My family has entered into a new realm of quarantine. My 7-year-old, Remy, wears a pink tutu and crown daily. My 3-year-old, Bo, wears a cape with or without his Batman mask. My husband, Ross, has even unearthed an Irish cap from the closet’s darkest corner--and he’s been in a great mood ever since. I don’t have a costume yet but I did dig up my rollerblades from 1998 and rolled through the neighborhood with Remy.

“When did you get those!?” Remy asked me, next-level excited.

“Remy, these blades are old enough to be your mother,” I told her.

And as I gained speed, swerving in and out of a neighborhood of empty driveways, I thought, "Why did I ever give this up? I am really good."

Then I swung out of control and did a crash landing on the neighbor’s lawn.

We spent April Fools' Day trying to fly a kite in the backyard. Ross mostly dive-bombed our kids with it, but there were a few good moments where the kite really took flight and soared.

It’s not all capes and kites over here. At least once everyday, I nose-dive into feelings of doom, grief and dread about what might happen and what is already happening— happening to people that I love. But I think the kids—and Ross—are onto something with the dress-up. Those things we haven’t done or worn in years that used to bring us joy, those things can still bring us joy. It's been well-worth the trip to the back of the closet.