Lockdown Diaries: Day 7
So we’ve managed a week. We are all still alive and we are in fair to middling spirits, with occasional bouts of hopeless tears and/or flaming, psychopathic rage.
For a bit of background, my job is not going well. In fact, it’s not really going at all. The travel industry has been decimated, and with it thousands of people like me are facing possible unemployment and definite ‘salary holidays’ for the near future (and unlike in the UK, we don’t get 80% of our salaries from the government while on furlough. We’ll be lucky if we see 20% UIF). In an already stressful time where cabin fever is next level and the pressure is off the charts, not knowing whether you’ll make it through the next month is unbearable. But that said, there is also precious little we can do at this point, except drink wine and find the humorous moments that carry us through.
Case in point: yesterday was day 7 and the winds brought a noticeable change. A certain madness seemed to set in as we marked the week. My child, who up until now has done her very 3 year old best to adjust and behave as best she can, completely lost her shit. From 12pm to 6pm, she ran around the house and garden in circles, shrieking like a drunken banshee. She would not be stopped, not with threats of time outs, offers of sweets or physical restraining. I would post the videos, but she insisted on tearing off her clothes and treating us to most of this unforgettable display while butt naked, including some very advanced contortionist maneuvers.
In between hoofing it over small obstacles and rushing headlong into dive rolls that would break an adult’s neck, she would pause to tell us the story of her day. Sample story: I went to make a wee in the potty up the mountain and then I just ran over here by the pool and caught a fish. Delivered deadpan, as if to imply that anyone who has not yet had this experience has not lived.
I recently told my friends about the toddler phenomenon of the rage wee. The rage wee occurs when you tell a small, recently potty trained child that they cannot have/do something. In response, they deliberately wee on the floor or in some other forbidden place. We have had one or two rage wees in our time, but this week marked the onset of the 2.0 version: the boredom wee. This happens when a child who is perfectly capable of getting themselves to the potty in time for a wee chooses to simply stop caring and instead wees where it sits. There are a number of reasons this can occur: you are not paying enough attention to your child, your child has been watching TV for approximately 35 hours and is trying to tell you that she is DONE, your child has not seen anything in the last week besides your disappointing faces and she’s raging against the machine (or in this case, the COVID-19 machinations). So not only are we dealing with a possible case of Complete Batshit Crazy, we must now also attempt to predict where the next wee might occur and try to save the couch. And do a load of washing everyday.
Sitting by the fire last night, third drink in hand at 6pm after a dismal few hours, Mark and I looked up as a flock of hadedas swooped low over our heads, cawing and screeching their abrasive cries. Mark shook his head in surrender and said, “If we had guardian angels, this is exactly what they would sound like!”