After 16 months of social distancing, masking, quarantining, missed parenting time, make-up parenting time, mental fog, exhaustion, anxiety, and–finally–the relief that vaccinations promised, we’re still not done with this pandemic. I’ve worked hard for the last year and a half to cultivate gratitude for so many things, to let go of anger and resentment, to be fully present, to be kinder to myself. I’ve learned to love being alone–and in the process recognized how much I need the time with myself in order to show up the way I want to when I am with others. That said, once I was fully vaccinated I was chomping at the bit to start making my way out in the world again. Too much time to myself allowed the anxiety and cyclical thinking to rise to the surface. So when my road to normalcy was suddenly bulldozed by a positive Covid test that came from out of thin air, I could hear the brakes screeching as everything came to a halt.
My family has been lucky–all branches of it, from my household of five to my ex-husband’s household of six to our extended family and friends. Anyone who has turned up positive for Covid has weathered the news in stride. Only one of us got sick from it; the others were either asymptomatic or, like me, sick with some other virus and tested out of an abundance of caution, only to be shocked at the news that the test came back positive. After three days of listening to my partner attempt to occupy a four year old and a ten year old simultaneously, I can understand why others may have chosen to move into hotels for their 10-day isolation. Being stuck in one room while the rest of the family moves about their day without you is not for the weak-kneed. Being stuck in a room (or the backyard, pulling weeds) during summer vacation when you should be gallivanting and cavorting and traveling feels like a fate worse than purgatory.
I’ve spoken to more than one friend this past week who has sighed and admitted that being alone in a room to binge-watch movies and shows all day sounded pretty damn good. And of course it does! What mother hasn’t wished for more time to herself? Yet there were a million things I would rather be doing than sitting around indulging in vapid entertainment (I won’t even pretend that I can actually read a novel anymore–that ship sailed when I decided to have kids/after I bought my first iPhone). Being a teacher on “summer vacation,” by late July/early August, my brain is already spinning with all the things I need to organize, plan, create, and design before students arrive back at school at the end of August. And of course, coparenting in the time of Covid presents challenges of its own. Missed parenting time becomes an epic battle to resolve, the kids don’t know whether they want to FaceTime with the missing parent or not because it makes their longing to be together that much more intense, and there’s no guarantee that missed vacation time will be repaid with the same.
Ten days is a long time for any parent and child to be separated, no matter the reason. With one kid in quarantine in my house, and the other with her father, I can’t tell which is worse: to not be able to see your child at all for ten days, or to only be able to wave hello to your child as they stand outside your door, or as you pass through on your way outside to walk the dog another five miles and see how much more time you could pass outdoors. I set up watch parties with both of the kids: Facetime while watching the new season of Outer Banks with my teenage daughter; Teleparty with my son while he watches a movie in his bedroom and I watch in mine. We played ping-pong in the garage in masks with the doors thrown wide open. We waved to each other from different rooms as I passed through on my way somewhere. I went for drives to New Haven and back just so I could roll down all the windows in the car, crank the music, and sing at the top of my lungs. I walked the dog so far and so often that he started flopping himself down on random neighbors’ lawns to let me know enough was enough. I pulled every weed I could find and then went back the next day to pull all the ones I couldn’t see the day before.
As the days passed, I noticed how any time my four-year-old daughter saw me she would call out “I love you mom!” My son would sit in the hallway outside my bedroom door to play GamePigeon games on his phone with me, looking up every few minutes to say “Love you!” After several repetitions, he kind of chuckled and said “I’m sorry I keep saying I love you, I just love you so much!” He’s ten, and more prickles than professions of love these days, but what has become clear over these last 7 days (only 3 more to go!!!) is that we are a family full of physical expressions of love. Hearing the kids pronounce their love at ten-minute intervals throughout the day quantified something I have been taking for granted: hugging, snuggling, and kissing my kids. If someone would have asked me seven days ago whether I was into physical displays of affection, I probably would have said no. This week helped me to understand that this is far from the truth; I was just too close to see it before now.
(mostly) full disclosure 