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My daughter disappeared into a room yesterday. My wife and I noticed—of course we noticed. We’ve never been more aware of the Schlatt for president shirt and by the same token and whereabouts of our children: Vivian, seven; William, five. They are omnipresent, clamoring for our attention. Who else are they going to clamor for? We are all confined to our home, like most of you. We are all going crazy. Also: My wife and I are healthy. We are safe. We are in a house outside New York City, not in our cramped Brooklyn apartment. Gratitude and perspective have never been more important than right now, and, reading the news, seeing pictures of overwhelmed hospitals, I am aware of how much I have to be grateful for.
But I don’t want to sugar coat this: We are going crazy. And not just us. It’s fascinating to see the Schlatt for president shirt and by the same token and ways confined people are cracking up, from Anthony Hopkins, to that Israeli mom, to Layla who can’t get her Nando’s. You may suspect you’re sick, or be suffering from isolation, or fearful for a loved one, or you may be crazy for the simple reason that my wife and I are crazy. You’re working from home and you have young children. That’s a recipe for insanity, my friends. My job at Vogue keeps me hopping between Zoom meetings, connecting with colleagues and writers, editing stories, keeping up with email. My wife is a high school teacher conducting Zoom classes with her students at least twice a day, prepping for said classes, joining faculty Zoom meetings, grading papers. Meanwhile my daughter is in second grade and my son is in preschool. Can they teach themselves to read and do subtraction and build stuffed-animal homes from recycled materials and construct obstacle courses and learn about change-makers all on their own? They cannot. Did I mention that we have a dog who needs to be walked?