This week i’m in isolation because my family has covid
But I don’t have it YET!
We went to a rocky beach and walked along. We met a friendly man with a dog. We were looking for rocks for Milo’s fish tank. Once we found a couple rocks, we had lunch. But before lunch we had a rock tower building competition. Whoever built the tallest tower won!
The weekend was fun but also boring.
by Naomi
“Do you think a faint line means a positive?”
Jeremiah sent the picture of his covid RAT test via WhatsApp, with a faint red line along side the “T.”
“You can’t be just a little pregnant,” I shot back. Any line at the “T = test” spot means a positive. And the kids and I are clearly a ‘close contacts,’ with all the isolation requirements that evokes. The isolation times aren’t as long as they have been in the past, but are still quite real.
I sat at the kitchen counter with my head in my hands, coming to grips with the next seven days. Mainly, no work trip to Auckland next week, which I had been planning for a while and was quite looking forward to. No hair cut tomorrow. No orthodontist appointment for Milo on Friday. No farewell lunch for Bronwyn. No walk with Carrie on the weekend. No rugby for Milo on Saturday, and no zones cross country competition either….he’ll be gutted. NO WORK TRIP TO AUCKLAND. I’m gutted!
“Can I do anything to help you?” Jeremiah was not feeling that poorly, yet. Actually, he was rather chipper.
“No. You can’t. There’s nothing you can do.” Only I could count the losses and come to grips with them. Minor as they were in the scheme of the world, they seemed big at the moment.
Jeremiah offered to kiss me, but I shied away. “Come on, you’ll want to get it at the same time, or you’ll probably be in isolation longer.”
I acknowledge the truth of what he’s saying, but I just didn’t want to visualize the biology of the transfer, the spikey little balls moving from his spit to my lips. The spikes are always red in the news graphics…..
The next morning we broke the news to the kids, and RAT tested us all.
Milo was a definite positive; in retrospect he probably had it before Jeremiah. Despite testing negative in the morning, I was gratified to feel a sore throat coming on in the afternoon. We’re all going to get it, let’s not stretch it out.
I was standing at the side line of the rugby pitch, reciting yet another group of boys’ names and reflecting on how much harder it has become to retain names as I’ve aged. It’s been six years since Milo started this sport with Ripper Rugby, and I swear my memory at 34 was zippier than it is now at 40. It’s extra tough when parents insist on giving their kids traditional names like Matt or Sam. Give me an Aotea or a Manav and they stick, but the Tims and Georges get lost in the swarm with the Johnnys, Coopers and Bens.
A whole group of new parents to meet as well, with the same conversation starters as always: “Which one is yours?” “Mine is Milo, the little one over there.” I’d point to the smallest striped jersey on the field, weaving and dodging energetically. It’s fun to point out your kid when they’re performing well.
I remember that first year, watching him stick out his jaw and set his sights on his target ball carrier from across the field, dig deep with his sprint, triangulate correctly and nail his target. Milo is competitive. Competitive, driven, focused, strategic. Aggressive, unempathetic, relentless, determined…. you get the picture. It’s in his DNA. Half of which is from me, I get the irony of my complaint. Watching him on the sports field was an epiphany. Right there in front of me I was watching the up-side of all those challenging personality traits.
At the first game this season he was awarded Player of the Day for his relentless tackling. “Why does Milo always get player of the day?” Naomi commented. The coach overheard and asked, grinning “This isn’t a rare occurrence, then?” No, it is not.
It is the 6th season Milo has played rugby, and each year as the boys around him get bigger and bigger, I think it might be his last, that he might get sick of being flattened by kids that are literally twice his weight. But he loves it.
Other parents say he’ll probably hit a growth spurt eventually and rocket out of the 5th percentile, but I’m not so sure. After all, someone has to occupy the 5th percentile; that’s mathematically how percentiles work. I have occupied the 5th percentile in height for my entire life, and I’ve been imparting few tips for him to be comfortable in that space.
“It’s a lot more comfortable for small people when we ride on planes.”
“When you’re small, your height to weight ratio is favorable. That means you can climb easier and run faster than big people.”
“I watch you, ducking and weaving out there; being small you can fit through that maze of other players really well.”
“You know, Milo, it’s not all bad being small. People will initially judge you based on your size, and then you have an opportunity to blow them out of the water.”
He grins. He likes blowing people out of the water.
Naomi: “You need to make it up to me!”
Milo: “How?”
“Figure it out. Use your BRAIN,” she directed, as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and flounced out of the room, secure in her position of power.
“Ha!” I thought, as I listened to the exchange. “His little sister is providing him a good education about relationships…..maybe I should try that angle……”
Milo had returned home Sunday even to a massive stack of circulars on the front doorstep, and he was angling for some assistance with his job. He has had a job delivering these adverts weekly since last September, and he’s good at it. He always remembers when they’re due to arrive and is conscientious about getting his deliveries done before the Wednesday night deadline. He’s entirely self motivated on this project. The pay varies widely week to week, depending upon the number and weight of the papers, but over the months he has amassed a few hundred dollars, of which he has hardly spent a penny.
The stack of circulars was going to be a big job to collate and deliver this week, and his brain immediately began to churn with ideas of how to ameliorate the workload. He first plea for help fell on unsympathetic ears (mine). “No, sorry Milo, that’s your job.” His second try was to his sister, who is generally excited to be involved in her big brother’s paper route. She is also a good, energetic worker.
Monday before school the job share negotiations started at $10 on Naomi’s side, and $7 on Milo’s side. Jeremiah opined that $7 was an unfair proportion of the $30 Milo was getting paid for this week’s deliveries. I stuck in my own oar in with a comment about how the job expected had to be clearly defined beforehand (unclarity around that issue was the root of last week’s debacle). Negotiations were noisy and belligerent. They were not complete by the time I hustled the kids off to school.
Now, Milo really wants help with this job, so after school the debate continued. The price hovered as high as $10, and the deal was almost clinched. Then Milo employed his typical power tactic, startling Naomi when she was washing her feet in the tub, and shoving her as she tried to leave the bathroom. That behavior led to the exchange I overheard, much to my satisfaction. Having to deal with a big brother like Milo will make Naomi a strong character, that’s for sure.
Milo thought for a moment. I thought he might be pondering how bullying wrecks relationships and doesn’t get him the cooperation that he wanted…. “Hum, I guess I’ll try bribery,” he said. Not quite the strategy I was hoping for.
“Milo’s going to buy me a chocolate bar at the dairy if I help him with his papers,” Naomi announced, returning to the kitchen.
“That doesn’t sound like a very good deal, chicky,” I advised, disheartened that she was so easily swayed by food. “You don’t know if the chocolate bar he buys will be a little one, or a big one.”
“Mom, don’t tell her that!” Milo was annoyed that I was interfering his negotiations when he had nearly pulled off a lucrative deal.
Naomi thought for a moment, recognized the truth of the statement, and went back to the drawing board.
Shortly Naomi came back to announce THE DEAL: Milo would buy her anything she wanted at the dairy for up to $7.50, in exchange for help with stacking, folding and delivering the papers. I tried to tell her that payment in money was better, and that if she got money, she could go buy herself what she wanted at the dairy and probably have money left over. She wasn’t having a bar of it. Clearly, the lure of being able to command Milo to buy her what SHE wanted was worth more than actual money to her.
I’m sure that point will not be lost on Milo, astute as he is in the ways of money, if not in the ways of healthy relationships.
Incredibly, the rest of the afternoon has passed in industrious, cooperative activity.
Give It A Burl 