I panicked when I saw this post on our Nanny’s Facebook page: “I just made a big decision and I’m so excited about it…Career change in the making.”

Ever the optimist, I was hopeful her “career change” was one of the following:

• A. PHD in child psychology (night classes)

• B. Marie Kondo certification (weekends)

• C. Diplome de Cuisene from Le Cordon Bleu (virtually)

Well, the two of us have since had a conversation about her next move, and she informed me that it is option D.

• D. Something that doesn’t advance elements of her skillset that serve our family and doesn’t fit within the time and location constraints of our current working arrangement.

The cold hard truth is this: She does not aspire to be our nanny until my children leave for college.

I knew this day would come, but the reality is that it’s coming sooner than I’d hoped. She is the reason I can do work I love, not feel like I am drowning at home, and have peace knowing that my children are in great hands. That infection of working mom guilt so many suffer from?  I remain largely asymptomatic because she has things so lovingly locked down on the home front.  So when I’m not working, I am able to enjoy my children and make it count.

She packs bookbags, lunches and sleepaway camp trunks. She does grocery trips, target runs, meal prep, and laundry.  She does doctor’s appointments, trips to the vet, carpools, and gift wrapping. She reads, plays games, sings beautifully, tells stories and builds magna-tiles.  She knows who wears what sizes and does the seasonal closet reorgs (the. worst.).  She takes on the most ambitious, complex, messy art projects and leaves no trace. You see this tiny house? She patiently built one of those with each child. The instruction manual is the size of a college textbook and it has working electricity.

But best of all, she truly delights in my children.  She sees them and knows them and appreciates the uniqueness of each of my girls. She adores them and we adore her. She has become a true friend.

After I saw that alarming post of Facebook, the two of us had a conversation wherein she laid out her vision for her career shift. 

Honestly? My first instinct was to try to talk her out of it.  I did my best to convince her that her current job is, in fact, her dream job.

The work I do at my day job, the job that necessitates the need for a nanny in the first place, is leadership development.  It is my life’s work to help people find passion and purpose as they leverage their strengths to do work they love.  After my darker angel selfishly spoke her peace, my more altruistic instincts kicked in.  I can’t help myself but to champion her growth and do everything I can to help her find her dream job…the one that doesn’t involve cutting the crusts of PBJs and incentivizing a three-year-old to utilize indoor plumbing.  

I ordered her this book and I’m going to coach her through the assessment results. I have connected her with people doing the work she wants to do in the future. We are talking through finances and the logistics so that she can plan accordingly. I will help her write a business plan.  

I am also trying to get her to stick with me until January.

Ideally May.

Ideally May 2036. I’m only human.

She is truly irreplaceable. 

But. When the time comes to hire her replacement, there will be NASA level scrutiny to ensure we don’t end up in this situation again. For the select few who make it to the final stage of the interview process, there’ll be a working interview with one very specific challenge:

You will be locked in a room with three hungry children, a cat, a hot glue gun, and this DIY dollhouse craft kit. You must emerge with a fully assembled and illuminated miniature room, everyone uninjured and on speaking terms.

After that, if you still want the job, it’s yours.

Every Wednesday I have PTSD flashbacks from the decade I spent micro-managing virtual school: March 2020 to February 2021.  But the difference is that on Asynchronous Wednesdays, there isn’t even virtual academic instruction.  Sure, you can participate in (optional) virtual PE, but you won’t find this mom setting an early alarm so that her child can throw socks against the living room wall.   

For an extroverted 3^rd grader who loves school, craves structure, and is desperate to leave this house, Asynchronous Wednesday inevitably becomes aSUCKronous WHINEsday.  After practicing her handstands and staging a photoshoot with the cat, she comes to me in a sulky snit, asking for ideas of what to do. I rattle off a few zingers: Clean up the playroom! Journal! Build a fort! Write your pen pal! Memorize the state capitals!  She rejects them all, complains that our backyard is no fun, and pouts because our neighbors can’t play.  She finally grabs a book and cuddles up with her emotional support pandemic cat while I crank out some emails.

As a working mom, I’m not available to facilitate enriching trips to the zoo or museums on Wednesdays. (Honestly, the zoo is a bit of a schlep from here, so work is a convenient excuse to get out of that one.) But you know what working moms love to do? Power lunches.  On Wednesdays, I take my 3^rd grader out for lunch.  Quality one-on-one time in the middle of the week feels like a treat for both of us.  I always let her pick the place and the playlist.  I’m secretly hoping that she’s craving a Frosty and Justin Timberlake to make this a true NSYNCronous Wendy’s Day, but alas. On this particular day, she requests Beyoncé and Zoe’s Kitchen. I knew I liked that girl.

By late afternoon, her sisters are home, the neighbors can play, and sports practices commence. We are all feeling breezy knowing that the school bus will be here tomorrow.

Bye Bye Bye to this asynchronous nonsense and cheers to the fact that these kids will go back face-to-face 5 days next year. 

