Pity the poor dads locked down for Father's Day tomorrow.
They can't do much on their special day, but that was never the point, anyway.
Dad can still char something on the barbecue and take the dog for another epic walk, run or cycle.
Instead, pity the poor schlubs celebrating lockdown birthdays. Mine's tomorrow. I don't want sympathy but I would take flowers. At least those can be delivered in level 3.
My bubble consists of a 17-year-old who will be working on my birthday and trying to finish an assignment that night, plus her 15-year-old brother who will likely sleep most of the day.
That leaves me and the dog to celebrate. The maltese/cavalier King Charles mix might get her little legs run off that day.
Options for birthday activities beyond home are limited to Lime scootering, cycling, running, walking and fetching takeaways.
And talking on the phone or on a video call. If I'm feeling crazy I can queue at the supermarket for flour that's out of stock so I can not bake my own birthday cake.
It's okay, I have ingredients for pumpkin pie. I will hide the aerosol whipping cream from the teenagers, who would shoot the entire can into their mouths if I let them.
Birthdays highlight the speed with which children morph into adults, and adults into dithering dunderheads who are "so last decade" (according to their kids).
It's like I put my offspring on one of those spinning rides at the carnival where the floor drops out and you're stuck to the wall through centrifugal force.
They entered the whirring wheel as babies and - BAM!- in the instant, emerged as adolescents on the cusp of adulthood.
When I started writing this column nearly five years ago, the kids were aged 11 and 12. My youngest turns 16 next month. My eldest will be 18 in January.
I know I should cherish these waning days with children at home.
I know when I look up from the computer, phone or from cooking or cleaning - whatever task I've deemed more important than gazing into the eyes of my progeny, they'll be gone.
But right now, when we're home together nearly every minute of every day for what feels like months, I struggle to carpe diem - seize the day.
Writer Glennon Doyle gained mass acclaim after writing about this subject - the notion parents have a sacred duty to savour each moment with their children.
Doyle says she was shopping in a big box store when an older woman looked at her three children, ages 5 and under, and said, "Sugar, I hope you are enjoying this. I loved every single second of parenting my two girls. Every single moment. These days go by so fast."
Doyle says carpe diem - seize the day - makes her paranoid and panicky. "Being told, in a million different ways to CARPE DIEM makes me worry that if I'm not in a constant state of intense gratitude and ecstasy, I'm doing something wrong."
She compares parenting to climbing Mount Everest. We do it because we believe the accomplishment will be worth the work. But the climb itself can be gruelling.
People cry on that mountain. They also die.
Now imagine, Doyle says, if there were people stationed every 20 metres on Everest, yelling to the climbers, "ARE YOU ENJOYING YOURSELF!? IF NOT, YOU SHOULD BE! ONE DAY YOU'LL BE SORRY YOU DIDN'T!" TRUST US!! IT'LL BE OVER TOO SOON! CARPE DIEM!"
I am not thinking carpe diem as I listen to Master 15 play his millionth video battle in lockdown.
Nor am I thinking it when Miss 17 whinges there's "nothing to eat" (again).
I definitely don't think carpe diem when the teens are engaged in mortal (verbal) combat. I am mostly thinking, "Get me outta here."
Parenting is also like running a marathon. I don't enjoy the marathon, especially the last 10 kilometres, but I enjoy having run the race. I also don't love bathing the dog, but I appreciate a nice-smelling companion.
While carpe diem is beyond me, I can give carpe secundo - seize the second - a go.
In the past week, I have celebrated Miss 17's excitement at an excellence mark on an assignment; I clicked my metaphorical heels over Master 15's spontaneous admission that his friends don't know everything; I praised his culinary skills when he successfully assembled and served a meal.
What if at work, your boss checked in each hour, asking, "Are you loving every single second of your job?" And if you weren't loving it, telling you you must not be doing it right?
Parenting is hard enough without wondering whether you're enjoying your child's every mood, every act of defiance, every instance of sloth.
Lots of important jobs are hard. Throw in lockdown when the kids have no school and their only social connections are virtual, and it sometimes feels like running a marathon up Mount Everest.
Like Doyle, I can't carpe an entire diem. But I can savour sweet, small moments along the way.