The structure of having school is good for the kids, and I’m thankful for it.

I’ve been quite impressed with the skill of Naomi’s teachers, in particular.  They’ve set themselves up with an app called Class Dojo (a dojo is a friendly monster).  Promptly each morning the app delivers three or four lessons that consist of a video instruction by the teacher explaining an activity, clear instructions that a 7 year old can follow to do the activity relatively independently, and clear instructions on what to send back to the teacher.  Yesterday morning her teacher started by reading a book about a donkey who would only eat grass and as a consequence turned green all over.  Then she appeared in the video with a green wig and a green shirt, and said the same thing had happened to her, and she needed the kids’ help to turn her hair back to her normal color.  For their writing activity could they please list out 10 blondy-brown foods, including some healthy food as well as some treats, that they would recommend to her.  The kids were to read her their list as a video recording.  Later that day she shared some of the items the class had recommended, and commented on which ones she liked (no thank you to mustard!), and said the cure had worked.  Brilliant!

I’ve vaguely been aware based on what some other parents have commented that Naomi’s teachers are really top notch, but I don’t interact with them much, not doing the morning drop off and picking the kids up outside the school grounds.  It’s been a real privilege to see them in action.

In this math activity, Naomi measured various parts of her bear, herself, and her mother, listing them in a chart for comparison.

Jeremiah has set Milo up with a simple little computer (most of his school work is on an online platform), and he views it through the TV screen. Bathrobe is the normal attire–it usually goes to plain old undies as the day warms up.

Still, I’m glad it’s Friday.  These days I start the day with no real plans besides facilitating breakfast, wiping the counter, getting the kids started on home school lessons, feeding morning tea, wiping the counter again, more school, lunch and obligatory counter clearing, then perhaps more school….kind of a blur punctuated by lots of screeching.  I’m always surprised when 2:00 hits and I haven’t done any of the non-essential things I could enjoy doing at home.

I’d like play guitar (ok, develop calluses on my finger tips, really), do an on-line drawing classes, re-write my resume, or dust the cobwebs from the corners.  On the cobweb subject, I watched a spider pulling the silk from her spinnerets and dexterously wrapping a buzzing fly….so I’m in no hurry to get rid of the cobwebs.

On the weekend, I’ll start with that drawing lesson, to make sure it fits in.

It’s been nine days since we started worrying about my parents’ health, and I’m pleased to report that they are back to full health.  They were actually feeling much better after a few days, and Dad was ready to go back to work last Thursday, because he was out of sick leave.  Oh America, with your perversely unhelpful incentive structure! He was talked into staying home until Monday, at least, and Mom did as well.

Because they’re in America there aren’t enough Covid19 tests available for your average mortal, so we can’t confirm if they had the real deal or not.  Probably they did; they do live in NYC after all.  NOT Harlem, my Mom hastened to correct me–Washington Heights.

Mom is once again looking after Emerson, my nephew. Looks like he’s full of beans! And looks like their apartment is well heated.

Dad missed Emerson a lot while he was staying home sick, and was very glad to be reunited–Emerson was too, he just wasn’t ready to be put to bed that night.

It’s interesting for me to ponder the differences between the pandemic in the USA and in NZ.  I have this innate distrust of Socialism; I’m sure it was from grade school history class.  I imagine our arch-enemy the Soviet Union, also Chile, Cuba….you know, the baddies with dictators and propagandized citizens.

I remember vividly the moment when I realized that NZ was a socialist state.  Maybe not officially, according to wikipedia but in the attitude that says “I’m part of the society; the society is important; we should take care of the weaker members of society…..  That realization came on a car ride back from Akaroa (I can see the bend near Kaituna valley in my mind’s eye) when we were listening to a podcast, something to do with guns.  Perhaps it was after the Mosque shooting last year, when swiftly and apparently without resistance the Parliament passed new gun control laws, logical kinds of laws that have failed to pass in America time and time again.  And I realized that NZ attitude was completely different to that of Americans, and that NZ citizens seemed to actually TRUST their government, by and large, and of course Americans don’t.  The longer I live in NZ, I realize that it’s really a socialist state, and during a pandemic that certainly seems to have its up sides.