Happy Nsyncronous Winesday.

It is clear something is going on up there. This parking deck is practically empty, yet this timeless anthem from R. Kelly’s album Chocolate Factory is booming from what has to be a professional sound system.

I’m about to get in my car to drive home, but I’m honestly torn.

WHAT SHOULD I DO?

Should I go straight home, as planned? 

Or.

Should I follow that beat? Should I go up there and see what’s going on?

What if…

I follow that beat and it leads to the top deck of the parking garage where there’s a huge dance party going on. It must be hosted by some other company that shares our building. I don’t know anyone there, but AS YOU KNOW “Ignition” is just one of those songs, and I simply can’t help myself but to start dancing.  

And what if…

I start dancing. Then the DJ calls me on stage of the parking lot party and suddenly everyone is copying my dance moves. We dance for hours like this and the crowd is totally feeling it. It’s like I’m Richard Simmons up there on stage and everyone else in the office parking deck is Sweatin’ to the Oldies.

And what if…

We dance all night like this, me and these corporate strangers. The DJ and I naturally strike up a friendship and he says he really REALLY likes my vibe and he needs me to bring my unique brand of funk to his next gig.

And what if…

It turns out his next DJ gig is in Ibiza. I can’t say no to that, and what I have going on this weekend isn’t anything that can’t be rescheduled. So, I say yes. Why not go with this friendly DJ on an all-expenses paid jaunt to Ibiza?

And what if…

We take a stretch Navigator to the airport to board the plane and Nancy Meyers and Rachel Zoe happen to be on the same chartered flight.  Turns out they are dear old friends with the DJ and the three of them made a pact never to go to Ibiza without each other.  The plane is FULL of gorgeous clothes.  Rachel styles me from head to toe and I look AMAZING.  “Keep ALL the clothes,” she tells me. Nancy Meyers and I get to chatting and she says she’s filming her next movie in Atlanta.  She offers to renovate our kitchen in exchange for filming a few scenes at my house.  I happily oblige.

And what if…

We all roll up to the gig in Ibiza and it’s clear that the DJ really downplayed how star-studded this event was going to be.  The second I walk in the door, Ina Garten hands me a glass of Cristal and Jeffery and I cheers. There is food everywhere, this party is catered. Waiters are passing trays of sushi and lobster tails, and Christian Bale and I lock eyes when we reach for the same bacon-wrapped scallop. On my left, David Blaine is doing street magic on Lin-Manuel Miranda and the LA Lakers, and on the right, the entire casts of Little Women (1994 and 2019) are gathered by the chocolate fountain. When the DJ starts his set, we all make our way to the dancefloor.

And what if…

The DJ is playing all the hits and the dancefloor. is. hot. The crowd forms two dance lines, Soul Train style. When it’s my turn, Bruno Mars and I are paired up and we are completely in sync when we dance down the line. Then Bruno and I have a dance-off. I win. I’m doing dance moves even Beyoncé hadn’t considered, so she plugs her number in my phone and says that I HAVE to join her in Aspen for New Year’s Eve. She sees the background pic on my iPhone, the one of my three children, and that’s when we realize that our kids are the same age. “Bring the whole family” she says. “Blue Ivy and the twins would love to have some friends to play with après ski.”

And what if…

The DJ plays “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” and LeBron James lifts me up Swayze style.  And from my vantage point up there, I see the members of the band formerly known as One Direction scattered about the room.  We all know that there must have been some major falling out when they decided to each pursue their solo careers. 

And what if…

I round up Harry, Zayn, Liam, Niall and the other guy who probably sells insurance now and I say, “come on boys, let’s go sort this out.” They reluctantly agree and we find a quiet corner away from the crowd to talk it out. Upon my urging, they are finally saying the things they’ve always wanted to say, but have never been able to. Now we are all hugging and crying and singing an acapella version of “Story of my Life.” My voice harmonizes perfectly with their sound.  Then they start singing “What Makes You Beautiful” to ME. They know I’m happily married, but even married ladies appreciate being adored by handsome young pop stars.  Now the whole band is back together.  I immediately hop on a zoom call with Noel and Liam Gallagher and mend things up there as well.

And what if…

Oprah witnesses my dancing and though she is impressed, what really gets her attention is the restorative work I just facilitated between the members of Oasis and One Direction.  What I know for sure is that Oprah truly loves redemption stories and is passionate about the power of forgiveness.  She tells me that she wants to add ME to her list of favorite things this year.  “You HAVE to come to the afterparty!” she insists. “Gayle will be there, and we have been looking for someone new to add to our friend group.”  She can be very persistent so of course I say yes.

But.

What if…

The afterparty is on a yacht. 

A yacht.

Now that just isn’t going to work for me. Unfortunately, I get REALLY seasick.  Even on large fancy boats. Even in the crystal clear waters of the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Ibiza.

