“I’m not going to let you cut my hair, mom!” he told me.

“Who’s going to see you? It won’t be bad, promise.”

I keep telling myself and others this won’t be bad if we all stay at home to ourselves. Cheating, even a little, defeats the purpose of giving up everything we normally enjoy doing.

I told my son that years from now he’d talk about this pandemic and how he experienced it.

“This will be the event of your generation, much like 9/11 was for your father and me,” I told him.

“Oh, 9/11 was much worse, mom,” he said. “This isn’t bad at all, I like doing schoolwork at home plus all my friends have more time to be playing online since they’re not busy with afterschool activities.”

Granted, from his perspective– no girlfriend, not driving yet, a 15-year-old whose circle of good friends get together online every night — this really hasn’t impacted him.

So, for now, no traumatic events to endure or bad memories being made. Good!

Instead, I show him all the funny videos I find online every day. Last night’s was this one of a cute Italian dog doing yoga.

Earlier this week, I taught him how to cook rice, how to try out new seasonings (I have many in my pantry). He is becoming fearless in cooking his own meals.

I asked the boy where he would like to go once we are able to travel freely.

“No place, really.”

Seriously? I asked him again about places we’ve been and whether he’d want to go back.

“Mom, home is where the water doesn’t taste funny,” he told me.

Wise kid.

What does home mean to you?

By February I was talking to my former colleagues who still work in public health and pandemic response. We agreed we needed to do something.

Yet, as we teamed up to offer pandemic response planning for large organizations and companies in mid-February, we had no takers. No one thought it would impact our lives in the U.S.

By late February I was stocking up on supplies. I made my last Costco run February 29.

At my last public event March 11 (I write about startups here), I refused to hug, shake hands, or otherwise touch anyone.

My son went on Spring Break and we stayed in town wondering what would happen next. At the end of that week, I enjoyed my last fun outing in public on March 13 for a private letterpress class. The very few of us stood awkwardly as we kept our distance.

Instead of returning to school the following Monday, we received the news of an extra week of Spring Break.

Mid-week San Antonio issued a Stay at Home order on March 18. All businesses closed and only essential workers were allowed to keep grocery stores and other needed services open.

As I publish this, we’re ending the week with realizations that students may not be going back to their schools until later this year, if at all.

Panic has wiped clean grocery store shelves. Retirement accounts have dropped at least 30%.

And just like that, we are living life in the time of a pandemic.

I spent this weekend sleeping, stress baking, and watching mindless TV to block out the echoes of life immediately after 9/11.

That was an American experience, one that is fading for people. I realized this pandemic is a shared experience across the globe, one that will define this generation.

And I knew what I needed to do, what I always do when nothing else seems clear. Write.

I plan on writing my observations about life in a pandemic. I hope you will start keeping a journal for yourself as well.

Because years from now you won’t remember all the small things.

Like how my 15-year-old son is thrilled to be doing his schoolwork online from home.

“I don’t have to shave anymore, so I’m going to grow my facial hair, mom,” he told me.

“With all your scraggly growth and bushy hair, you’re going to look like Abraham Lincoln by the time this is over, son,” I joked with him.