How to make the transition to distance learning

August 13, 2020

My son started first grade last week, and it was … not awful!

I say that with immense relief, because I’ve spent the past few months bracing for the worst. For the health of my family and for our community, I didn’t want schools to open for in-person instruction, but I was anxious about distance learning and the unknowns that come along with it.

Like, will this even work for a first grader?

After one week, I can say it does. And every day of school has been better than the last.

But we’ve worked really hard to make this a successful transition, and I wanted to pass along some things that have been helpful for us, in case they’re helpful for you.

First I integrated tips from Dr. Aliza Pressman, developmental psychologist, parent educator, and host of the Raising Good Humans podcast. She recommends:

• Keep the routine you’d have for a traditional school year.

For us that meant taking photos outside, which I’ve done every first day since pre-preschool. My son, Everest, also picked out a special outfit, and we had a special dinner of his choice to celebrate the new school year.

• No pajamas.

Get dressed and ready for school every day.

• Get a big ball.

If your child is getting wiggly or losing focus, use a big exercise ball as seating for a while. Alternate with their regular desk chair.

• Stand and stretch every 45 minutes.

With my son’s schedule, it’s more like every hour.

Some other things that have worked for us:

• We tidy up.

We did a complete overhaul of Everest’s room to prepare for school. We cleaned it up, got rid of some things, and created a clear, uncluttered work space.

• We do cardio.

Zoom fatigue is real, so I integrate movement during E’s 15-minute breaks between classes. Because we live in the desert and it’s too hot to go outside, I queue up a brief cardio class on my laptop. We use the 5-minute Fit Family Brain Break classes on the Peloton app, but if you don’t have that, I’m sure you can find something appropriate on YouTube — or just turn on fun music and have a quick dance party.

• We pack a lunch.

Like, in his lunchbox and everything. This is great for creating structure and contributing to a sense of normalcy for E. (Also I don’t have to stop my workday to prepare a meal!)

• Anticipate hiccups with technology.

On the first day of school, the teacher’s sound was terrible, the other students didn’t yet know how to mute themselves, dogs and siblings were in some of the frames — it was a mess.

Naturally, E found it difficult to stay on task that day. So we had a conversation about how it can be difficult to focus when technology isn’t working or when there are distractions. I think just acknowledging and being aware of this is important; E was trying his best, but these are challenging situations.

• Ring light!

E’s room doesn’t get much natural light, and I wanted the teacher to be able to see him. (Here’s an affiliate link to the LED ring light I bought).

• Expect some changes.

It’s been one week, and E’s schedule has already shifted in minor ways as the teacher learns what works and what doesn’t. I can’t imagine any school is adhering to a rigid structure right now, so we have to be adaptable.

• Remember, this is cool!

On Twitter, writer Daniel Torday said, “In 1980, if you showed every potential college student in the US the Jetsons’ video phone and told them they could take college classes on it, they’d have said: SIGN. ME. UP.”

That tweet gave me a new lens for looking at virtual learning: We don’t have to do it, we get to do it. This technology allows us connect with each other and learn amazing stuff without ever leaving the house. That’s so cool! (Sure, we’d like hover boards, but I’ll take Jane Jetson’s phone instead.)

I know virtual learning isn’t compatible with every child’s learning style (or every teacher’s teaching style!), and I understand every situation is different. It’s definitely not what I envisioned for E’s elementary experience. But after this week, I’m far more hopeful about this year and what we can do with it.

Home schooling Virtual learning Online school First grade Kindergarten Covid Pandemic Closures Covid-19 Coronavirus Virus In-person Education Zoom Elementary

I believe the body is made of stories

July 19, 2020

I went camping with my son recently, which was an opportunity to sit by the fire and indulge in that great outdoor tradition.

Not s’mores. Campfire stories.

I rifled through the file cabinet in my brain and pulled out every ghost story I remembered from Girl Scouts, from the girl with the green ribbon to … something about an alien who is standing on a toilet with a booger on his finger chanting, “I got you where I want you, and now I’m gonna eat you!”

No, I don’t know why it was an alien.

One interesting and occasionally brutal thing about my son, though, is that he tells me exactly how a story resonates within him. Like, within his body.

“That was so funny, mom, I felt it all the way up here,” he’ll say, drawing an imaginary line from his toes to his mouth.

“You scared me to here,” he’ll say, motioning to his hip. Then he’ll put his hand next to his chin. “Next time see if you can scare me to here.”

A couple of my tall tales were so bad, they didn’t even rank. “That story fell on the ground. I didn’t even feel it,” he said. “It didn’t touch me.”

It’s strange to be edited in real time by my own 6-year-old child, yes. But his feedback made me fiercer in my telling. I went bolder and weirder and wilder, all for the sake of garnering a reaction.

The body is more than 60% water, which is why music, chanting, and sound therapies have such an impact on how we feel. They change the vibration within us. (Think: That glass of water in Jurassic Park when the T. rex approaches the car, only you’re the cup of water.)

But I also like to believe on some level we’re made up of stories — at least 60%, if not more. So I can’t help but thrill at how my child receives a narrative and considers it a full-body experience. The stories are in his heart, up to his neck, even pooling on the ground around him.

