(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
Completing sentences with words from a word bank. One of the words is “friend.”
Me: “It’s always nice to make a new….”
Kid: <blank stare>
Me: “Starts with an ‘f’…”
He’s not wrong.
Kid: “What’s the highest number?”
Me: “There is no highest number. Numbers keep going and going and going…they are infinite.”
Kid: “What’s infinite?”
Me: “Having no end. Numbers go to infinity…”
Kid: “Then that’s the end. Infinity.”
Me: “Well, no– the very definition of infinity is ‘no end.'”
Kid: “So infinity is NOT the highest number?”
Me: “Infinity isn’t actually even a number, it’s a concept.”
Kid: “What’s a concept?”
Me: “Like, an idea…”
Kid: “So infinity is the highest idea?”
Me: “Well, no, there’s no ‘highest idea.’ That’s not a thing.”
Kid: “I don’t get it. What’s infinity then?”
Me: “It’s hard to explain.”
Me: (prays conversation is over)
Kid: “So like, is there an infinity and one?”
Giving a spelling assessment to a 3rd grader I’ve worked with for years:
Me: “Next, spell ‘daughter.’ As in, ‘I gave birth to my daughter, Nora, in August.'”
Kid: “You have a daughter?”
Kid: “I don’t remember.”
Me: “I was here the day before I gave birth. When I came back to work in November, you gave me a gift for the baby. You asked me her name, and I told you it was ‘Nora,’ and you said it was a pretty name.”
Me: “You seriously don’t remember any of this?”
Kid: “The thing is, I only remember things I care about.”
Kid: “How come you never wear your big diamond ring anymore?”
Me: “My engagement ring? I do. Just not all the time. I take it off when I go to the gym and sometimes forget to put it back on before I leave for the day.”
Kid: “Is your husband mad that you don’t wear it?”
Kid: “But now no one knows you have a husband! It’s like you’re not even married.”
Me: “Well, that’s not true. But regardless, I always wear my wedding band.”
Me (point to wedding ring on left hand) “This. This is the ring my husband gave me at our wedding.”
Kid: “But that’s so small!!”
Me: “It’s not that sm—“
Kid: “No one will be able to see that it’s so small!”
Me: “Ok I mean I disagree but–”
Kid: “I CAN’T EVEN SEE IT AND I’M SITTING RIGHT HERE IT’S SO SMALL.”
I just want to say I am shocked– SHOCKED– by the number of you who just assume that I will continue to work for Ebola Mom after she completely disrespected me by blowing me off for an entire month, then popping back up and requesting my services as if nothing happened, expecting that I’d just be sitting here waiting to snap into action at her command. SHOCKED.
Clearly you know me very well.
We will resume sessions on Thursdays at 6pm.
(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.