…

So, I guess I shouldn’t go up there to see why, exactly “Ignition (Remix)” is playing so loudly in the parking deck today. I don’t think I should follow that beat after all.

It’s probably best if I just head straight home.

7:40am: My daughters come downstairs, dressed and ready for their first day of virtual school.  Look! Mom has left a thoughtful surprise at their breakfast spots: new books and handwritten letters of praise and encouragement.  It’s going to be a great year! We got this!

7:45am: Students enjoy homemade healthy muffins. There was zucchini hidden in there and they had no idea.  Compliments to the chef!  

7:50am: I want to always remember this big day, so I take a video asking my children what grade they’re in and who their teachers are.  The kindergartner gets both questions wrong.

7:52am: We walk outside to take classic first day of school photos on the front porch.  The 3^rd grader wants the cat to be in the photo.  I insist on taking a few without the cat as well.  At this point our pandemic pet feels more like a random girlfriend than a real member of the family. We walk back inside.

8am: 3^rd grader logs into her Google Classroom.  She chitchats with classmates who have also logged on early.  They discuss Jojo Siwa and whether they like him…or her.  I don’t know who this person is, but apparently my daughter does and is not a fan.  I’m thinking that’s the right answer.

8:10am: School is in session!

8:11am: Not so fast. Tech glitches in kindergarten. Is it me? Is it this iPad? Is it our internet? Am I clicking the wrong link? I go find another iPad.

8:20am: Two-year-old wakes up.  Technically, she has been awake for a while, but it’s probably time to get her out of the crib. Dad gets her up and puts her in the shower to buy some time and keep her out of the way. She loves showers.

8:25am: Two parents are now troubleshooting on multiple school, work and home devices attempting to get our kindergartner in her class. No luck.

8:35am: Husband leaves home and heads to the office.  Wife is feeling a little jealous frazzled, but still high on the fact that she lovingly penned two thoughtful notes that her children will surely treasure forever. And how about those those fantastic muffins?!

8:55am: School is finally happening in kindergarten. I think.  I panic-text other moms to make sure everyone’s audio is choppy—not just ours.  The teacher is teaching the children and their parents how to turn their microphones off.

9:02am: Transition toddler from the shower to a two-inch-deep bathtub full of bath toys. Pinterest calls it sensory play, I call it the splash cage.

9:10am: I rejoin the virtual kindergarten to find that instead of sitting at her desk, my daughter is sitting under it. I put her in her chair and tell her to pay attention.  To what? Not quite sure.  Looks like the class has yet to master mute and unmute.  And I’m pretty sure the teacher is still taking attendance.

9:15am: 3^rd grader is in virtual PE and doing jumping jacks to party tunes in her bedroom.  Her computer screen displays a countdown clock telling her when to get back in her chair.   At least someone in this house is self-sufficient.

9:20am: Looks like the kindergartner has clicked out of the Google Classroom and is playing games on the iPad.  Wondering if those games are perhaps a better use of her time?  Are we missing something or is everyone doing this?

9:36am: Two-year-old is out of the bath and requesting breakfast.  She was asleep when I delighted her sisters with those superfood magical muffins this morning.

9:39am: Two-year-old refuses to eat the muffins.  I’m not gonna fight it today.  How about an all-you-can-eat cereal buffet instead?

9:40am: Bowl one.

9:45am: Bowl two

9:50am: Bowl three.

9:52am: Racking my brain for a two-year-old activity that doesn’t involve eating, running up the water bill, or parental supervision.  I put her outside in the driveway and close the gate.  I put the cat outside too.

10:02am: 3^rd grader calls me upstairs.  She needs help with an All About Me presentation.  I tell her she needs to do it by herself.  I help her open PowerPoint and I realize that she actually does need my help and she probably can’t do it herself. I keep that a secret for now. But I expect to be called back in very soon.

10:10am:  Two-year-old comes back inside. Independent driveway play didn’t last as long as I hoped it would.  She has also decided that today is the day she wants to potty train! Potty training is not on my to-do list this calendar year. She BEGS me to take off her diaper, and when I finally take it off she refuses to let me help her get on the actual potty. She wants to get up there allbyherself. Once she is up there she seems afraid. Nothing happens. Diaper back on. Repeat.

10:20am: Back upstairs. Due to tech glitches in the Spanish immersion program, Kindergarten sounds like a remix at the discoteca.  The kindergartner plays with dolls on the floor of her bedroom while the DLI EDM soundtrack blasts from the iPad.

10:25am Two-year-old has taken OFF her diaper and is walking upstairs to join us.  I rush to secure it and realize that she has left a trail of poo balls in her wake.  She has one in her hand. 

10:29am: Back in the bath. This time with soap.

10:32am: Kindergartener needs help logging out of one zoom, into another and simultaneously into some other program. This maneuver requires both an access code and an advanced degree in information technology.  I have neither. Once we’re finally in, it’s time for yet another round of the mute/unmute tutorial.

