Living with Linnea in a Lockdown

Before I throw Linnea under the bus in this post, please be assured that our whole family knows how lucky we are to have her in our lives. She is kind, funny, generous, and loving. As a preschooler, she was the first of the children in the family to start giving gifts to everyone for Christmas -- surprisingly thoughtful and lovely handmade creations, usually out of notebook paper, tape and one or two colors of crayon. As a teenager and first year college student, she has been the one in her friend group to notice when others are sad or in need. She took stationary and sheets of stamps to college with her to write letters back home to all the people who have supported her over the years. Not so much to share her activities and brag, but because, "who doesn't want to get a real letter in the mail?"

She is also anxious, obsessive, tenacious, and a little bit crazy. We try to combine the funny with the anxious, since it is usually better to laugh than cry, right?

My parents live about 1,100 mile from us, in remote northern Pennsylvania. And by remote, I mean on top of a mountain, accessed by roads that routinely become impassable in the winter. It is about an hour to the nearest airport, which is itself so small that it only has six gates, and the person who prints your boarding pass on one side of TSA is also the person who scans it to board the plane on the other. It is, especially with the frequent stops neccessary when traveling with small children, a strong 18 hour drive for us to get there. And we always drive. During the elementary and middle school years, we broke up the trip over two days, but when the littles could be counted on (usually) to sleep in the car, we drove straight through. I tell you this to set the stage for understanding what it is to live with Linnea in these interesting times.

When Linnea was about four, we headed out of town for one of our trips to visit the grandparents, leaving at around 4:00 in the afternoon to drive through the night and arrive in time for lunch. The children were settled in with their bags of toys, books, and snacks; the family travel rules had been clearly laid out (it should surprise no one that I had very strict rules for traveling in a car when they were young, and that we never traveled with any videos. I'm so mean); the first music CD was in the player. We made one brief stop to drop off books at the library, less than two miles from our house. And then, as we pulled out of the library parking lot, we hear this from the very back of the minivan:

"Are we almost there yet?"

Less than two miles of 1,100. About five minutes out of 18 hours. If there was ever a time that a mother thought about turning the car around, this was the moment. And so it began. Our sweet Linnea asked if we were there yet over and over. And over. And over. When she was particularly gloomy, she would begin to chant, "I'm soooo hungry, I can't do it. I'm soooo hungry, I can't do it. I'm soooo hungry, I can't do it." See? You're already annoyed!

This, then, is lockdown with Linnea . . .

"How much longer do we have to do this?"
"When can I see Cain?" (Cain is the delightful boyfriend of three years.)
"Governor Walz is stupid."
"Governor Walz is not stupid, he is doing an excellent job."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But when will this be over?"
"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!"
"You know, we are trying to stay healthy for Sabine."
"I KNOW!! But, when can I see Cain?"
"Do you think the stay at home order will get extended?"
"I don't know, it might."
"NOOOOO!!! I can't do this anymore!!"
"What are people doing right now Anyone want to watch a show?"
"Anyone? Dad? Sabine? Want to hang out with me?"
"WHY IS EVERYONE ALWAYS BUSY??"
"They are working, why aren't you?"
"I don't WANT TO!!"
"When is this going to be over?"
"I should bake something. Should I bake something? What should I bake?"
"I don't know what to bake, what do people want?"
"I'll definitely bake something, but probably later."
"Is there any dessert?"
"NOOOO!! I forgot to bake something!!"
"So, this is going to be over soon, right?"

Seriously. I am going to turn this car around.