Forward

Three more weeks. That’s how long my kids have to wait until they’re fully vaccinated. While most shots – to protect against such seemingly far-fetched ailments as tetanus and polio and diphtheria – are events to be dreaded at annual doctor’s office visits, the coronavirus vaccine was one all three of my children were eager to get.

This vaccine lifts a world of worry from their shoulders, one I hadn’t fully realized they’d been carrying these last long 14 months. Yes, getting the vaccine will mean less mask wearing and more hanging out with friends. But it is so much more than that.

When vaccination opened to the 12- to 16-year-old age group, I scheduled first shot appointments for early June, figuring the kids would be out of school by their second dose, and more easily able to handle any side effects. But when I happily announced this news, all three said they wanted their shots sooner. As soon as possible. They were tired of waiting. Tired of wondering when they’ll be able to hang out with friends – whenever and wherever they’d like – without masks.

They are done with pandemic worry. They are ready to move forward.

My kids have been lucky this past academic year to have spent almost all of it in school. Yes, they wore masks to class, for hours a day. Yes, they had to stick with their limited cohorts, which meant no mingling at lunch tables or in hallways – and, for my 6^th grader, missing out on many of the traditional last-year-of-elementary-school events, including the field trip to Boston, a series of outdoor education hikes in the mountains, and getting to be leaders for various activities of mixed age groups at school.

But they have not been isolated. Their human interaction has not been limited to seeing friends and classmates only through a screen. They played soccer in the fall and competed in ski races through winter, both activities that are as much about being with friends as they are about athletics and competition. When they had questions about schoolwork, they were able to ask their teachers in person. They’ve had the welcome routine of going to school each weekday morning.

Still, amid all of this not-quite-normal, there’s been an underlying fear. Fear of getting sick. Fear of getting someone else sick. Fear of being ostracized if they did contract Covid. Being vaccinated won’t eliminate this anxiety entirely, but it alleviates it in a huge way. One shot in, my kids are already feeling that Covid concern ease a bit. One down, one to go. Forward.

Original content published by Meghan McCarthy McPhaul. This essay appears as Meghan's May 27, 2021 Close to Home column in the Littleton Record.

Summer Strange and Sweet

In some ways, this has been a strange summer. And in others, it seems just as summer should be. The strangeness began with the early closing of school – both the physical school building in mid-March and the release from remote learning at the end of May, two and a half weeks before the originally anticipated last day of school. The kids have been home nearly four months already, which hasn’t happened since before they went to preschool.

For large chunks of that time they have been left on their own to entertain themselves and each other. If necessity is the mother of invention, well, boredom seems to be a good motivator.

With no big trips planned this summer, no fast-moving weeks filled with the happy chaos of cousins visiting from California and Texas and Tennessee, no camps to attend – there are a lot of hours to fill. Some of these are taken up with books or puzzles or board games, others with screens, a few with chores, and some spent around the corner at grandparents’ houses.

The rest is time outside – alone or with each other, roping me in when I am not typing away or meeting-by-zoom in the hot office upstairs. We’ve had a couple of big hiking days, with more anticipated later in the summer. There’s the occasional bike ride. But for the most part, the kids have to find their own fun – or invent it.

For weeks this spring, after the snow had melted from the yard – during that long stretch of time

where we didn’t go anywhere or see anyone outside of our own family – we held daily 2 v. 2 soccer games late in the afternoons. We rotated teammates every other day and argued every call. It was an unwritten part of the daily schedule, a reward for making it through another day of school via Google Classroom.

In the weeks since school has ended, the kids have cycled through several rounds of self-propelled amusement. There’s a rudimentary rope swing hanging from the branch of a maple tree near the edge of the yard, and the skeleton of a fort in another corner. For a while there was an obstacle course climbing and twisting through a series of natural and kid-made structures. They’ve created a disc golf course and three variations of foot golf courses, weaving around gardens and through trees to hit the designated targets. The actual golf clubs have made only one brief appearance.

Only recently have we expanded our pandemic era circle to include a few friends. We hike through the woods toward mountain summits together, or meet at the river in the afternoons, where the kids skip rocks and choreograph synchronized leaps into the water.

Many days, as I make my way through working remotely, the kids make summer plans up as they go along. There is no itinerary, no set agenda, no schedule mapped out by the hour or the day.

But there is hot sunshine and cool, clear water just down the hill. There are bikes in the garage, hiking boots in the mudroom, and flipflops strewn across the front porch. There are trees to climb, friends to meet, towels hung on the line to dry between splashing in the pool and leaping into the river. There are books to read on long, lazy afternoons and fireflies flickering through the tall grass of the field after dark.

While we are missing some of our cherished summer traditions, I think maybe this is how summer should be, even if just this once – completely unmapped, unplanned, unbusy. Strange, perhaps, but sweet, too.

Original content published by Meghan McCarthy McPhaul. This essay appears as Meghan's July 9, 2020 Close to Home column in the Littleton Record. 

So long, (remote) school

Despite the likely prospect of a summer devoid of beach trips, overnight hiking adventures, and the annual visits with cousins, my kids have never so eagerly anticipated the end of the school year. Sure, EVERY spring there is a sense of celebration and anticipation. No more pencils, no more (Chrome)books, and all that jazz. Hot days of sleeping in and endless freedom stretching to time’s horizon.

Dreaming of summer sunsets and getting to the beach

But my kids like school. They like their teachers. They like learning new things. They like hanging out with their friends at lunch time and recess. What they – very vocally and consistently – do NOT like is remote learning.

Before I go on, let me be clear that my children’s teachers have been fabulous through this whole remote school experiment. If I had to guess, I’d say the teachers like remote teaching as little as my children like remote learning. Nobody – at least nobody I know – wanted school to look like this for the last several weeks of the school year. 

Normally, this month is chockful of end-of-the-year events – field trips and projects, concerts and celebrations. Normally, when I look at the calendar in May, I have to deep breathe my way through an anxiety attack – so many places to be in so short a time. This year, though, I am glad I wrote everything on our family calendar in pencil, because most of it has been erased.

The last day of school, formerly scheduled for the middle of June, has been moved up two and a half weeks to May 29. To add that new date to the calendar, I had to erase the previously scheduled event of that day: the annual 5^th and 6^th grade field trip to Boston. This is one of the most highly and happily anticipated days of the year for kids in those classes, including my own 5^th grader. It’s a day in the nearest big city, with lessons in history and science (and how to cross several lanes of traffic safely), topped off by dinner at Quincy Market.

This year it’s one of many spring traditions my kids – and all the others – have had to give up and get over. I can hardly fathom how disappointed this year’s 6^th graders are to be missing out on so many of the rite-of-passage events they’ve anticipated since they were wee kindergarteners. And I feel an extra big pang of disappointment for this year’s seniors, who, of course, are missing out on a whole lot of pomp and circumstance – and facing, like all of us, plenty of uncertainty in whatever comes next.

In our home, rather than giddy excitement over a summer of plans – quality cousin time, a week at the Cape, camping and hiking and paddling with friends, soccer camp and dips in the pool – there’s instead a reserved relief at nearing completion of a necessary task. So long, remote learning. Here’s hoping that after whatever this summer holds, fall’s return to school is up close and in person.   

Original content published by Meghan McCarthy McPhaul. This essay appears as Meghan's May 7, 2020 Close to Home column in the Littleton Record.