10:58am: I realize that the cat is in the 3^rd grade with the door closed.  That is absolutely against the rules because if the door is closed, she can’t get to the litter box. I open the door to take the cat out of the bedroom but in runs the two-year-old.  Now the 3^rd grader is visibly upset because she wants the toddler out but wants the cat to stay in. The kindergartner is no longer at her desk and somehow the iPad is missing. She walks downstairs and points to another tiny poo ball on the step that somehow I missed the first time.  Or is this a new one?  I hear the ding-ding-ding from my work computer reminding me of the to-dos that await. Everyone needs me rightthisveryminute.

11am: I cry real tears. I am frustrated and angry and overwhelmed. And somehow, I am also a cat owner. How are we going to do virtual school from 8:10am-1:30pm every single day?   HOW IS IT ONLY 11AM? WHY AM I HOLDING POOP?

11:15am: Quit virtual kindergarten. We are logged out and I refuse to put forth the effort required to log back in.  It has become clear that virtual kindergarten is an oxymoron and an impossibility.  I tell the kindergartener to do a puzzle.

11:30am: Lunch Break! This I can do. 

11:36am: Not so fast.  I burn three grilled cheeses.  Clearly off my game. I decide they are salvageable and scrape off the charred bits. Lunch is served.   

11:45am: Still on lunch break, I play music to lift my spirits and I give myself a major mental pep talk. I search for silver linings. We dance in the kitchen.

12pm: Lunch break is over.  Back to school!

12:02pm: 3^rd grader is back at her desk learning. Like actually learning. The teacher and my daughter are talking to each other in Spanish. She is taking notes with a sharpened pencil as she sits in the desk that I built. (Ok. Built is strong. The desk that I assembled.)

12:05pm:  I close the door to her bedroom feeling very proud of her but mostly proud of myself.  I assembled that desk! And that chair!  What a marvelous little learning nook I created.  What a precious little learner.

12:10am Kindergartner is logged in and doing kindergarten-ish things. Maybe even learning?   Yes. Learning is happening.

12:30am: So this is kindergarten. They are talking about letters and colors and feelings.  Everyone is muted except for the teacher.  The system seems to be working. 

But wait. What is this?  Oh no. I feel my tears coming.

12:35am: I excuse myself to cry. Again.  The 11am cry was because I was frustrated by the technology and overwhelmed by it ALL.  But this time I cry because I’m genuinely sad.  Virtual school makes me sad. This is not at all how kindergarten should be.  I am sad for my daughter who isn’t meeting her amazing teachers in person, being the line leader, the lunch captain, or the lucky one who gets to feed the class guinea pig. She doesn’t get to meet new friends and ride the bus with her big sister like she has dreamed about. Virtual 3rd grade is fine, but pales in comparison to the in school experience. I cry for the teachers who did not sign up for this either.  I know they have broader learning objectives than just teaching the kids how to mute and unmute. Not being able to really connect with their new students must break their hearts. I wonder how many teachers cried today too.

Our district has promised “at least” nine weeks of virtual school.  In my sad cry, nine weeks feels like an absolute e-t-e-r-n-i-t-y.

12:45pm: I pull it together and read a few books to the two-year-old.

1:00pm:  Kindergartner calls me in. Her iPad has 10% battery left. Interesting considering it literally charged the entire weekend. 

1:02pm: Plug it in.  It immediately runs out of batteries and won’t turn back on.

1:05pm: Quit virtual kindergarten. Again. Definitely for the day and maybe for the year.  

1:06pm: Something must be done. Activate Problem Solving Mode! Do we join a pod? Do I hire a tutor? Maybe I will pull her out of public school and homeschool? Maybe I’ll just buy a kindergarten workbook and some flash cards? Should I read to her for three or four hours each day? Who needs kindergarten anyway? French children don’t learn to read until they are eight or nine, right? Maybe she repeats kindergarten and this year is just practice? How about a gap year? Maybe we should buy and RV and drive to Australia? Should we send her to a private school offering in-person class? To whom shall I write the check?

1:15pm: Break my no-TV-during-the-school-week policy and turn on PBS Kids. Then, it’s back to third grade to help with the All About Me PowerPoint.

1:30pm: Closing Bell! The first day of virtual school is finally over. 

2pm: Nap time for the two-year-old.  Exhale.

2:30pm: 3rd grader practices piano, kindergartner colors beside me, and I tackle my inbox.

3:30pm: My kindergartner tells me I’m her best friend.

4:30pm: Husband calls and says he is coming home early.  This never happens. He must have gotten the Bat Signal.  He offers to take the girls to the park. Clearly I made the right choice when I made him co-signer of those thoughtful first day of school letters.

5pm:  Dad walks in the door. As usual, he receives a war hero’s welcome from his three daughters. His wife is also truly delighted to see him. 

“How was the first day of school?” he asks the 3^rd grader. 

“SO awesome.”  she says.

“How was school?” he asks the kindergartner. 

“Perfect.”  she says.

