It is day nine or ten, or maybe forty, of the shutdown, and I am standing in line at a Lowe’s Home Improvement store, waiting to buy some caulk. I thought I might cruise easily through the self-checkout aisle and be out in five minutes, but that lane is closed, and now I am stuck behind someone who seems to be purchasing three hundred tiny screws, each of which needs to be individually scanned. My wife and kids are waiting in the car outside, and I know that if I have to wait too much longer, my three-year-old daughter will either (a) need to come in to use the bathroom or (b) just go to the bathroom in the backseat. Before this all started, she was totally potty trained, but in the past nine or ten, or forty, days there have been all kinds of regressions — and not just on her part. My son collapses in fear now anytime he sees a bug; we’re not sure why. At night my wife and I lie awake and talk about what, if anything, the children will remember about this time.