I was worried about the wrong kid. Or: the curse of online homework.

This summer, most of my anxiety focused on my 15 yo, who was starting at a new high school, in 10th-grade, online. We didn’t know what to expect. Her previous high school, where she had completed 9th-grade, hadn’t handled the pandemic and online learning particularly well. 

Fast-forward to the fourth week of school. My 15 yo has been complaining about not having a social life some. But overall, it’s probably the most relaxed I’ve seen her in years. Meanwhile, my 11 yo is a pack of nerves. 

I didn’t think I’d have to worry about her. She is at the same school. She already knew the teacher she has this year, who team-taught her fourth-grade class last year. The transition to online had been handled remarkably well. My kid also knows most of the kids in her class. 

I hadn’t anticipated what a pain homework would turn out to be (I should say that’s not because of her teacher.) 

In the past four days, there have been two major meltdowns both because she had trouble finding where the homework assignments are posted and because she feels like she has too much of it. For context, last year she usually had a vocabulary list to study every week, some math and some reading. This year, she has a bit of math every day, a weekly vocabulary list, a weekly Latin assignment, some reading and one major English Language Arts/Social Studies project once in a while. Plus PE homework. 

Now my 11 yo is not the type to keep things bottled up. Friday, around 9:50 a.m., I heard some very, very loud crying coming from upstairs. I went up to find my kid sprawled on our bed, sobbing uncontrollably, while my husband tried to calm her down. He had to leave to take a work call. I stayed. 

I finally managed to get her to tell me that she felt overwhelmed by how much homework she had. And that she didn’t even know where to find some of it. After a lot of listening, I managed to talk her into getting back to her classroom Zoom. Then I went back to work.

At 12:30 p.m., I sat in an online office hour with her teacher so we could discuss the issues.

One issue is that some of the homework is posted on a website my kid can’t access. The teacher thought it was because we were using a Mac. Or maybe she was logging in wrong. The district-provided Chromebook was supposed to solve all our problems. I went to pick it up from my kid’s school. It didn’t help. We called the district’s tech support. They spent about 20 minutes talking to my husband before saying that they couldn’t help, either. 

During office hours, the teacher very kindly helped us figure out where the homework actually was. She also promised a referral to the school counselor to help my kid avoid work-related panic attacks. I wish I could say that everything was better after that. But Monday, again around 9:50 a.m., my kid came down sobbing. It turns out that while she was having her last meltdown, she’d missed a bunch of work. So she was upset that she was behind, again. 

I’ll say this for my 11 yo though. She is really good at bouncing back. Within half an hour, she’d calmed down. It was as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, I’d texted my therapist to set up an appointment for later in the week. And I’d signed up for yoga class.

PS: I realize that I’m extremely lucky that my kids are older. I have friends and colleagues with little ones who are much more overwhelmed. I just want to share what some of my struggles are. 

There's a foam sword in our school supplies bag

 There's a foam sword in our school supplies bag; one teacher was 30 minutes late to her own class; and breakout rooms are awkward: or: thoughts about stuff that happened in the past week of online schooling, in no particular order. 

I'll save the foam sword for the end because I have THOUGHTS. So let's talk about the other two items first. 

So, Tuesday after Labor Day, my 15 year old was supposed to have chemistry, starting at 8:50. I usually don't check on her, because she's pretty responsible. I also usually can't hear her when she's in class, unlike her 11 year old sister, who is, well, loud. So I'm sitting at my own computer, working, when I get a text from said 15 year old, who should be upstairs, in her room, learning. 

"I've been waiting for half an hour and my teacher hasn't started the meeting. Should I email her?"

After checking that she was signed into the right meeting, I advised her to go ahead and email her teacher--which is exactly when the teacher actually started her Zoom, 30 minutes late. According to my kid, there was no explanation about the during the class. I gotta say, I'm a little disappointed it didn't turn into the glorious disaster described in this Twitter thread when a second-grade teacher kicked herself off her own Zoom.  Guess high school students are too mature or too bored for that.

Speaking of, my 15 yo's government teacher has kicked himself out of his class Zoom repeatedly, it turns out. Apparently, he's even shut down his computer by accident at least once. My daughter thinks it's because her teachers are older and don't have a good handle on the technology they have to use. I think it's because the contract the teachers' union and the district signed only allowed for one week of paid hands-on training. Otherwise, it was up to the teachers to spend their summer familiarizing themselves with the platforms they would have to use and restructuring their classes--during a time when many of them were home with their own kids. 

Meanwhile, my 15 yo was complaining that it's impossible to make friends at a new school while learning online. I suggested that she could make friends when she's assigned work on projects with other kids. And that's when both she and her sister informed me that "breakout rooms are awkward." Apparently, without the teacher's presence, no one wants to start a conversation and awkward silence reigns until someone breaks down and pipes up. My 11 yo informed me that she often is the one who does that. I'm not surprised. 

Finally, let's get back to the foam sword. It was handed to me by a school staff member when I went to pick up school supplies for my 11 yo. She goes to a Title 1 school--meaning high poverty--so all students always receive the supplies they need for free. (This is a nice change from her previous school, where I think our family spent about $100 on supplies for her classroom every year. But I digress.) We also received a canvas tote full of workbooks and paperbacks that she will use during the rest of the year. 

The sword, it turns out, was for fencing, which she is going to do via an Zoom once a week, during the school day. And that is making me very, very conflicted. On the one hand, she also has two hours of PE a week so with fencing, she'll get way more than the 20 minutes of PE per day that California mandates. 

On the other, all 5th graders don't have fencing. It's just her class. She is in what's called the Seminar program, which brings together kids that scored at the very top of her district's gifted and talented test. That's why we are at this Title 1 school. Not all school have Seminar and this particular program is wonderful. But it's only offered for  about 60 kids in third through fifth grade. And I can't help feeling that the other 140 kids in her school are missing out. 

I keep wondering what would happen if we treated all kids like we treat these "gifted" kids. What would happen if we tailored instruction to where students actually are, rather than forcing on them specific standards because of their age? What would happen if we trained all teachers to teach like Seminar educators? What would happen if all kids could take fencing and learn cursive from a Harry Potter themed workbook? 

Just something to think about.