I Can Carry Us Through
This weekend was rough.
On the surface we celebrated our youngest son’s birthday and created a weekend-long event of turning 6. It was awesome – we had a lot of fun, too much sugar, and made him feel special and loved.
But under all that was tension and sadness.
My husband Dave and I bought too many presents, outdid the decorations, and overdid the activities. We had 2 cakes. Two. For our family of 5. The weekend was an exercise in guilt.
Because the truth is we’re both sad. Our sweet boy has never had a friend birthday party. We had a big party for him when he turned one, and then celebrated 2, 3 and 4 with family. For his 5th birthday we were living in a different country than our family, so it was just the 5 of us, and turned out to be the weekend before the first lockdown. The kindergarten birthday is the “big one” in our house – we had big, fun, crazy parties for Jack and Maria when they were each in kindergarten, and that was always our plan for Danny. But covid has ruined that.
My heart is so sad.
Danny truly had a wonderful birthday. His heart is overflowing. He was ecstatic to be in charge for 3 days; he declared it the best day ever after opening his presents; and he is reveling in telling us he’s bigger and stronger and more responsible now that he’s six.
Our boy is so happy to be 6! His cup is overflowing from all the love, attention, presents and sugar this weekend!
He also doesn’t know what he’s missing. He doesn’t even remember friend parties – he has nothing to compare this birthday to other than Maria’s & Jack’s covid/quarantine and in-a-new-country-don’t-have-friends-yet birthdays of the last two years.
But we know. And we feel the guilt and sadness.
We overdid it to compensate for the “new normal” – a world where kids can go to school together (masked, bubbled, and with 6’ of separation), but few parents want their child in someone else’s home for a 1:1 playdate, let alone a birthday party. So we made a private party, and it was fun.
The weekend was great- everything a child could ask for, and more.
But I’m struggling, friends. My heart is so sad for all our children, but I’m putting on my mom armor and showing up, and rocking the balloon arch, and prepping great craft activities, and baking that cake, and stuffing that piñata, and praying…
praying,
praying that my enthusiasm can lift them up; that our little family can replace their classmates; that if I sing loud enough it will sound like a room full of loved ones we’re missing; and mailed presents and zoom can get us through not seeing our family in over a year; and if I keep smiling, and loving, and giving my all, I can compensate for all that they’re missing…
and I’m praying all the time that they don’t see through me. That I can be strong enough for us all. For patience and love to fill me up and flow out of me so I have enough light and laughter to fill five hearts. I am strong. It’s hard— and I will overcompensate, and stumble, and doubt myself, and cry— and there will be days where I think I can’t — but I will always get back up, and practice gratitude, and find that joy. I can carry us through.
