Month: March 2020

Get Up, Covid Get Down With Self-Quarantine

Congratulations, everyone. We made it through the first 6 months of self-quarantine….wait…crap. Let’s try that again.

Congratulations everyone! We’ve made it through the first week of self-quarantine. Here’s what I’ve noticed so far.

Nothing. Has. Changed. At least for me, but as I’ve said before, I am a Master Social-Distancer. Ask an introvert how they’re doing in self-quarantine, and chances are they’ll tell you how amazing it is that no one has dropped by unannounced, or no one has begged them to go out in the world and be social. For the extroverts who are feeling like it’s been 6 months, or maybe even closer to 6 years, just think, what you’re going through right now, is exactly how introverts have felt–forced to do things they really don’t want to do. Sorry, extroverts–you’re in our world now.

Truly though, I think there’s something wrong with my children. Not wrong, but…something is going on. The side-effects of a world without outside influences, maybe? All I know is that Monday morning when I woke up, I prayed that we made it through the week without one murdering the other. By Friday, I noticed…something. Is this…friendship?? Are they getting along?!

My darling angels, who normally spend every waking moment pushing the buttons of the other, were suddenly choosing to spend time together. They spent close to an hour yesterday reading their Pokemon Guidebooks, and no one got punched or scratched! All eyes remained firmly inside their sockets.

They have also spent hours on the trampoline, with the sprinkler (before you shiver to death, my dear Northerners, it is currently 85 and sunny here in the Dirty South).

I’ve been trying to fill their days with learning–you see, unlike the spoiled suburbanites (and possibly urbanites as well), the rural kids don’t have online learning. There is no Google Classroom for rural Alabama children. Our county gave us a list of places we could pick up a packet per student. Our county has a 22% poverty rate. To put that into perspective, Saratoga County NY (chosen because that’s where I grew up) has a 6% poverty rate; no county in NYS has a rate over 18%.

I have noticed a lot of complaining on social media, about how unfair it is that teachers are expecting their students (and parents) to do so much work, while parents are also trying to work from home. I can understand the frustration…but think about the alternative–your child could have been handed a 60 page packet, while in your head you can hear Edward R. Murrow saying, “goodnight, and good luck.”

I am not “education shaming” anyone (is that a thing? I don’t know–I’m probably just making it up). I just want you, the parent frustrated with the daily assignments to know that it could be worse. You could be waking up every morning and thinking, what am I going to attempt to teach my children once they’ve made it through their work packets? What happens if this quarantine lasts longer than these initial 3 weeks? What if I am now responsible for my children’s education, with no guidance for the rest of the school year? For eighteen months!?

You see? You are angry at teacher, who had to figure out how to work from home in under 24 hours. They did not ask for this. This isn’t necessarily something they’ve been doing all along, so chances are they had to learn and work to make this happen. While you are working from home and trying to help children with homework, teachers are are now at home, trying to teach your kids, plus however many other children are in their classroom, plus now also teaching their children. I have seen so many cool posts from educators this past week, who are trying to make the best of a crappy situation. They aren’t perfect, but no one is. We’re all doing out best, and it helps no one to jump on social media and attack teachers for not being able to teach in a classroom. Would you attack nurses for the lack of hospital beds? Would you attack the cashier at the grocery store for the total lack of toilet paper and ground beef?

Who knows. You might. But take a deep breath, and ask yourself–do they have any control over the situation?? Do any of us?

My kids just came inside to inform me that Shea was throwing shoes at Xander…but Xander also wasn’t helping to pick up the water balloon pieces from the trampoline. *Sigh* At least this week is Spring Break–I can pretend my children’s education, and therefore future, isn’t landing 100% on my shoulders.

And for the rest of you, who aren’t on Spring Break, cut these teachers some slack. For the parents who are frustrated with the amount of work they now feel teachers are requiring of them, I promise, there are no teacher kicking back and drinking a beer, while you alone juggle your added daily tasks. For the parents who might not live in a community with fancy schools and chrome books sent home with your children, or google classroom to keep your children’s brains full and growing–well, Goodnight, and Good Luck.

What Was I Thinking?!

There are rules that need to be followed in times of Social-Distancing; as a professional social-distancer, I should know better than to break these rules.

I’m sure most people have seen the meme, reminding folks that, no matter how bored you get, do not cut your own bangs. If only that was what I did.

First, before we get to my latest Social-Distancing-SNAFU, let’s take a trip back in time. The year: 2005. My status: newly (secretly) married, unemployed, in a post-Hurricane Katrina southern town, where frequent newspaper articles discussed the resurgence of carpet-bagging. And there I was, a transplant from New York, desperate to steal jobs away from Georgians. I was broke, and jobless.

