Husband and I got up at the break of dawn Sunday to hit the grocery store when it opened. The idea of pulling up to the parking lot and seeing a line to get in was giving my newly developing agoraphobia/social anxiety/general tweakiness a big ole goosing in its posterior, and so we figured early morning Sunday would be our best chance to outwit, outlast, out whatever the rest of that old Survivor motto was.

There was a line. Not a big one, but by dawn light, the huge VONS parking lot, which is so large to have at times hosted things like Farmer’s Market, Blood Drives, and 2-3 RVs camping on the sly during summer months, was perhaps 1/5 full, but not enough people to spark that panicky too-crowded-must-hurry sense.

I saw my littlest kid’s teacher there, who is THE BEST and I nearly surprise-cried to see a friendly face. Immediately, someone trying to give me a proctology exam with her cart yelled, “Excuse me, EXCUSE ME.”

To be fair, I had stopped in the entry foyer (?). But to also be fair, I was well past the narrow opening of the doors, and this person could’ve gone around. Anyway, swirled away by the tide of shoppers, the teacher tearfully called that she missed the kids, and was very sorry not to have had a chance to say a proper goodbye (our classes were canceled Friday after school ended). It felt very cinematic, which I must say, is scary as fuck, because life shouldn’t come with an impending sense of doom.

The grocery store was a little bit looted. Very little meat or eggs, and fuggitabout baking items that don’t involve Stevia or Italian Bread Crumbs. At check out, I asked when they re-stocked the eggs, and the cashier said, “EVERY DAY.”

“But… but we are here first thing, and they are already gone.”

“Meat and Dairy come on the truck between 11-2. Dry goods stocked at night. If you want eggs, be here then.”

So I guess I will put on my Adulteroos and brave the wilds of the mid-afternoon market one of these days.

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In bed a few nights ago, my husband broached the subject of whether we should continue paying tuition for our kids’ gymnastics as they are shut-down for the foreseeable future. We decided to continue paying, but not to pledge paying until the end of time or anything. Mostly this was selfish and calculated: my kids love those classes, and we really like the teachers, and if the business goes under, my kids will be sad. Plus, the next closest gym is like 30 minutes away, and probably doing the math, if we can help keep this gym open, we’ll save money on gas over the long haul, not having to travel all that distance once things are in order again. Don’t ask me to math it out, I don’t know if it’s technically true, but it feels true.

We were nervously talking it out: how long do we keep paying? What if the gym goes under anyway? What if we’re fools not to hoard every penny – I mean, even the barest glance at stocks makes me lightheaded. But we came up with a plan and I probably wouldn’t be telling you any of this because I’m aware it’s a bit tooting-of-self-horn (mastertooting? Tooterbating?) except before we could send out the note, the gym texted everyone that they were waiving tuition because they wanted to support local families and not take our money without providing service.

It didn’t make me fully ugly cry, but it did make me flash the ugly cry face for a moment, how grateful I was to have someone looking out for us, even though doing so might mean the end of their livelihood. Then we sent them all the money.

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Mental health wise, I’m not merely wearing the same sweatsuit ensemble I’ve had on the past three days, but am now incorporating my biteguard into my daywear look. I highly recommend it!