Weather 
By 8:30 a.m., sacred objects lined the newly clean playroom desk: A Labubu knockoff, a karaoke microphone, half a geode, a choice selection of Baby-Sitters Club books, the sole remaining LEGO house from some elaborate kit, and various Polly Pockets.
The second grader was reporting for remote school — or Zoom school, as we dubbed it when our older daughter, now an 8th grader, attended hybrid class in the depths of COVID restrictions.
Like many parents who navigated 2020-2022 with a child over the age of 5, I have lingering trauma from those years, from juggling work, kids, Zooms, every single day.
But, much like giving birth, I had seemingly forgotten the sanity-testing challenge of it all, bouncing among everyone’s demands. By 9:23 a.m. I had texted a friend: “Is it too early to drink?”
With two girls in two different District 15 Park Slope schools, in second grade and eighth grade, our morning went something like this.
My husband had a meeting.
The kids couldn’t figure out how to log on.
An app didn’t update.
Someone was being too loud.
The dog ate Tupperware.
Is it snack time yet?
A battery died.
The pencil isn’t sharpened.
Ok but is it snack time now? It really has to be snack time by now.
How does the mute button work?
Why do parents even exist if not to bring us snacks? Do you not care that your child is wasting away before your eyes?
Historic 130-year-old brownstone apartments were not built for four family members talking to different people on different screens all at once. Or, apparently, for the bodega-sized snack storage demanded by my offspring.
I imagine I looked like Steve Martin in “Cheaper by the Dozen,” flailing around the children. At 11 a.m. I was still in my pajama pants.
The morning brought some small joys. Their desks were cleaned off for the first time in months and without argument (don’t judge me by their clutter).
They were occupied and I didn’t have to trudge my youngest to school in the snow and ice. They weren’t squabbling over the TV remote or who’s breathing too loud. I’m grateful for the little peek into their world outside of home that I rarely see, like overhearing their teachers, especially in elementary school, interact with such kindness and grace.
“Good morning, my loves!”
My youngest’s teacher reminds her charges not to draw on the screen six times without raising her voice. She’s a better woman than I.
The 8-year-old sipped water from a mug, and with her pencils and math in front of her, she resembled a miniature accountant.
“It’s lunch now!” says the teacher.
“Look at my stuffy!” says a classmate.
Whatever these teachers are paid, it’s never enough.
But the COVID trauma never truly vanishes. Our oldest was in 2nd grade when the world shut down. We podded with our neighbors who had our toddler’s best friend, and would tag team watching the kids play in the backyard while we took meetings and the big kid finished math homework at a picnic table.
Someone needed something almost every minute.
Today, the fear that came with a global pandemic is gone, but the stress lingers. On this remote school snow day, I remember what it was like to desperately crave self-care, privacy, and more specifically, for everyone to leave me alone in complete and utter peace.
I’m working on a huge marketing presentation. My husband, who works in healthcare policy, is fighting the good fight over the state budget. We’re snappy at the kids. I remind them it’s an exercise in patience for us all. I need the reminder as much as they do.
I’m torn on snow days vs. Zoom school. If they had a snow day, I could park them in front of the television for a couple of hours and then head out to the snow on our timetable.
In fact, several parents logged in for the morning, then took the kids out to sled after lunch. If they have good attendance records, does it really matter?
In our house, at least, Zoom school went ok for most of it. The girls were busy and stimulated and their day had some structure. They even got some work done, given all the other days off this month and next, I’m glad.
Elementary school was smoother than middle school. My daughter’s 8th-grade homeroom teacher called out sick but didn’t tell the kids. The double drama class on Mondays was shortened to one and Algebra was pulled forward but we didn’t realize. I’ve now exchanged more emails with an assistant principal this morning than I have since September. At least our big kid is highly motivated and can navigate Google Classroom on her own these days.
We’re also one of the luckier ones. Our kids have their own iPads, and I don’t have to give over my own device to one of them. In one of our parent group chats, someone mentioned that they borrowed a school device, and it turns out it’s not working. So their child couldn’t even log on for any lessons.
But by 1:00 p.m., we gave up. The kids were fighting. The Zooms were done. We tried our best. The sledding hill beckoned.
I don’t know how we did this for over a year.
Please send snacks. And a very good bottle of bourbon.
