For my little ones in Lockdown 3….

Throughout the last year, no matter how difficult it has felt at times, or how overwhelmed we all were, I drew so much comfort in the fact that despite it all, the four of you were still so happy. Regardless of the fact we couldn’t see those we loved, or that your education had been cut short; despite the fact we couldn’t go anywhere, or do anything, or plan further ahead than even just one day, you still got up each morning with big smiles on your faces and full of enthusiasm for the day ahead. Through those sunny days in the garden when the sound of your laughter echoed in through open windows, to those balmy nights when we walked hand in hand through woodland walks, your little faces exuded happiness. During those summer months when some normality returned and we relished every single adventure, to the autumn term when schools reopened and you reunited with old friends, your happiness kept me going, no doubt about it.

And should someone have asked me just this morning how you were coping throughout lockdown three, I would have told them that, although Lewis at sixteen is understandably finding it tough, the three of you are absolutely fine, simply making the most of a bad situation and, for the most part, completely un-phased. But earlier, scrolling through old photos from the Summer, your little faces stopped me dead in my tracks and it hit me, with such horror and heart wrenching realisation, that those happy little faces looking back at me were not the same faces I wake to each morning. And perhaps in just the same way that I have been putting on a brave face, so have you.

And the more I sat and thought about it, the more I berated myself for failing to realise just how much this was impacting on each of you, the more I felt I had failed you for neglecting to notice that those big smiles and peals of laughter simply masked what lay beneath the surface. Looking back over the last few months, through Tier 3 followed by another national lockdown, the signs have been glaringly obvious. And I can’t help but think that I was so busy trying to stay afloat for the four of you, that I failed to notice just how fast your little legs were treading water beneath the surface.

When we talk about the pandemic and the restrictions in place, it’s easy for us grown ups to focus on how hard it is for all of us. Juggling full time jobs, juggling home school, buckling under the pressure of deadlines, targets, the financial burden, doing everything possible to keep our children safe. It’s easy for us to feel that the weight of the world is on our shoulders, that it’s us who are tossing and turning each night unable to sleep, that it’s us who are feeling frustrated at the actions of the government, us who are left worrying about elderly relatives, us who are battling with our own mental state in a bid to be present and positive for our children.

Perhaps I didn’t associate the changes in each of your behaviour with the current situation despite the signs, however subtle, screaming out to be heard. Perhaps I was so caught up in trying to keep things as normal as possible for the four of you that I just didn’t realise how topsy turvy your world had become.

When there are melt downs over school work, tears over live lessons, refusals to even go to bed at night, I should have seen that you’re not just stalling for time or reluctant to learn, you’re simply feeling overwhelmed.

When you’re bouncing off the walls and trashing the playroom, when you’re pushing us to the brink with your relentless fall-outs, bickering and dramas, I should have realised that you aren’t trying to make life difficult for us, you’re simply struggling to adapt to the fact your world has become so small.

When you’re over-emotional, over-reacting, over-tired, when you’re pushing the boundaries, testing our limits, pushing your luck, I should have known that you’re not playing up or running rings around us, you’re just struggling to make sense of all of those thoughts in your head.

When you’re asking too many questions, when you’re being overly loud and deliberately hard work, when you’re interrupting our conversations, our work calls, our personal space, I should have known that you’re not trying to drive us crazy, you’re just wanting us to notice how hard this is for you too.

And looking at those photos from the Summer when your smiles used to reach your eyes, when your heads didn’t bow with the weight of the world on your shoulders, when your little faces didn’t carry the furrowed brow of someone far older than your years, I can see now that you are every bit as tired of this as I am. Thinking back to the moments when you found magic so readily in every situation, when your voices were filled with enthusiasm and excitement, when you had big ideas and even bigger imaginations, it finally hit me just how much lockdown three has taken it’s toll on each of you. And it completely broke my heart if I’m honest.

So I did what any parent does in this situation and I cried, and I felt guilty, and I scrolled through those photos wiping frustrated tears from my cheeks. And I allowed myself to wallow in every single moment you have lost out on this year, every single memory you could have made with the people you love, every single adventure you would have thrived upon together. And after a while I remembered the words I had read on the Holy Grail of Twitter during one sleepless night at 3am, which simply said that instead of beating ourselves up for all that our children are missing out on right now, maybe we should just be so proud of ourselves for the fact that we made their lives so incredibly wonderful that there are more of those moments to miss.

The truth is kids, this is the biggest crash course in real life you will ever face right now, and mine too in so many ways. This right here is the true test of resilience and I’m sure one day you’ll look back and be grateful for all that it taught you in order to go on and become strong and inspirational adults who can do anything at all you put your mind to. I don’t doubt it for one minute.

Being your Mummy is the hardest job in the world at times, even more so during a pandemic, and this is a whole new territory for all of us. Just know that I am trying my absolute hardest to get us through it and, although I can’t change things for any of us right now, I can hold your hand that little bit tighter, reassure you much more often, and remind you of the fact that when all of this is over I will do everything in my power to make you the happiest children in all the world. That I can promise you.

So right now feel happy, feel sad, feel tired, feel anxious, feel excited, feel overwhelmed, feel bored, feel confused, feel silly, feel completely indifferent. Feel however you need to feel in order to get through any given day. In the words of someone far wiser than I, “Every day may not be good, but there’s something good in every day.”. And I will try my absolute hardest to help you find it.

I love you, I’m so proud of you, I’m right here with you.

Mummy xxx