When is the last time you felt a story?

How to make a dream come true

May 11, 2020

First: Make a list of things to do before you die. Realize that you are always inching toward death and still haven’t done a single thing on that list. This is the same thing your mom did; she put things off until it was too late.

Decide to do something about it.

Quit your job. Leave home. Book some flights.

Tell yourself, “If I make it to Ha Long Bay, this trip will be a success.”

Go to Peru. Go to Bolivia. Go to Argentina. Check some things off the list.

Meet a couple of Americans and drive around South Africa with them. Live in a village. Learn to carry buckets of water on your head. Go to Uganda. Ride across the country in a minibus with 24 people and a pregnant goat. Find work as a country-western DJ for the local radio station. Learn to harvest rice.

Go to Rwanda. Spend your days teaching English to genocide survivors. Cry. Teach them to play bingo. Laugh.

Fly to Egypt and immerse yourself in ruins. Find out your grandmother died. Find out your mom is dying, really dying. Fall down a tunnel of darkness. Hole up in a yoga camp on the Red Sea.

Go to your mother’s funeral. Wrap yourself in grief. Return to Egypt on the day a revolution begins. Feel yourself unraveling.

Take a boat to Jordan. Leave when protests begin. Go to Bahrain. Leave when protests begin. Get the nagging feeling that you are creating a trail of destruction around the world.

Go to Ethiopia, an extraordinary country, and plod your way through it. Feel like you’re something less than human.

Go to India, where something in your soul clicks. Love it. Embrace it. Drink in every hot day, every fragrant spice, every bit of eye-popping color. Move into an ashram. Pray.

Go to Thailand. Work with elephants. Meet a friend from home in Bangkok. Travel with her to Cambodia. Stay with more friends. Say goodbye.

Take a bus to Vietnam. Battle Saigon’s scooter-clogged streets and get a feel for the city. Slurp down bowls of noodles. Take a bus north. When the bus breaks down for 12 hours, sleep at a bus station. When the bus works again, it’s the hottest part of the day and the air-conditioning is now broken. Sweat. Make an unplanned stop in a beach town just because you desperately need a shower.

Take more buses. Take a train. Sleep in a dirty train car on soiled sheets. Arrive in Hanoi. Ride on the back of a motorcycle with a man even sweatier than you.

Schedule a boat tour. Pack up. Get picked up at 7 a.m.

Go to Ha Long Bay.

Wake up on a boat in a bay where everything is still. Everything is perfect.

Write that story.

Go to grad school to really dig into it.

Write that story again and again, edit it, excavate it. Work on it in scraps of time between your day job, when you stay up late, when you rise at 4 a.m. to have 20 quiet minutes before the baby wakes.

Sell it.

Have the perfect editor push you where you need it. He makes you laugh, he makes you cry, but most importantly, he makes you better. He reminds you to slow down where it hurts.

And then one day, poof. You have a book.

Your story, between two covers.

It comes out tomorrow.

Enjoy.

The Tambourine Story (Or What It Feels Like to Be in The Pre-Book Limbo)

January 18, 2020

When I stayed at an ashram in India, we woke up at 5:30 every morning to sit cross-legged on the floor of a large room for meditation and mantra chanting. And every morning during the Jaya Ganesha chant, the ashram leaders passed out instruments — bells and finger cymbals and wooden blocks — at random.

Every morning I wanted the tambourine. I hungered for it. I wanted it so badly, it became the only thing I’ve ever wanted, and that in itself became part of my meditation. Even though I was chanting as the leaders wandered the temple space, my eyes signaled my wanting. I had to have that tambourine.

FINALLY, on one of my last days, somebody handed it to me. It was like getting a shot of serotonin. My heart exploded with such joy, I played the shit out of that tambourine. I shook it and clapped it and wiggled it, coaxing what I thought was beautiful music from it, so happy to finally let my tambourine light shine.

Then someone from the ashram took it back. HE TOOK IT BACK. He ripped the instrument right out of my hands and shot me a dirty look. I guess I let my tambourine light shine a little too much.

I keep thinking back on that moment now, as I’m living in a vast, strange, empty space waiting for early reviews of my book. It’s an unpleasant limbo state, hoping for the best, bracing myself for the worst. I’m as excited as I am anxious. And I’m not a patient person anyway, so just the waiting part sucks too. I desire so much.

Realistically, I know my book won’t be for everyone. I know I can be too much. Not everyone wants to hear my tambourine.

But I’m going to keep shaking it anyway.

The 2019 book and music mashup extravaganza

December 15, 2019

Remember those cologne machines in truck stop bathrooms where you could buy cheap imitations of the real thing? “If you like Obsession, you’ll love Desperate Measures.” “If you love Chanel No. 5, might as well try Channel 42.” “Love Polo Sport? Welp, here’s Fantasy Football.”

This post is like that, but in a good way. And when it’s over, you won’t smell like a quarter’s worth of sadness.

