Acknowledgements
Nini & Poppy: You are my world. Can I move back in yet? PS forgive my language. I try, I swear. See What I did there? haha
Aubi: Thank you for giving me the kick in the ass I needed to get writing again. I love you.
To my husband and children: Thank you for being the never-ending spring of inspiration during these difficult times. To be more specific, as everyone in the free world has dubbed them… “These unprecedented, uncertain times.” Thank you for being three very certain things in my life that I can always count on for love, hilarity and stability.
To introduce myself, I’d like to paint you a picture. I’m 35 and some change, mother of two, living in Hurricane, West Virginia, That’s phonetically pronounced Hur-i-kun. And yes, it is in West Virginia, the actual state. I feel I must mention this because on my many travels in life, after being asked where I’m from, I’ve been told “Oh, my mother’s cousin is from Richmond!” THAT IS IN VIRGINIA. Fun fact, we became our own state on June 20, 1863, and to the shock of many, we were on the right side of history, for once. Look it up if you don’t believe me.
Anyway, back to me… My name is Elizabeth Yeager Cross. I’m a tall drink of water, or diet coke, which I prefer, and I’m currently under Quarantine for the Covid-19 Virus. I am an Interior Designer by trade and learned very early on in my life I was not the “Susy Home Maker Type”. No disrespect to any of my stay at home mamas out there. I wish to God, especially now, that he had blessed me with boat loads more patience. Don’t get me wrong y’all. I love my babies. It was a long hard road of loss and waiting for these two precious, sarcastic, phenomenal beings that make up my very existence. They are ALL mine, but I’m just not meant to be their full-time care giver. That role belongs to our angelic nanny, Sarah, who seems to be endlessly full of fresh and new ideas for activities and fun. And as a side note, I prefer the term nanny to babysitter, because she doesn’t sit with babies all day. She deals with my tiny humans who are not fully developed yet but are full of sass, ideas, and energy that can be positively channeled while I’m at work,
Me, on the other hand, I’m something a bit less patient. I’m made for the early morning, the evening, and the all-nighters, You give me my kid at 5am, which happens almost every day of my life, and I surprisingly don’t mind, with their sweet stinky breath as they crawl into your bed and say “Good morning Mama” and even as they melt my face off with their breath, my heart swells. You give me a kid coming down our white-carpeted staircase in the middle of the night throwing up uncontrollably and JUST LETTING IT ALL ROLL OUT… I’m there babe. I can throw blankets, towels and Kroger lined trashcans down, and bring a chaise lounge adjacent to my bed and also have the puke shop vacc’ed up and sterilized out of the white carpet in a flash. I can make dinner, make sure everyone’s homework is done, butts washed, teeth brushed, stories read, prayers said and into bed by 8:30, with the help of my husband, of course. And then exhaustedly fall into my bed and think, “How in the hell am I pulling this off? To give you an even deeper inside view, I’m the weekend mom that likes to sit in her chair at the end of the driveway and watch as my kids ride up and down the street and play in the neighborhood. There also may or may not be a glass of Prosecco in my hand during this. As I once heard one of my Great Aunts say… upon asked if she would make cookies with her granddaughter “darling, I don’t make cookies, I make money.” I very closely relate to this sentiment and way of life. Not that I haven’t busted my ass every single day of my married and motherly life to work and bring home the bacon, then fry it up in the pan and serve it hot so to speak. I still do all that…. And pay the bills. And have the sex with the husband, and cuddle the kids, and grocery shop, and find someone who will clean the house once a week who doesn’t steal from us just so I don’t pull out my friggen hair. I’m no Saint. Believe me. And even with how smoothly life was going before this, I still struggled with anxiety and depression. I have my whole life. It’s just something that comes in the grab bag of “Elizabeth”.