Wait–before I continue on–I just opened my blinds and discovered I have not one, but two 4ft tall DANDELIONS in my front garden bed. I guess maybe now would be the time to look up Dandelion Green recipes! These are desperate times (and this is the south).

Ok. Georgia. Late November 2005. I had just gotten off the phone with a friend in NY, who had just gotten a haircut by my hairdresser, and I was feeling a little…I guess FOMO? EOHC (That would be Envy of HairCuts…but it really doesn’t have the same ring)? I had already been cutting my own hair–it was short, and I would shave up the back and trim up the top. Fun. And. Spiky. In that moment, I decided I wanted to give a pixie-cut a try. So, clippers in hand, with the #6 guard, I made an absolutely illegal move–I shaved right down the middle of my head…and instantly shouted, “oh shit!” Too late to come back from this terrible decision, I finished the job, and texted Justin: I did something really bad.

There it is: proof that you shouldn’t make spur of the moment decisions in times of extreme social distancing. Don’t listen to the voice saying, “do it! This is a good idea! You definitely won’t regret this in 5 seconds!” That voice is a dirty liar who will cut and run the second you realize it’s a bad idea, and you will definitely regret it.

Fourteen years later, I found myself participating in once again, listening to bad ideas, instigated by the voice who is just trying to get me in trouble. “Ooh, you know what would be fun?! Let’s play around with your website, and push buttons and try things, and see what happens! Doesn’t that sound like fun?! At 9:45pm, when your husband is halfway through a 38hr shift, and you can’t sleep, because you don’t know how to adult when he isn’t home to tell you to go to bed, mistakes will be made.

…and, save. And….shit. It was gone. Well, it was there, but it was sad and broken, and kept telling me something went wrong. No kidding, something went wrong! You let me think I knew what I was doing!!! I tried and tried to think of how I could fix this: maybe if I just say, “please be there, please be there, please be there,” over and over again, it will self-correct? By 1am, I gave up. I started contemplating actual solutions that would lead to results.

This morning, I woke up with a possible solution. I didn’t love what I had to do next…

Let me just say, that, as an introvert who can lean toward the edge of recluse, I have some really amazing friends scattered around the world….and I might go years without talking to them.

That’s where I found myself this morning. I hate asking for help, when the person I’m asking is someone I haven’t spoken to in half a decade. It has nothing to do with not wanting to reach out–it just feels…selfish. “Hey, I know it’s been 5 years, and how are you, and also, please help me fix my foolish blunder.”

Friendship is a magical thing. Two hours later, with a minimal amount of help from me:
“How do you normally sign in?”
“I don’t know. I click the link and I’m there.”
He saved my life…or at least my website. We both can appreciate a healthy amount of social distancing–introverts of the world, unite. Just–stay on your own side.
“THANK YOU again for saving my blog. Let’s not wait 5 years for another technical emergency, to get back in contact.”
“Technical emergency IN A PANDEMIC! Hopefully, those two will never coincide again.”

Truth be told, one lead to the other. Pompous Pandemic Pluck…and that dirty voice that needs to stop giving me bad advice!

Tom wants to help you too! I mean, he didn’t say that, really. But, I’m a parent. And I know some parents. And this could come in handy, while we’re all keeping our distance, and slowly losing our minds. Just like that, my friend is now helping you! Promoting Pandemic…Philanthropy?

Panic at the Pandemic

I feel like I’ve been out in the world more in the last 3 days than in the last 3 decades. Don’t get me wrong, I am 100% on board with Social-Distancing. I just also have to feed my family.

Monday, I played “30 Items or Less” at the Commissary (they only allow you through self-checkout if you have 30 items or less). It’s my favorite game, in my least favorite place. I can never seem to choose the proper time to shop at the commissary–if you go too late in the day, it’ll be packed. If you go around lunch-time, you’ll get swarmed by soldiers rushing in on their lunch break to get their quick-shop on. And of course, if you’re a real glutton for punishment, you will go midday on payday. I hoped that by going early enough (even though Monday was dangerously close to payday), I could avoid the Toilet Paper Frenzy.

I have to admit something–some time in February, before the world started going to war over 2-ply, I purchased an 18 pack of mega-rolls. It was purchased in the middle of 2 weeks of nonstop rain. We’re not talking the rain that happens most places: “oh no, look at this rain. It’s been raining for days. But at least my flowers will grow.” We’re talking Chattahoochee River flooding, blinding rain, ditches that become small front yard rivers. After I brought in my food groceries, I looked like I had gone swimming in our ditch river, so I said to myself (I talk to myself…a lot…who doesn’t? No really, who are you, because I guess not everyone has internal monologue, and I want to know how you make it through the day without someone to talk to? Maybe my internal monologue is the reason I’m so ok with being alone), “I’ll just leave the toilet paper in the van until it stops raining.”

