A Birthday At Home: The Sunset Is Still Beautiful

I was counting the days, then I lost count.

Staying home isn’t new to me, but when we moved here, I imagined having a birthday cake at my favorite bakery, going to the bookstore and then taking the kid to the zoo.

Perfect day, complete with people-watching.

But this year, everyone’s at home or should be. 

What day is it?

One day last week, it was my birthday.

The night before Isla was in her blanket fort, drawing. ‘Nothing to see here,’ she says. ‘Not for your birthday, or anything.’

She went to bed. Of course, you would think. I stayed up til midnight, lining up all the books I would read. At home. Tomorrow, which was today. Last week.

On the day, there was whispering. Isla came in and sang Happy Birthday. And then we had cake for breakfast. I don’t like marzipan icing, but now’s not the time to complain. And it’s cake, so I ate it.

I wrote this on Twitter:

It’s my birthday today. Everyone please be excellent to each other. I wish you love and good angles on video calls.

— Lorna DH (@ginlemonadeblog) March 31, 2020

We watched a Disney movie, and I counted the grownup jokes. Just like every day.

Isla did some schoolwork. I thought about reading a book, but I liked the room I was in. And the people that were here.

My Dad called and sang Happy Birthday.

‘But it isn’t your birthday til tonight,’ he says.

‘I can wait.’

‘Your 40th year.’

‘I’m thirty-nine, dude.’

‘Which is your 40th year.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Love you, too.’

We watched another movie. Home Alone, somehow.

I called my Mom, and really wished for good angles on video calls.

Her screen kept flipping.

‘No, lower it. OK, you’re back. Now you’re upside down. Never mind, we’re dancing.’

‘What are you eating?’

Which is a common question in these weeks.

‘Popcorn.’

Which is always my answer.

‘I can see that,’ Mom says. ‘Thanks for sharing.’

‘You’re welcome.’

I signed off with Mom. 

And then I could say the three of us did quaint things like played I Spy, around the house. Or had a scavenger hunt, around the house. And baked. (OK, them, not me.)

And yes, sometimes we do those things, but not that day. That day, we watched a third movie. And we named the remote control Robert.

I read somewhere that people with birthdays in isolation are asking for an hour alone, away from the people in their homes with them. I didn’t do alone time on my birthday. 

But I did listen to country music. Which is not so secretly my favorite kind of music. So that’s kind of like being alone. 

The next day, at least I think it was, I decided to write down a sentence or two about daily life, every day.

And so… 

The upstairs neighbor was on his treadmill this morning. As a wheelchair-user, I thought he was showing off a bit. And so, my husband, because he’s good to me, set off the smoke alarm while making lunch. Check and mate. Or something. No?

And then…

The husband just asked me for a shopping list of things we’ve run out of. The list reads: Food. Beer. F*cks.

Just yesterday…

Dude: I need a haircut.

Me: Let me do it.

Dude: *raising his already expressive eyebrows* Is that a CP joke?

Me: I don’t know. These are weird times.

And today…

We are frayed. No, I didn’t cut any hair. I mean nerves. My laptop sounds like a plane taking off. I hope it stays with me through this. I appreciate a place to put my words.

So, today, in this minute, I am nervy. I jump every time Neil’s work phone rings. In the house. 

But I’m thankful that he’s here, and we can get on each other’s nerves. In the house.

For instance, I just opened his office door and gave him all three phones. In the house.

So, yes. I’m writing down what happens every day.

We opened the window and clapped. ‘Mummy, there’s people out there. And the sunset is beautiful.‘

That day kind of broke my heart and put it back together. 

The sunset is still beautiful. Let’s remember that.

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