The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are.

— Unknown

Oh, Unknown. You slay me.

Just a few weeks ago, my fiance proposed and we began planning our wedding. Early each morning, I heard both my teenagers scuttle outside, sleepy eyed and full of coffee, to the bus before the sun came up. My future step-daughter thrived in her first taste of independent life at college. I drove to work, listening to different podcasts each day, lunching with colleagues and returning home each evening. Normal suited us just fine.

And then came Friday, March 13th…

School administrators cancelled classes in our region for two weeks. My management decided a work from home protocol suited everyone’s best interests and safety. Ditto for my ex-husband, who lives in Boston during the week and with us on most weekends. My future step-daughter’s classes moved online and her university instructed students to vacate the dorms and return to the safety of their homes through the end of the semester. All in an effort to reduce our chances of contracting COVID-19…the corona virus.

We hope to stay well, and to that end my skin already cracked under the stress of 9076 hand washings and hand sanitizer applications each day. The adjustments to our daily life range, so far, from opting in for home manicures and elbow bumps, and opting out of social engagements, extraneous excursions, and most human contact of any kind. It’s like Little House on the Prairie up in this piece, with Wi-Fi.

For the next two weeks, at minimum, I’ll chronicle the hijinks, challenges, logistics and shenanigans of six people, including three full-time working adults, one dog recovering from surgery knocking into everyone and everything with his cone of shame, and an old-ass cat who waivers between snuggle bunny and psycho biter, who all take refuge under one roof.

Peace, Love and Lysol, y’all.