My child’s 11 th birthday was March 29 th, and as it approached– deep in the heart of COVID-19 social distancing– I tried to ensure him that, though he couldn’t have a celebration, he might still have a fun day of close-to-home household activities. Our household of 5 would have a backyard water balloon battle, I guaranteed. We ‘d get donuts from his preferred bakery. I ‘d even let him go to town embellishing our house with a can of spray chalk in one hand and a can of ridiculous string in the other.
I knew my child was disappointed, however I hoped he ‘d comprehend the need of the sacrifice. We had a heart-to-heart about the excellent reasons that everybody is keeping their range right now. I tried to explain the science of self-isolating in terms he ‘d understand: that though staying close to house (and far from buddies) feels sad, it’s actually a method to show we care for others. We could be carriers of the coronavirus even when we don’t feel ill, I informed him, and the last thing we desire is to spread disease to any of our pals.
Our talk seemed to soften the blow. In reality– even though I’m not a birthday-party-every-year kind of parent– it hurt my heart to know that my child would not be commemorated by his friends.
Then on the eve of the wedding day, a pal (and fellow school mama) texted: “Will you be house tomorrow at midday? We have a surprise.”
Uh, sure, I responded. We have no plans. Now or, like, ever.
The following day, on my son’s birthday, our household put together in front of our house to await the promised surprise. I figured my good friend and her boy– who’s been in the exact same class as mine since kindergarten– may come by with a card or some little gift they ‘d handled to score on Amazon. But it actually didn’t matter to me what the surprise held. I looked