A Purer Source

I no longer read the news. I’ve actually been banned from it--a direct order from my therapist. I got into a bad habit of waking up, scrolling through, and stopping to read whatever tragic event transpired while I was sleeping. I’d feel my anxiety kick in, along with the overwhelming feeling of impending doom. As it turns out, this is not a healthy way to begin the day, while caring for 3 small children.

We are already living out the repercussions of destructive leadership, I don’t need to invite it into my mind every morning. Instead, I let the sounds of my daughters dictate the direction of our day, aiding only to nudge them (and myself!) back towards gratitude when we fall off course.

These mornings I’m barefoot in the kitchen sipping on cold coffee, throwing puffs towards my toddler, locating my 4-year-old’s toothbrush, and calling out bribes to my 6-year-old to stay sitting at the computer. In all the AM kerfuffle, I still get to hear the news, it just comes from a much purer source—in the form of a 1st grade Zoom meeting.

Teacher: “Can someone share one thing in their house that’s blue? I see so many friends sitting nice and quietly. “Suzy”, hit unmute and tell us what you found.”

Suzy: No sound, because she’s still muted.

Teacher: “Suzy, press unmute.”

Suzy: Still no sound.

Teacher: “Try again, we cannot hear you.”

Suzy: (Dad comes over to assist. Suzy is holding a blue object--doesn’t acknowledge it.) 

“My Dad told me not to share this because it’s private. My mom got out of the shower and wasn’t wearing clothes.”

Teacher: “You’re right, that is private. Tell me about your blue item in your hand.”

Suzy: “I take bathes not showers.”

Teacher: “Last chance to tell us about your blue item.”

Suzy: “I usually don’t wear clothes, unless I take a bath with my brother, then I wear my bathing suit.”

The meeting goes on like this for 45-minutes. 15, 6 and 7-year-olds and their gloriously innocent oversharing. I marvel that their logic always follows a zig-zagging path, eventually and inevitably tracing back towards losing a tooth, showing us their dog, or that one time they swam at a hotel pool.

I’m not sure what I was expecting to hear, as a former teacher, one of the main perks were these pure nuggets of delight. I think I worried all they would have to share are the struggles from the pandemic, since that has literally been every adult conversation since March. But children would rather tell you about that one-time Grandpa farted in the car, than complain about wearing a mask. 

How unbelievably refreshing. 

As parents, it’s our job to cleanse the parts of our reality that are too toxic for our children. Just as I needed to filter out the negative noise in the news, I should take a page out of Suzy’s book, and go back to the simple joys of bath time.   

We show them the tough parts they can handle.

And they show us the very nature of resilience. 

We carry the weight, even though it’s too heavy. 

And they keep reminding us to laugh.  

---

The Empty Cup

As districts begin to announce their plans for the fall, I want to be angry at how miserably America has failed our kids. But after 4 months of parenting in isolation, I no longer have the stamina. I must ration any speck of sanity remaining for my family. If I spend even a moment in devastation, my reserves will deplete and that could be the last straw. And since Mothers are the carriers of the invisible load, I am not allowed a last straw. I will put my children on the boat first, even while I am drowning.

If you look into my eyes; no one could locate even a glimmer of smoke at this point, the burn out happened so long ago.

This circus has me spinning plates in the air, and then someone throws me a cup.  

“You cannot pour from an empty cup,” they say.

Watch me.

If it sounds ridiculous, I assure you, nothing is more ridiculous than the two scenarios for “school” parents have been given.

It is so tempting to blame; wag fingers towards an undeniably selfish population, because at least this is an action. But again, blame takes effort. Stomping and pouting isn’t going to put our kids safely into a classroom without the risk of one day attending their teacher’s virtual funeral.

If this sounds dramatic. I can assure you, it is nothing compared to the emotional toll 130 days of answering tiny cries for hugs and friendship with “I don’t know”.

I wish I had some crumbs to sprinkle for you, but even those we’d give away to everyone else.

If this sounds hopeless, it’s not. As long as I get to hold my babies in my arms, I will add glitter to this enormous pile of poop, and smile for them. Being angry and selfish isn’t going to help them learn empathy or how to write the sentence, “I miss hugging Grandma”.

If this sounds painfully honest, it is. That’s the least I can offer, after all we’ve been through.

Turns Out, I Suck at This

Let me start off by stating my applicable experience for the record. I hold several teaching credentials including mild/moderate special education, multiple subjects (elementary school), and a single subject in English. I have worked with children with problematic behaviors that could make the skin crawl right off the bone. I am even genetically predisposed to teaching, since both my parents spent time in the classroom. Pre-kids, I’d pride myself on my zen-like level of patience. Once, I had my first daughter, I transitioned into a full time stay-at-home mom.

If anyone should be the poster-mom for homeschooling, it should be me.

But I’m failing at it.

Miserably.

I’ll back up a bit.

Charlotte’s teacher has all the dreamy kindergarten qualities parents pray for in an educator. She is loving, nurturing, and caters to each child’s snowflake-like uniqueness. When I learned Charlotte would not be finishing out her kindergarten year in her color-coded classroom utopia, I cried big ugly tears. I lamented the loss of the place that began her love of learning and fostered genuine friendships. I know she will eventually go back to school, but my heart ached for memories unmade.

The ask of teachers to shift their entire curriculum online in less than a month was monumental. But unsurprisingly, those with the biggest hearts and smallest paychecks, rose to the challenge. On paper, our teachers have set us parents up for success.

My preschooler lasted exactly 1 week before I determined I only had the bandwidth for homeschooling one child. She can write her name, albeit illegibly and missing a vowel, but she would much rather be outside digging for worms. My kindergartner, was reluctant to our new system in the way a bull is reluctant to being roped and branded. During every Zoom meeting she would either be hiding under her desk, or running from the room.

Cut to us in our kitchen 3 weeks into distance learning:

I’m sitting at the table determined to finish the small group lesson, she refused to sit through. My arm is already tired from holding up sight word flashcards. The baby is crying, but if I pick her up, she will throw the cards on the floor right after she has licked and crumpled them. Maddie is non-ironically yelling, “Stop yelling, Charlotte” and Charlotte is screaming in a repetitive loop, “I hate this school! No! I don’t want to! Please, no. I can’t read!”

This continues and I am no longer attempting to teach, but to de-escalate and regain her compliance. The entire process takes 48 minutes and I know because I watched the little hand move around the clock, as it felt like the room was slowly filling with water. At first it puddles around my feet and I splash it around, eventually as I’m wading, all the sounds merge together and then suddenly, I’m drowning. I contemplate how my thoughts can be made of equal parts anger and sadness. All the while, there is only one question swimming around in my head:

How am I not equipped to teach my own children?

The outside world has shouted its recommendations:

Only focus on their emotional well-being with no added stressors!

Make sure you implement a structured academic routine for consistency!

Do what’s best for your family!

So, which is it?

I’m here to tell you, I have absolutely no idea.

I could analyze and overthink and I will and I do. But it all boils down to the fact that I’ve never transitioned a preschooler and a kindergarten into virtual schooling with a baby at the prime age of unrelenting curiosity, while my husband continues to work more than full-time outside the home, in the midst a mandatory shelter-in-place ordinance and a terrifying pandemic. I know the challenges are real everywhere—everyone around us is splashing, wading, or drowning. Sometimes it varies day-to-day or in this strange reality, minute-by-minute.

I have no doubt, some are excelling at teaching, but challenged in other ways. As for me, despite every ingredient for success, I suck at this. I share because someone out there needs to know they aren’t alone in this struggle and I offer this truth to use, when needed, as a life raft.