“‘Sorry, I’m just tapped out.’
I said this to one of my kids’ teachers this morning as she requested a private zoom with my child and me.
At the same time as this, I had two other kids hopping on their google meets, I had to pull my oldest from her work to hold the baby, the kids’ Dad had a call just starting, and as I struggled with my laptop to even find which Godforsaken link I needed to even click, I was ready to crumble.
The laptop wouldn’t connect to the internet. The baby was fussing. My oldest was frustrated I had to pull her from what she was in the middle of. I had noise coming from each room with all the kids trying to, you know, ‘school,’ and it took every fiber of my being not to throw the laptop off the table.
I’m one person trying to juggle the schedule for 5 kids and every day I fluctuate between moments of having it together and seriously, well… losing it.
This isn’t normal.
Any of it.
Trying to function in the ‘unfunctionable.’
That’s the best way to explain all of this: trying to function in the unfunctionable.
As the teacher immediately noticed my temperament and disposition, she was kind and started by sympathizing with all I’m attempting to run here. When she asked about a couple of lower scores on my daughter’s reading comprehension quizzes, who by the way throughout the score year has had all high marks, I immediately let go.
‘This is not an environment conducive for learning. It’s just not. My children have a loving and safe home, but no, it’s not a school. To be honest, most days it’s a sh*t show. There isn’t much peace and quiet throughout the day, and when one is trying to focus on some level of the house or in a certain room, you can hear another Zoom call or a herd of cattle coming through in another. So no, she’s not getting to concentrate nor having things able to completely sink in.’
And you know what? It felt so good to say that.
I wanted to scream it.
I wanted to cry while sharing that.
I wanted to pound my fists on the table after I got it all out.
But I found some last ounce of strength to hold some amount of composure conveying my exhausting frustration.
This all will be over soon. Right?
Or at least I keep telling myself.
This just isn’t normal.
Any of it.
We’re not supposed to be able to turn to our manuals of ‘living through a global pandemic and total, utter chaos’ and just snap our fingers and handle this all with grace.