Waiting until it stopped raining turned into waiting until we actually needed it. Have you met me?? Sammi’s my name; Procrastination is my game. I’m a professional.

Days passed. Weeks passed. I knew it was back there, but…I’ll bring it in later. Until riots started breaking out over toilet paper! I jokingly said to Justin, “my car’s going to get broken into if I keep driving around with that package of toilet paper in my van!” He then gave me an ultimatum: bring the toilet paper inside, or start carrying a gun. Since I’ve never even shot a gun, I decided it would probably be safer for everyone if I just brought the toilet paper inside. Justin took one look at my 18 roll mega pack and said, “that’s it?! That’s all we have?!” Um, yes? A roll lasts probably a week (I’ve never actually paid attention to how long they last, but I feel like I only shout, “who-finished-the-toilet-paper-and-didn’t-replace-the-roll,” right around once a week.

Ok, back to Monday’s Commissary Shopping Extravaganza. Upon entering the store, I gasped at the overwhelming amount of produce! Yes! And even more amazing: they had toilet paper!!! I debated whether or not I should grab one, and decided to come back to it if I was under my 30 item limit by the end.

Of course, then I rounded the corner and realized there was no meat. It seems the only thing that scares people more than not being able to wipe their butt, is becoming vegan. Meanwhile, vegans everywhere are dancing around the fully-stocked produce section singing Captain Vegetable, and praising themselves for their life choices. I’m not judging–I have spent the last week kicking myself for not starting my vegetable garden in February like a good Alabama Hippie (does Alabama have hippies? Am I the only one? If we weren’t all trying to stay away from one another, I could probably start a support group for Bleeding Heart Liberal Hippies in Alabama…although I’d probably be the only person in the group).

Where am I? What’s happening? Oh yeah–lots of toilet paper; no meat. Moving on.

My 30 items ended up being VEGETABLES (so many vegetables), tomato sauce, milk, cheese, juice, and ice cream (the most essential item in any quarantine situation). Oh, what the heck, let’s get another package of toilet paper (it was a real “treat yo’self” moment).

Of course, then I spot the couple that had been walking around the store with twice the legal limit of paper products, in front of me at self-check out. The commissary has limited shoppers to 3 packages.

For those of you who are not military-affiliated, or have never had the joy of shopping at the commissary, they’re quite strict about shopping. I have to swipe my card at the kiosk, and show it to the cashier wandering around the self-checkout area. Somehow this couple managed to get past that, because wifey dug through her purse for 2 minutes and then whispered across to her husband, “honey, I can’t find my ID. Can I use yours??”

You’re already breaking the 3 package limit, by pretending to be unrelated, but now you’re going to break ID law?! And get away with it?! I have done commissary trips with both my Mom, and my Mother-in-Law, where, doing the mom thing, they have tried to pay for my groceries and gotten yelled at by the cashier. I believe my MIL was even told she couldn’t hand ME cash for me to then give the cashier (it’s cool–the drug deal just had to go down in the parking lot. Moms are resilient…and defiant).

If you hoard toilet paper, I will judge you. You have been warned.

Now we can skip ahead to Wednesday’s grocery trip. I hoped that Aldi would be spared from the madness, and for the most part, I was right! Except….the meat. I know, I know, we can survive without animal protein. But try telling Justin that. Are you willing to be there for him while he cries over a plate of beans and rice? I can’t handle that much drama in my life right now, ok?

The meat wasn’t entirely sold out–corned beef filled a shelf (thanks, I’ll take 2), and there were a whole 5 packages of chicken thighs. I’m not selfish or greedy, and even though I have a family to feed, I took one (the sign said I could take up to 6 of each type of meat. See what I did there? I thought about others–come on, give it a try). I then continued my shopping trip, stocking up on more than I would normally buy, but, in my defense, I’ve been playing the 30 Items or Less game since the start of 2020, trying to decrease the amount of food in my pantry. Foolish me, but who thought we would end up here??

I finish shopping, go through the checkout aisle (Ok, quick question, entirely off-topic? Are neck beards the new soul patch?? Because the cashier always has a clean-shaven face…but from his jaw line down, he’s got crazy beard things happening. I don’t know if maybe I’ve spent too much time social-distancing and am completely out of the loop? Or is he just a unique individual who refuses to conform to social norms), and spend the next 15 minutes trying to teach my children the proper way to pack a grocery bag (It’s like a beautiful puzzle of cans and potato chips–preferably not in the same bag). While we’re playing this portion of Life Lessons Brought to You by Pandemic, the gentleman behind me (an adorable old German–or Austrian man, somewhere around the age of 127), asks NeckBeard how he takes his coffee. “I am going to Dunkin’ Donuts after this, and I would like to buy you a cup of coffee.” And now my heart is melting from the overwhelming kindness I have now experienced on a Wednesday.

