Dead Goats, Skunks, and Covid the New Mental Load of Motherhood
We are all heavily vaccinated in our family. Still, we have close family and friends who remain at high risk from Covid despite vaccination. So, the return to school after the holidays has brought us worries familiar to many parents. How well are masking rules being enforced? Can we keep Omicron cases low enough to keep school open? What steps can I take to protect vulnerable family from the viral brew that cooks and steeps at school? Where can I find a comfortable effective mask for my kids? Covid has easily quadrupled the mental load of motherhood.
Yet, life goes on, and other challenges continue to present themselves. I don’t know what you’ve been dealing with in this first week back to school, but ours started with a dead goat. Not our goat. The neighbor’s goat. They’re newly retired. When the roads over the mountains were cleared of snow, they jumped in the RV and hightailed it out of town. We were assured, before they left, that it would be okay to feed our large batch of burned Christmas Chex mix to the llama and the goat. aka Corky and MickyD.
On Monday, the last day before our start of school, Lisa and her kids came over for one last playdate and mom chat. I happily handed the giant bowl of burned cereal to my 11-year-old daughter and her younger friend. Off they went to feed the llama and the goat. We had moved from the city so our kids could have these experiences.
They returned a few minutes later, standing grim faced and unusually still.
“The goat’s dead.” One girl said.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure MickyD’s dead. He’s not breathing or moving, and we poked him, and I think he’s dead.” Said the other.
Yes, the goat was indeed dead. It looked like he’d just laid down and died. He was very, very old and much pampered. He had a good goat life. He wasn’t smelly yet, except in that stinky goat kinda way. Still, he was dead. It was getting dark. The goat owners were out of town for at least a month, and everyone was going back to work and school tomorrow. We are the neighbors who have a tractor.
MickyD was left where he lay. The llama got all of the burned Chex mix. Corky, a fine guard llama, would undoubtedly keep the coyotes away through the night. He would fully earn his treat. Fortunately, my animal loving daughter hadn’t developed a strong attachment to MickyD, and was mostly worried about how sad our neighbors might be. My friend’s girl also didn’t know the goat, and was thankfully not traumatized. After various texts back and forth, our neighbors said they’d be most grateful if we’d bury MickyD in the back pasture.
Tuesday. I get the kids up and off to school with Covid warnings, and then come home to help bury the dead goat. Because life is like that. Weird sometimes. Okay, a lot of times. Kevin came home from work, and hooked up the backhoe to the tractor. I kept Corky at bay while we dug a grave, and buried the body. We put him next to the rosemary bush that’s along our property line. Hopefully, we put him deep enough. It’s not the first body we’ve buried in the back yard, but it is our first goat. So, you know, still learning.
After texting grave excavation pictures to my friend, Lisa, she began to inquire about services. Seems this kind, compassionate woman has got her eye on someone who has made her a little bit mad. I declined the job. But, I must admit there could be money in this body burying business.
Covid, of course, always has to be the center of attention. Thus, dead goat day ended with another Covid conundrum. The morning had been rainy, so 300 kids crowded into the multipurpose room before school started. Per my kids, only about half were masked. Sigh. My kids are vaccinated, but that kind of mistake can shut a school down. My kids are so glad to be back in school. I’m so glad they are back in school.
My husband is better at writing the “concerned but friendly” email, so I left the school communication to him. But from now on, I’ll drop the kids off right on time when it rains. Then they can go straight to class. No need for the kids to join that viral mixing bowl.
Wednesday. Finally, a day to do my own work. I got some writing done. I worked on my book edit. That felt really good. The kids came home from school with news. Their teacher would be posting all their work on-line this month as a back up. She was anticipating many absences. Yeah. Very glad she’s on the ball and thinking ahead!
Thursday. January 6th. Took Grandma to the eye doctor then got her lunch. That generally takes up a whole day. There’s a lot of waiting around, and I wound up on YouTube. Wow, I really went down the rabbit hole of dark documentaries. My family is divided. Half liberals and half Trump supporters. So much division. So little understanding or appreciation across perspectives. I keep trying to remember: compassion. Practice compassion in everyday life. Everyday. But January 6th was a tough day for that.
On this gray day full of angst, I sent a whiny text to my mom friends. They sent me funny memes, bits of good news, and cute videos. “Stay out of the sh!t tunnel.” They said. Take the microscopic view. So, I sat on a swing and watched my son drive his remote control car through mud puddles, over ledges, and along the rutted drive. Yeah, sometimes the close up view is the best.
Friday. Skunk day for Lisa. Major LOL for me! It was raining, so I dropped the kids off right at the bell. Heh, heh. Timed that perfectly. Points for mommyo! After, I went to Walmart for kid’s shoes. Almost no one had a mask on. Maybe two out of ten shoppers. A quarter mile down the road is a Target where nine out of ten costumers wear masks. The world is wacko.
I come home with kid’s shoes in various sizes, and winter clothes for my rapidly growing beasties. I’ll probably have to return some things, but at least I was shopping when there were less people in the store. And that’s when Lisa calls. You know, the goat friend, who wanted to hire me for body burying services.
Her morning started with Covid testing her daughter who had been exposed at school but was asymptomatic. Negative. Good to go! Then, while helping her daughter practice for a spelling test, the dog ran wildly out the doggie door. Lisa looked out to see Turbo chasing a cat through their suburban back yard. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a cat. It was a skunk. Turbo being, well, turbo charged, easily caught up with his ambling quarry. Lisa being an insightful and savvy woman dove for the doggie door, locking it just in time. Whew!
Despite having heard stories of skunk encounters at our home, Lisa had not yet experienced one herself. Nevertheless, they had stocked up on “skunk kit” supplies just a month before. So, imagine if you will. It’s the middle of the chaotic morning rush. Your daughter wants help with spelling. Your son is wandering around trying to get ready to go school. You’re mentally juggling the schools Covid rules and your own work schedule. The skunked dog is frantically trying to get into the house, and then running around the yard rubbing on everything in a desperate attempt to rid himself of his new perfume. Lisa called for reinforcements. Tommy! Get the skunk kit!
Tommy and Lisa both work from home. Somehow, Lisa lucked out and got kid duty. Tommy got skunk duty. Eight in the morning, and he’s out back in a KN95 mask washing down the now highly aromatic dog. Lisa bravely passed along various “good smelling” shampoos as repeat washing proceeded. The smell of course permeated the sealed house with ease. Lisa took the kids to school. Her son forgot his homework.
“Tell your teacher about the skunk.” She said. There was a good chance that just enough odor wafted along with them that he’d be forgiven.
Lisa called me because she knew I’d appreciate the unfolding of real life events. I laughed and laughed and laughed. I mean what else can you do? Giant bowls of burned Chex mix, dead goats, body burying services, 300 kids half masked in a small room, January 6th angst, divided families, kids outgrowing shoes in the middle of Omicron surges, the mask wearing dynamics of different big box stores, your mother’s macular degeneration, trying to find time to write, remote control cars in the mud, the fear of online school, worry over vulnerable friends, morning Covid testing of kids, Turbo befriending a skunk just before school, and a new use for a KN95.
Whew! Modern motherhood is wacko!
