Life has been moving through this uncharted COVID configuration for, oh, six months and then some.
The *crazy* is starting to feel regular, routine. Bringing mail into the house without letting it settle in the garage feels negligent. Bringing groceries in without wiping them down feels blatantly erroneous. I haven't stepped foot into a Target or Walmart or any other commercial building with bricks-and-mortar walls since March. (Thank god for this new drive-up, curbside culture.) We are very much in the habit of avoiding public places as a rule, especially with our four-year-old who still chews on her shoes.