What happens when the doer-in-chief can’t do it?

When I was a little girl playing dolls, I’d imagine having a real baby to nurture, love and cuddle. As an oldest child with two younger brothers, I learned some baby care fundamentals by the time I was seven: how to change a diaper; how to hold a delicate head; how to play airplane with food. Instead of deterring me from having kids, mastering these tasks only made me more excited to become a mother of my own brood. Today I’m fortunate to have four people, two high schoolers and two middle schoolers, who call me “mom.”

Being mom to three teenagers and a tween no longer means diaper changer, bedtime snuggler, or hand holder. These days I feel less like “mama” and more like “manager.” I’m the calendar keeper; dinner provider; vacation planner; clothing shopper; chauffeur; room organizer; lunch maker. As the “doer” for all things family in our house, it’s my pleasure to carry out that stuff (most of the time). But I can’t help wondering: Is anyone paying attention to any of these daily boxes I check for them? If I decided to take a solo trek to the Alps, would they even notice my absence?

Recently, life handed me answers to these questions. Unfortunately, they didn’t come with a fabulous voyage to Europe, but instead with my testing positive for COVID.

My fellow vaccinated and boosted friends who contracted breakthrough infections told me Omicron was no big deal. So, it shocked me when COVID arrived with a 102-degree fever; pounding headache; and excruciating sinuses throughout my face and head. So much for a relaxing quarantine staycation. Suddenly I couldn’t wait to get back to all my doing. And oh no, all that doing! Who would do all the doing while I recovered?

Turns out, my children actually can pack their own lunches. My husband proved he can put together a dinner and coordinate driving schedules. His own work shifted to accommodate the added responsibilities, but the household kept humming while I rested and recouped. As we will soon say on Passover- Dayenu -it would have been enough to know everyone was hanging in OK and helping out as much as possible.

But I soon learned that wasn’t enough. Just as God continued to provide for the Israelites, my children provided me an additional gift upon my return from quarantine. They didn’t just tell me they loved me back. They showed me the love. My 15-year-old hugged me so tight, she practically lifted me off the ground. Upon hearing my voice in the hallway, my 10-year-old threw open his bedroom door and came running to me with outstretched arms. My 16-year-old made a beeline for my bedroom when he got home from practice to fill me in on all the details of his busy life. My younger daughter contracted COVID the day after me, and remained in isolation. “Mom, I miss you. Come back!” she said when I went to check on her.

I’ve wondered what led to their outpouring of appreciation and affection. Of course, my kids were grateful I was on the mend, but I also felt it came from the collective vulnerability experienced these past two years. There are few silver linings to the pandemic, and the increased intensity of feelings has reaped its own havoc on our micro and macro worlds. Sometimes, though, that heightened state of feeling and fearing can bring us a renewed sense of appreciation and purpose. It took me a few weeks after contracting COVID to be back to myself, but I’ve now returned to full capacity as the doer-in-chief of our household. Yet as I go about my day checking boxes, I feel redeemed.

Mimi Sager Yoskowitz is a writer and former CNN producer raising her family on the North Shore. She’s a current trustee of the Jewish Women’s Foundation and former Young Women’s Board member. Connect with her on Facebook or Instagram @mimisy6