pencils down

There is a child in my children’s class that writes a book each week, presenting to her family on zoom. Then, she presents it to the class, taking questions on the subject afterwards. She sits, headphones on, casually attentive, playful, front teeth still emerging, teaching the class.

My children take screenshots of themselves while I’m not looking and make them into their background using the green screen function so it looks as if their clothes are the image of their own faces. Or, they are secretly reading a book on Epic (an online library of one bajillion books), using some shortcut I haven’t learned yet to slide the zoom meeting screen back into view when I walk into the room.

The other child raises her virtual hand and waits patiently to be called on by the teachers — she’s just reminding the teachers that the group sing zoom is starting and shouldn’t we finish up?

My child used the f-word at me as I made them get out of the car after finding a great parking space — a Tuesday spot! and was spitting with rage that we couldn’t listen to the Moana song one more time while sitting in the parked car.

I wanted to punch a hole in the brick wall of the Apple Bank, but instead, I sheparded her towards home, using my hand to push her along while she screamed and moved as if she couldn’t walk at all.

Tomorrow I will hop on a Google Meet with 35 children and transform into the funnest version of myself: the teaching me, the creative me, the spontaneous me. While my children in the other room watch television or something, I will become the non-imposter me who tries so hard to be patient, who tries forever to be so patient until I just can’t anymore and my apologies to everyone on my block who has to hear the screaming of someone who is screaming for all of us really, who has had it up to here and doesn’t give a f — as to who hears her.