Week two of quarantine and the whole world feels like it’s been thrown into a giant mason jar, shaken up, and tipped upside down. It’s hard to get your bearing from one moment to the next, let alone get a four-pack of toilet paper.
Who would ever have thought toilet paper would become the most sought after commodity of the apocalypse? I would not have guessed that friends.
I haven’t purchased toilet paper since this all began. I know we’re odd around here, but we’ve been using the soft-white fluffy stuff for years. It’s something I keep on hand. I guess I just believe in feeding my family fiber, so toilet paper is one of those things I buy in bulk. It’s bad enough when the upstairs bathroom runs out and I’m stuck sitting on the throne screaming until someone happens to pass by the staircase and realize mom has either lost her mind or she needs something. I wouldn’t want to be out-OUT. Ain’t no amount of screaming gonna help me then.
Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. While I have some TP on hand, I’m not a “prepper” by any means. I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants-er”. So, I have ten cans of Rotel tomatoes, two bags of dried beans, four pints of ice-cream, plenty of frozen meat, and the only form of potatoes I have are chips. Last night I made quarantine casserole. It’s where I randomly pull things out of the fridge and off the shelves of the pantry, mix it all up, and melt copious amounts of cheese on top. Cheese makes everything better. I cook like this normally. In some small way, my frantic six o-clock dinner scramble has uniquely prepared my family for quarantine shortages. Instead of complaining about all those mystery meals, they should be thanking me.
Of course, our biggest hurdles haven’t been cooking dinner or fighting over the last four squares of toilet paper. School has been canceled for the rest of the semester. I have one senior in high school praying she’s going to get the diploma she’s worked for and a college sophomore who went from dorm-life to mom-life in a split second. I can assure you, dorm life is much more fun.
He’s already started his classes online and has enough homework to keep him busy. Thank you college professors! But, online schooling hasn’t come without challenges. He needs to practice stage-kissing, an assignment he’s been looking forward to all semester. Unfortunately, he just left behind the three thousand girls willing to help him with his homework. Besides, in these times of social distancing, pretend kissing, even at six feet of separation, is out.
Then I remembered the creepy foam head that stares at me from the back of our closet. I high-five myself and feel like mom-of-the-year. I secretly wonder if having a stash of foam heads will officially qualify me as an apocalyptic prepper. As I cradle the foam head in my arms, those creepy eyes staring up with a hollow look, I suddenly question the classes my son is taking and why I’m paying a lot of money for him to practice stage-kissing doll heads.
But, in these long days of quarantine, all that really matters is that I have my children at home, food enough in the freezer (translation: ice-cream), and a creepy foam head. After all, nothing else is really that important anyway.