Quarantined Smiles.

This year there was no pre-school graduation. We drove by my daughter’s teachers home to say hello, and thank you, and take an awkward photo of the two of them standing near each other with masks over their smiles. I couldn’t help but notice that her teachers hair is much longer than I’d ever seen it. I couldn’t help but notice that the smile beneath her mask felt sad. We weren’t sure what to do, or what exactly was ok to do, but we pretended that it was fine because my kids were there. We smiled beneath our masks and we took the awkward photo and we said goodbye, have a great summer, and please keep in touch. No end of the year musical. No adorable graduation ceremony. No classmates.

About an hour later my pre-school graduate asked me out of the blue, “Mommy, when is the sickness going to be gone?”. I froze. (I didn’t even know that she had named it, “the sickness”.) I didn’t have an answer for her, but I wondered immediately if she felt the foreign sadness in the air at her intimate 3 minute graduation “ceremony” earlier.

This year, field day was via Google Meet in our backyard. Summer Birthdays we’re celebrated virtually, and my eldest daughters kindergarten graduation ceremony was held at our kitchen counter while we watched the computer screen and tried to collectively pretend that this is all ok. She will never have another kindergarten graduation. Her sister will never have another pre-school graduation.

But you know what? They’ve never had one in the past either, right? They have nothing to compare this to. I have to assume that they know it would have probably been a little different, but it’s us – the adults – who are in charge of putting a positive spin on the situation. Everything is going to be ok, right? We’re all going to be fine and everything will go back to normal and my kids won’t turn into mindless zombies from staring at their iPads all day….right?!

As I lay here flat on my back with my legs raised at 6:30pm because I recently threw my back out, I’m really starting to wonder if it’s all going to be ok. I wrote the first 3 1/2 paragraphs of this piece about a month ago. I was beginning to feel the uneasy depression from my kids as school ended and summer clearly wasn’t going to be as fun without vacations and friends and regular beach trips. But then I wasn’t sure where I was going with it. I have been determined to set the tone for this pandemic as a positive one, with delicious home-cooked meals and lots of fun projects and family time. I truly believe that everyone I know has been doing their best, and yet…

My closest friends have lost too many loved ones over the last few months. My child is afraid to go to the doctors office. I’ve watched a friend grieve the unexpected loss of her beloved pet. I can hardly even see my last living grandmother in person. Relationships have been destroyed. Babies have been born to masked mommies alone and immediately quarantined from extended family. I haven’t seen most of my friends in months. I’m afraid of having family visit from another state. So many vacations have been cancelled. I’m not even going to mention the political divide we are all witness to. We must now have someone stick a yardstick up our nose to poke our brain in order to test for covid before we can cross state lines. And now the kids probably aren’t even going back to school in September?!? WHAT?! How much more can we all take?

The stress this year is unreal. It’s palpable at home, and even more so in public places. I’m just as afraid that I will catch the virus as I am that I will be an asymptomatic carrier. Relationships in general feel like they’re crumbling while we all try desperately to maintain some form of human connection with these masks covering 50% of our faces. 2020 can go to hell.

Today, I drove by an intimate funeral service being dismissed from a church. Everyone was in black, and wearing masks. I don’t have any idea who passed away but I drove by and felt a sadness wash over me as I imagined what it might be like to grieve the loss of a loved one alone. To cry 6 feet apart in a church pew and feel those tears soak into a mask. To fear pulling the mask down to blow my nose and risk contamination. To know that those people walking out of the church are grieving the loss of their loved one on top of everything else I’m sure they’ve experienced this year already, and they won’t even be able to feel the warmth of a strangers smile beneath their mask any time soon.

Ultimately, if I had to boil it all down to one thing, I miss smiles. I miss smiling at the young mom at the grocery store juggling a toddler and a newborn who won’t shut the hell up while her kid takes 5 years to choose a damn cereal. I miss meeting new clients and calming their nerves with a gentle smile. I miss watching an old couple smile at each other across the booth during breakfast. I miss smiling and laughing so hard my cheeks hurt at girls night. I miss seeing kids I don’t even know grinning at the playground or eating ice cream. I’m a forward thinker and I miss smiling at the thought of tomorrow, of next week, and of next month. It’s tough to smile at the unknown. It’s tough to smile through the fear. It’s tough to smile through everything 2020 has thrown at us.

I’m not going to wrap this up with some mind blowing tidbit that will save you from the confusion and loneliness and unknown that 2020 has bestowed upon us because that would be terribly disingenuous. This year is the worst. And it knows it’s the worst. And to prove it, I’ll end by saying that this is the very first blog post I have ever written entirely sober. Because, I’m pregnant.

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Just kidding! Holy hell, three kids is enough. Settle down 2020. But, I hope that made you smile.