Category: I write

We’ll go back tomorrow. I wonder what we’ll know by then. My 50 words:

I realize that just because I’m in a different space it turns out I still have kids I need to care for.

The district says they offered their “last and best” deal. I’ve heard nothing and I cannot speculate. I know we won’t have school on Monday. How about Wednesday?

Another weekend.

The second strike Saturday.

At Sam’s lesson in the morning, in Minneapolis, I am struck by how few people even know.

We scramble into the van and drive to my parents’ because it’s not like we have school on Monday. We see my nephew, visiting on Spring Break.

What now.

I’m mad today. My kids need to go to school. My kids’ teachers need to feel valued. My 50 words:

I hear a plane fly overhead. I want to get on it.

We’ve been school-free for eleven days.

Alice says she likes weekends but she likes school more.

I feel like an insect in a bug house inside a zoo. Watching other people get to do shit through compound eyes.

For a few minutes, I thought it was over.

Thomas texts a Tweet. “MPS is happy to announce…” it reads. I can’t finish it because I’m driving.

If the district is happy about something, it’s got to be a deal. It’s over, I think. Will we get to go back tomorrow? Or Monday?

No. I misread; the strike continues.

I don’t care that it’s nice out. This is hard. Another account of the day in 50 words.

I think of kids with special needs, needs beyond supervision.

I think of teachers having to work two jobs.

I think of how easy it is for us to go for a walk and I know it’s so hard to have the energy to Do This for days on end.

Even though we have All Day, we wait until Normal Time to practice. Then I look up and see it’s 8:15 PM and no one is in jams. Then I realize time doesn’t matter.

I remember distance learning kicking us into outer space where we spun – still alive, somehow – untethered.

I am confident we won’t have school the rest of the week.

Here are 50 words about the day. This one is “No Change.”

The district e-mails. The subject line is, “Negotiations continue; classes canceled Tuesday,” leading me to believe they think we could be back on Wednesday. Which is when I read the e-mail and find that there is no change in the near future. Which means there is no change in mine.

This one is “Snowmelt.”

Snowmelt flowed down the path at the nature center we visited. What a jerk, moving so freely like that, directly under my feet.

I’m tensing about the week to come.

Bedtimes never matter when we switch to Daylight Saving Time or the Sunday before the second week of a strike.