I’d say I’m on the manageable side of crazy. Aren’t we all ladies? We put up with all the shit. The job, the clients, the employees, the kids, the suppliers of our jobs, and just the everyday hubbub that comes with life. We deal with it accordingly, or we visit our psychiatrists and local wine shops to help pick up the slack where the first leaves off. We try to make time for kids, friends, dates with our husbands, sports, working out, ME-time or whatever the hell that is, and oh yeah- becoming the next big thing in our fields. I have been abundantly blessed with a humongous family who unwaveringly supports me no matter what my current state of “Elizabeth” may be and for that, I am forever grateful. I have a forgiving and extremely patient husband, parents who would literally capture the moon for me if I requested it, a brother and sister who are total bosses and are down for me at the drop of a hat, as well as a smattering of undeserved aunts, uncles and cousins who I can proudly call the most bad ass family in the world. We lovingly refer to ourselves as “The Griswolds” and if you don’t get that joke… YOU CAN’T SIT WITH US! Just kidding… that’s a reference to two movies I love, National Lampoons Christmas Vacation and Mean Girls. If you actually read the entirety of this book you may find that I have not one original thought. Just one movie or song quote strung together in a lengthy memoir type book. Just bear with me. It’s about to get interesting.
Now, knowing all of that. THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW. Matter of fact, toss some gasoline on it and light a match. Now sit back and watch that old life burn like a dumpster fire in the middle of an abandoned Kmart parking lot. I know, because not only have I seen that happen in my actual life, but also it’s what is currently happening in my life. With that said, I’m going to go ahead and make some disclaimers. You may do with them what you wish, but I feel it necessary to get a few things straight first off. I am not a historian. I am not a legal eagle so to speak either. If you paid attention in the first page, you will remember that I am an Interior Designer in a small town that it difficult to pronounce from outsiders. I am not here to debate politics; I am also not here to project conspiracy theories about where the virus came from or when it actually hit the USA. NOPE. Not me Sir or Madame. I am simply here to throw a teeny tiny spotlight on my current sitch. (Which in layman’s terms means situation, you get it)
Almost three weeks ago, I had to close down my surprisingly successful small business. Governor Jim Justice made a good call for all West Virginians to stay at home and self-quarantine for at least the next two weeks. I fully supported this. LET’S GET IT OVER WITH! Let’s stay at home and protect our families whether aging, immune-compromised, or as we are seeing lately- an average human who can catch this nasty virus and fall victim to its evil ways.
For the last seven years I have owned and operated Yeager Design & Interiors in Scott Depot, WV, a neighboring town of Hurricane. I have grown up in this area my entire life and have been proud to own a business here and to have had it do as well as it has. I guess you could say I am sort of a big fish in a small pond… I full well know that I would be a drowned bloated carcass of a fish in a larger pond, river or ocean. And I’m ok with that. I do well where I am, and I have been overly thrilled with the customers, jobs and friends I have made along the way. To me, small town support is EVERYTHING. To be able to help provide for my family and make a meaningful impact in my community is something near and dear to my heart. I love design. I love everything about it. To be able to help my clients see the potential of their new or current homes or businesses for what they “could” be literally gives me the “Goosies” (Thank you JLo).
But back to the subject at hand… As of tomorrow, April 6, 2020, we will begin week three of shut down due to the Corona Virus. Is it fair? No. Was it something I ever anticipated? Hell no. As a God fearing, sinner of a Christian woman I hoped that Jesus would come back and zap me and all my loved ones up in his Second Coming and someone else would be left with the mess. Yes, that’s not the nicest way to look at it, I know. But I did read all those Left Behind books and they sure as hell didn’t say anything about this being something I’d have to deal with first! But in all seriousness, I am on week three of being a small business owner who is SHUT DOWN. Thank God in Heaven above, my husband is an insurance agent and is deemed an essential employee, or do I thank God for that? Yes, he can still go to work every day, but I worry every day that he will come home with the virus, or more sinisterly that I will choke him out for leaving me home schooling these children every day. But hey, somebody’s got to make that money honey, and right now, it ain’t me babe. As much as I wish it was.