I kept the virtual school situation wrapped up in a little box and placed it on the tippy top shelf of my mind.  Last week, I finally took it down and unwrapped it.  What I found inside was a bundle of icky feelings: anxiety, sadness, overwhelm, panic, guilt, dread, post-traumatic stress, stress, and pre-traumatic stress. 

(Of course, there is also a little box full of gratitude somewhere on that high shelf.  It contains phrases like “it could be worse,” “at least we have our health,” “there is a lot to be grateful for,” blah blah blah.  But that’s not the box we’re currently unwrapping.)

My chest tightens as I recall supervising two children on devices, chaperoning zoom calls, explaining countless worksheets, and fielding questions about common core math taught IN SPANISH.  Though my third child did not need to be educated, per se, she did need constant management. Keeping her far enough away so that she didn’t bother or bully her big sisters, yet close enough so that she didn’t get injured or escape, was a constant struggle.  This was impossible without using an actual cage, a parenting method that is frowned upon by most experts in the field. All of this while trying to deliver excellent results at work, attempting to look and sound and like a child-free, totally focused professional businesswoman.  Please note that my boss prefers cameras ON during all calls.

There were moments of harmony, learning and productivity, but moments later someone would be crying, something would get broken, and I would have to mute my conference call to yell at someone, referee or apply first aid. 

And it looks like I will be doing ALL OF THAT again, only now the stakes are higher.  This round, all three of my children actually need to learn something, I have more responsibilities at work, and we adopted a pandemic pet (rock bottom). That pet is unfortunately a cat–a nocturnal cat with coon blood who is currently climbing my beloved grasscloth wallpaper.

SO what is a reluctant/unqualified/disgruntled homeschooling catlady to do? 

Not sure.  If you figure it out, please tell me.

So far, the only thing that seems to be helping is a coping mechanism I call “add to cart.” 

I got some new clothes (birthday month), some lotions and potions to keep me looking youthful (ugh, getting older), a few cute work tops (dress up from the waist up), and some things for the house (being home so much is expensive).

Of course, the majority of my purchases have been for my students. Here are some old favorites and some new things I bought to prep for AT LEAST nine weeks of homeschool.  

Obviously I stocked up on basic school supplies. New school supplies spark joy as does tossing out the dried up markers and half-eaten (yes, eaten) crayons. Markers! Pens! Pencils! Super cool crayons! Glue sticks! Construction paper! Add to cart.  I also bought this spinning supply holder so that we can have markers and glue sticks at-the-ready. It will look like this photo for a total of four minutes, but man, those four minutes will feel freaking fantastic.

The pressure is ON this year for my kindergartner to learn to read. I was really hoping to leave the teaching-her-how-to part to the professionals, but here we are. I don’t think I have the patience or the skill set to accomplish this, so naturally I have been compensating by pressing that magic button: add to cart.

Good teachers try to create curriculum to match their students’ interests. Since my middle child lives in fantasyland, I purchased the highly acclaimed Learn to Read: A Magical Sight Words & Phonics Activity Workbook featuring unicorns and rainbows and princesses. And naturally I ordered the classic Bob Books that are not quite as magical but are tried and true guides to help little people become literate. And since so much will be on the screen, I wanted my young pre-reader to have some good reading manipulatives like these Magnetic Letters.

And if at all possible, I will try to use games to make learning fun-ish. Even in a friendly game of ZINGO, I do not let children win. (Love these too for my oldest because they are actually fun and require strategy and mental math: LowDown and Sleeping Queens)

Books. Books. Books. I plan to do a whole post on books because by the end of last semester, I waived the white flag on all the expectations coming from the school system.  As long as they’re reading became my teaching philosophy. Pretty sure that’s where we’ll end up sooner than later.  Here are a few good ones:

The 50 States. A beautifully illustrated book with infographic map of each state full of interesting facts. We were given this one as a gift and it is a family favorite.

Awesome Science Experiments for Kids. Apparently I’m in charge of science now too? That’s unfortunate. Freshman bio left quite a stain on my college transcript.

Herstory: 50 Women and Girls who Shook up the World is a good one and we are also big fans of Goodnight Stories for Rebel Girls. And obviously anything in the Iggy Peck, Rosie Revere world are essential for the home school library collection.

I also splurged on a totally legit electric pencil sharpener because OMG the number of times we were dealing with broken pencils and nothing to bear down on. Which reminds me, we need some clipboards. ADD TO CART.

And I finally pulled the trigger on a more expensive instant-read thermometer because a) pandemics and b) getting caught in public with a high temp would be in very poor taste and quite embarrassing.

And in this era when each day feels like the one before it, we need something to look forward to. Hence, I ordered a globe so we can get excited about all the exotic places we’ll go when this is over…and other countries (hopefully!) reopen their doors to Americans.

I can do this. You can do this. We can do this. Right? Right.

At least we will have sharpened pencils.

Here is what’s going on right now in my Cabin at Camp Coronavirus.

