Well, well, well…..(and also WHAT?)
As always, please note the date stamps.
(Part, and possible end to, the Ebola Mom series)
First of all, holy crap– it’s been 2 months since I posted. And here I thought I was handling the balance of “me time” and motherhood so well*! But no, turns out I had JUST enough free time during maternity leave to feed myself, pee (and sometimes wipe!), spower (“speed shower,” because who has time to separate words anymore), and stare blankly because as much as I wanted to blog, my brain could only form the words to “Old MacDonald.” Actually, it couldn’t even form the words to THAT. Nora’s Old Macdonald has a rhino and a lemur because farm animals are hard.
Anyway, the point of this post is to announce that sadly, the long, beautiful, borderline abusive relationship between me and Ebola Mom has, it appears, come to an end. And it ended in the tradition of any great Jewish-girl-in-NYC love story– I got ghosted.
About a month ago I sent Ebola Mom an email announcing that I would be returning to work soon, and therefore wanted to check in on Kid’s progress and discuss the continuation of her tutoring.
Which, to be honest, is just disappointing. This relationship deserved to end in the same way it started– with me being verbally assaulted. Yes, getting ghosted is insulting, but I really would have preferred she put her complete lack or respect and disregard for human decency into words. Is a quick “Thank you for the 7 years you helped my daughter thrive, but now you and your baby can go fuck yourselves” too much to ask? She left me with nothing postable. Nothing to mark a deserving, bloggable end to this tortured love story.
So, like the single-girl-on-28-different-dating-apps I used to be, I’m deciding to send one last text in the hopes that it will garner a response. Not because I want to continue the relationship or because I can’t take a hint. I’m doing it for you, the fans. Because you’ve invested in this for years, and you deserve closure, god damnit.
Oh also Kid. I like Kid. And she likes me. I’m fairly certain I’m the only normal** adult influence in her life. And now I can only assume she thinks I’m dead, killed by the protruding stomach tumor that I was not allowed to assure her was just a baby.
So here goes. Putting all my pride*** on the line in the hopes of bloggable closure. You’re welcome. And stay tuned.
*never actually thought that.
**when used to reference myself, term always to be taken with grain of salt.
***no pride. Lost all pride in my 20s. Chose to trudge forward without it.
(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
Yeah not to detract from her genius, but she’s 13 and I look like this:
(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
Pregnancy hormones unleashed my usually-contained snark, but seriously wtf is happening right now.
Finishing a math lesson with a 5 year old….
Me: “Any questions?”
Kid: “Yeah. When that baby comes out of your vagina, is it going to hurt?”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Kid: “Babies come out of vaginas, you know. My dad told me when I asked him how your baby was going to get out of you. He said it would come out of your vagina.”
Me: “Well, remind me to thank your dad. But what I meant was, do you have any MATH questions.”
Kid: “Ummmm…let me think.”
Me: “We just did a whole lesson about how to tell time and read a calendar. Do you have questions about THAT?”
Kid: “Oh! Yes. How many days on the calendar…”
Me: “Ok, that’s better…”
Kid: “…until that baby comes out of your vagina?”
I wish I could blame this on pregnancy hormones, but no. This shit drives me nuts.
Working with a kid who never pays attention to anything I say, ever.
Me: “I noticed you are extremely focused today. I love it!”
Kid: “Yeah well I realized that you are really smart and have a lot to teach me, and I should really listen to you because you’re a great teacher.”
Me: “Really? So all this focus is because of ME? You just woke up and suddenly realized I’m great?!”
Kid: “Yeah. Is that so crazy? I’m going to listen from now on, because you helped me see that’s important.”
Me (tearing up): “Wow, I just never knew I could have that kind of influence on you. It just goes to show that having one positive role model can really change–
Kid: “Oh and I started taking Ritalin. So maybe that’s also it.”
Yesterday I sent an email to my clients letting them know I am pregnant so that they can plan for my time off accordingly. One Mom responded, “That’s fantastic news! Please share with [kid] at her session today, she will be SOOOOOOO EXCITED!!!”
Me: “So…your mom wanted me to share some exciting news with you…”
Me: “I’m going to have a baby!”
Me: “A little girl!”
Me: “Not yet, though. Not until August.”
Me: “Ok, well. Your mom thought you’d be excited…”
I normally only tutor grades PreK-5, but I have one 7th grader who I’ve been with for years, and who is far too wise for her age.
Kid (watching me eat my standard pregnancy-nausea Saltines from a plastic baggie): “You’ve been snacking a lot during our sessions lately.”
Me: “Oh. Yes. I know. I’m sorry, I hope it’s not distracting. I just…I’m taking a vitamin and it makes me a little sick if I don’t eat.”
Kid (looking me up and down skeptically): “Mmmm hmmm.”
Me (closing my sweater self-consciously): “It’s true.”
Kid: “You look more tired, too. And last week you brought the wrong folder.”
Me: “It’s the vitamins. They make me tired. And forgetful. They have lots of side effects.”
Kid (rolling eyes): “Ok. Just remember– I’m 13. I know things. I watch a lot of TV.”
Me: “Ok, well, I’d appreciate if–”
Kid: “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Me: “Thank you.”
Kid: “….that you’re smoking pot.”