Parenthood: Week 387 – The Eve Of The First Day Back Teaching (In Person)

“I don’t want you to go to school.”

I tried to explain to Ethan that I was going to school tomorrow and that when he wakes up, I might not be there. In my head, I thought that prepping him a would make tomorrow morning go a little easier. I tried to reassure him that I would be home in the afternoon, but it didn’t seem to help. The issue wasn’t just that I wasn’t going to be there in the morning, Ethan didn’t want me to go to school altogether.

Ethan is turning three in the end of October and for the last sixth months since my school closed on March 13th, I’ve been home every single day. In Ethan’s life, rounding up to three-years-old, that is 16% of his life. In my life, this last sixth months is only 1.3% of my life. I remember the time before the pandemic clearly, and in some ways Ethan doesn’t. Long term memory is just beginning to set in around two to three. Me being there to cuddle him in the morning is part of life for him.

There is always a fluffy puppy named Buffy around, there is always a mommy there to give warm-cuddles, and in the morning, there is always daddy there to take him out of his crib and bring him into the big bed to cuddle.

One of the benefits of having young children during this pandemic is that they do not fully understand the unnecessary suffering that is occurring because of incompetent selfish individuals, and how much they are losing. Ollie is the closest at age 7 to getting some of this and while he does get that there are things that his can’t get that he wants, mainly time with my parents and his cousins, most other parts of his life, he enjoys.

I’ve been through this before. I remember how hard it was to go to work the summer after Ollie was born and not be there when he woke up. After Ethan was born, I had to do a similar thing. This transition feels different.

When Ethan told me that he didn’t want me to go to school, the response “I don’t want to go either,” echoed in my head. Everything is harder to do outside of the house because of COVID-19, and I’m going in to my job as a teacher, to teach in person next week. Everything about my job is different. I’m teaching a new curriculum that is not fully developed (that’s a really optimistic way of stating that). I have a new schedule, I’m teaching different groupings of students than I’m used, and every single routine in my school is new. And my job is riskier than it’s ever been.

I have always felt that part of the reason I do my job is to take care of my family. I work to financially support them, and my work allows me to positively contribute to this world to make the world a better place for my sons. This year, many teachers in America have chosen that the best way to take care of their families is to not teach and quit. This isn’t the right choice for me, but I am aware what it means to take care of my family is different than in years past.

I know Ethan will be fine. He will cry, and scream if he wakes up and I’ve left. If he wakes up early and has some time to cuddle with me, he will probably cry as I leave. Diana will be amazing and handle this with grace, and this will get better over time. It will be hard to leave the house when Ethan is sad, but Diana will give me a strong smile and motion me to go away as we both know sometimes it’s best not to linger. She will text me a picture of Ethan smiling and laughing while I drive to work to prove that his sadness was only temporary and that Ethan is doing okay.

I know all of this, yet it will still be hard.  Tomorrow, I will miss all of my children, wish that I didn’t have to be away, and look forward to coming in that door, picking up Ethan as he runs up to me and feeling his little body lean into mine.