Luna Day

Luna sits in front of the vanity table mirror with a selection of make-up messily laid out in front of her. Pinks. Blues. Yellows. Some may consider it make-up fit for a clown but Luna sees it as fit for a Queen. Applying a full-face of make-up each morning has become part of her new morning routine during Covid. Just after she has breakfast—always weetabix with a side of orange juice—and before she begins her work. Sometimes she takes part in a Zoom call for which she is always insistent about looking presentable. Out of curiosity I ask her why she has started to incorporate this daily make-up routine during lockdown, and her reply is simply, “because you used to always do it, mama."

Her tone is slightly exasperated. Almost as if she’s disappointed in me.

Luna is five years old, and she has implemented this routine into her day to fill the gapping, glamorous hole I’ve left since working from home. She’s someone that craves routine and responsibility which can seem strange for her age. She’s always been structured and has a common sensibility to how things are supposed to be. I feared that these traits would suffer when her small world was turned upside down.

“I’m okay, mama,” she reassures me, when we discuss her missing her weekly Saturday ballet class. “I can go back when the germs have gone home."

Surprisingly, she seems to have quickly adapted to the new normal.

Crosses stuck to the floor have curbed her freewheeling dash towards the sweet section in stores. Her daily walks take her past her usual playground—normally a hive of activity—but today it’s sealed off with red and white tape. A sort of crime scene that symbolises the current death of active childhood. Sometimes she notices a couple of adults sitting on a bench in the playground, having jumped the fence. This doesn’t sit well with Luna at all.

“They shouldn’t be in there. The police might arrest them,” she says casually. Not quite understanding that the police probably have more pressing matters to attend to.

She tries her best to muddle through the schoolwork in the mornings but admits she’d rather have, “Miss Harkness or Miss Seema to help me. They’re my teachers, you know”. She becomes frustrated when things cannot be easily explained to her which leads to her having a tantrum and she runs off to her bedroom.

“I just want to be left alone!”

When we next speak she’s apologetic about her outburst and explains that, “I just miss my school and playing PJ Masks with Ibharima and Nathaniel.”

It’s the little things that count. She looks forward to the daily videos that Miss Harkeness uploads and happily interacts with her as if she was in front of her in real life. When Miss Harkness sings praises in the video Luna blushes shyly as if this praise has been directed solely to her. Well, it has in the virtual sense.

Covid-19 has spurned on her sense of adventure. Come rain or shine, Luna looks forward to days of endless outdoor exploration. Something she didn’t have much time for when juggling full-time school and teatime with her dolls. Today, she tackles nature trails accompanied by her nature charts happily ticking trees, bugs, birds and flowers as she goes. She enjoys cloud spotting and watches them pass overhead. “The clouds just love following me.” And then, a roll call of all the cloud shapes she can make out. “That’s a princess…a mermaid. Look! That one looks like a rabbit monster.” A rabbit monster? “Yes, mama. A rabbit monster is a rabbit that’s a monster”, she explains with slight frustration. The same frustration that seeps out when I try to help with her schoolwork. In her eyes, I just don’t get it.

In the evenings, she hears the call of her neighbour, Johanna, who is the same age as her. Their usual routine is to swing open the green, wooden gate that separates the two gardens and run between the two. This particular evening, Luna is trying her best to explain the complexities of Covid-19 to her friend for why they can’t open the gate. “Johanna, I’m so sorry. We can’t open it until June.”

“Why, Luna?” Johanna replies while tiptoeing over the gate.

“Because of the germs! We’ll get sick,” Luna continues. “I can show you my dolls from here."

Luna remains in her social distant spot and holds up her dolls. Johanna understands, somewhat. And so, their playtime proceeds with both girls doing a socially-distant show and tell with their toys just before dinnertime. Her days are now filled with things to do but it seems to be a lonely existence. She’s befriended a fly and wiles the time away spinning around in a dancing twirl as the fly tries its best to escape her intrusion in its airspace. Curious, I ask her how she knows it’s the same fly as the day before.

“Because I just know it is!” she protests loudly.

Who am I to argue at a time when even a fly can provide stimulation for a child?

Just before bed, I watch as Luna removes her make-up, now smudged from the days elements. I ask how her day was and she turns with a smile on her face and says, “It was so fun.”

The smile suddenly fades when she turns to look at herself in the mirror. “I want to go back to school. I miss all my learning.”

I try my best to explain that everyone else is still at home with their parents too. Maybe another Zoom call with her friends tomorrow might be fun?

“But, no one lets me talk. Giselle and Emily keep talking at the same time!”

I cringe slightly, remembering the cacophonous Zoom call filled with five-year olds yapping at their screens. Luna misses the order where everyone takes turns to speak in class.

Her smile wistfully reappears.

“Hopefully the germs go soon. Are they in the North Pole too?.”