Autumn has always felt a little, well, sad for me. I spoke to my mother about this and she thinks the same. It certainly is a beautiful time of year, particularly in the English countryside. The trees are turning a gorgeous colour, apples are ripening red and falling, blackberries and sloes shine like little jet jewels in hedgerows; and the newly harvested stubble fields are dotted with golden bales, stacked as if ready for a giant game of Jenga, as far as the eye can see.
However, Autumn - September in particular - always fills me with melancholy, particularly as I get older. I spend a huge amount of time reflecting back over the year, instead of looking forward. Each year, I am filled with a sense of nostalgia as I think back to the new buds and new beginnings of early Spring, the freshness of early Summer and the glorious hazy days of mid-Summer filled with the buzzing and humming of busy bees and lazy boys.
As a parent, September marks the beginning of a school year. Each September, my kids are subjected to the obligatory stand-by-the-front-door-back-to-school photo. Each September I am reminded just how much they have grown, as they stand a whole head higher than the previous year’s photo, gone are the chubby cheeks of childhood, both now maturing into fine young men. Each September I am reminded how independent they have become as they don’t need me to tie their ties or remind them to brush their teeth anymore. With a heavy heart, I wave them off, wipe away my tears as I pack away tents, beach wear and put the BBQ to bed to crack on with the new term and another downhill slide into Winter.
But this is September 2020, and it is much, much worse.
As a kid I loved September. I loved going back to school. I loved my shiny new school shoes which always felt a bit weird after weeks of being barefoot and fancy free. I loved my new stationery case, filled with pink pencils and strawberry scented erasers, purple pens and one of those maths sets in a tin that stayed clean for about 3 weeks before you snapped the ruler and find part of a protractor at the bottom of your bag. I loved filling in my new timetable and using my highlighter pens to outline Important Things. I loved catching up with my friends, with my teachers and getting back into the swing of things. I loved feeling challenged after weeks and weeks of reading trashy books and listening to Bruno Brooks on BBC Radio One.
But this was September before I had my own children.
My sons are my world. As much as I joke about the constant “what’s for lunch” mantra that has peppered Lockdown, I am going to miss them. I am going to miss hearing the shower at lunchtime, the crashing of plates as they prepare food, the shouting between bedrooms, expletives aimed at the X-Box. I am going to miss the banter, the swearing (which we have allowed this year – and, yes, they are going for it big time) and the hugs. I am going to miss them being in the way, the crumbs, the dirty socks and the bit of milk they didn’t wipe up as they helped themselves to cornflakes at 4pm. I am already missing the noise, the chaos, the screams as they squirt each other with a hose pipe in the garden and the half-arsed complaints when the dog jumps on them as a rude awakening. I’ll miss Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Netflix at noon, the back of their heads and even their headphones welded to their scalps.
I have kept my boys safe for 6 months, but my bubble is about to burst as I have to send them back into the Big Bad World of Covid19 to join their own bubbles with their school friends. I know they need to go back out there, and I need my routine back so I can get some bloody work done. But these last 6 months I have gotten used to these little Princes being part of my world. Covid19 and 2020 has been Shit. But what it has done is given me a chance to spend time with my boys. For us as a family to just get on with being us and ignore the rest of the world. To play Cluedo on a Tuesday afternoon. To sleep in and have a duvet day and snuggle up to Star Wars. To take the piss out of each other and laugh, eat supper late and argue who is going to take the dog out next. I’m going to miss all this. Who knew there was an upside to a Pandemic?
So, am I ready for them to go? To join in with society. To wear their masks and stand 2 metres from strangers. To Keep Calm and Carry On. God. Really? Is this life as it really is now? No bear hugs from their friends, no extra-curricular activity, no spontaneity.
I am going to find it tough. September is bad enough as it is. The wasps are out to spoil whatever meal you try to still eat outdoors, the nights are drawing in and the leaves are leaving. September for me is all about looking back and wishing it was May again. How am I going to do September 2020?
I don’t want Lockdown, but I am going to miss my bubble and I hope my son’s new bubbles don’t burst for them too soon.
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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