And then….I get to the parking lot. While I’m putting my groceries in the van, I watch an older southern lady make her way across the parking lot to the kind little old man and ask for his cart. She tries to hand him a quarter, and he refused it: “please, just take the cart. I do not need your quarter.”
She then says, “us old-timers, we’ll get through this. We know how to survive in hard times. Not like them, “and then she pointed at me!!!” I looked straight at her and laughed: “HAHAHA.”

As I stated earlier, if you panic-hoard toilet paper, I will judge you. If you judge me for the amount of food I purchase to feed my family, I will do my best not to slap you. There are 40 extra hours a week that my pre-teens will be “starving!” I have to plan accordingly. Yes, this looks like a ridiculous cheese hoard, but it’ll most likely be gone by Monday.

Deep breath, Sammi. Focus on the kindness.

Justin worked late–his schedule this week is right around 38 hours at work, and 10 hours at home. This is not Covid-19 related–this is just how his job is sometimes. We sat down to eat dinner, and I told him about the meat options.

“Did you buy all the corned beef??”
“No–they limited you to 6 packages.”
“So you got six packages of corned beef?!”
“No–I got 2.”
“Ugh!!! Why didn’t you get six!?”
“Gosh, I don’t know Justin. I figured we both don’t need to have hypertension.”

I was tempted to supplement our animal protein with eggs…but then I remembered that Cadbury Creme Eggs don’t count. And I feel like there would be a serious increase in Justin’s Pandemic Judgement if I told him I bought Aldi out of eggs.
“Sammi, what eggs? There’s only one carton of eggs in here.”
“No-no. I ran out of space in the fridge, so I put them in the freezer.”
“You can’t freeze….oh Sammi………no!”

Gosh, now I want to go back to Aldi and buy all of their Cadbury Creme Eggs–that’s not a Pandemic Panic Purchase…that’s just Thursday.

Come Together, Right Now, Over Covid-19

These are strange times, indeed. The uncertainty of it all is what makes it seem so…overwhelming? Scary? A third option?

Sunday night I realized that I had better message my PCM and let her know I was getting close to running out of my blood pressure double cocktail. I also asked that, in light of the extra safety measures put in place at the hospital, could they please (please) send my prescriptions to either the refill pharmacy, or any pharmacy that doesn’t require me to go to large military hospital. When I received my notification phone call, the nurse (who also took my stitches out of my forehead a year ago–thanks Mr E) thanked me for trying to be proactive, but they were not allowed to send prescriptions anywhere. I tried, and I was unsuccessful.

Today I decided that the longer I put it off, the worse it would be. After asking Justin if there was any way I could drop our maybe-not-so-tiny-anymore humans off to him (and learning that, no, he was still somewhere in the woods, in Georgia, playing dress up with face-paint and all), I did some searching, took a deep breath and accepted that my kids were old enough to be left alone (in Alabama, as soon as you can say “y’all,” you’re old enough; the army says 9-12 year olds can be home alone for up to 2 hours). I set out the rules–do not go outside, and no shenanigans. Xander was even able to repeat them back to me (which you might think is a weird thing to say about a 9 year old, but this is the same kid that usually, when asked to repeat back what we said to him, replies with, “I don’t know…words??”).

I would share a photo of the pre-hospital-entry portion of this adventure, but it’s probably not allowed…or it’s probably something I don’t want to risk getting in trouble for. I really just don’t like to get in trouble. Sammi Steeves, Rule Follower!

I followed the signs pointing the way, and reminding me that if I had a cough, fever, or had been out of the country or in contact with a sick human, I would not be allowed access to the hospital. I’m not really sure how to feel about that final statement. If hospitals are for sick people, and they aren’t allowing the sick people in, where are they going? I hope I just misread the signs, or skipped a section. I hope?

So far, nothing new or different has happened, other than I was able to find parking on the first level of the parking garage! I locate a table saying “Pharmacy Check-In,” and head over, ID card in hand. I’m all smiles and sunshine, because I know this is a weird time, and no one wants to be the guy out front. After asking the same questions listed on the multiple signs I passed on my 5oft walk from the parking garage to the table, he asks, “would you like to come back at 1100? Or 1600? To pick up your prescriptions car-side?” Goodbye smile; hello angry eyes.

