There are A LOT of things to remember when we leave the house each day. On a recent morning full of to-do’s, I successfully remembered: the outgoing mail, bank deposits, recycling to take to Recycling Center, a library book to return, the grocery list, car keys, coffee, purse, my mask, and to-do list.
At three of my five stops, people asked how I was feeling. While their concern seemed to be genuine, I had to wonder what about me made them worried for my health.
It was not until I pulled into my garage and looked in my rearview mirror that I realized the cause of their concern. I discovered that in my determination to be prepared for a morning of errands I forgot to put on make-up and my hair may or may not have been a little crazier than usual. Ooops!
This discovery inspired me to ask, “Am I myself without mascara or am I really the person others have become accustomed to?”(Rarely I do leave my bedroom, much less the house, without wearing mascara.) It is pretty scary to think about my pale, light-eyed self as being normal. But is mascara what perpetuates my made-up truth?
The task of keeping families masked has become one more chore we must consider before heading out the door each day. It is a task that we are using to protect lives from the perils of the Corona virus pandemic. It is a responsibility that now presses on us in our homes and adds to our laundry list of ways life has change in the shadow of COVID 19.
My washdays are definitely not holidays as I wrestle with washing masks in a special bag and drying them on the special rack because the face coverings require special care.
While I know it is a method for warding away COVID 19, I can’t help but groan at the daily dilemma of washing, finding, and coaxing my children and husband to wear the required face-coverings.
The masks’ appearance defined our first day of school photos. Never before did I view my children as bandits heading off to steal the treasures of their unsuspecting teachers. (Now I can’t un-see it.)
Each night the masks have joined our bedtime ritual in on the “Do you know where your ________ is?” fun.
My Sunday evening anxiety seems to flare up midweek as I scramble to re-locate and wash the masks my kids will actually wear so as to make it through the week in their concealed coolness.