Day 26: Our Dog Nearly Broke My Nose
Day 26: April 21, 2020
Global cases: 2,555,760; Deaths: 177,459
Egypt cases: 3,490; Deaths: 264
Pascale Ghazaleh
Associate Professor of History
Chair of History Department
What day is it? Who knows? Who cares?
I am in an exceptional situation: I thought I was an extrovert and merrily spent my days, pre-COVID19, running from one appointment to another, working out at the club or the gym every morning, seeing as many friends as I could, organizing activities for my kids, and commuting to campus and back four times a week. The word I used most, in a tone of impatience and frustration, was “yalla!” I would fall into bed exhausted and get up at 5:30 the next morning, ready to do it all again.
Now, suddenly, I’ve been at home for a month straight; haven’t set foot outside the house and haven’t felt this calm and happy in years. I sympathize with friends who have cabin fever or are crying because they can’t go to parties or concerts, but I don’t understand them at all. Magically, my social anxiety and my FOMO (fear of missing out) have both been dealt with by circumstances beyond my control. I’m even able to keep terror of the pandemic and the chaos it will bring at bay – as long as we just stay home.
I am aware of the catastrophe unfolding, of the thousands who can’t afford to stay home – but, in my bubble, I can manage to focus on homeschooling and online classes, laundry folding and piano practice.
Still, there are moments of insanity where all I want to do is run away.
8am, I wake up and attempt to ingest as much caffeine as possible in the shortest possible time. The kids have been up for a while and, as soon as they see me, they remember there are many things they want. They ask me for these repeatedly while I do my best to ignore them and feed them breakfast. This entails, among other things, fending off requests for ice cream and cake, and offering healthy alternatives until one of the parties gives up.
9am We start our homeschooling day. This consists of me trying to print the handouts sent from school on our faulty printer, trying to convince my children to complete them, and then scanning and uploading them to the virtual classroom. The first day, all goes brilliantly. We have an hour of work, a ten-minute break, another hour of work, a longer break, and so on.
They both finish a week’s work in two days. At last! I think. Homeschooling is SO EASY. All these sweet babies needed was some one on one attention and gentle explanations.
For The Caravan‘s previous diary entries in Arabic and English go to our COVID-19 Special Coverage page.
It all goes downhill from there. Work starts pouring in from school. Both kids suddenly have online class meetings at the same time as my AUC admin meetings. Neither of them wants to attend and I have to herd them back to their respective seats while frantically muting my mic. We have a grand total of two devices, both broken in different ways, and I try to organize shifts. One particularly difficult convergence of circumstances occurs when I’m trying to work out on zoom with a trainer (thankfully, also a friend) and must attempt to pay the electricity bill and put away groceries while hoisting my dumbbells and not killing anyone with them.
I finish and fling myself into a plank, whereupon the dog enthusiastically leaps off the couch to join me, almost breaking my nose with his head. I collapse on the floor and cry. Never mind – we can always try again tomorrow.
1pm, By this point I’m usually ready to cave and let the kids mainline cartoons or whatever other horrors they want to watch, just as long as they stop “accidentally” injuring each other and shrieking that math is causing them psychological trauma.
I try to encourage them to exercise, get some sunshine, ride their scooters around the garden … ok, they’re not listening anymore. I prepare class notes to upload to Blackboard.
2-4pm, I set up a zoom meeting and wait to see if my students want to speak to me about anything. I find myself feeling more worried about them and more responsible for their wellbeing than when I saw them in person once a week. Now I am wondering if they are safe, if they are being careful, if they have somewhere to study and a stable internet connection, if anyone in their home is sick and needs them.
A couple of students log on and we chat about different things. One tells me he hasn’t seen or spoken to anyone in two weeks. My heart breaks for him. He’s graduating; what kind of future is waiting for him? Another student tells me about what she’s been baking and introduces me to her mother. I love these moments, which face-to-face teaching would not offer.
4-4:45pm, I’ve actually done more writing in the past few days than I have in months. So serene! So focused!
4:45-6:00pm, Somehow I discover that I’m scrolling mindlessly on Instagram, after a quick detour through Facebook.
9pm, I’m very lucky to have a partner who cooks and does (more than) his share of the housework. In return, I take care of the schoolwork (kind of) and the bedtime routine. This consists of me repeating “get in the shower” at increasing volumes until the kids give up and acquiesce.
We do the same for “get in bed.” Then it’s my favorite time of day – we snuggle and they whisper sweet things to me. Some of the fear must be filtering through, though, because for the past couple of nights my son has been telling me he wants me to stay safe because if something happens to me who will take care of him? “You’re my only salvation!” he exclaims. In the dark, tears run down my face but I’m not sure if I’m laughing or crying.
As peaceful and healing as these days are, outside it’s chaos, and it’s hard to escape the sense of impending doom. What will happen to my kids? What kind of world will they inherit?
And if I’m not their salvation, will they be able to save themselves?
