Virtually Impossible

Contrary to what I had previously thought, a Homophone is not a gay-friendly mobile device. It's a word that sounds the same as another word, but is spelled differently and has a different meaning such as: Last night at eight, I ate my body weight in peanut M&M's. And did you know that a Prime Number is not the Amazon Customer Service Helpline? Geez! There are many other things I’ve been learning during COVID as an Ididntsignupforthis homeschool mom. But one thing haunts me...a conversation that I had with my bestie back in 1977.

As a kid growing up in a New Jersey shore town, I had this amazing theatrical friend with a limitless imagination and an interesting existential theory...

“After you die, you come back as the individuals you used to mock,” said my slightly-crunchy, wise-beyond-her-years pal with Ted Talk confidence. 

“What are you talking about?” I asked with eyes squintier than RHONY’s Ramona Singer.

“I just think that G-d brings people back as the people that they originally made fun of. So, if you bullied someone for being overweight, G-d brings you back as one XL husky honey. It’s the ultimate lesson in karma.” 

“That’s interesting,” I said to the prepubescent world philosopher who stood firm in her 8-year-old spiritual convictions around the afterlife.

Fast-forward four decades.

Admittedly, I think there was something to her cockamamie hypothesis. 

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Albeit, I wasn’t reincarnated, but ironically, I did magically morph into the woman that I used to lampoon in my head (not out loud), but I suppose G-d heard that too. “Who would ever want to homeschool their kid?!? That just seems like torture!" I thought to myself. I imagined that these were the same families that sewed their own clothing, made and froze wheatgrass popsicles, and created Macramé wall hangings in decades other than the 70s.. In addition to my own biases, I just couldn’t see myself doing the teacher thing. I didn’t even like it when I went through it and going through it again seemed even more painful. My 51-year-old brain has not held onto the 12-table, never even did Singapore math, I still screw up spelling words that have silent letters and I confess I haven't even mastered the Floss or the Dab. I'm slightly pathetic.

“Are you kidding me?” said Siri after I demanded to know what an Adverb was. I whispered as if I was a deep undercover Russian spy with an insistent yet desperate query.

“So, listen Siri, I know what it is. I’m just seeking confirmation,” I grunted. 

“I don’t believe you,” retorted Siri. “What is an Adverb, Jami” 

“Um…do I sense some sass, Siri?”

“What is an Adverb, Jami?..Duh Jami.”

I decided to ask Alexa on the DL. 

Homeschooling is not something I thought would enter my orbit. For the love of TJ’s Cookie Butter, I was Carrie, not Miranda! 

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On March 16, 2020, I became Miranda and she was a very tired, resentful, self-doubting Miranda who very much ate her feelings, downing 20 Oreos and a Party-Size bag of Cool Ranch Doritos—on a good day. The bags under my eyes got so dark and overpowering, they demanded matching shoes. As time went on my appearance changed to the extent that I had to disable all outgoing video on all conferencing platforms. I became an Avatar (and not a stiletto-heeled illustration with Double Ds and voluptuous lips but rather one that resembled Rosanne) and could feel my identity slipping faster than the raising of Dr. Birx eyebrows when Chief Cheeto suggested that we inject ourselves with Mr. Clean.

“Mom, why is there powder in your hair?” my son asked.

“There is no powder in my hair,” I snapped. 

“Yes, look,” he pointed to the top of my head where my grey roots had become apparent eyesores. 

I wonder how much Eva got paid to do this Advertorial (Sorry, I digress).

I became noticeably unraveled somewhere around April 1. I was my own April Fools joke. I passed a mirror and asked, “Who the hell are you, lady?”

Siri chimed in “You are Jami and you have no clue what an Adverb is.” :)

I disconnected my Echo, deleted the app, and boxed it up for return. I had reached rock bottom. My son’s Chromebook refused to charge. I refused to charge as well. 

Then it hit me. 

I didn’t have a choice. I needed to up my game in a major way - or at least start it. I needed to embrace this challenge like a pro and make amends with my own crazy misperception of homeschooling. Hell, for a moment, I thought I’d plant my own Victory Garden. I had to look the beast in the eye and find my own way of being a teacher. It was a reckoning. So, I dove into it with more vigor and enthusiasm than Jack Black in "School of Rock." Pretty soon, Brody's writing assignment on the Endangered Green Sea Turtle sung like melodic riffs unleashed in Sweet Child of Mine.

