So, it’s March 2020… and many of you probably have a similar visceral reaction to hearing that combination of month + year… that’s right – the start of the pandemic.  Of COVID-19.  This virus that was “shutting down” schools and workplaces for roughly 2 weeks (or so we thought).  And I suddenly find myself transitioning from being a marketing executive, who leaves my house 5-days a week and stops at Starbucks on my commute to the office… to now being a full-time, stay at home parent / home-school teacher / lunch lady / recess supervisor to my 4 children (ages 2, 4, 7 and 11).  A job far more challenging than the one that affords our middle-class life in Toronto, Ontario.  You see our amazing nanny was stuck in Burundi, Africa (visiting family for the first time in over 5 years) when the pandemic hit.  And my husband, who is a professional brewer, was deemed an “essential” worker – and let’s be honest: he really was.  Nobody was going to declare beer non-essential in times like these.  But the thing with making beer… you have to be at the brewery to do it – and so he was.

And so, here we are… me and the 4 kids.  At home.  Every. Damn. Day.  Me  – trying to be all the things: marketing executive / mom / tutor / personal chef / school nurse… and failing.  Daily.  And the kids – trying to stay sane and active and engaged and not turn into YouTube zombies… and also, failing.  Now, the routine went something like this:

• Wake up, make coffee, set out worksheets for the “middle boys” (ages 7 and 4)
• Write out a “Question of the Day” (a tradition from the 4 year-old’s classroom at school, where every student would add their name as a vote or response to a simple Yes/No type question).  Now we had some good ones – like “Do you want leftover tacos for lunch?” – always a solid YES… and some less popular like, “Do you like having school at home?” which garnered universal “Nos” – including some extra names of people who don’t even live here… imaginary friends maybe?
• Next I would hop on the first of my daily check-in video conference calls – where the expectation was that you should try to keep the video feature “on” whenever possible
• Tell kids they need to stop binge-watching Netflix and do their “work”
• Check said work and stress about how I’m failing as a parent: they don’t know their numbers and make them all backwards, their spelling is awful, how can you not make your letters and numbers look “normal” – you’re 7 (and on, and on – a combination of shame and criticism, with a sprinkle of praise mixed in just to keep them on their toes)
• Send them out for “recess” (i.e. play in the driveway and don’t come back inside until I say so)
• Feed them lunch – mostly super healthy things like hotdogs and Spaghetti-Os and PB&J
• Read a bit of the Paddington chapter book aloud to all 3 boys
• Tell the little boys it’s nap-time (phew – solid 1.5-2 hours to work without constant interruptions)

All amid the typical corporate calls and spreadsheets and marketing briefs and agency meetings and more…

And don’t get me wrong – there were some highlights.  Some actual moments of joy and creativity and bonding.  There was the full-family Harry Potter marathon.  And the scavenger hunts around the neighborhood.  The “marshmallow math,” which entailed making various piles of mini marshmallows and having Flynn, age 4, practice counting them – doing adding or “subtracting” (also known as eating). 

There was the cardboard challenge – where the kids recycled loads of Amazon boxes (and wine boxes – let’s be honest) and made fun arcade-style games and imaginary vehicles.  There was the discovery of a local ice cream spot and taking daily walks there at around 4:30 pm to try cleverly named flavors like Cinnamon Toast Crunk and Sponge Cake SquarePants.  The day when my 4-year-old gave me his lunch order, explaining that he wanted a cheese sandwich – no sausage, no bread.  And so I reply, “so you just want cheese then?” and he informs me that no – he, in fact, wants “2 cheeses.”

There was once when I was trying to balance a conference call while helping with worksheets and the 2-year-old wants to do work too.  So, I make him a little project journal – a few pieces of computer paper folded into a book format.  And he does some drawing and writing and stuff (I mean – you know, 2-year-old style).  And then he demands that I draw him a praying mantis.  And I do.  And it looks pretty damn good if I’m honest.  And then he says that he needs me to give the praying mantis a mustache.  And I add that too.  And I think, maybe I’m not failing at life.  If my 2-year-old can request a praying mantis with a mustache for his project journal – that must count for something, right?  (I mean – it most likely counts for the hours upon hours these kids have watched Wild Kratts, but hey – it could be worse.  It could be teen YouTube gamers.)

And then there’s the day when we have an executive leadership meeting.  I’m getting ready to hop on – on camera, of course… since that was the M.O. at that time… and suddenly the baby (the praying mantis-loving 2-year-old who is supposed to be napping) is upstairs crying. And I pop off camera and run, computer in hand, up the stairs to find him bleeding in the bathroom.  Now I can tell it doesn’t seem emergency room level, but there’s enough blood and he’s managed to spread it across enough parts of his body, that I can’t exactly tell where it’s coming from.  He also happened to have removed his diaper.  So, he’s naked from the waist down, bleeding – and my boss is asking why I’m not on camera for the call…

And so I explain: well, I have a naked, bleeding 2-year-old that I’m trying to console and that’s just not going to work for me right now…

Needless to say, the 2-year-old had managed to pick up my razor from the side of the bathtub and cut his finger.  A Band-Aid and a new diaper later, and he was ready for his nap…

But let’s just say – that was a rough spell.  A time we thought would last for 2 weeks and lasted for 2 years.  A time of isolation and frayed nerves and wine-o-clock: at 5 or 4 or 3, depending on the day… but in just a few ways, a time that brought us closer too.