“Are you serious? I called and messaged my provider, and asked if there was any way I could get my prescriptions without entering the hospital. And now, after driving 30 minutes to get here, you’re telling me I have to come back at either 11 or 4?!” He said I could still pick them up if I wanted to take my chances going into the hospital. No, buddy, I don’t want to go into the hospital. But I also don’t want to drive home, just so I can turn around an come back in an hour.

I make my way to the entrance. Where I am stopped by another soldier. “Ma’am, the main hospital entrance is closed.” I do a full turn, and say, “so, how am I supposed to get to the pharmacy?” Oh! I see–through the giant army tent tunnel set up. I wash my hands at the hand washing station, say hello to the CPT across from me, and then we make our way toward the tent–where I managed to get yelled at for not leaving 6 feet between me and the CPT. I’m being yelled at by a soldier standing 2 feet from me: “Ma’am! You need to maintain 6ft between you and the person in front of you!” I might have burst out laughing.

Once inside the Tent of Uncertainty, a medic asked me the same questions I had already been asked–twice. I asked him if he was having fun: “well, I’m standing outside in an army tent, taking temperatures.” As he was taking my temperature he said, “honestly, my usual job is way more stressful.” Well, now I want details.

But there’s no time for details, because I now have a fancy green wristband stamped 18March2020, and I get to finish my walk of awkwardness through the tent. Which was surprisingly spacious on the inside.

Every other seat in the waiting area has a SOCIAL DISTANCING DO NOT USE sign taped to it…but of course the seats are back-to-back, so I could just lean over and rest my head on the person behind me, if anyone chose to sit there. Normally the wait can be hours, but I had ticket 135, and they were on 127. This never happens!

Everyone is keeping their distance and keeping to themselves. And then I hear, “excuse me? Can you help me?” Behind me is standing a little Ajumma. “I don’t know what I am doing. My husband always does this for me, and I’ve never picked up my prescriptions before! Can you help me?” Only if you can give me your recipe for kimchi.

I walked her through it. “Do you have your ID? Scan this barcode, not other one. Is that your information on the screen? Touch the confirm button.” Of course the next step could be confusing for anyone, because you have to choose your category. It’s the Choose Your Own Adventure portion of all prescription pickups. Asking a question, Soldier in Uniform, Same-day surgery, 3 other weirdly-worded categories that I know probably pertain to no one, and finally, All other beneficiaries. I told her that was her category. Then, being that she’s Korean and adorable, she thanked me 572 times, and started to walk away. “Ma’am! Don’t forget to take your number!”

“Now serving B128,” and Ajumma hops up and says, “oh, that’s me! That’s my number!” I asked if I could check her paper, and told her she was one-thirty-eight, and they had called 128.

I don’t know why her husband was unable to come with her today, but I can guess it had something to do with his health. Did I have to break the 6 foot spacing rule in order to assist her? You bet I did. Did she get to go home and tell her husband she was able to fill her prescriptions without his assistance? Probably! Did I get her to write down all of her Korean recipes? No! I should’ve held her number hostage until she told me the secret to making perfect dumplings!

In the end, I made it home in less than 2 hours. My children had stayed inside, and hadn’t gotten caught up in any shenanigans. So we all got in the car and went grocery shopping…which was much less frenzy-filled than I expected it to be!

Sittin’ in Self-Quarantine, Wastin’ Time

I don’t have coronavirus. I also don’t know anyone personally who does. That doesn’t mean I’m running around with an “I’m not worried” attitude.

I’m currently on day 13,797 of practicing social-distancing. Give or take. I’ve had lapses in my practice, but for the most part, I’ve limited human interaction to mainly small gatherings for my nearly 38 years on Earth. Thank you, thank you, I know–extroverts everywhere are reading that and gasping in horror. I would like to thank my Mom, for passing down her introvert gene. I proudly come from a long line of introverts, mostly on my Mom’s side.

For a majority of my life, my Introvert personality was something I thought I could change; something I thought I wanted to change. These last 18 months, I’ve been feeling myself slipping closer to the edge of “recluse,” and I do often have to talk myself into going to events where I know there will be people.

The fact of the matter is, I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. Let’s all stop worrying about “me,” and start focusing on what we can do for our neighbor. You can choose to believe that this is a real virus, with scary consequences, or you can continue to chalk it up to liberal hype. Regardless of your beliefs on this matter, please, practice a little social-distancing. If the idea of staying away from humans terrifies you, just remember, introverts have most likely spent their entire lives dreading large gatherings. Welcome to our world. Sit back, read a book. And keep your grimy mitts to yourself.