I’ve been tremendously impressed at the leadership skills shown by the NZ government.  I’ve only listened to a few of the daily updates, but EVERY DAY at 1:00 there is an update, aired to all real-time on you-tube, where the Minister of Health reviews the new Covid19 numbers for the day and the Prime Minister and sometimes other officials give updates, then take tough questions from the press.  I listened to the announcement that the PM and ministers would take a 20% pay cut, in solidarity with the businesses and citizens who are struggling.  I’ve heard consistent, calm messaging about being kind to neighbors and staying in your bubble.  I’ve heard respectful correcting of misinformation and an open-minded willingness to follow up on problems.  The models and data that are used for decision making are made available quickly to the public; it feels open and democratic.  Very quickly and early in the shut-down the government announced wage subsidies that incentivize employers to keep on their employees, as well as make it more likely that employees will obey the stay-at-home rule–in fact, I just saw my second stay-at-home pay check come through, seemlessly, and I think I still have a job to go back to.  Not sure how long we’re going to be paying for this, but the likelihood is that we all pay for it fairly evenly, because the tax system is more evenly applied than in the US.

I don’t know, call me a socialist, but I’m impressed.

Milo peeked into my bedroom this morning and climbed into my bed, and unusual move for him.  Thankfully his nature called a few seconds later and I had a chance to scuttle out to my closet and get some proper clothes on before diving back into bed, ready for his return from the potty.

“Why are you snuggling into my bed this morning, Mr. Milo?” I asked, as I ran my hand over his cropped hair.

“Staying away from mean Daddy,” he pouted.

Milo and Jeremiah have had just about enough of sharing the same space, and tolerances have been fraying for the last few days.  Oddly, the more Milo fights with Jeremiah, the more cooperative he is towards me.  Go figure.  I guess he figures he needs one parental ally, and can’t bite both hands that feed him, at least simultaneously.

“Cooperative” is all relative when it comes to Milo, but this afternoon he didn’t even put up a fuss when I announced that I was abandoning the garden (and along with it the territorial squawking of the kids), and we were all going to troop around the quarry.  AND that we were biking there, not driving.

We’ve become habituals at Halswell Quarry these days, walking the same path again and again. It’s a good thing, actually, especially for kids. I remember doing that with my grandparents at a little nature reserve called Five Rivers, and they had tons of patience to stop dozens of times along the path. Naomi always wants to climb up this tree.

And Milo tries to climb into the hedge. For some reason he decided to wear his bike helmet on the walk.

I went biking with Naomi the other day.  We were spinning along the empty road and she was prattling on cheerfully, as is her wont. Suddenly she let out a big fart.  “That was a good one!” she exclaimed.  Brotherly influence and all that, I assume.

Normally I’d have made a face, and moved on.  But now that time isn’t of the essence, I asked, curiously, “What makes a fart a good one?”

“When I push hard and it all comes out,” she explained, grinning.

Candid conversations of a more serious sort happen too.

“Milo, I really don’t know what to do with you.  You’ve been disrespectful and rude all morning.  This isn’t a good trajectory.  I want to enjoy your company, but I can’t let you behave like this.”  Pause.  I feel hopeless at his atrocious behavior and now I’m curious.  “Milo, why are you acting like this?”

“Well, I’m act like that because Naomi is stupid and mean.  She squawks when I just walk by, and then I get in trouble.”

“Hum, you feel like it’s not fair that you get in trouble when Naomi’s been part of it too?”

