|Sun therapy in the garden helped me feel better|
I've researched ways to boost their immunity, scoured shops for loo roll, sourced food and built structure into the children's days. Every meal time has been a smorgasbord of vegetables, fruit, seeds and pulses (and God forbid anyone leave food on their plate). I have become not a housewife, but a paranoid dictator with benign intentions.
Covid-19 strikes home
It's like I've spent years rehearsing for this moment without realising it - or indeed wanting it. What I didn't expect was that I would be the first to succumb to the dreaded virus itself (as far as I can tell without having a test). Last week saw me take to my bed in exhaustion. Perhaps all that fruit and veg stood me in good stead because I only got a mild version of the virus - a slight cough, a sore chest and few breathing difficulties, but no fever or agonising pain.
Self-isolation didn't really work out - my son kept popping into the bedroom to say hello. So in the end, I hauled myself out of bed to organise our meals, knowing my husband was too busy battling the stock markets and the kids were too engrossed in their school-work to think about preparing good, nutritious food. If they were at risk of catching the virus, I wanted them to be well nourished at least.
It did occur to me one evening, while I was summoning the energy to leave my bed, that had my illness taken a darker turn, no one would have noticed until supper time. With a wry smile, I imagined the family congregating in the kitchen below, nervously opening the cold oven, searching for any sign of food. 'What's happened to supper?' one of them might have asked. Then, a pause... 'Where's Mummy?'
But all's well that ends well. I slowly got better and I'm cautiously throwing myself back into my domestic duties. The house has been cleaned - it was a team effort - and I've caught up with the washing. No one seems to be showing any further symptoms of the virus yet, thank goodness.
As much as I have chafed against the role of house frau, I acknowledge it has given me the freedom to write as well as a certain level of 'expertise' in the home. Tonight, however, I'm wringing the changes. I am teaching my son to cook supper. As with all knowledge, there comes a time when you've got to pass it on. Actually, I need to finish up because my son's just asked me to lay the table and I don't want to be told twice.
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