Elizabeth A. Harris:
“She gets frustrated every time we start,” one mother emailed her last week, “and then I get irritated and she gets irritated and it usually ends in me saying we should take a break and then the cycle repeats. One or both of us typically ends up in tears by the time it’s all said and done and no work is completed.”
Yup. This is what my days look like when I try to teach our kids. Not all of them, but most of them.
This article was supposed to make me feel better, I think, but now I just can’t stop thinking about the possibility that our kids will fall behind.
This will be tonight’s insomnia internal monologue.
I’m thinking of adopting the Zombieland rules for the pandemic. There are 32 rules, but only some of them were spelled out in the movies. These are particularly useful (given there are no zombies–yet):
Rule #1: Cardio. Self-explanatory, but exercise is good for mental health. I have thus far sucked at this rule. Hoping to change that starting today.
Rule #12: Bounty paper towels. Spray them with disinfectant. Disinfect everything that comes into your house.
Rule #3: Beware of bathrooms. The public ones. Germ factories. Avoid at all costs.
Rule #17: Don’t be a hero. Or do. According to the movies, this one’s meant to be broken. Cook an awesome meal. Read an extra book to your kids. It doesn’t take much to be a hero in the end times.
Rule #18: Limber up. Goes with Rule #1. Do some yoga, get your mind right. (I suck at this one, too.)
Rule #32: Enjoy the little things. A cup of coffee. A surprise moment of quiet in a house full of kids. Sunshine. Petting your dog or cat. Fresh air. Texting with friends. Mundane stuff, but the fact that these things still exist is something to be happy about.
It feels like we’re sitting on a powder keg with a broken fuse.
Words I wrote earlier. I’m not sure I’ve been able to sum up the current climate in America as succinctly. The impotent rage, the feeling of powerlessness, the anger toward those who could have done better.
We’ll settle for Biden, and men like him, over and over; we’ll tell ourselves the conservative is worse, that at least the Democrat will make a woman his vice-president. We’ll eat scraps, and we’ll still go hungry, and all we’ll leave to our children is a political future only a little bit better than the present. Our grand prize? To clean up after men like Joe Biden. That isn’t power. It’s just women’s work.
I’ve been talking about this with friends lately, and this is the conclusion we all seem to have landed on. It’s depressing and awful and disgusting to have to vote for the least rapey candidate because he’s also the one who’s least likely to get you killed by slow-walking a response to a national crisis. But this is where we are.
Biden should withdraw, but he won’t because the bar has been set so low by Kavanaugh and Trump. He won’t feel compelled to bail out because those guys didn’t have to, so why should he?
There are no alternatives short of revolution and remaking the entire system. America doesn’t have the chutzpah for such change, though. Its courage has been buried under a mountain of fast food and Kardashian merch and cheap 60″ televisions and unpaid medical bills. People here have had their critical thinking skills systematically lobotomized by conservatives hell bent on keeping the proletariat stupid and uninformed. It feels like we’re sitting on a powder keg with a broken fuse.
I really hate that my kids are having to live through this.
LMAO at everyone giving themselves haircuts.
JUST GROW IT OUT. It’ll be awesome. A nation of hippies. Join me!
Ever since things went sideways, I’ve been spending all of my computer time on my iPad. I don’t even want to touch my laptop. Part of me says this is sufficient justification for buying a new iPad.
But hey, I learned how to dice an onion from Kamala Harris, who was jovially prepping a tuna melt. That’s a life skill, folks. As I’m unemployed, I could use that to find a new job as a line cook. Hooray!
You know what I would love? More videos of members of Congress and the House hanging out in their giant, immaculate, professional kitchens. Helps me remember that they’re just like us little people.