Quarantine: Wed. 5/6
I made cinnamon buns this morning. That should be enough of an update today, no? I honestly don't have much more to say. It rained all day. It's cold outside. Blah.
L&G are still playing hypnotically with their Legos Friends. It's like they've been brainwashed. I've never seen them this enmeshed. They played for SEVEN HOURS today, and that's been the same every day. I guess this isn't really that surprising. Even as toddlers they had long attention spans--it's just their temperament; I can't take credit; I was the same as a kid--but when we're not quarantined, their days are broken up by school, activities, and homework. Now, without all that, they have no limits on their time, and their involvement with whatever they're involved with has just expanded to fill these endless days. Even now, 7:45pm, they're still playing WHILE they each take a shower. They'll play quietly while I'm reading to them. It doesn't end. I mean, eventually the Lego craze will subside, but something else will fill it.
If only my own mind would allow such focus. You know those chalk mosaics the kids are doing all over our neighborhood (and Instagram)? That's how it feels inside my mind: bright sections of screaming color splintered by uncrossable blank spaces. Everything a crisis, everything a worry, and--once again!--an Instacart demands to be filled.
This is not a good analogy. I blame my splintered mind. Imagine Your Own Analogy with one of these substitutions:
Re these pictures: is there anything cuter than Farrah insisting she's still the size of a lap dog? She snuggles in with such determination.
L&G are still playing hypnotically with their Legos Friends. It's like they've been brainwashed. I've never seen them this enmeshed. They played for SEVEN HOURS today, and that's been the same every day. I guess this isn't really that surprising. Even as toddlers they had long attention spans--it's just their temperament; I can't take credit; I was the same as a kid--but when we're not quarantined, their days are broken up by school, activities, and homework. Now, without all that, they have no limits on their time, and their involvement with whatever they're involved with has just expanded to fill these endless days. Even now, 7:45pm, they're still playing WHILE they each take a shower. They'll play quietly while I'm reading to them. It doesn't end. I mean, eventually the Lego craze will subside, but something else will fill it.
If only my own mind would allow such focus. You know those chalk mosaics the kids are doing all over our neighborhood (and Instagram)? That's how it feels inside my mind: bright sections of screaming color splintered by uncrossable blank spaces. Everything a crisis, everything a worry, and--once again!--an Instacart demands to be filled.
This is not a good analogy. I blame my splintered mind. Imagine Your Own Analogy with one of these substitutions:
- a splintered windshield
- a glass splintered on the floor
- an artfully splintered piece of pottery artfully held together by a powerful (and attractive) glaze, but then the glaze wears off and IT SPLINTERS
I guess this is a good time to mention that we have squirrells living in our ceiling. I've been hearing them for weeks, usually when I'm sitting at the kitchen table early in the morning, but Andrew told me it was just squirrells on the roof. Last week, now that he's sitting in the kitchen more than he's ever sat in our kitchen in the eight years we've lived here, he heard the skittering and said, "THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE CEILING!!" as though I hadn't been saying this for weeks. Maybe months. But anyway. Phone calls have been made. Pest control people have been contacted. I'd been happy enough with live-and-let-live, but I suppose the squirrells (are they squirrells? is this how you spell "squirrell"?) have to go.
Re these pictures: is there anything cuter than Farrah insisting she's still the size of a lap dog? She snuggles in with such determination.
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