I’ll show you.

(scene opens in gloomy dinning room, Carrot at computer)

Gamma: (calls off stage) Mom! Can I come downstairs! I’m bored!

Me: (calls back) Nope. You can keep your Covid self in your room. Its what isolation means. Isolate.

Gamma: But I’m bored!

Me: You spent all of Spring Break locked in your room, why do you want out now?

Gamma: Dad took the tablet!

Me: (unsympathetic) Maybe that was because you won’t stay off the YouTube. Sorry about your luck. Do some art. Play with the felting kit I got you.

(time passes)

(Gamma enters the dinning room, masked)

Me: What are you doing out of your room?

Gamma: (muffled) Here. Can I have the tablet now?

Me: (somewhat impressed) Go ask dad. I don’t know where it is.

Gamma: MOM!

(cue laugh track, fade to black)

Buried Treasure

(scene opens in surprisingly clean parlor)

Me: (looks up from typing) Gamma, what are you doing?

Gamma: (fiddling at the charging station in the corner) Putting on Delta’s fitbit.

Me: You can’t wear his Fitbit. Where’s yours?

Gamma: I don’t know.

Me: Go check under your bed.

Gamma: It’s not there. I cleaned my whole room. It’s missing.

Me: Uh-huh.

Gamma: It is! I looked everywhere! Can I have the tablet so I can talk to my friends now?

Me: (rises with resignation) Lets check the state of your room first.

(scene changes to mostly clean kid’s room)

Me: Where’d everything go?

Gamma: (kicks drawer under the bed) In here. That’s what it’s for, right?

Me: Uh, no. (tests drawer, stuck finally gets it open, over filled with kid stuff and trash) We’re going to have to go through that. (peeks under bed) Gamma? Look under the bed?

Gamma: (crouches down and looks under bed) Oh. My fitbit.

Me: (with deep Maternal I Told You So) Huh. Imagine that. Who could have known. Oh and look, there are the library books you couldn’t find.

Gamma: (sheepish) I’ll get the broom. Then I can have the tablet?

Me: Yes. Hand me the Fitbit, I’ll go charge it.

A very special Christmas

(scene opens in quiet Christmas dinning room, Carrot at table, opening some forgotten mail)

Me: (opens letter, reads frowns)

(Beta enters from kitchen)

Me: Beta? Are you familiar with the concept of the ‘Parent’s Curse’?

Beta: Is that where they swear at you really loud?

Me: No. Its when a kid’s parent looks at them dead in the eye and says “I hope you have one just like you.” so the kid will one day experience the hell you’re putting them through.

Beta: And?

(Carrot passes letter over)

Beta: (reads aloud) Based on test scores, we recommend you take the following classes next year…. (looks up) AP English Literature?

Me: AP. Advanced placement. Based on your scores, you apparently rate for college classes.

Beta: But isn’t English the class I’m getting a D in?

Me: (throws up hands) AND THE CURSE HAS BEEN FULFILLED!

Beta: You got Ds in English?

Me: Math. I did pretty good in English, but was never invited to the AP club. My grades and scores were so mismatched that I was accused of cheating on my SATs. I’m a designated “Does Not Live up to Potential”.

Beta: Merry Christmas, mom.

Me: Merry Christmas, sweetie.

Acceptable Limits

(scene opens in mini van)

Me: (buckling seatbelt) Okay. I am totally willing to support you in your dream dress vision. I want you to understand that there are a couple of times I will be enacting the Parental Veto.

Gamma: Why?

Me: If it’s too expensive, I don’t care how perfect it is, we just can’t. Or if it’s too risqué.

Gamma: What does ‘risqué’ mean?

Me: It’s the sexy level. And you’re only almost twelve…

Gamma: My sexy level should be zero.

Me: (approvingly) Exactly.

Gamma: (fist bumps Carrot) Then let’s do this!

