ice cream sundays

Inevitably, on Saturday and Sunday morning walks with Smellie, one neighbor or another will ask if I have any big plans for the weekend. My answer is always the same: nope.

 

With a kid like Calvin, most kinds of outings are difficult and others, especially during a rampant pandemic, are impossible. We are faced with major stubbornness if we try to take Calvin for walks on the beach or in the woods, so we pretty much never do that anymore. We no longer take him to the grocery store because he won't keep a mask on his face and he drools on and touches everything with fingers that go directly into his mouth. We almost never go on overnights because we can't be sure of securing a safe place for him to sleep, and though it has been years since he has been hospitalized for prolonged seizures, that fear is always in the back of our minds.

So, a typical weekend day for us starts at the same time as every other day, between 5:30 and 6:15, which is when we have to give Calvin his time-sensitive anti-seizure medicines. Michael makes coffee for us and breakfast for Calvin, reads a bit of news then goes for his 5K. When he gets back, I often make eggs and toast for everyone, then I take Smellie for a walk. After showers, we go for a car ride. On Saturdays, we venture to the next town over to pick up a freshly-baked baguette, then stop for a spell at the boat launch where we watch the Kennebeck river in its various stages of calm and choppy. Once in a while, we get the spot all to ourselves. Mostly, I stay in the car feeding Calvin and, if there are no boats, Smellie ventures into the water. On mild days we all get out for a bit to let the sun warm our weary bones.

 

Once home, Michael heads off to his studio for a few hours to develop film, make pictures, prepare for the week's classes or work on his next book. On days after a seizure, like today, Calvin spends most of the day napping in my lap on the green couch. Michael usually comes home early to hang out with us before making dinner.

Sundays are nearly carbon copies of Saturdays with the exception that we get ice cream from the drive-thru just after it opens. On the drive home, I feed everyone a few bites of one of our favorite flavors—gingersnap, coffee oreo, mint oreo, blackraspberry, chocolate peanut butter cup—then put the lid back on and save the rest for later. 

Pandemic or not, these are our weekends—mundane, highly limited, predictable and yet satisfying—and will be for the foreseeable future.

Michael walking Calvin down the dock a few weekends ago.