Day 183

This morning my youngest daughter had field hockey skills and drills, the first of five consecutive Saturday-morning sessions. I dropped her off, and she was screened for Covid-19 and given a squirt of hand sanitizer before heading to the field in her gear — shin guards, mouth guard and, of course, a mask. It felt odd to be driving a child to an activity, something that last February I was doing daily, often multiple times per day per kid. I remember a discussion with my partner in February — basketball season for two kids, plus rehearsal season for the other, who was preparing for a musical, a band concert, and a ballet performance at the time of the shutdown. We were so busy. All of our parent conversations strategic and tactical. Who would drop off and pick up and was there a carpool tonight and who could be at what basketball game and wow imagine that next year it probably won’t be this busy again because our son will be driving and phew.

And then it all screeched to a halt. And we were right. It won’t be the same, and not just because we will have a third driver in the house.

After I dropped E off at the field I came home, threw in some laundry, ate some breakfast. On the way back to pick her up, my son drove. We left early to get in some extra driving practice. It was a beautiful morning. 62 degrees at drop-off. 66 on the way back out, a little more than an hour later. Now, as I sit out on the deck, it’s warmer, but it feels like fall and looks like fall. A blue sky with prevalent but calm clouds. The slightest of breezes. And still the sounds of summer. The kids across the street, their squeaky voices as they play and call for their parents’ attention. A neighbor around the corner mowing his lawn. Birds, chirping and tweeting. Squirrels, racing each other up and down the trees surrounding the yard.

But school starts Wednesday. And the autumnal equinox is 10 days away. And on the brink of the season I love the most I am feeling a sense of dread. Dread for the days we will be limited to the inside of our house. Dread for the anticipated surge of illness — flu, covid-19, both? Dread for more days, weeks, months of living in the unknown. Of not seeing friends, of having to think so much about what we need and how we might obtain it. My girls went through their clothes and bagged the ones that are too small. A ritual every season in New England. And this year, we won’t be going back-to-school shopping. Instead, we’ll make do, and order the essentials online from our favorite stores. Pants for the littlest who is not so little anymore. And for the biggest who continues to grow, now the tallest in our household. I did order new pointe shoes and ballet slippers for the dancer, who has been dancing daily — sometimes more than one class per day — since April and who, we hope, might be able to go to her dance studio for a careful class with just a few students soon.

There is no normal anymore. As we adjust we don’t really want to get used to anything too much, so that we can hold on to hope that it’s all as temporary as possible. And yet, Dr. Fauci says that we need to anticipate that a return to normal, pre-Covid life, might not come until the end of 2021. How? How will we get there? How will my son research colleges? When will my daughter take the stage again? What about basketball? I am fully prepared to work from home for another year, and just typing that feels surreal.

Soon, I’ll head out on my near-daily walk. Today, a friend from college is meeting me, and we’ll do my usual route, wearing masks, catching up on almost a year since we last walked together, a sometime lunch ritual on the campus where we first met. It feels odd to have something to look forward to. I said to a friend this morning at field hockey drop-off, "One minute I’m grateful, and the next I’m swearing.” It felt dramatic at the time, but it’s the truth. Right now I’m grateful that I can fall into a real, honest conversation with a friend in the parking lot of a recreation park after not having seen her since last field hockey season. That in a few minutes we connected and commiserated. That I saw in her much of what I feel in myself. I wonder, sometimes, if I took for granted moments like these in the before times. Quick snippets of conversation tucked in between and during kid activities. On the sidelines. In the waiting room at the ballet studio. At school pick up. I wonder now, will I ever take these moments for granted again?

I am grateful.

And I do swear. A lot.

Every day, every minute sometimes, is just what it is and what we need it to be.

Stay safe, everyone.