“Yeah”

Long pause.  “Sometimes Naomi can be annoying, eh?  But you know Milo; in life, you can only control your own actions.  You can’t control anyone else’s.”  I thought for another minute.  “If you can’t behave yourself around Naomi, maybe you’ll have to stay home when we go out this afternoon.”  The child doesn’t know how to play by himself, so by the time Naomi and I got back home, he was quite glad to have her company.

And surprisingly, he was much more pleasant to be around for the next couple days.

Naomi’s interpretation of the dynamic was simple.  I told her their noisiness and discord was driving me nuts.  Why oh why do they do that?  She went explained her mode of operation in simple terms that even a mother could grasp:

“You get angry, then you squawk, then you laugh; that’s how you do it!”

“Milo, can you show me what your assignments are from your teacher?”  School from home officially started yesterday for the kids.  Yesterday I left Milo to his own devices but then thought better of it, and decided I’d be wiser to check up on his work.

“My teacher hasn’t assigned anything,” Milo asserted.

“Hum, just let me read his email.”  Milo threw his arms around the laptop protectively.  “No, Milo, I want to see what he sent.”  Reluctantly he opened his school email.  I pointed to the attachment.  He opened it, and shifted the document up and down the screen restlessly.

“Milo, be still, I need to read it.”

“I already know what to do!”

“Right, but I need to know what you need to do too!”  I perused the document quickly.  “It says you need some stuff on your learning platform, can you show me that?”

Milo groaned, and clicked on the browser tab, again shifting the page up and down and clicking rapidly.  “Mom, I know what I have to do.”

“Can you show me your Addition and Subtraction SDL doc?” I queried.  “And stop moving the page around, I can’t read it when you do that.”

“You don’t have to, I can follow the directions myself!” he declared, as he clicked away to another tab.

“Milo!  Stop it!  Go hang out in your room until I have a chance to read through this undisturbed!”  Feet dragging, groaning, moaning, and high pitched squealing theatrical performance followed, ended by an escort to his room and a threat that he may not exit until called for.  I retired to the computer in relative peace, only to be accosted by Naomi.  Her ClassDojo app on the tablet has instructional videos that weren’t working. Something about the app was cranky with tablets, so I had to get the videos over my email. Naomi didn’t want to give up possession of the tablet, and kept swiping and tapping with the blithe assurance that though the video hadn’t worked last time, it probably would this time, if she could just DO IT HERSELF.

Milo popped his head out of his bedroom door: “Mom! When can I come out?”

“When I have had a chance to figure out your on-line school,” I retorted, “which takes longer when you keep bugging me!”  I turned back to squint at the laptop screen.

“Naomi!  Stop clicking on that video!  Can you please go and play in your room until I’ve had a chance to figure this out?”  Naomi disappeared and was quiet, but Milo kept up a steady stream of rattling complaint from his bedroom door.

Jeremiah emerged from the bedroom where he’s set up his office for morning tea and asked how things were going.

“Milo’s banished to his room while I figure out his “bleeping” school platform, and Naomi’s videos aren’t working on the wretched tablet, and I haven’t even had a chance to have breakfast yet!”

“Would you like a muffin?”

“Yes.”

“Warmed up?”

“Yes.”

“With butter?”

“Yes, please,” I muttered, sheepishly.  The muffin was duly delivered, and Jeremiah retreated to his bedroom sanctuary.

Eventually I sussed out the daily tasks Milo was responsible for, amid the network of the student dashboard and the google docs with reporting templates, and made him a chart where he has to check off what he’s done each day.  I’m still not sure which ones he has to submit as evidence to his teacher, or how we’re meant to do worksheets without a printer, but it’s a start anyway.

Maybe tomorrow will be smoother.

I actually took this photo yesterday, a fall iris blooming in the side garden. The flowers are on short stems, so they kinda get lost among the tall and rather skanky foliage. I felt it deserved a moment in the spot light, and besides I didn’t manage to take any other nice pictures today.

