Marking What We Have Missed

The pandemic that has kept us isolated and nervous since mid-March shows no sign of slowing.  And as time marches on I find myself worried less about virus and focused more on all the small things we aren't able to do this year.  And worrying that we won't be able to do them next year either.  And even though I work so hard to keep things normal for them, how will they remember this time?  Will they remember the later bedtimes and board games and laughter?  Or will it be the year that time stopped and all the things they loved to do got put on hold.

• No Easter with my parents where every year the bunny hides eggs and toys for all in attendance
• No spring theater production with the kids holding puppets as ensemble cast members in Dr. Dolittle
• No Ballet recital where my girl would spin her hair in a tight bun, her outfit colors of the ocean
• No Field Day at school where I got to volunteer and watch the kids and their friends run amok in matching shirts
• No baseball practice, long afternoons sitting on the sun with one of my closest friends while our boys run laps and practice catching fly balls
• No baseball games on sun filled Saturday mornings where the girls play on the swings while the boys wait in the dugout and the parents talk lazily on the sidelines
• No last day of school where I pick up the kids and we blare Schools Out for Summer while we drive past the line of teachers waving goodbye
• No first day of summer where everyone sleeps in and the weather is usually crappy
• No trip to the Jersey Shore where we would sleep in a fleabag motel right on the beach and eat fudge and cotton candy on the boardwalk until we felt sick
• No Ballet camp where I would work from the hallway of the studio for a week while my daughter smiled non-stop for 3 hours a day
• No football camp where the boys got used to their pads and ran laps trying to outrun their coaches
• No summer theater show where Moana and The Jungle Book would have been staged
• No football practice where the parents would park with their cars facing the field so they could turn their lights on when the sun fell below the tree line
• No back to school shopping with my mother, going from store to store shopping for pants and dresses and underwear and sweatshirts and new shoes
• No first day of school where we would race for the bus and then I would follow them in to gather with the other parents to watch the kids arrive off the busses
• No Ballet and tap classes where I would watch my daughter dance and gossip with the other moms in the hall about schools and lice and in-law visits
• No football games where I could cheer for my boy and his friends, watching him always find me in the stands after a big play
• No fall theater show where I would work back stage, helping them with costume changes and being able to watch them shine

and what is to come? How long will school be online? Will there be no birthday parties this fall? and what of Halloween?  Will there be basketball? Will my in-laws be able to come up for Christmas? Will the Elf on the Shelf show up? 

With every decision we chose between the risk of the virus and the risk of holding our kids back.  As the world begins to re-open, do we re-open with it? And how do we create a new normal? One that allows us to look back on this time not as a time when so much was missed, but as a time when something new was gained.  Only time will answer that question, if only we knew how much more time we will have to wait.

Spring in Maine

Dairy queen will open soon

And the ice will melt from the trees

and the streams will rush with life

And dairy queen will open soon

Clocks will jump forward

We will pick ripe strawberries and blueberries

We will buy seedlings full of hope at the farmers market

And dairy queen will open soon

The snow will melt to make way for green grass

The birds will start to sing songs of redemption and rebirth

The days will be longer

Bedtimes will be later

And Dairy Queen will open soon

We will have meaningful debates about the value of the last week of school

About which beach has the best sand

About when we should go to Boston

Longing for the days we will spend sitting in the back of a pickup truck eating ice cream from Dairy Queen

The perpetually grayness will fade into spring colors

Blues, pinks, purples

Easter bunnies and peeps

We will hunt for chocolate eggs

And eat lamb around a big table

And we will say what we are thankful for

And there is no doubt that one of us will say we are thankful that Dairy Queen will open soon.