Glitter & Glue By Jessica Webster Nahant Magazine | 32
I was in a meeting at Ozzie’s school when the word about ‘The virus’ broke. We were in the principal’s office when suddenly his direct line started ringing off the hook, followed by the sporadic buzzing of the team’s personal mobile phones vibrating in unison. I saw my son’s favorite teachers face faded to gray. I knew something was very wrong as they looked covertly at their phones and then at me. You see, I was a parent. I wasn’t supposed to know this was happening until the District announced the school was closed because of a ‘Pandemic.’ The sentiment of that moment was palpable. I could feel it in my belly, whatever “this” was, it was big. It was going to change everything. The meeting abruptly ended. I walked into the hallway to see the teachers, administrators, and staff collected in and near the office. I could sense and feel their fear, and at that moment, for the first time, I saw it: The Glitter and Glue. While these educators seemed very afraid, each would smile warmly at our young ones and push the impending trepidation away. The world that I grew up in was transforming right in front of me. I was witnessing a phoenix’s song. These teachers were both the Glitter that keeps children innocent and the Glue that holds them together. My experience with this Pandemic has been similar to the millions of Americans in quarantine and following social distancing guidelines. In a matter of days, since that meeting: School closed for my seven-year-old in first grade. My three-year old’s daycare closed; Followed by one work trip cancellation after another. Finally, when CDC made their recommendations regarding a Stay at Home order, I was notified that the company I am a contact pilot for was belaying the Aviation department in its entirety. They were parking the jet. I had been furloughed. The earlier days passed in a bit of a blur. Embracing my role as the primary caregiver and home educator was so brutal! I spent a ton of time setting up a desk by a beautiful window with school supplies a plenty! Markers, crayons, pencils, an electronic pencil sharpener, and purple transparent clipboards. None of that stuck. I eventually surrendered, and now we do school Zooms on my bed! On the daily. Everyone in my son’s class and all his teachers know what my pillows look like. Especially the favorite one. You know that one? That’s so old and grotty but utterly perfect for you. So that’s fun. The kids also broke my house two weeks into the Pandemic. Someone put a tiny hole in the bathtub. And yes, stealthy water everywhere. Then mold. I had a mold remediation team in full safety gear with big fans and plastic walls for a week. Oh my goodness, the plastic walls. The Littles wouldn’t stop trying to run through them like a Superhero. Today, in my son’s room, he is missing two feet of the wall from baseboard up, along the entire length; With more plastic covering it. So that’s awesome too. Though, there is an “other” side to all this. The side that might give pause to share. Some fascinating truths: The truth of not being able to understand my first graders’ schoolwork! I have degrees, Friends. What’s a multi-syllabic word again? What’s a Trick word? There’s the truth of not being able to say, “Sit down, please.” ONE more time before praying to Mary, Jesus, and Joseph to save my mind, which I’m about to lose. There’s the truth of way too much family time; having the silent temperature fight with your partner: either with windows or thermostat adjusting. The truth of suddenly feeling like I am not enough for anyone. I’m not enough of a mom to keep these kids happy. I’m not enough of a teacher to help my children excel at home and the truth of just not having enough in the tank to continue. I’ve been shaken to my core: Hugging my three-year-old who misses “school” and her friends. And crying quietly in the bathroom because my son does not. I know that I don’t sleep well anymore. Neither do my Littles. I feel that fatigue in my body. But also that: This Too Shall Pass. I will accept the things I cannot change and have the courage to change the things I can. I’ve said the Serenity Prayer almost daily. I believe both have been true for me. I know that this is not homeschooling. My son’s therapist wisely framed it as Crisis Education. That feels accurate. There are many sides to my truth, friends, throughout all of this. While I endeavor to be the Glitter and Glue to this family during quarantine, I mean to impart my reverence and thanks to my family, tribe, and son’s teachers that held my hand throughout this journey. I know that I miss you. I miss people. In the early days, I bought this T-shirt that says: “I was social distancing before it was cool.” And I haven’t worn it. I’m all for an irreverent quip. Believe me. But it doesn’t feel quite authentic. I do miss people. I miss things. I’m grateful for the latenight texts with my mom, sister, and girlfriends just unbridled, letting it out. I’m thankful for their love and truth. That somedays, you just can’t “stay positive.” Somedays, you just have to say: Homeschool stinks. Work from home is a joke. This is scary. I’m exhausted. I quit! I’m grateful for the therapists that have helped frame our individual experiences. Some of the most potent moments throughout this journey have come from a tearful zoom, with wifi froze sobbed faces and a suggestion that maybe I’m not failing at anything. I’m not an educator or a Special Education teacher. I’m just a Messenger, doing my best to pass on the message. I’m also not an OT, a PT, or a Special Education Case Manager, an SPL, a 33 | Nahant Magazine
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