Lockdown Week 4 (Easter Sun & Mon)

EASTER SUNDAY

I’ve managed to build up a reasonable stash of chocolate over the last few weeks, so we go ahead with our usual Easter egg hunt.

We’ve kept this tradition going, even though questions surrounding the provenance of the Easter Bunny have long since stopped. Officially the eight-year-old still believes, but I think he’s under strict instructions from his sisters. Maybe they’re worried the quantity of eggs will dwindle if the truth is spoken out loud?

In any case, rushing about the house looking for eggs might just end up being the only exercise they get all day.

We’re both worried about our elderly parents being alone today. This never normally happens as they always spend Christmas and Easter with one of us. They’re putting a brave face on it though.  

Despite everything, there’s an atmosphere of cheerful celebration in the house. We can all do with a bit of that right now.

MONDAY

The husband decides to go for a run in the morning, which is an entirely normal thing for him to do, though something of a mystery to me. But at the moment, it’s still legal.

There’s a false start, as the 15-year-old decided to impress everyone by joining him. She’s quite sporty, but cross-country running isn’t normally her thing. He’s doubtful, but lets her tag along. 

Ten minutes later they return with the 15-year-old limping. She’s slipped on a rock and twisted her ankle. Oh god, please let it be a minor thing – there’s no way I’m taking her to A&E at the moment unless her foot literally doubles in size. Or drops off completely.

I find a bag of frozen peas and tell her to sit quietly for a bit. The husband heads off again.

Two hours later he hasn’t come back, and I start to worry. I avoid being in the same room as any of the children, in case they ask where he is.

Finally, after two and a quarter hours, he staggers through the front door. After drinking a gallon of water and lying quietly on the cold tiles in the kitchen for five minutes, he admits that he might have got a bit lost.

What? How do you get lost somewhere you’ve lived for 15 years? 

He mutters something about a wrong turn and a field of grumpy sheep, and we leave it there. Best he explains in his own time. Numpty.