Speaking of homeschooling…. That’s a fun little game of Russian roulette I get to play with my five and eight-year-old every morning! “Hey guys! Let’s get up and get our bellies full of a good breakfast so we are in the mood for school!” The eye rolling, the whining, and incessant Mooooooo-ooooms” I get every single morning are enough to push any normal suburban woman over the Nitro bridge (It’s a nearby bridge over a river… commonly/jokingly referred to in our family as our “out” move). But alas, I try to stay positive and not to yell at my sleepy “little darlings” and motivate them with sentences like… ”Now, would you act that way to Mrs. Painter or Mrs. Cox?” They grumble “No” and begin to come to the breakfast table, which has now been deemed our school zone. It is laden with worksheets, reading books, prepared packets from their teachers, and countless colored pencils, broken crayons, and glue sticks. Remember, I’m an Interior Designer. I like order. I like aesthetically pleasing scenes. HA! Add this to the dumpster fire I referenced! We work diligently at the assigned amount of work as my children profess over and over that I’m doing it wrong and not at all how their teachers at school do things, until I eventually snap and say “Guess what guys!? I didn’t sign up to be your teacher! I don’t even have a teaching degree and what’s scariest of all? It looks like you are never going back to school this year!” As I say this last part I shudder with the fear that this is most likely true. And not just for my own selfish reasons. I feel sorrow for my children. For my baby girl, who is fierce and sassy and all things sweet and kind, who was JUST getting the hang of kindergarten and how to let people into her social space without biting them in the neck or karate chopping them. For my son, who is my gentle giant, who has the absolute best teacher in the entire school -sorry West Teays teachers, y’all know I’m right. Mrs. Painter was JUST getting through to George this year after struggling to realize he has ADD and getting him on meds. We had gone through the downside of ADD and had since been on the uptick of figuring out how he learned best! And man, was he on fire! His grades were improving, he looked forward to going every single day, and life was good. “EHhhhEHhh REHHHH” That’s the sound of a record scratching and being tossed into my aforementioned dumpster fire. NOW THEY HAVE ME, the mom who tries not to yell, mostly unsuccessfully. the mom who bribes them with treats if they just read this last paragraph or get through this last set of worksheet, and the mom who constantly wonders how in the hell these teachers pull off this magic trick called school day in and out, for hours on end on their own in a classroom of 20+ kids. I can’t even get mine to sit flat on a seat for thirty some minutes!? Superheroes I tell you. Super. Heroes. Mad respect ladies and gents.
With all these things said, I feel it necessary to mention some every day happenings going on. I have been on a month-long search for…. you guessed it. TOILET PAPER, not to mention paper towels. I’ve heard a dirty myth that the supply trucks for Kroger and Walmart bring loads of them in every night, but I’ll tell you something, I don’t believe it. I’ve been to all of these establishments. It doesn’t matter if I go super early, mid-morning, or later in the day. None. Zip. Zilch, Nada. Now, I will tell you one thing. We are baby wipe hoarders in this family and I’m darn proud of it. I’m well known to be too lazy at night to take my makeup off and ah! Out comes the baby wipe from my nightstand to save the day. Your kid has an itchy butt crack? I’ve got a baby wipe for that! Jelly crusted face and fingers? Baby wipe. In the car and your kid has smeared boogers from ear to ear as you’re pulling up to church or school? You guessed it! BABY WIPES! So, I guess if the shit really does hit the fan, as for my house we will survive with my plethora of baby wipes. Which we will not flush, I promise, I have been warned many, many times.
Beyond the TP Fiasco, as I have dubbed it, let me be even more materialistic for just a few moments. I have had acrylic nails for something like twenty plus years. BUH BYE! I now have hands that resemble a twelve-year-old boy’s. I’m all knuckles and scars and picked cuticles, so I try really hard to just be proud of the fact that I have strong hands and that I’m saving mad money every two weeks. WAIT…. What’s that you say? You spy grey hairs poking through my hairline? Why, yes. That is also an act of vanity for days long gone. Hopefully we women will be able to pull of the “Silver Fox” thing we always so kindly award to men who are embracing their age. Doubtful, highly doubtful. Here’s to sun caps and ball caps ladies!