Here’s how it works: I’ve mashed together my favorite books that I read in 2019 (though not necessarily published this year) and my favorite 2019 songs. Each tune has some kind of tenuous connection with the book I paired it with, so if you like a book on this list, you’ll probably like the song too. And vice versa. So if you like Carmen Maria Machado, you’ll love Mallrat! Maybe.

Let’s get this party started!

Good Talk • Mira Jacob

A graphic novel-style memoir about American identity, race, sex, relationships, and raising a brown child in the Trump era, all told in conversations. Jacob goes to uncomfortable places and tackles the things we should be talking about but aren’t.

Mashed with: Truth Hurts • Lizzo

 

My Sister the Serial Killer • Oyinkan Braithwaite

A darkly funny novel about a young, beautiful Nigerian woman who can’t stop murdering her boyfriends and the exasperated but reliable sister who bails her out of trouble. Until the serial killer falls for the sister’s crush …

Mashed with: Glad He’s Gone • Tove Lo

 

Lost Children Archive • Valeria Luiselli

A fractured family on a road trip out west, set against the backdrop of an immigration crisis as children crossing the southern U.S. border are detained or dying in the desert. This novel was so stunning and gutting, I think I highlighted something on every page.

Mashed with: Texas Sun • Khruangbin & Leon Bridges

 

Red, White & Royal Blue • Casey McQuiston

A romance in which America’s First Son falls in love with the Prince of Wales. I was clawing my way through a particularly low point when a friend recommended this book. Turned out a fun, flirty, escapist read was exactly what I needed.

Mashed with: boyfriend • Ariana Grande

 

Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls • T Kira Madden

A queer coming-of-age memoir in essays that instantly became one of my all-time favorite books. As soon as I finished, I went right back to the beginning and read it a second time to figure out how she did it.

Mashed with: Sister Sister • Palm Springsteen

 

Heavy • Kiese Laymon

I listened to Heavy, which is read by the author, and then I bought a print copy to hold in my hands and see the words on the page. This memoir is about the emotional and physical burden of growing up black in America, examining the secrets Laymon spent a lifetime avoiding.

Mashed with: Water Me Down • Vagabon

 

Once More We Saw Stars • Jayson Greene

Greene’s two-year-old daughter was sitting on a park bench in Manhattan when a brick fell from a nearby windowsill and killed her. This memoir opens with that incident and follows Greene and his wife through their journey of grief. I don’t know how he managed to craft such a wonder out of true horror, but I’m grateful he did.

Mashed with: Thank You • Quincy Mumford

 

In the Dream House • Carmen Maria Machado

In this memoir, Machado explores an abusive same-sex relationship through dozens of different lenses, like horror tropes, fairytales, and a devastating Choose-Your-Own-Adventure sequence. This book blew my figurative house down.

Mashed with: Groceries • Mallrat

 

Daisy Jones & the Six • Taylor Jenkins Reid

A romance written as an oral history of a Fleetwood Mac-ish band in the late seventies? God, just take my money already.

I devoured this book, and then I ripped through a bunch of other TJR books for good measure.

Mashed with: Van Horn • Saint Motel (which includes my favorite lyric of 2019: “Hold it steady, drill it in like you’re J. Paul Getty.”)

 

Kindred • Octavia Butler

Hi. I’m the one person who never read Octavia Butler before this year, and I don’t know what took me so long. This historical fiction/fantasy novel about an African-American woman in 1976 California who travels through time to antebellum Maryland is considered to be the first science fiction written by a black woman, and it’s a true classic.

Mashed with: Turn the Light • Karen O & Danger Mouse

 

Convenience Store Woman • Sayaka Murata

A slim novel about a woman who has no friends, no boyfriend, and no real life outside of the soothing structure of the convenience store where she has spent her entire career.

Mashed with: Class Historian • BRONCHO

 

The Book of Delights • Ross Gay

Ross Gay has written micro-essays about moments of delight. Some of them are guilty pleasures, some are natural joys, but most show how we are always just a few inches away from sorrow – and it can be a radical act to feel joy and gratitude in a sad world.

Speaking of guilty pleasures, I think I like Harry Styles now? And I definitely find joy in watermelon, my favorite food. So this song here is my Tune of Delights.

Mashed with: Watermelon Sugar • Harry Styles

 

Dreyer’s English • Benjamin Dreyer

This is a funny, clever grammar book that I tore through like a juicy novel.

I’ve paired it here with Goth Babe, which has been my favorite writing music lately.

Mashed with: Weekend Friend • Goth Babe

 

How to Stay Human in a Fucked-Up World • Tim Desmond

Finally a mindfulness book that doesn’t feel like it was written by a blissful, solitary monk on a mountaintop. This is real talk and real meditation exercises for the real (fucked-up) world.

I Feel Emotion • Operators

 

Of course I have more favorites that didn’t make it into this smashup. For the books I read this year, peep my Goodreads and to see other 2019 songs I loved, here’s my playlist.

Wanna see lists from previous years? Here’s 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, 2013, 2012, and 2011.

NOTE: There are affiliate links in this post. So if you click through and buy something, it doesn’t change anything on your end; it just means Amazon gives me a few pennies, which I use to help pay for this site because I am happy to take their money.