I have a document on my computer titled “Coronavirus”. I’ve all but abandoned it right now though it was cathartic at the beginning. It sits, running to something like 24 pages and some 9000 words. I published some of those thoughts here, early on. Mostly it sits for me to go back to at some point, eventually, to remind me of this time.
Though now it seems like I could begin another, similar document. Titled—what? George Floyd? Racial Tension 2020? Civil Rights…Again?
Maybe I just need to begin a daily journal.
Because life lately is heavy. Filled with tension. Multiple tensions. Tensions that pile on top of one another, like the amount of laundry piles up in my house. We’re living through unprecedented events nestled within unprecedented events. A global pandemic, the murder of a black man in broad daylight not once, but twice, and more. Protests and marches and police in riot gear. A historic election. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named tweeting out conspiracy theories.
I was texting with a friend recently and we struggled with feeling the tension. How to feel it without burning out on the things we need to do in life (work, childcare, cleaning, all that food we make, etc.). There’s a line to be drawn somewhere, and right now I’m not sure where it lies. I’m not sure exactly where it is that we cross over from an appropriate amount of rage and discomfort to an unhealthy amount.
We re-watched Nanette recently, kicking off a Friday evening Hannah Gadsby double-feature to celebrate the release of Douglas. (Give her all the stars and awards and medals and money, please.) In Nanette, she talks about tension, how jokes are effective because they relieve the tension the comedian has set up in the room.
She leaves us toward the end, a face full of emotion as she re-frames her story of being a young, queer person in conservative Tasmania. She tells us we have to sit with the tension. She’s not going to relieve us with a joke anymore.
Just like in Nanette, I don’t think there’s anyone or anything here who’s going to break the tension for us. I think we need to feel it, sit in it, live with it for a while.
+++++
+++++
Cooking, lately. (Maybe my own small attempt to break the tension.)
I’ve been making these quesadillas at least twice a month. (I sub the jalapeno with a small can of mild green chilies.)
This chopped salad. I put the components of the salad out for the kids on a plate (cheese, salami, some fruit— their own version of a charcuterie) and Tyson and I eat the salad as-is. Note: it makes a LOT. I mix it all up and keep the dressing separate and it does fine in the fridge for a couple of days.
Blackberry ice cream and homemade freezies. For the freezies: some combination of fruit (strawberries, mixed berries, watermelon) whizzed up in the blender with enough lemonade to make it liquid-y. Add a touch of sugar if it’s too tart. Make a “smoothie” version by replacing the lemonade with a banana and some yogurt. Pour in freeze pop bags. Freeze. Announce “It’s freezie time!” and make everyone’s day when the tension (See? There it is again.) starts to rise at about four in the afternoon.
+++++
Brooklyn grabbed a stack of books from the bookshelf the other day, lay down on her bed, and started reading. I did a double-take as I looked at what she grabbed, then stalked her until she was done so I could nab all the books to take a picture.
If anyone is looking for recommendations of children’s’ books that feature people of color, well, this is straight from a six-year-old.
Speaking of books, there was a movement last week to blackout the bestsellers lists by purchasing any two books by black authors. I personally ordered from the Lit. Bar, a black-owned bookstore based in Brooklyn. And then I ordered more from Target and Amazon because they offered buy two get one free on books. So basically I have piles of books on their way to my house and am living my best life right now. Can I just say that this is exactly my kind of movement? “Go and order books”? I’m all in on that, every. single. time.
I know there are all sorts of lists flying around the internet, so FWIW, besides the children’s books above, here are some of my personal favorites:
Becoming by Michelle Obama
The Girl Who Smiled Beads: A Story of War and What Comes After by Clemantine Wamariya
The Mothers by Brit Bennett (Haven’t read it yet but I’m excited for her new one: The Vanishing Half)
Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo
Born a Crime: Stories From a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah
Thick: and Other Essays by Tressie McMillan Cottom
+++++
The other day (with permission), Brookyn changed into her swimsuit, hopped on her bike, threw her beach towel around her neck, and rode off to her friend’s house down the street to swim in their inflatable pool without a single look back.
This child was an actual baby yesterday. What in the world.
+++++
I wrote most of this a week ago. I thought I was going to publish it several days ago. That seems to be the best summation of life lately. With the kids home 24/7 it feels a little like when they were younger and were also around 24/7 and needed so much constant attention. Sure, I don’t have to change diapers anymore and they can often occupy themselves, but they also used to take these things called naps, so: trade-offs.
I feel like I’m trying to cram more into the margins than ever. Writing, reading, household management, work, errands, etc. I can’t even (or at least choose not to) bring the kids along with me to the store anymore. Just fitting in the most basic tasks feels like a lot. Like most parents—most moms, period—juggling everything on our plates (just let me mix the metaphors here it seems accurate) is enough.
This is running too long for it to become too much of a feminist screed (another time, people), so I’ll leave it here by saying I took yesterday off. And most of Saturday. We had friends over and ate Indian food, we had a bonfire and roasted marshmallows, we biked four miles to get ice cream and grilled hot dogs. The kids went to bed last night needing baths in the absolute worst way. Their faces were sticky with ice cream, their fingers were smeared with Dorito dust, their shirts had smudges of ketchup. Their legs are covered with either bruises or dirt (answer: both) and their hair is somewhat wild. Also: they smell.
But there just wasn’t time for baths. (Because sleep > cleanliness.) So we, as we so often do, pushed it off to tomorrow. Or maybe they’ll just play in the pool and we can call it good. Either way, it sums up a lifestyle that’s as good as any in the summertime, during a pandemic, through the tension, because of all of the above: there’s always tomorrow.