So here we go again. Melbourne in Lockdown. Melbourne Metro and the Mitchell Shire, collectively breathing a sigh at having been here before, like being in labour and discovering you’re only a few centimetres dilated; still so much pain yet to be endured.
But instead of dwelling on life’s experiences better served in person than via a Zoom chat, I am making a conscious decision to remind myself of all the experiences I would happily do without as we bunker down for another long and cold – and long – six weeks.
Firstly, supermarket shopping…with children.
Thank goodness that bringing my children to the shops is discouraged. Literally the last time I was physically in a supermarket this is how it went down. The toddler conducting a prison break from the shopping trolley. The eldest fingering any and all of the lollies at the checkout – kept there for the purpose of making parents’ lives more difficult. The middle one, falling backward upending the trolley after hanging off its side. Me, swooping the toddler up into my arms, whilst catching the trolley with my shin. Never, do I ever, want to take all my ‘wild things’ to a supermarket all at once again; the memory still haunts of their small hands moving quicker than an Aldi shop assistant, the watchful eyes of the other customers staring long and hard, letting their judgement linger.
Secondly, long car trips…with children.
‘I love you to Wangaratta and back,’ said my eldest son one night as I tucked him in to bed. Some children love their parents to the moon and back, mine loves me as far as the three and a half hour drive to North-East regional Victoria – and back. But after travelling there recently, I’ve come to realise this is a compliment. Because even a relatively short journey can feel like an expedition to the moon when the dummy belonging to the overtired toddler has fallen down beneath the passenger seat, just out of reach despite all the twisting and contorting spurred on by the impassioned yelling; our toddler’s pitch and volume capable of bursting an eardrum. Frustrating too, is the need for siblings to annoy each other by encroaching on the other’s personal space. ‘Are we there yet?’ met with ‘I’ll turn this car around!’ Clichés that exist through the generations because, without the aid of technology, within a confined space, kids are wired to drive their parents nuts. Dishing out snacks to stave off our children’s hunger and, or, boredom, my husband and I delight in thoughts of having one of those screens found in limousines that divide the front seat from the back.
Lastly – though I’m sure there’s other experiences I would happily take a raincheck on for a little longer – dining in at cafés and restaurants…with children.
Having our three children sit up at the table, while my husband and I do our best to wade through a disjointed conversation, cutting up their food while ours gets cold, searching for wipes to contain the stickiness, walking on egg shells to prevent our daughter from squealing, to keep our sons in their seats. Not exactly relaxing.
Sometimes though, things do go smoothly. Sometimes the toddler doesn’t try to load or unload the supermarket trolley and the other two do stand ‘nicely.’ Sometimes the toddler falls asleep on long car trips while the other two stare dreamily out the window. Sometimes visiting a café is a success.
And sometimes, it’s nice to be at home.