I’ll cherish our life in lockdown
In a gloriously uplifting ref lection on motherhood, Lisa Brady reveals how the pandemic strengthened the bond she has with her children... and how she’ll miss the f lood of hugs, ‘I love yous’, arty disasters, mucky walls and jockeybacks when life gets hectic again
The parents will watch as their children run away from them to play
Being forced to become an evil sea witch at 6am is not ideal
LAST Friday, the parents of Ireland were thrown a bone. It was announced that playgrounds were set to open the coming Monday. I devoured this news with delight, and used it as bait to tempt my wayward children into good behaviour for the following two days. I said things like ‘the playground is open on Monday, but if you’re not good, you won’t be going,’ and ‘remember, fun at the playground’ and watched with satisfaction as their whining quelled and their dinners were reluctantly eaten. Ah, blackmail can be a truly wondrous thing.
I practically had them in the car at 8am on Monday, when I figured I better check my phone to see how Operation Playground was going to actually work. Then – an image of children standing desolately outside a padlocked gate in my locality zoomed into view. What was this? Playgrounds in Wicklow County Council are to remain closed and will reopen on Friday?
I wanted to howl like a wounded animal. I definitely cursed. I seriously considered protesting on a plastic slide outside a certain Minister’s house, but then, I realised, my disappointment had little to do with it. As I looked at my two little girls, coats on, skittering with excitement at the front door, I felt my heart break a little. Oh dear – this was going to hurt.
It took a trip to a nearby café where we ordered ice cream with sprinkles and chocolate milkshake – then a detour to a fairy garden where we counted 28 magical tiny coloured doors – to alleviate their devastation.
But today – our local playground will reopen. The gate will unlock and the children will dash through, and the invisible cords that have kept each family together for the past three months will loosen. The parents will watch as their children run away from them to play. It is how it is meant to be.
As the path to freedom emerges, it’s bringing with it myriad feelings. If someone had told me this time last year that I would be working from home, with my children and husband 24/7 – with no outside support or recreational outlet of any kind accessible – I think I may have lost my mind. The ironic thing is, this time last year, I actually took six weeks unpaid parental leave solely to be with our children, before our eldest, Lana-Rose, started her first year of school.
I wanted to spend that precious time with my girls, that small window before a child takes those first steps away from your arms into school, embarking on their own journey. And we had a great time. The weather was glorious and we had trips or adventures planned most days, a short break and a holiday with grandparents. So many distractions and things to do. Such excitement.
This year, the unimaginable – a deadly global pandemic which changed everything. Again, I was at home with my children, but it couldn’t have been more different. Both myself and my husband juggling work, attempting to homeschool, manage childcare, with no outside support or breaks. As the days turned into weeks and months, it seemed we had all the time in the world, yet simultaneously, not a second.
Many days I wished for normality to resume. I cursed and detested and feared the virus and the cruelty it was unleashing in its wake. Personally, I was exhausted and frustrated by the intensity of having no work/life separation, no personal space, little reprieve from the constant demands of the children.
And the guilt. Mum guilt is pretty much a constant, at least in my experience as a working mother. Surprisingly, I continued to feel its potency during lockdown, especially when faced with the mammoth task of trying to homeschool. I discovered that I am not a natural teacher. While I was at my computer I felt I should be playing with my girls. Lately, I’ve given them far too much screen time; I wave treats as freely as greetings; and our three-year-old’s soother may have to be surgically removed, such is its prevalence. On days when I’m struggling, all these realisations make me feel like a bad parent. There have been times during this lockdown that I’ve wanted to run away, pull my hair out, and scream and stamp my feet like an angry toddler (I may actually have done the latter).
Being in lockdown as a family is challenging, infuriating and sometimes, seemingly impossible. Even the word itself is terrifying, conjuring imagery of captivity; a prisoner in a cell or a bird in a cage. We’ve had our wings clipped for months.
But what if I said that by the same account, we have possibly never been more free? In case this sounds like the ravings of a mad woman, let me explain. As a result of a deadly pandemic, we’ve also just had a marathon dose of school’s out. Remember the elation of waking up on a freezing cold morning, looking out at white rooftops and then getting the call that there would be no school as the pipes were frozen? Unless – God forbid – a second wave of Covid dictates otherwise, never in a school-going child’s life will they get a stretch like it. Little structure, less conformity, no uniform, zero rules. And an entire summer on top. I’m not downplaying the effects of cancelled exams and missed schoolwork, but they will catch up. Time is on their side.
