I’m sitting at my desk with the windows open, for the first time in so long it’s painful to try and retrace the days. I can hear birds chirping. I can hear bicycle tires ramping up over the curb that takes folks down the path behind our house. And I can hear children. My children, but also, other children. Playing. Laughing. Indicating that the world – weird as she is at this moment – is still turning.
It all has me feeling pretty nostalgic. Remember when we were kids? There may be some years between those of you reading this and myself, but generally, it was similar. We were always outside. I can remember playing Jail Break with the neighborhood kids until what felt like midnight (but was probably 10 o’clock). For the most part, we all knew each other, but if someone new showed up, the conversation was basically like this:
“You gonna play?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. Don’t take my hiding spot.”
“Cool.”
And that was it. Thirty seconds and it was on. We were running and getting dirty and freezing well into the dark hours of the evening, noses dripping and ready to drag across a heavy sweatshirt sleeve, and it was freaking fantastic. Those are great memories.
If there was a patch with more than five trees, it became an epic forest where we played pioneer people or kidnapped princesses. I remember crouching down in a vacant lot in our old neighborhood for hours, making salads and potions out of clover, dandelions and Queen Anne’s Lace. I’d talk to myself and whoever else came along and we’d rub the sunny petals on our fingertips and make endless jokes about how it was pee.
And always, after hours, or atleast what felt like hours, I’d burst through the garage door and my mom would be sitting at the kitchen table or up in her room watching her programs and munching on stovetop popped popcorn with melted butter, never concerned or frantic about where I’d been.
These days, we’re all “Where are you going?” “Who are you going with?” “Who are their parents?” “Where do they live?” “What’s their social security number?” I don’t know if it’s the simple fact that we get powerwashed daily with disturbing, horrific stories about padlocked creeper vans and color-coded alerts on social media 24/7 or just that time has changed the culture that much, but somewhere along the line, just letting your kids go out and play got so much more complicated!
But of the few blessings to come from this COVID-19, social-distancing bizarro world we’re inhabiting, one has to be the return to simple joy. To neighborhood kids meeting by a giant puddle to catch tadpoles and exchange exaggerated stories. To muddy legs and wild hair. To filthy fingernails and new discoveries. Though caution is still part of the impromptu playdate. This afternoon, I stood in the backyard and Sloppy Joan yelled across the common area, “Mom! We have new friends! But we’re not touching them!”
Granted, this newfound freedom has come simply because I don’t have the capacity to entertain a 10, 8 and 5-year-old while still working a full-time position in healthcare during a global pandemic, but it’s a blessing all the same. Twice this week I actually lost them. All three of them. But I found them … eventually.
I will not sit here and type lies to you people. I love you too much. This has not been easy. If you’d like an honest recap of days 8-17, please take these bulleted items and rearrange them in different configurations:
- Feed people
- Clean up food
- Yell
- Work
- Yell
- Cry
- Conference call
- Yell
- Feed people
- Clean up food
- Yell
- Conference Call
- Work
- Drink
- Sweet moment
- Feed people
- Work
- Yell
- Cry
- Marco Polo
- Sleep
- Repeat
But it isn’t all bad and I’m trying so damn hard not to let the insanity of it all just swallow me whole. Last night, after dinner, it was beautiful out and we decided to go for a walk. There were so many people outside. As our motley crew strolled along, everyone was waving and chatting. It felt like a neighborhood of yesteryear, when people stood over fences and chatted until the mosquitos emerged.
We walked to my brother’s house (he lives on the other side of our neighborhood), and he informed me that what we were witnessing was actually intentional. Something called “The 7 o’clock Wave”. Well … how wonderful is that? A set time to stroll out and smile at the other people going crazy in their houses which are a stone’s throw from your house, where you’re going crazy. I’m in.
I’m finding that, as accessible as certain people are right now, it’s almost becoming easier to neglect those relationships. I’m being so intentional about connecting with the people I can’t see, but I have to be intentional about the ones I’m locked in my house with, too. Yesterday afternoon, after they announced the chicks would not be going back to school for the rest of the year, we sat on our driveway in a circle. I asked them what was something good that’s come from this situation? Something bad? How they’re feeling overall. The warmth of the sun felt so soothing. We baked in the light and released all of it. I was honest, too. Just because I’m the mom doesn’t mean I don’t feel things. Sometimes I think I feel them bigger and deeper than anyone. (Somewhere nearby my husband just uttered, “No shit!”)
Anyway, we’re still here. The sun has stayed for a couple of days and, while I know she can’t stick around, that’s been the greatest gift this week. I hope that you are well. I hope that you are finding release and relief. I hope this time of slowing down is bringing some sweetness to your life. Consider this your 7 o’clock wave. I see you. You aren’t alone. We’ve made it through another week.