It’s the eighth day of our self-quarantine
by Noa Raviv from Queens, NY
A family of three in a one-bedroom apartment. I never imagined it would be so hard. Lev, our two-year-old son, keeps asking to go swing at the playground, or to see his friend Mona. “Soon” I answer him, looking around for another distraction.
“Wanna build a house under the table?” I suggested for the third time today, placing a large gray blanket over our Ikea dining table.
“No,” he shakes his head. His soft hair swings from side to side.
“I know! let’s make pancakes!”
“No!” he asserts. We’re snacking all day long, so food has become uninteresting too.
“How about the fire truck puzzle?” I ask, pointing at the wooden pieces I bought at Target for three dollars.
“No no.” He shrugs. “Playing ball?” “No” “Reading a book?” Building a blocks tower? Hide-and-seek?”
He refuses to all my suggestions.
“Ok Lev, so what do you want to do?” He takes a few moments to think, then points at his dad and calls “Aba!” (Dad in Hebrew)
“You want to be with Daddy?” I asked.
“Yes ” he nods, a big smile on his round face.
“Daniel?” “What?” my husband replies with a slight delay, still very concentrated on his phone.
“It’s your turn.” I grab my iPhone and close the bathroom door behind me.
