Covid Supply List
Having now tested positive for Covid, while I am stuck isolating in my bedroom (and trying not to think about how the kids are trashing the house), I thought I would give you a tongue-in-cheek survival supply guide as I sit here with my ludicrously mild Covid symptoms.
With that said, drumroll please, your Covid Supply List:
First, pets who keep you company. Now, there is a downside to this. Like when you’re running fever, unable to get comfortable, and drenched in sweat, and the cat insists on sitting on you. Or when you’re dizzy and delusional and think that the cat has sat on the banana you were hoping to eat for breakfast. Or when the cat sits on the thermometer or your book stack or the toilet paper roll you keep in bed with you because you’re not classy enough for a box of tissues. But on the whole, sitting cats aside, it’s nice to have some furry company when the rest of the house has been banned from your proximity.
Second, a Covid force field. Honestly, I keep thinking of the following Community episode:
Back up or I’ll breathe on you, kids!
I admit that I snuck out of the bedroom this morning while they were all still in bed so I could start a load of laundry and get some coffee. But other than that, I keep telling them to stand in the doorway or take a few steps back so I don’t accidentally infect them, thereby prolonging our quarantine.
Third, endless reading options. This is self explanatory. I finished two books yesterday, and they were both great. Today’s books I’m on the fence about… Hence, the blogging.
Fourth, my husband’s new Neverthirst hoodie (because obviously) and my T-shirt that reads None of This Nonsense, Please (this also seems obvious). Unfortunately, when my fever broke last night, I drenched through the majority of my clothing so the T-shirt is now in the wash. I’m still wearing the hoodie. I’m justifying this by telling myself it was protected by the T-shirt, which means I’m totally clean…except for the fact that I haven’t changed the sheets!
Fifth, a sense of humor. Because if you can’t laugh at it, what is even the point?
Tell people you tested positive for Covid because all the cool kids were doing it and you felt left out. Make a few jokes at your own expense—you really do look like death warmed over. Threaten to cough on your husband before his Covid test just so that he’ll test positive and you can spend the rest of the week in bed watching crime shows together (in between him answering phone calls and sending emails about legitimate crime on base).
Sixth, kids who help out while you and your husband are hacking up small countries worth of phlegm and trying to not walk into things (because the room is spinning—woooo!).
Sure, they leave the bag of frozen peas out on the counter all night. Absolutely, they can’t be bothered to hang up towels or put away their books. Without a doubt, they will insist on having nerf gun wars and repeatedly playing with the singing birthday cards their godmother sent them while you sit in bed, suffering in silence. But they’ll also bring you frozen waffles with strawberries and endless cups of cranberry juice and stand in your doorway and repeatedly ask if you’re feeling better yet.
Seventh, the ability to procure an apology for and to assume the best of your spouse. Because when you both sound like frogs, everything sounds passive-aggressive and toes get stepped on.
Eighth, the chocolate stash you received for your birthday/Christmas. Save it until you need it, and you will need it when Covid hits. Because if chocolate won’t fix you, nothing will. Ignore those people who tell you to take actual medicine. They don’t know the power of the chocolate. And bonus: chocolate will not make you dizzier than you already are, which can’t be said of all medications.
Ninth, the ability to ask for and receive help. I’m still working on this one—I used up my ability to ask for help when I got put on bed rest with the twins while the Man was deployed. But here’s the deal, Sparky: you took meals to everyone else. Let them bring meals to you. Or a box of tissues. Or new reading material. They will feel good about themselves, and you will make it to the other side of Omicron with a little less sanity stolen away. Plus, if you, like me, have an awesome community that wants to support you: take advantage of it.
And there you have it.
I’m sharing this list with you because forewarned is forearmed, and at the rate we’re going, all of us are going to have Omicron before February. And then hopefully, it’ll be out of our systems and we can move on with life.
It could happen.
I believe.
Maybe I should’ve added “Unfounded Optimism” to my Covid Supply List…
