the absolute best for my son and that he is doing his absolute best for me. My heart is fuller than Santa's belly at Christmas and my soul sings like a bird gloriously soaring through mountains. I have an exact picture in my head of Santa and of the guacamayos in Caracas right now. Heaven indeed. 

Be safe, friends xxxx