Embracing envy, a side effect of the pandemic

I find myself envious during these days of social distancing of those who have younger children. My husband thinks I am crazy. Some of his colleagues are struggling to work from home while toddlers and elementary school kids disrupt their meetings and concentration with outdoor voices, giggles and tantrums.

He is grateful for the cooperation of our college students, who are endlessly occupied with online classes, and our twin 13-year-olds who juggle schoolwork with video games and television. All four kids have been especially quiet while they all recover from a different virus, the kind that attacks kids with inexperienced immune systems, leaving adults unaffected. They have been easy even in illness, so I am grateful as well.

But then I see these posts on social media of parents doing crafts with kids, cooking with kids, taking them on small hikes. That’s when the envy creeps in. I miss those days when the two oldest would play for hours at the kitchen table with Playdough, Legos and Polly Pockets. I miss watching the twins narrate self-created episodes of Thomas the Tank Engine while they push their personified toys along their wooden tracks. I miss taking the kids outside to play in the mud, throw rocks in the creek, search for worms, ants and spiders.

I miss the days when our kids were fascinated by everything and anything.

They still get outside, but I have to remind them and push them and encourage them to find activities that are worth their time. One twin sometimes plays baseball with my husband. The other throws shot put and discus at the track. The two boys often walk outside together to talk about their mutual interests or conjure up some new story line for a video game or comic strip.

The older kids will sometimes go for walks or runs, but it can be struggle, especially since they have been sick and the weather has shifted from spring-like and sunny to rainy and cool. They have also just returned from huge college campuses, where they walked a mile or two to class and shared tight spaces with others.

They are savoring the peace and quiet.

I need to remember that all of our kids are also mourning. Our oldest should be preparing for a five-day field trip to Colorado, where his Penn State geobiology class planned to test its newfound knowledge in the field. The internships he applied for this summer are on hold. He lost his job when the campus dining halls closed.

Our daughter was excited by her life in Raleigh . She had fallen in love with the city and with the people she had come to know on the campus of NC State. She had finally found friends who shared her views, a major that she loves and the independence she craves.

The twins lost baseball, track, the school musical, all-county band, marching band, field trips and time with their friends. They love learning and conversing with their teachers. All that is gone for now.

So I am grateful that they have all been cooperative and accepting, that they haven’t succumbed to depression when it tempts them every day. I am grateful that they make an effort to get along and that they are such a pleasure to be with. I am grateful for family game night, shared television shows, dinners together and deep conversations.

I am very fortunate.

But I want to paint windows with Easter decorations. I want to make “stew” from grass and berries and rocks. I want skip stones in creeks and ponds. Or do I? Really?

I know this is nostalgia speaking. I know that if I dig deep enough, I will remember the frustrations of floors littered with toys, kids who won’t sleep, constant interruptions to my attempts to write. I will remember getting every meal for all four kids, instead of letting them get their own breakfast and lunch, having to order and baths or showers, breaking up deeply emotional arguments, and finding the next new activity to keep them occupied despite physical and emotional exhaustion.

I will remember all that and I will be relieved that we are long past those stages. I am grateful, truly grateful, for the freedom young adulthood and the teen years give us and I would not trade our lives now for anything else, but my envy defies logic. It persists.

So what can I do but embrace it?

If I really think about it, I understand that my envy is a good thing. It means that, overall, those days were good. They were worth longing for. I hope all parents who are home with young children right now can feel the same way someday. I hope they will be able look back on this pandemic through rose-colored glasses, and maybe feel a tinge of envy when they see other parents with young children. Like me.

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