She’s got the look

(rapid fire montage of Gamma coming down stairs in ratty and/or dirty pants)

Me: Go upstairs and put on some nicer pants.

Gamma: (dramatically) These are the nicest ones I have!

(repeat for at least fifteen different scenes, various times of day and seasons)

(scene opens in sawdusty garage, half painted bench resting on paper)

Me: (in clothes obviously meant for sloppy work, touching up hard to reach spots)

Gamma: (just off screen) Oops. I got paint on my pants.

(Carrot looks over, camera turns)

Gamma: (standing in pristine white shirt, brand new unblemished jeans now bearing a dark maroon lean spot on the thigh)

Me: (irrationally calm) Gamma? I’ve never seen those pants before. Are they new?

Gamma: (brightly) Amazing what you can find in the bottom of a very deep and dark drawer.

(Carrot begins to tremble, screen fades to black)

Can’t argue with that.

(scene opens in cluttered kitchen)

Alpha: (hunting breakfast) Ha-HA! (pulls bag of leftover pizza from ‘fridge)

Me: (pointing) HA! Ha-HA!

Alpha: Ha-ha-ha-HA!

Me: HA! Hu-ha-ha-ha. HA!

Husband: You guys are dorks.

Alpha: (draws himself up) You married her. You made me.

Me: He does have a point.

Husband: I was cool once.

Parenting in the Time of Pandemic

Means yelling at your kids at the breakfast table that they’re going to be late for school. Which is in the parlor.

Means waking up your spouse early for IT support on the laptops to make sure the in-house security doesn’t block the 400 different learning platforms required for each child. Making them late for work. Which is in the basement.

Means the dog is pissed off that his walk is delayed because attendance is during his normal walk time. Hiding shoes so he doesn’t chew them to show his displeasure.

Wondering why the schools bothered to send home the Chromebooks for everyone if they didn’t bother to also send the headphones, sending you scrambling for the gaming headsets and hope they fit smaller noggins.

Being told by every school employee that attendance is mandatory by 8 in the posted zoom link. But the zoom link is never posted.

Listening to one of your children bitch they’re at the small table with an uncomfortable chair, but its the only place/arrangement where you can see their screen after finding out too late in 2020 they spent most of the school year in chat rooms playing clicky games.

Also listening to that same child perform for the camera and finding over-sold laughter a trigger for murderous inclinations.

Living with the fact that your kid refuses to brush their hair for the camera, but letting it go because they’re at least wearing their uniform shirt. Pandemic Hair(tm) on a small is weirdly adorable.

Realizing that your back-to-the-gym schedule has been shelved. Again. Wondering if you got your money’s worth in 2021 since you won’t be in 2022.

Coming to terms that you are now chained to the dinning room table as a distance learning room monitor for the duration of this shut down.

Considering catching Omicron just for a week in quarantine.

Not liking the way you lumber across your child’s live feed like a dumpy hausfrau sasquatch, knowing that parent sightings are a way of life now. The teacher is just glad you’re trying to take an active part in the proceedings.

Hating Pandemic Homeschool Zoom Gym Class with a passion. Trust me. They run around this house enough to qualify as passing a Presidential Fitness Test.

Wondering if your high schoolers are actually having class or if they’re so short on staff, most of it is just study hall for not having anyone to teach.

Realizing it took five days into the new year to totally trash your vague “Do Something With My Life” New Year’s resolution.

Wondering if reheating the same cup of coffee a dozen times makes it bitter. Or if its just you.

One Day More

(scene opens in cold dinning room)

Husband: (shuffles in) Listen up, I want you all to go check your school stuff and get ready for tomorrow. Fresh pens, clean clothes, Chromebooks charged. Go.

(children scatter, Carrot at laptop, become progressively more morose)

Gamma: (singing to herself, pounds down stairs) I’m going to see my friends tomorrow! I can hardly wait so see my friends! I missed them so much! I can hardly wait to go to school!

Me: You’re not.

Gamma: (stunned) What?

