My alarm chimed this morning.
(Literally. As in..."Wind Chimes", courtesy of the ringtones/notifications/etc app I downloaded ages ago...back in those "halycon" pre-Covid days when schedules were life and every task had its own tone.)
So chime it did. Sweetly and softly, just barely rippling through the deep dark quiet of 5a.m. I ignored it, silencing the alarm with one hand and the whimper of Henri next to me with the other. Co-sleeping...such a misnomer. He sleeps in fits and starts while I cling to the side of the bed, scared to move. The crib lies vacant just a few feet away. Rejected. As it is every night over and over and over again until I finally give in and bundle him up into the center of my bed...clear off the blankets and pillows...and lay rigidly against the outside, barring any rolling off or cat clambers. The night had been long...barely time to drift between nursing demands. The alarm chimed and I groped about for the phone. Turned off the volume. Rocked my little neighbor with one arm and turned my head, closing my eyes...counting down again...
And then I woke.
But a minute later, or maybe two. The alarm. THE alarm. The first day of back to school...minus the back, the to, and the school. Time to rise and shine and prep for the unknown. Time to wake my Junior.
He picked the time, by the way. Not that you were wondering. Time for coffee...served hot and steaming...passed from my weary hands to his groggy ones. Time for breakfast and a shower. Time for a first day photo. Time, more importantly now, for playing with his little brother...squeezing in a book or two and their beloved floor time routine.
Some time later, I stood in the kitchen, my own mug gone lukewarm...listening to the happy baby chortles and sing-song baritone. I'd just finished rearranging the dining area...a bit of the push this here/remove that there swap...to take us from dining to zooming. Small space living is forever a balancing act, now all the more so with another purpose for the room to serve. School. A window into the world, or a window into his private life. Either way, uncomfortable.
Over breakfast I asked him how he was feeling about Remote-Learning. He answered right away...years of life with me must have taught him well...he can guess the questions well in advance.
"So here's the thing, Mami: I enjoy learning. You know that. We're alike.
I like new information and new challenges. I like learning. But not school.
School is where they teach "the What" but not "the Why".
It's sort of like the manuals that come with Ikea flat-packs. There's a parts listing (and you hope all the pieces are there!) and the diagrams, but it's up to the individual student to build it out. And more than that...it's only the instructions for the basic model. You want to customize it? Create something more suited to your lifestyle or your creativity? That's all on you. All you get in the manual-the school-is the basic/the average/the conventional. And sometimes that's just so damn frustrating! It's that feeling of "Here's something new and exciting to explore...but, no, we're not actually going to do anything with it".
So it's definitely time to try something new.
I don't know if this is it. But it's worth the trying, I suppose.
The schedule is way shorter, so maybe that means more time for self-guided learning?
I'm nervous what impact the shortened schedule will have on the quality of education. Longer periods but less frequent. Will that mean cramming things in faster, or losing out on some of the material? And assessments? How are they handling quizzes and tests? How will assessments be equitable in this hybrid-schoolyear?
But since you asked...I'm glad to be attending remotely. Wish that had been an option all along. I'm glad to be able to circumvent all the overwhelming 'white noise' of sensory chaos and just focus on the learning."
He answered...and I wrote (in Mami shorthand)...knowing I'd want to see it here in years to come. The moment passed. Breakfast done and the hustle and bustle resumed.
I stood in the kitchen with my coffee, waiting to be called in, and thinking back on all the frenetic first days in the past.
No bus to wait on this morning.
No bookbag to repack.
No supply list posted at the front door.
Just this. Easing on in. Rearranging the furniture and opening the Chromebook.
His school day began when the meeting opened. I watched him raise his hand and wave, a wry grimace of a smile on his face. I watched his eyes tracking across the screen. Heard the staccato click on fingers on keyboard. Saw his head nod and heard him say his name...repeating it for the teacher who still pronounce it incorrectly...marking himself as "present".
I caught his eyes briefly, the smallest acknowledgement that he was "good to go", before I whisked Henri from the crib and wrestled him into the carrier for our walk.
While the newly christened Junior watched (literally) his school-day begin, the junior and I headed down the drive and walked in the cool damp of early morning. Back and forth. Forth and back. I spoke nonsense to him. He played at enraptured audience. We breathed in the fresh air and heard the birdsong. We watched squirrels flirt and wrestle. We stood, both with eyes gone wide with surprise, as school busses drove by.
None of this even remotely like what came before.