Allow me to paint the picture of my current responsibilities:

• Working. Usually my day job brings me a sense of joy, purpose, pride and accomplishment. But corporate America currently feels like this.  I work in healthcare, and I feel compelled to step up at work now more than ever.  We’re all are trying to put down the railroad tracks as the train comes rolling behind us.

• Homeschooling my second grader.  She typically spends her days at a Spanish immersion elementary school.  I do not speak Spanish, nor do I speak Common Core math. Fielding her questions in two languages while keeping her on academic quarantine during school hours so she can concentrate on her work is a challenge. So far, my teaching method of explaining the directions the exact same way only louder each time doesn’t seem to be helpful for her education or for our relationship. The “educational” games (games!) on her school-issued iPad seem too easy, while the stacks of worksheets seem too complex.   

• Parenting a two-year-old. Our resident two-year-old, to complicate matters, has zero interest in watching TV.  (Delivery room mix-up. DNA test pending.)  I’d let her sit and watch The Godfather trilogy if it would give me a little break.  She’s happiest when she is eating or emptying the contents of drawers.  

• And I feel like I’m forgetting something. Oh yeah.  The middle child.  Has anyone seen her? Wait…Where is she?  Oh. There she is.  She’s in my bathroom playing with my makeup. And why won’t the toilet flush? Because it’s clogged with half a roll of toilet paper torn off one sheet at a time. I mean, read the headlines, kid.

Here is snapshot of a single moment in time: I’m answering work emails, resolver problemas matemáticos con mi niña, muting the conference call so I can discipline, console, referee, educate, and feed one of a thousand meals a day to three frat boys who don’t understand why I’m rationing the bread.  

After too many long days of that losing game of wack-a-mole, I reached my breaking point. I could feel the tears rising to the surface.  And you know what finally broke the floodgates?  Bing. I accidentally downloaded a nasty virus wherein every time I Google something, the bunk search engine Bing opens instead, along with five  pop-up ads.   The Bing virus was my breaking point that made me feel ALL THE FEELINGS associated with Coronavirus.  I started bawling.  Cue the full-on ugly cry.

Bottom line: This new reality is disorienting and draining for me as a working, homeschool mother, quarantined…with a two-year-old.   And oh, the open-endedness of it all! How long will this last? And the middle child. Has anyone seen her? Wait…Where is she?  Oh. There she is.  She’s in her bathroom putting Vaseline in her hair and smearing it all over the counter.

In my blissful previous life (three weeks ago) I could have written a book about work-life balance.  My secret? Setting clear boundaries between the two. I try my best to be all in when I’m at the office and all in when I’m at home.  In the word of social distancing, there is no separation and no boundaries between home and work. It all inevitably bleeds together. My work responsibilities seep into the nooks and crannies previously reserved for home life and hands-on parenting.  And my parenting responsibilities have increased now that I am the head teacher (profesora) and the primary childcare provider.  I feel exhausted and overwhelmed and like I’m failing at ALL OF IT.   

In the good old days, I felt zero guilt going to work.  I was at the office while my kids were at school, at preschool, at soccer and ballet.  Or I was working from home — a child-free, clean, quiet home (ahhh, paradise). But now we are all home. All together, all day.   I’m constantly having to make choices about who needs me most.  I hate missing out on quality time with my little people when I’m working. But when I’m dealing with the screaming and complaining and arguing and snack demanding, I fantasize about my former life in my quiet office where I could concentrate and wear real clothes.

And I have a confession.  I envy other mothers who seem to be living their best lives right now.  I see their color-coded homeschool schedules, themed scavenger hunts, culinary creations and art projects.  Some of my best friends are really loving the teaching and the togetherness.  And so would I. I think.  If that was the only thing I had on my plate and if the youngest student in my class was 8 (not 2).  And oh yeah.  The middle child.  Has anyone seen her? Wait…Where is she?  Oh, there she is.  Using a green permanent marker to scribble on her white bedroom carpet.

This quarantine, social distance scenario amplifies the tension and guilt that working mothers feel even on the best, pandemic-free days. 

I had a good solid cry followed by a long walk (still legal) to process my feelings and catch my breath.  What I tried last week didn’t work. It was unsustainable and who knows how long this whole thing will last. Weeks? Months? I’m gonna make some changes. Here’s the plan:

I will be my own version of a homeschool teacher.  Even at my best, I am no substitute for my daughters’ amazing teachers. I’m taking the pressure off and we will all just do our best to get it done. I can manage and maybe even enjoy it if I do it my own way.  This will involve scrapping the common core and encouraging my students to focus on reading, reading, reading, letter writing, and learning new dance moves.  Mrs. Fizzle will be the substitute Spanish teacher via El Autobus Magico on Netflix.  My school will not operate during traditional school hours. And the lunch lady is hot.