Something else not so hunky dory for me during this outbreak and quarantine period has been the massive amount of, in my opinion, misinformation. When this whole thing cut loose on the airwaves, I truly feel like it could have been handled better. But hindsight is always 20/20, right? If you ask me, which of course, no one has, because why in the hell would they? Anyways, if you ask me, the way to get AN ENTIRE NATION on board to care about something is to involve that entire nation. Not to say that I want the government to misrepresent the facts or anything, because gee that would be a first, right? But seriously, if you come out gangbusters and say “Hey! There is a virus coming here from China! It’s only going to affect the old and the sick. We know you youngsters are super close to spring break, so just know you could get this virus, and you won’t get too sick or even remotely close to death, but please act responsibly and don’t travel or go on that trip you have planned for you and your fifty best buds!” EHHHH Wrong answer. C’mon guys, even I wouldn’t have represented this like that and I’m no Olivia Pope (Please tell me you have watched Scandal? If not, please do so. Don’t worry, I’ll wait) There are healthy people who are contracting this virus every single day who are young and not immunocompromised who are now fighting for their life on ventilators! There are people all over the country who are being denied testing for Covid-19 because even though they have a doctor’s excuse, they don’t present with enough symptoms. There are people with pre-existing conditions like renal failure that are being admitted into a hospital without a single family member to accompany them because the risk is too large to expose anyone else to this virus. There are mothers having their first ultrasounds or even the birth of their child who are alone because there is no acceptance of visitors. I can’t even imagine, yet I personally know people going through every situation I just mentioned. Just a mere suggestion from a nobody like me, if you’re going to call something a pandemic and basically shut down the country with fear and uncertainty, maybe represent it in a way that involves everyone and actually gets everyone on the same side of the cure. And get on top of the cure and testing. Chew on that.
Okay, let’s take a break from the doom and gloom for a moment. Because I’m sure there will be many people who read this and especially hate the last paragraph I wrote and think I’m ignorant. And you know what, you’re probably right. But I would like to refer to that one paragraph where I talked about the fact that I’m a nobody, that these are my opinions and experiences. So there. I have said it again. Now on to more positive things.
I have gotten to, let me rephrase that, I have been made to take a step back from my normal workaholic lifestyle and get some real time in with my kiddos. Thank the sweet Lord above, the weather has been almost summer like the last week and we have been able to get outside and “social distance” and ride bikes, spray each other with the water hose, side walk chalk, paint old furniture, make silly Tik Tok Videos (In ten years I will look back at that last part and think wtf?) Things I’ve noticed…. My kids are empty tanks of gas. They must be fueled by a new meal or snack every 10- 20 minutes. Refusals of said snacks only turn these empty gas tanks into raging angry monkeys. If you do not feed the monkeys, feces and fits are sure to follow. But seriously, how do they survive all day at school without the amount of snacks they are currently demanding? I guess I’ll never know, because as it looks for now, we will not be returning.
Some personal funnies to share with you… George, my eight-year-old has taken a real shine to my business, or what’s left of it. Last Saturday we painted a 68-year-old wooden desk that had been handed down to him from my daddy, his Poppy. He was so filled with pride that this would be a piece in his room that he could hold court around, set his trophies on, and put a printer behind it like a real man. Pay no attention that he doesn’t have a computer to hook up to that old printer! That’s not the point here! We took an entire day and did a “How to” for my YDI followers on Facebook and Instagram and checked in on the hour every hour with how to Chalk Paint an old desk. He very thoughtfully chose his color that morning in my showroom, Chicago Grey, and not to be outdone Ivery (little sis) had to buy a sample pot of Old Violet and something to paint of her own. When we got down to it and got on the Live Feed, my sweet boy lit up from the inside and became the next Tom Broccaw to my wonderment! He bobbed his head excitedly telling of each step in our process and eloquently told about the heirloom piece and what it meant to him and what he would do with it upon completion. I’ve never been prouder. While humorous, he wasn’t afraid of the camera and even wanted to watch the playbacks of his videos. Thank you, God, for making a kid who, like me, won’t be terrified of public speech. That’s something people struggle with their whole lives and I’m just happy that’s one less thing he is going to have to deal with.