However, my Delight of the Day was hearing my Mom’s voice on the phone sounding so cheerful. She felt a little better than the day before, and Dad was doing ok too. We let out our breath a little bit.  They seem to be coping well, but we’ll feel much better if they’re still perky in a seven days. That’s April 21. I’ve got Day 1 marked on my calendar.

That’s not quite the message you want to hear, when Kelsey is with our parents in NYC, the epicenter of the covid19 outbreak in the USA. Particularly when Dad said he was going to bed early yesterday because he wasn’t feeling quite right.

I called her back.  The long and short of it is that Dad stayed in bed with a cough this morning, and Mom was currently on the couch with the chills.  She had called Kelsey to let her know she was sorry, but she couldn’t take care of Emerson, my one year old nephew, that day.

So now we have skin in the game, as the saying goes.

After morning dawned in NZ, us girls did a zoom meeting.  Kelsey is with her one year old son Emerson in NYC, working from her apartment; Rebecca is in Chicago, trying to teach high school math in the new on-line format; Susanna is starting the uncertain vegetable growing season in Massachusetts, and I’m at home without any work to speak of in New Zealand, home schooling the kids.  Dad also has brothers scattered over the eastern half of the USA.  We triaged the next steps.  Gosh, we should have done that weeks ago.

First off, most people with Covid19 recover.

But were Mom and Dad taking this development seriously enough?  We weren’t sure.  They seemed a bit fatalistic about the prognosis.  Up until today Dad had been continuing his work as a factory maintenance electrician, because if you stop your job in America, you lose your health insurance.

Most people with Covid19 recover.

What were the symptoms we should be watching for that would mean Kelsey should take them to the hospital?  No use being too early or too late on that call.  Rebecca would call our dear friend Dr. Kennedy and find out.

Remember, most people with Covid19 recover.

Kelsey has a spare key to their apartment, and will find out where their car is currently parked, and will scout out the route to the nearest hospital.

Most people with Covid19 WILL recover.

Will Kelsey get sick as well?  Or has she already had it but not known it was IT?  If she goes to hospital, how do we care for Emerson?  Lots of questions there, but we do have a big, warm, loyal family.  

Most people with Covid19 will recover.

Most people with Covid19 do recover.

Most people with Covid19 recover.

It IS true, most people with Covid19 DO recover.  In NZ, one small country for which we have very good up-to-date publicly available data, of the 1386 confirmed cases today (and that’s with more than 66,000 tests to date, so we’re reasonably certain we’re finding all the cases) there have been nine fatalities.  And 728 people have recovered so far.

“Hey, how about we go into Hagley Park this weekend–we could bike there,” I suggested to Milo yesterday morning.

“Nah,” Milo dismissed that idea quickly.  “I don’t want to go to Hagley.  Hagley Park is boring.”

Later the kids kicked at some fallen leaves and wanted to rake up a pile to jump in.  “Hagley Park has the best fall leaves,” I suggested.

“I want to go to Hagley!” Milo rejoined.  “But I don’t want to bike.”

So we drove.  The bridges leading to the centre of the park are all gated, but the outside is still available for a romp.

The leaves were in perfect condition: reasonably dry, musty enough to be genuine but not too moldy.

We brought the frisbee and the rugby ball, and found a quiet spot to toss them. At some point I stooped down to caress the long pine needles–they remind me of the beautiful pine needle basket my west coast friend made for me–and noticed a shiny nut on the ground. I bit it open, exposing a big cream-colored oily seed, a pine nut! Collecting pine nuts is addictive, as is running ones fingers through the stash. The pine cones themselves seem to stay in the tree, just the seed falls to the ground.  I was as delighted as a fat squirrel.  

Naomi likes to try her hand at photography.  A great day for the park.  If the other walkers hadn’t skirted around us suspiciously and if the public toilets had been open, it would have been easy to forget we were in the midst of a pandemic.  

Side note: Cirque du Soleil has some of their performances on you-tube for free at the moment. The broadcast aired at 7:00 a.m. NZ time, giving a holiday-like start to the day.