I will get my job done and make a meaningful contribution to my team at work. I love my job. (Shout out to my man in the IT department who helped me remove the Bing virus).  Sure, sending an email will take me longer with three children sitting in my lap, but such is life for a working mom.  The workday may have stops and starts and the work week may be longer but that will be OK for now. I know this won’t last forever. Right? Right.  I’m also rethinking our decision to social distance from our beloved nanny. Doing so made me social distance from my sanity and I just don’t know if it’s worth it.

I will use this time to soak in the amazingness of each of my children, at exactly the ages they are right now.   Last week had me peering through the windows half envying families with older children. I felt like my kids were too young for me to relish this particular, albeit peculiar, moment in time.  Many families are finding peace in the tranquility and stillness that this forced timeout offers.  They are playing rounds of Scrabble, baking bread, and learning to play the piano. That peaceful picture of life during this pandemic feels quite different than the day-to-day in my quarantined cabin.  We can’t do crosswords, thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles, or have a family game night without someone eating the pieces. Only three out of the five of us can actually read, so I don’t have endless hours to crank through my personal to-be-read pile of books.  But there is joy to be found in the sequestered slow-down and an opportunity to soak up extra time with my children, ages 7, 4 and 2. I could write a mile-long list of silver linings.

I will treasure these long days and lazy weekends.  Today, the girls and I made pancakes, did chalk art in the driveway, danced and decorated for Easter.  Yes, there were meltdowns, minor burns, and a raisin in the ear incident, but it was a good day. A really good day.  I took a stroll with my one-of-a-kind-seven-year-old and we played Sleeping Queens while the little ones napped. Even the two-year-old had moments of true greatness.  I am convinced she will be a value-add to our family in the long run. And the middle child.  There she is. She’s across the table from me, peacefully building a magna-tile mansion for her family of figurines.  I love the imaginary worlds she creates.

This week out there in the world will not be a good one. We will witness the increasingly devastating impact this scary virus has on our nation’s health, our healthcare system, and our economy. 

I will continue to be grateful that my struggles are nothing compared to what others are facing right now.

But I am committed to making this week inside my cabin at Camp Corona better than the last. 

I will lower my expectations.

I will let some of it go.

I will prioritize the things that matter most.

I will stop comparing my experience to everyone else’s highlight reels.

I will take time to create special moments with each of my children.

I will offer myself and my fellow campers grace and patience as we figure this out together.

Required preread: We Thought We Found the Perfect Nanny

Whence last we spoke, I was in a puddle of tears due to the no-show-nanny on day one of my new job.   The exhaustive nanny hunt followed by the nanny trauma drama had me shook, but as we women do, I put one high-heeled foot in front of the other and marched onward.

By day I was leaning in, learning the ropes at my new company and proving to them that I was the right man for the job.  Each workday also offered the logistical challenge of onboarding a patchwork of pinch-sitters in efforts to keep things rolling along as smoothly as possible for my three little girls. 

By night I was interviewing, reference checking, and mining the fields for a new crop of potentially permanent nannies.

But by late night, was conducting a Keith Morrison style investigation into who exactly this woman was that betrayed my trust and evaporated into thin air with our house key and our car seats.  Hindsight, fact finding via the online Yellow Pages, and Monday morning quarterbacking have led me to these grim conclusions:

Red Flag #1: She gave me a printed copy of her “background check.” Even more concerning: she did not accept my request through Sittercity to conduct an official background check or driving record check of my own.  What was she hiding?

Red Flag #2: Turns out she has three different names according to the internet. Anyone who has seen one episode of Dateline knows this is code for creepy.   

Red Flag #3: In the words of my four-year-old who spent time with her during her orientation, ”She was nice but her car smelled bad and I didn’t like her music.” Car smells are a BIG DEAL to kids. I can still recall the stench of a certain wood paneled station wagon from the carpool of my youth.  I am convinced that my acute adult motion sickness originated while sitting in the backety-back of our neighbor’s smelly Buick as a kid while Kenny G blared from the tape deck.  To this day, any time I hear this saxophone sonata, I am immediately nauseous.  Simply put, Hallie did not care for that stanky stank or the soundtrack.  These. Things. Matter.   

I see some of you out in the wild and I always get asked “Did you ever get your car seats back?”  That brings me to the next red flag.

Red Flag #4: After a STRONG dose of legalese from my husband via text and voicemail, the car seats finally appeared on our back porch in the dark of night a few weeks after it all went down.  But. Instead of unclipping them like a normal human, she cut them out. That means she used some sort of industrial strength pruning shears to cut the seatbelt material attached to the latch clip that attaches the car seat to the car.  Car seats are useless if they can’t be secured to the car. What conclusions can we draw from this seat snipping situation?

• A) This lady has ZERO childcare experience because anyone who has been around kids would know rudimentary car seat mechanics. This would therefore mean that she faked her references. Something that makes sense considering those phone calls were, well, odd.

• B) This was an act of malicious aggression. 

• C) All of the above.  

I am currently using my # 2 pencil to fill in “C” on my scantron.  Keep your eyes on your own paper.