My Ivery, my beautiful delicate Ivery. Ha! This child makes me laugh near to the point of peeing my pants daily. We have taken naps together; I’ve taught her that she’s the little spoon and I’m the big spoon and it just works better that way. We have dressed alike, had picnics, and countless popsicles. But perhaps my favorite moment thus far happened Saturday the 3rd. I had to run to my showroom and curbside deliver some pillows a customer had been messaging me about. Now, in order to give the entire crew a safe outing, we all loaded up in my suburban and headed out at 11am. I put my gloves on my hands and my mask on my face just before jumping out of the car and heading to unlock my showroom when I hear behind me “I’m coming too Momma!” I casually leaned back while unlocking the showroom doors and yelled over my shoulder, “No, baby, just sit in the car, it won’t take me just a minute and you don’t have gloves or a mask on.” Well, that did it. To my husband’s surprise (he was in the driver seat and I’m guessing she forgot in her blind rage from being denied something she wanted, that he was there) she slammed the car door shut and uttered the phrase “f&cking sh*t!”. George and Brett’s mouths collectively hit the floor and Brett asked, “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?” She immediately realized the folly of her ways and quickly began her campaign to erase the last few moments and please lets not tell mom when she gets back to the car because as she put it “I didn’t mean to!!!!” Little did she know, her father is the enforcer on one thing and one thing only in this house…. and that’s the washing out of someone’s mouth when the F Bomb is hit one too many times. He did it to George and it was now Ivery’s destiny as well. I returned quickly to the car after making my sale and locking the showroom back up to a hysterical car with tension to thick you could cut it with a light saber. Everyone had their own version of events and I tried like hell not to laugh through any of them and keep a straight, if not, somewhat angry face. Sure enough, we arrived home and George and I chose to remain outside in the garage and busy ourselves with anything BUT what was about to happen. In five minutes, out bounds Ivery through the garage face flushed, tear stained cheeks, spitting every which way and madder than hell. I asked her if she was ok and how it went. Her terse reply? “It wasn’t as bad as I thought” ….and after a few moments of silence…. “it was worse!” Again, I tried to stifle my laughter, to no avail this time. She jumped in my lap and covered me with soapy kisses, and we discussed how she was never going to talk like that again because as my Grandmother Yeager always said, “Pretty is as Pretty does.” God, I miss that woman. I know she is looking down on these events and just laughing up a storm. Incidentally, I asked Brett when he later came outside what bar of soap, he had her bite and hold in her mouth for a minute (because I mostly have hand pump soaps everywhere). He replied “Nothing but the best for our girl. It was the shell shaped guest soap from the Greenbrier Resort. Ha! It was a good hard laugh that I needed.
So here I am, entering week three of the Governor Jim Justice mandated Stay At Home Quarantine. I’m anxious. I’m scrambling to find new ways to keep my business and myself relevant. I’m doing live how-to’s on social media. I’m homeschooling. I’m getting to spend some amazing and much needed slowed-down time with my children. I’m missing my parents and extended family so badly. We facetime, we zoom, but as the song goes “Aint Nothin Like the Real Thing Baby, Aint Nothin Like the Real Thing”. I’m coming up with new scenarios in how we will one day wipe our butts when even the baby wipes run out. I’m cooking three to four homemade meals a day, wearing out my dishwasher and clothing washer and dryer. Losing money by the fistful, worried out of my mind about my family and friends and not only their potential to catch this virus but also the inevitability that one of us will get sick with something else and have to go to a hospital (which has already happened twice!) I’m praying, I’m crying when the kids go to bed. I am watching the news coverage, then quickly turning it off when I’ve gone too far and watched too much. I’m making best cased and worst cased predictions on when life will go back to normal. And what in the hell will that new normal even be? I’m drinking. And then praying some more. Shew, and that’s only been two weeks. Hold on to your hats ladies and gentlemen. Please stay home and keep all hands, arms, and legs inside for the duration of the ride because it’s going to be a bumpy one. And be sure to mind the gap (Disney reference) a six-foot social distance gap to be exact.
Much love,
Elizabeth Yeager Cross
Xoxo
