Andrew and I have received negative Covid test results, and we are waiting on Maggie and Griffin’s. We will assume if we do not receive a phone call today (which they are doing for all positive cases) that we will get a letter in the mail telling us they are negative. Because they are minors, we did not set up a Health Partners online account, and we thought we had set it up when we got our appointments to test that all of our test results to come to my online account, but that didn’t happen since we know Andrew’s test result went to his online account.

So here’s what we know: our sore throats started a day or two after we found out Oliver had been exposed at school, and before he was tested. We’re sure we can rule out Covid for the sore throats. We also know that Oliver remains asymptomatic. We also know we will continue to quarantine, and check in with our own doctors to get guidance on when that will end, and whether we should get tested again.

We are relieved. We feel lucky, for now. One thing that I’m noticing that is bothering me, perhaps more so now that we have been going through the tumult of having one person in our house Covid positive: there is an awful lot of “Karma’s a bitch” kind of stuff going on when folks who are high profile (and usually anti-mask) test positive. What I know is that we did everything we were supposed to do. We masked. We washed hands. We did not see people willy-nilly without masks on. We did not go to large events. We did not eat in restaurants. We have been ultra-conservative with my parents and not wanting to expose them. We made the decision to let Andrew teach in-person hybrid at school because of all of the precautions they have in place. We made the decision to send Oliver to preschool because of all of the precautions in place. And we still ended up with a Covid positive kid. It bothers me that there are anti-mask folks out there, and I am mad at them and the lack of a unified federal response, and I do think there should be consequences for actions. But what is the solution here? How are we supposed to live like this? No one deserves Covid-19, full stop.

Anyway, I probably have more thoughts on this that I can’t articulate right now. But I wanted to share our relief with those who have been supporting us and caring for us and keeping us in their hearts. We really appreciate the support ❤️ And we especially appreciate all of you in healthcare right now, putting yourselves at risk day after day. We are doing our part by staying home, masking, and not having contact with others. We hope you’ll join us (figuratively, not literally 😜 ). ❤️

It’s Saturday, and we’re still awaiting test results for the four of us in the family who got tested on Wednesday. We remain either asymptomatic (Oliver and Griffin), or mild symptoms (Andrew, Sarah, and Maggie) with very mild sore throats and mild headaches that come and go. It’s hard to know if they’re actually symptoms, or if it’s stress, or something else entirely.

I went for a walk alone last night, the first since we found out about Oliver’s exposure on Election Day, and his positive diagnosis a week later on the 10th. From the beginning of this pandemic, I’ve been angry about the way this country has been handling it, sad for the families who have been going through this with loved ones, horrified for those who have experienced deaths of loved ones. And on my walk last night, I felt the weight of it on a more personal level, allowing myself to feel the heartbreak of all of this, while watching an achingly beautiful sunset.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. I am. Logically, I know that the odds are with us, but as we’ve seen over and over again, this is an unpredictable virus. I’ve been trying not to let fear get the best of me over the past 8 months. (EIGHT MONTHS.) There really isn’t a usefulness to fear if it drags on for so many months. Fear is supposed to get you out of danger quickly, but this has been going on for far too long for that to be useful. But now that it’s past my doorstep and into my house, it’s hard not to think about what our lives could be in a few short weeks.

Hopefully, we’ll know more soon, but even with a negative or positive diagnosis, it really is just a waiting game. We are trying to eat healthily, sleep when we’re tired, drink lots of fluids, play with each other, and not get on each other’s nerves too much. You know: normal pandemic life. We are grateful for support, love, and offers of help from those around us. Right now, we’re doing ok, and we’ll post more as we know more.

Still overwhelmingly grateful for this life, and the beauty I witness daily.

Stay safe, friends. Stay home. Mask up.

I had a big fat cry today. The cracks are starting to show in our kids, who miss their school life, friends, and routines, and despite them being used to me saying, “I don’t know” about all kinds of things, they kind of know this time that I *really* don’t know. Don’t know when we get to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s. Don’t know when the museums will open again. Don’t know when school will resume. I just don’t know.

We’ve never really been in control of this life, but there’s a special kind of something going on right now with this uncertainty. Crying is good. Loving each other and not doing school is good. Soaking up the sun is good. Leaving secret notes for our friends in the hollows of trees is good. There is a lot of good. AND. This sucks, and it’s scary, and we don’t know what’s coming next. And that’s worth crying about.

“We do not need to create a foot race to the silver lining. We don’t need to be in a hurry to turn these quarantine lemons (or cancer lemons, or any kind of lemon!) into a side hustle or a novel or a newfound fluency in three new languages.”