Life just got easier…so why do I feel sad about it?

As the saying goes: today was the end of the beginning. This morning, for the first time in more than two months, our 5-year-old son Nathan went to school. It’s a moment that Laura and I, like many parents, have long looked forward to, albeit with a due sense of trepidation and last-minute doubts.

That’s not to diminish the hardship of the many thousands of people who’ve been more directly affected by the coronavirus than we have. But with both of us working and two kids of different ages (and personalities!) to home school, the last few weeks have been seriously tough.

To finally get a glimpse of the end of it, to have just one unwilling student to cajole and police rather than two, to step off the daily, hourly, rollercoaster of brotherly love and mortal enmity, to inject a smattering of usual routine into our lives again should therefore be joyous.

No more cries of ‘would your teacher really be happy with that?’ – well, only 50% of them anyway. No more having my maths skills shamed by Year 1 extension questions. Less reliance on Roblox and more time to boost the number of shits my 8-year-old Dylan gives about the life-cycle of a plant. A chance for Laura and I to actually do some work. At the same time. Christ.

So, why then do I feel a bit sad?

Is it the fact that this horrible virus is still carving up people’s lives? Maybe. Is it concern about the impact a socially distanced school day might have on Nathan’s young mind, not to mention the possible health risks? Probably. Is it guilt that the youngest, most fragile member of our family has been thrust to the vanguard of our journey back to something-like-normal life? Undoubtedly.

Perhaps some of you are experiencing similar feelings. For sure, many of you will be better at articulating them. Yet the more I scratch the surface, the more I realise there’s something else going on here. For all the overwhelming pressure, exhaustion and frustration of the last few months, for all the times I’ve selfishly wished they could be over right fucking now, I’m actually going to miss them.

Bike rides. Movie nights. Exploring the local woods. Eating every meal together. Playing board games. All the fun, cliched family activities that can get overlooked amidst the unpredictable thrum of everyday family life. The things that have recently become ever-present and invaluable. Indispensable, even.

Maybe that’s why I’m finding the prospect of emerging from this weird, tumultuous, anxious experience nearly as bizarre as going into it in the first place. A sort of empty-nesting lite. Maybe I’ve become a masochist. The kind of parental maniac who enjoys stepping between flailing fists and feet, applying Savlon, cleaning toilets that look like someone tried to hide a kilo of Dairy Milk in the U-bend and arguing about whether or not ‘research’ on Google counts as schoolwork.

Or maybe it’s more simple than that. As Nath said when I asked him how he was feeling this morning: “I’m looking forward to going back to school but I’m going to miss our adventures.” He’s not the only one.