Equally, many parents will not have had that amount of time to spend with their children in one go. Apart from last year’s stint, and the occasional fortnightly holiday, the longest spell I’ve had of simply being with my children was on maternity leave. This is traditionally the time when you bond with your baby, and get your head around the enormity of responsibility and work that motherhood brings. But you will get little but a glimpse of the true personality of your child at this early stage.
You see, here’s the thing – the last four months have offered me the chance to learn more about my children than I’ve ever known. I have got to see them at every single point of the day (and most nights). We can cuddle at leisure and have breakfast, unhurried, without the frenzy that the usual school prep brings. I have witnessed their early-morning energy highs and also their 11am slumps.
We have lunched together and played together and walked together. I have got more hugs and ‘I love yous’ than I could ever dream of counting. We have run on the beach and splashed in the sea, and explored woods. We have climbed walls and trees (I watched, nervously), and ridden bikes and played football.
I have never done so much with my children, or been more present. As we had no choice but to stay at
While at the office, I tended to miss the precious bedtime
home, we created our own little adventures daily. They’ve been immersed in both nature and, admittedly – technology. And they have opened up their imaginations to me in boundless ways, as superheroes and princesses, pirates and villains. I discovered that anything could become a game – and I was always asked to play.
Don’t get me wrong, at six in the morning, being shaken repeatedly and forced to become an evil sea witch is not ideal. If they could time it a couple of hours later, I’d imagine I could be a lot more convincing.
They’ve wanted to wear their PJs till 12, and some days I’ve let them. They have painstakingly and enthusiastically destroyed the all-white walls and floors in our new home, and while initially this made me want to cry, I’ve actually come to look at the mucky little prints with love. I remind myself that those little hands won’t always be sticky with jam or smeared with paint. They won’t always reach for mine.
We’ve had some big chats. They’ve questioned death, their fear of the virus and both of my daughters have told me they’ll be growing babies soon. We’ve gone through years of family photographs and reminisced about holidays and birthday parties. We’ve had much, much laughter and many, many tears. There have been slaps and kicks and jockeybacks and hopscotch. I’ve been challenged most days.
We have done more arts and crafts than Mary Make And Do in her heyday – and most of them have turned out questionable at best (even under the guidance of the talented lady herself). I’ve realised that LanaRose has a very strange obsession with Sellotape and will happily spend hours sticking things together, including reams of the stuff to the floor. While I work, she brings these peculiar artefacts of her adoration – toilet rolls wrapped with ribbon, cardboard boxes with straws protruding, and leaves them on my desk as gifts. I didn’t have the heart to chuck them out, but knew I had to take drastic measures when I could no longer see my keyboard. I’ve marvelled at her painting, which is really quite excellent, and her zany sense of style, and I’ve felt my heart burst with pride at Layla’s talent shows – she is just so adorably cute (and she can bang out a tune).
We have done yoga together and danced together and sang together. We’ve baked – I use the term loosely – or at least assembled hundreds of Rice Krispie buns, mountains of banana bread and a few iced cupcakes (little tip, always use unsalted butter).
We’ve eaten together as a family at dinner time. I now know that Layla prefers frozen sweetcorn while Lana-Rose is a fan of fresh baby corn. This may not seem particularly revelatory but knowing their little nuances means a lot. It’s made me realise that when some sort of normality resumes, and life gets hectic – as it inevitably will – that I need to continue to pay attention.
I’ve had the opportunity to teach my three-year-old how to brush her teeth, and my most favourite thing – of putting them both to bed in the evenings. While at the office, I tended to miss this part. And it’s so important, those glorious snuggles, baby-soft skin, hair that smells of vanilla, their sleepy little eyes as you read those favourite stories and wish them sweet dreams. Is there anything more precious?
We’ve had the best of times, and we’ve been lucky enough to avoid the worst. It’s been terrible and terrific. Two small children have taught me more in three months than I could ever have imagined – to practise patience and gratitude and view the world through their eyes, where you’ll see wonder in everything.
In the most cataclysmic of circumstances, I got another summer with my little girls. There has to be some beauty in that.