We are finally approaching the close of 2020. The sun will soon rise on 2021, and we are all wondering what this new year will bring.
I, and I am certain most of you too, continue to hear and to read how crummy 2020 was, that we cannot wait for it to be over, that we want our lives back. I can understand this, of course. But beneath the layers of disappointment and anxiety, of frustration and gloom, there also lives in me the desire to hold on. This feeling has quietly and perpetually pushed me to consider the value that was woven into this year.
At this point, it is important to recognize that the thoughts forthcoming are from my very small corner of the world. And in this corner, we have been fortunate enough to not have fallen sick. We have had steady employment and comforts. Our reality has not included illness and fear, financial burden, or mourning. We have lived tucked in. I cannot imagine having lost someone. I can’t imagine being a single parent trying to work, to educate her children, and to keep them safe all at the same time. I can’t imagine worrying about getting sick and also about putting dinner on the table. Surely, I would be eager to leave the year behind, as well. To those whose realities were or are grim, I am deeply and sincerely sorry.
There are many things I am happy to leave etched into the 2020 calendar. Let us please leave behind days of record-breaking deaths and a rampant virus with no end in sight. I cannot wait to leave behind an administration of such deceit, mistrust, and embarrassment. I hope to leave behind a school schedule that is as unpredictable as the weather. I would also like to say goodbye to elbow bumps and start hugging again.
Then there are the things that are less obvious, less black and white. The things that blur the lines, that sometimes feel good and sometimes feel like a vice. Take, for example, the time spent at home. Part of me, a large part, is built from homebody genes. I love home. I love routines. I love knowing that the coffee will brew at 5:05 and that it is the kind we like. I crave knowing that my kids are tucked into their own beds with their blankets that smell like us. I like the hum of the dryer at night, the blue of my bedroom wall, the swing set in the backyard. I am not sure I want to leave all of quarantine behind. Because of it, we hibernated more here, in this comforting space we love. We dove into Harry Potter and LEGOs. We watched Star Wars and tried new recipes. We slept in a tent in the playroom, did school projects in the kitchen, and had our own little Halloween party in our family room. It was all here. So I am not sure I want the world to open. I rather like the closed signs.
The flip side of this, of course, is that some days are just dreadfully boring. When I suggest going for a bike ride, my children look at me like I have asked them to dust. On some days, we are quite over being here and only here. Being in our neighborhood and nowhere further. The last time we went to the local park, the kids crawled all over Jason and begged him to wrestle, while the actual park and its equipment stood lonely and unplayed in the background. We have played Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders, Guess Who, and Exploding Kittens too many times. “Movie nights” are not quite as bright and shiny anymore. We have done them, twice over. “What’s next mom?” they ask. “Can I get a piggyback ride … AGAIN, Daddy?”
So, will we be on an airplane as soon as I can get our vaccinated behinds on one? Yes. I cannot wait for a vacation. I cannot wait to see the world again, to see people, to shop, to eat at a real restaurant, to visit a movie theater, to see a museum exhibit, to take my kids to a baseball game, to have dinner at a friend’s house, and to make expedia.com part of my daily site visits. And yet, I do not want to leave behind my sacred home time, tucked in, with this family. That part, I want to bring with.
Another item to bring forth? I am going to say it: Let’s keep these masks. I know. You are ready to rip them from your face and toss them immediately. You are absolutely ready for the awkward family drama to end about who wears one and who doesn’t. But, do you know what I love about them? I love the eye crinkle. Smiling eyes should be the hashtag of 2020. What a beautiful and unexpected treasure. I also love that my children have not thrown up or had a runny nose since February of 2020. Can I get an Amen?! I have to believe that masking is brilliant for kid germs. (I really hope I have not just jinxed us.)
Something else that is good and bad: school at home. The good includes the incredible comfort and reassurance in knowing your children are safe there. And, for us, it has been the enormous gift of having Harper and Jameson’s grandparents involved in their daily school lives. It is the unexpected joy Harper found in listening to her grandpa’s stories of history (he’s “so” old!) and Jameson’s morning greeting, “Hey Gram!” And, may I just say, I have not had to pack lunches or fight with children who cannot find their shoes in time to scoot out the door? Can I get another Amen here? 1. School at a slower pace, with 2. grandparents, and 3. at home? Yes, please. But, we know the truth of this, too. Not everyone has family to help. I see it each day with the students I teach, and my heart breaks. In addition, the kids miss their friends. They miss playing on the playground and having their teachers read to them live and in the flesh. School at school is best. But in a few months (maybe?) and next year when life has resumed, I will look back on these days and hug them in my mind. We will never get them back.
This evening, I asked my family to consider this idea of leaving behind and bringing forth. I thought Harper would say Harry Potter, but instead she went big. She said two words: positivity and family. Jason said we need to carry forward the helpfulness that people have extended in this time of need and insecurity. And patience. The clock striking midnight does not a new day bring … not just yet. Jameson said we need to bring LEGOs into the new year. He also said we need to leave behind “the dumbness” and asked if Trump had been fired yet. The irony is not lost on me that “dumbness” is not a word. Bless him. My own dinner table answer was rather shallow: I’d really like curbside pick up to hang around. Be honest- it’s great, right?
It is exciting to think a new year is upon us. Here in Colorado, Jason and I are toward the front of the line for a Covid vaccine because we are teachers, though we do not yet know when that will be. Despite frightening numbers and the potential for a holiday bump, school is starting full time for elementary students on January 6. I am scared and hopeful. Will we make it without being quarantined? Without fear or anxiety? Will I remember how to pack a damn lunchbox? Life goes on.
When the sun comes up Friday morning and 2021 officially begins, I envision life will feel much the same. We will walk slowly through its first few months, day by day, week by week. Our footing will be unsure. But I hope that, sooner than later, the landscape will begin to change. That spring will bring a renewed spirit and healthier humans. That we will begin to put dates on our calendars that are a month out and keep those dates. That we will visit a friend and linger a few minutes longer than what we can now. And I will savor those things, of that I am sure.
But, I hope that not everything will be left behind. As I write, Harper is cartwheeling and hand-standing in the family room. Jameson and Jason are playing each other in Mario Kart and cracking up. Lingering twinkle lights from Christmas brighten the mantle, and a pine-scented candle is lit in the kitchen. We ate quesadillas at home and played Jenga after dinner. Earlier, the kids built a fort and kicked the soccer ball in the backyard. We shared simple things. Things that weren’t rushed or frenzied. I would like to bottle that feeling and carry it forward. I hope you have things to hold on to, as well.