And so, I jumped hard into Google Classroom, SeeSaw, Kahn Academy, Sumdog, Hit the Button, Education, ABCya, Museum Tours, Google Earth tours through US Forrests, Shabbat Services, Karate Classes, Hip Hop Classes, Improv Classes, GoNoodle, Lexia, Imagine Math, Math Prodigy, Reading A-Z, Tumblebook Library, Scholastic, PBS Kids, CoolMathGames, National Geographic Kids, ReadWriteThink, Class Dojo, Epic, BoomLearning, EverydaySpeech, and Pinna, to name just a few. We're all traveling together on the Information Superhighway—I'm wondering if Brody may someday be a Roads Scholar, so to speak. (Mom, if you're reading this I know it's spelled Rhodes. I was just being punny.)

I’ve been Zoomin', Loomin’, meeting up and hangin’ out. It’s a lot. Let’s just say it’s virtually impossible. In many ways, quarantine life is much more challenging than life before Friday the 13th of March. Yes, it was Friday the 13th - the last day of normalcy in the working lives of many. Um. Hello!?!? I’m now time-blocking like a pro so as not to miss any Zoom sessions scheduled for Brody. I’ve gotten so good at this I’m actually time blocking the time that I need for time blocking. 

And while most of Brody’s e-learning tools are available for free, he insists on watching SIS vs BRO on YouTube (12.8M subscribers) before we dive into the world of academia in cyberspace. I’m okay with it because of the lack of socialization - this is the closest thing to hanging out with kiddos in the schoolyard. I do not recommend showing this channel to your tween as they will become addicted in 2.5 seconds and it will be challenging to serve up Homophones once they’re sucked in. They will be addicted harder than that crazy Tiger King phenomenon. It's visual crack combined with the mindless dialog that only rich tweens can deliver. You’ll have to wean their entertainment-thirsty minds off of this habitual indulgence and I can vouch that won’t be pretty. 

I loathe articles that provide bullet points on homeschooling your child, so I’m not going to include any of that in this piece. Frankly, I’d sooner rate domestic and imported wine choices for parents everywhere—that would be more helpful IMHO. When it comes to the new normal, there is no one-size-fits-all solution. This is not GAP Common Core. I think of it as a trial and error cognitive highway. You get off an exit, you try it and if it doesn’t resonate then it’s back on the highway. Yes, you are bound to get carsick, but really, there’s no turning back. What’s the alternative? Sliding harder and faster into an abyss of Jello-brain? No thanks. 

At 51, I may be rusty in faction facts, but that’s only because lately, I’ve been a fraction of myself. I only recognize one-sixteenth of my soul. The Carrie Bradshaw in me will not be making a come back on the other side of 'rona. I fear she is gone forever. Replaced by wait for it…the overrated activity of adulting. Does anyone hate that word more than me? I think not. I'm not opposed to adulting, it's just that I was hanging onto that SJP for dear life before the world changed. It just made me feel better - didn't have the Jimmy Choos or Manolo Blahniks though.

Don’t get me wrong. I have perspective. I am grounded and while I find it mind-blowing to wrap my head around the enormity of pathos that this situation has caused all over the world, I take solace in knowing that my family is healthy. Wait, what’s that sound? That’s me knocking on every piece of wood in my apartment. As I type, 62,603 US deaths have been reported in the US. If you need a visual, there are 69,175 seats at Lincoln Financial Field here in Philadelphia. I miss my mom’s smell (Happy by Clinique). I miss walking on the boardwalk, I miss retail therapy at TJMaxx and Target walking the aisles aimlessly with the intent of shedding all my tension if only for 20 bloody minutes. Most of all I miss the teachers and school-based therapists who work tirelessly each day to mold 10-year-old pieces of clay into the best possible versions of themselves. I have taken all these things for granted. 

Maybe that’s the underlying takeaway exercise gleaned from of all of this. Perhaps when we are reincarnated, some of us will come back as much more mindful, socially conscious, and gracious human beings. If only we could Zoom into the future.

Jami Slotnick