Tag Archives: remote learning

Today’s Poem

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I was really hoping the fog would clear
but the weather was dreary again
and my mind mirrored the soup
I saw out my window.
My patience was thin
my fuse was short
and pretty much everything
felt like too much.
Really, all I wanted to do
was curl into a ball
and sleep the day away,
but someone had to feed the children.
Someone had to make sure they completed their schoolwork.
Someone had to keep the kids off the electronics
Someone had to hear their questions,
and put out their fires,
and divert their attention;
someone had to ask them to step outside
and get some fresh air.
Someone had to make sure that they bathed.
Someone had to tuck them in bed.
Someone had to tuck them back into bed
after removing the iPad from the closet.
That someone was me.
That someone needs to go to bed.

Yesterday’s Poem

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I was too tired last night
to even think about writing.
No wait.
I did think about it…
And that’s as far as I got.
Even the thought
But I haven’t missed a day in a while
wasn’t enough for me to push through the exhaustion
and string a few words together.
Now I grieve the loss of yesterday’s poem.
What would I have written
if I had had the strength to stay awake?

Shifting

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I felt like I wasn’t taking enough time for nourishment,
so I spent some time in the kitchen yesterday and today,
making myself nourishing soups and salads…what a triumph!
But then I didn’t sew as many masks as I thought I would,
and I just felt tired from standing, chopping, cooking,
and what I really wanted was someone to cook for me.
Last weekend I was productive, making multiple masks a day,
but I didn’t get to my meditation until very late,
and I felt so off from not beginning my day with meditation,
as I have been doing for over eight years now.
The week before that my meditation practice was simply sublime,
but my kitchen was a disaster and I was terribly hungry
and tried to ignore my body’s hunger signs (which is bad, don’t do that)
and gave myself meager rations of whatever
because I didn’t want to bother with cooking.
When my kids are here they drive me crazy with their bickering
and the clumsy way they thunder about the piles of disorganization
and when they’re gone my nervous system goes haywire
because we are hardwired to gather close when times are tough…
I crave space when my home is noisy with my children’s needs,
and I crave their voices when the silence in my house feels too spacious…
How do I find balance when the center is always shifting?

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 16

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Uggggg. Rough day. And today’s prompt over at NaPoWriMo invites us to write a poem complimenting something. This is probably going to be a good exercise for me, given that I’ve had a tough time today and I’m feeling quite negative. Hmmm. Should I try praising the thing I really am not liking these days, which is attempting to homeschool my kids with materials from their public school system when all the kids really want to do is watch TV?

๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช
Ah, remote learning, how AMAZING you are!
I love being in the comfort of my home with my kids.
I love that my kids get to go to the bathroom
and have snacks when they want.
I love that they can take breaks when they want.
I love that I don’t have to rush them out of bed in the morning.
And even though I’m pretty terrible at this, I’m learning too.
Even though I don’t like coaxing, cajoling and bribing
my kids to do each little piece of work,
they are learning too.
So although I’m really excited for this time to be over,
I know that there is enough good here
that I’ll miss parts of this experience when it’s gone.
Thank you, remote learning, for being a great teacher.

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 14

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It’s almost 11pm. I am tired. Right before I carried my sleeping son from my bed to his bed, I checked out the prompt over at NaPoWriMo and figured I’d just wing this one.

๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช๐Ÿคช
What It’s Like Being A Single Mom During a Pandemic
๐Ÿ—๐Ÿญ๐Ÿข๐Ÿฌ๐Ÿฃ๐Ÿค๐Ÿญ๐Ÿข๐Ÿฌ๐Ÿฃ๐Ÿค๐Ÿข๐Ÿข๐Ÿข
I drive into the city to pick up my kids.
The city doesn’t act like a city anymore.
It looks uncertain and confusedโ€”
like the rest of us.
It looks like it is waiting for somethingโ€”
like the rest of us.
๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ’ป
We get back home and I fiddle with my computer
until I successfully get my fourth grader into her online class meetup.
I bring her snacks.
She tells me she isn’t supposed to eat during online learning.
(I think to myself, Why in the world not?)
I watch her drawing during the online class,
just like she does when she attends class in person.
I mean, just like she used to do,
back when kids went to school…
I fiddle with my other computer
until I successfully get my second grader into his online class meetup.
I bring him snacks.
He chews with his mouth open
and sprays bits of apple on my laptop.
I am not amused.
I attempt to read while they finish their online class meetups.
I am only partially successful.
๐ŸŒณ๐ŸŒฒ๐Ÿƒ๐ŸŒท๐Ÿƒ๐ŸŒฒ๐ŸŒณ๐ŸŒฒ๐Ÿƒ๐ŸŒท๐Ÿƒ๐ŸŒฒ๐ŸŒณ๐ŸŒฒ๐Ÿƒ๐ŸŒท๐Ÿƒ๐ŸŒฒ๐ŸŒณ
I take my kids out on a walk.
It’s a beautiful, cool day.
My ten year old is already fifteen in her tone, body language,
and declarations of existential angst.
I am not amused.
I attempt empathy, patience, kindness, and compassion.
I attempt to enjoy my walk in spite of my ten year old’s angst.
I am only partially successful.
๐Ÿง๐Ÿฐ๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿญ๐Ÿฌ๐Ÿง๐Ÿฐ๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿญ๐Ÿฌ๐Ÿง๐Ÿฐ๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿญ๐Ÿฌ๐Ÿง๐Ÿฐ๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿญ๐Ÿฌ
Back home my idea to bake brownies
devolves into a fight over who gets to set the oven temperature.
I am not amused.
I again attempt empathy, patience, kindness and compassion
and am mostly unsuccessful.
I am disapointed, annoyed, frustrated and depressed.
I want to scream.
๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐Ÿ’ป
Another mom tells me that her husband is annoying her
by sharing his two cents about their kids’ remote learning,
and then going back to his remote working
while my friend attempts to harangue their kids
into actually attending to their remote learning.
She is not amused.
I am suddenly glad that I am single.
๐Ÿฅฆ๐Ÿฅ™๐Ÿฅ•๐Ÿฅ’๐Ÿฅฆ๐Ÿฅ™๐Ÿฅ•๐Ÿฅ’๐Ÿฅฆ๐Ÿฅ™๐Ÿฅ•๐Ÿฅ’๐Ÿฅฆ๐Ÿฅ™๐Ÿฅ•๐Ÿฅ’๐Ÿฅฆ๐Ÿฅ™๐Ÿฅ•๐Ÿฅ’
I make dinner with as much efficiency as I can muster.
We eat well.
The kids devour their dessert.
We sit together working on our own things.
My ten year old draws.
My eight year old works on a puzzle.
I play with my singing bowls.
We are very successful.
๐ŸŒฒ๐ŸŒณ๐Ÿƒ๐ŸŒณ๐ŸŒฒ๐ŸŒ”๐ŸŒฒ๐ŸŒณ๐Ÿƒ๐ŸŒณ๐ŸŒฒ
We get ready for bed.
I read to them a few pages
of The Phantom Tollbooth.
My son passes out.
My daughter goes back to her room
to read some Harry Potter.
I muster up the strength to carry my
eight year old into his room.
I pour him into his bed and tuck him in.
My ten year old is still reading.
I tuck her in and turn off the lights.
She smiles and says I love you.
I am extraordinarily successful.