Me: You’re not. Just got an email from the school. Too many hot cases, so they’re going to be doing distance learning for a couple of weeks.

Gamma: (wails) But I want to go back to school!

Me: Trust me, baby, I want you to go back to school too.

Ending on a High Note

(scene opens in holiday wrecked dinning room, Carrot at table looking frazzled)

Husband: (enters from kitchen)

Me: (tense) We have to take Delta to the planitarium.

Husband: Why?

Delta: (grins) Mommy and I were talking about burn out.

Husband: (stares in WTF)

Me: (closes eyes, sighs) He was asking what “burn out” means and wanted to know why we haven’t invented limitless energy – his words, not mine – and I explained that everything burns out, even the sun which has already existed for millions of years and will burn out millions of years in the future. He’s now asking me astronomical questions I don’t have answers to.

Husband: (stirring tea) Huh.

Me: Y’know – I prepared for endless kid questions by learning why the sky is blue and as of yet, not a single one has asked that. But meanwhile, I’ve had to show them how to use a bookmark and how to work the pull-tab on a can.

Husband: (tries for stoicism, fails, begins to laugh)

Delta: You know, I can hear you mom. Why is the sky blue? (grin turns smug)

Me: (puts head down on desk)

Husband: I’ll put that down as a “Brought it on yourself.”

0/10 Not Recommend

(scene opens in detritus laden dinning room, Carrot sorting through a school year’s worth of papers)

Me: Gamma? Can you come here and fill out your memory book for the school year?

Gamma: (slinks to the table, picks up pen) No field trips. No cafeteria. No classrooms. No playground. Guess I’m done.

Me: Wait! Get back here! (dumps twenty half used notebooks in recycling) What’s on the next page?

Gamma: (looks at choices) Goals for next year.

(camera close up on scribble reading “See people”)

Gamma: Am I done?

Me: Go ahead. (sighs, picks up Delta’s book as Gamma flees stage left) Delta? What was your favorite game?

Delta: Nothing.

Me: On the playground?

Delta: Nothing

Me: Favorite story?

Delta: Nothing.

Me: Favorite color? Favorite teacher? Names of your friends?

Delta: Black. None. I don’t have any.

Me: Damn, kid. Do you like anything?

Delta: I like XBox.

Me: (writes that down) The parenting books did not have a chapter on this.

I guess he’s family now.

(flashback)

Me: So, do we call this one Epsilon?

Husband: (reprovingly) No. I want there to be some difference made between the kids and the dog.

Me: I’ve already called him Delta three times today.

Husband: (firmly) There needs to be a difference between the kids and the dog.

(cut-scene to evening dinning room)

Me: (settles self with hot drink, prepares to write, turns on Spotify)

Dog: (picks head up, side eyes) Woof.

Me: (looks over) What.

Dog: (deeper) Woof!

Me: Oh, I’m sorry, is my music bothering you? (shuts it off)

Dog: (more side eye, lays back down)

Me: Yeah, you’re Epsilon. I don’t know what Husband was thinking.

Gotta stop it early

(scene opens in messy kitchen)

Gamma: (excited) Beta! I’ve been watch Minecraft YouTube! I know more Minecraft now!

Beta: (sweeping the floor and shitty about it) Oh yeah, how many blocks does it take…

Me: WE WILL NOT HAVE GATEKEEPING IN MY HOUSE!

Beta: (pouts)

Me: Hey Beta, do you know Dr. Who?

Beta: (pauses, lies badly) No.

Me: (knows his game) Try again. Hey, Beta, do you know Dr. Who?

Beta: Yeah.

Me: Oh yeah? Name them all.

Beta: (guilty grins)

Me: Oh, I guess you don’t know dick about Dr. Who. (gives the “understand?” look) That’s what it sounds like. Don’t. Do. It

(looks at the camera, breaks the fourth wall)

Me: Parents, don’t let your kids Gatekeep. It’s a dick move.