It's Thursday 20th March. The world is in the grip of Coronavirus and last night we found out schools are going to close tomorrow at 3.20. Indefinitely. I can't remember how long the Government say it'll be for because there's so much speculation all over social media that fact and rumour have begun to merge. All we know is we're preparing for school to be closed until September this year.
More of that later.
For now we're in the midst of our own mini drama. At 4am today Andy was pretty ill but I didn't worry as Henry, Bella and I had a bug on Sunday and Monday so we assumed it was that. (Bella's inaugural vomiting experience and she didn't hold back. A 4-year-old throwing up in her sleep is something quite special. That's the last time I let her go to bed without her hair firmly tied back.)
So when I took the kids to school at 8.40 I left Andy sleeping and didn't disturb him later when I came home with Xander, grabbed a bottle and the change bag and jumped in the car to meet my friend Lou for a walk. We both suspected it was the last time we'd be hanging out for a while, our long awaited date at Champneys for her 40th birthday next week all but a pipe dream.
But when I got back home at midday I found Andy in bed sweating, shivering and claiming it was the worst he'd felt in 30 years. Alarm bells.
We'd largely ignored his occasional cough and sore throat the previous few days, assuming it was the start of a cold. The kids all have coughs and colds. They're kids. But now it was different.
So I did what any normal person would and had a small cry. I messaged my sisters, Ray and Jelly, and a couple of sensible friends and everyone agreed we should probably self-isolate.
And so it begins.
After I'd calmed down and accepted he was probably not going to die, my overriding emotion was sadness. Sadness for Henry who would miss the last day of school before the closure. Which would probably be his last day of Year 2. Henry has THE BEST teacher. Mrs Benson is everything you want in a primary school teacher. Firm, fair, kind. Henry - my August baby who has always been playing catch up - has come on further than I ever hoped in Mrs Benson's class. Only a few weeks ago, when against the odds Henners went up to the highest recommended reading level for his year group, I was feeling immensely grateful that he still had 6 months under Mrs Benson's watch.
Anyway. It is what it is. (A phrase I will use a LOT in this blog.)
My friend Charly, mum of Henry's best friend Leighton, offered to pick the kids up from school for me and drop them back. God love her, she went above and beyond and took them all - our two and her two - on a very, very long walk home via the woods and the chippy. They came back exhausted and muddy and the photos she sent me afterwards made me want to cry.
When was the next time they'd muck about in the woods with their friends? Not a care in the world. No idea of what lay ahead.
So that's it. We're in self-isolation for two weeks. Tonight Boris - who shall hereafter be known as The Columnist, because that is essentially all he is - announced all bars, pubs, cafes, restaurants would close on Friday night.
Shit, as they say, just got real.
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