In conducting this postmortem, I can see it all so clearly now.  We dodged a serious bullet by not having this duplicitous wackadoo take care our most precious precocious possessions.  I really think Someone was looking out for us, and I am honesty relieved that this woman did not spend another moment in my home with my children.

Thankfully, this suburban legend has a happy ending. We found the perfect nanny who has now been with our family for over a year.  I love her, my children love her, and she does all the things necessary to keep the all spinning plates in the air on the home front.  I would literally give her my kidney if she needed it.  She can certainly have my gallbladder and I would most likely give her one of my more vital organs if the need arises.

Her car even smells good.

I spent the week before her official start date writing a dissertation on the care and keeping of my children. The mental and emotional load that we mothers carry is a heavy one to share. I did two days of training with Carol in an attempt to download all of the minutia about rules, routines, and the preferences and particularities of each of my girls. We drove the carpool loops together and along the way I pointed out the local parks. I introduced Carol to our neighbors, installed new car seats in her car, and gave her our house key.

I went to bed the night before my triumphant return to the working world confident that the two most important decisions were behind me. I had found the perfect nanny and I had found the perfect outfit to wear on my first day. I was ready to walk the road ahead in my sensible pumps and power suit.

Carol was supposed to arrive at 8:15 on Tuesday morning. Around 7:45 I got this text:

No worries. Neither me or my husband had to be at the office early that day.

Atlanta traffic is the worst, and though she had been to our house several times, she had yet to do the drive during morning rush hour. She quickly texted back.

Meanwhile my husband and I were wondering who would ever want to drive that far for work. We had a hunch that the commute would be too much and asked her MANY times thought the hiring process if the drive would be too far. She repeatedly reassured us that it wouldn’t be a problem at all. “As long as I have my music,” she said sweetly, “the drive won’t bother me a bit.” Then around 8:30am I get this text …

Of course she won’t. It’s way too far to drive for work, no matter how smart, funny and adorable my children are. I grumbled that I wish she had realized this weeks ago. Ugh. I texted back:

No response.

And crickets. I called her twice. No answer, no response, straight to voicemail. 8:30. 8:40. 8:50. The pit in my stomach grew and grew as my husband took the hopeful stance that GPSs aren’t always accurate assuring me that surely she will be here any minute.

I stood on our front porch in my power pumps with my baby on my hip, willing her tiny black car to come down our street.

By 9am when it was crystal clear that Carol was not coming, we sprang to action making a backup plan. I frantically packed a bag of baby paraphernalia, did some car seat shuffling, and made plans for my amazing parents to take care of #3 all day and pick up #2 at school. My husband took the baby to my parents’ house and I jumped in the car for my first day of work. On my commute, I called the elementary school and a dear friend to coordinate after-school arrangements for #1. Adrenaline pumping after the chaotic morning, I walked in the office on my first day a cool ten minutes early.

For the next 8+ hours I completely compartmentalized. I dove headfirst into my new role and tried to make at least a decent first impression with my colleagues. I even made a new friend in the IT department which, as you know, is essential. I got in the car after a great first day, with the peace of mind that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

On my commute home I interviewed yet another nanny. I held back tears as I explained to her what we were looking for and what went down earlier that morning. But when I walked in the door to find my mom holding the baby and my dad serving mac & cheese to the big girls, I started bawling. My oldest daughter started crying when she saw me crying. She LOVES drama and was on pins and needles as I tearfully recounted the morning’s events. My three-year-old gave me a big hug and kept telling me how sorry she was that my hair was turning brown. “I’m so so sorry your hair is turning brown, mommy” she kept saying. She understood the real trauma of the day. Roots.

I felt exhausted after putting so much time and emotional energy searching for the person to care my three most precious possessions– for nothing. I felt betrayed and lied to. Clearly Carol is a person of questionable character. Better that we know that now. She ghosted on me in my time of need. Screening my calls and not returning my texts to tell me she wasn’t coming was low. She had spent time in our house and babysat for my children the weekend before her official first day. I was sick to my stomach-and I still am as I revisit all of this. What did I miss? Were her references even real? Had she really been rear-ended the week before when we sympathetically rescheduled her training day? She sent me a PDF of her background check. Am I an idiot for not doing my own background check on her? My calls go straight to voicemail. And though I have sent polite texts requesting that she return the car seats, they are still at large. Was all this just an elaborate scam to steal a few Gracos from an innocent family? Oh yeah, and she still has our house key.

To be honest, I thought that the background check that she provided us with would have been adequate. However, looking back on it now, I definitely should have got a second opinion.

This weekend I’m back at the beginning. Calling references, interviewing nannies, making an appointment for highlights, and I’ll most definitely be contacting a locksmith about changing our locks. In this situation, it’s definitely better to be safe than sorry.

And to think, my #1 concern about Carol was that she seemed too nice.

*Name changed just in case that wakadoo googles herself.