Failing at all things in a time of corona

They were watching Frozen 2, after watching regular Frozen, starting at 8:55 am this morning. David and I were both on calls. Video calls, because we’re all on video calls now, and all of my coworkers can see a little live image of me on screen. I am, at least, muted. So they can’t hear “Some things never change.”

Cora, who’s only 2, doesn’t really have the attention span to watch a whole movie, let alone 2 movies back-to-back. But here we are. She started touching Winnie (3.75-ish) and then sort of whacking Winnie with a toy tree. I’m seeing this out of the corner of my eye. One whack is either painful or just one whack too much, so Winnie starts to cry. David gets up to talk to Cora. “If you’re behaving like this, it’s a sign that you’re ready to stop watching tv.” And then he turns it off. Now Cora is wailing and Winnie is sobbing.
I get up, pick up Winnie, and carry her back to my desk, where I’m still on screen.

She sits on my lap and cries a bit more, but calms down and then starts wiggling and squirming to get down. But now the tv’s off, David and I are both still on a call, and there’s no other activity set up for them to do. So I grab a bag of rainbow-dyed corn kernels that’s unopened on the desk next to me, get up, and dump out the bag and some scoops and silicone cupcake wrappers in a tray, and get back on the call.

Minutes? moments? later, Cora is screeching “Winnie! Winnie! Put it in my cupcake!” But Winnie doesn’t want to pour corn into Cora’s cupcake, she wants to put it into her bowl. I try to tell Cora “it’s hard when someone won’t do what you want them to do, isn’t it? But if Winnie doesn’t want to do that, you can’t make her. What else can you do instead?”

As rational as this seems, it does not fix Cora, who’s wandered over to David for a hug. She runs back over to where Winnie is playing and swats at a bowl full of colored corn kernels, scattering them everywhere.

So Winnie’s crying. Cora’s crying. Again.

I get up. Again. While my video is still running. Pick up Cora and take her into their bedroom, sit down with her and calm her. She asks me to read her a story. I read her the story she wants, “When Grandma Gives You a Lemon Tree.” I walk her back over to my desk and sit down with her, while the calls still running. She wants to get down and she wanders off.

More bickering ensues.

But it’s finally my turn to report on what I am working on today, so I ignore the neverending drama. Unmute. The dog walker turns up exactly then and there is a cacophony of barking. I mute again. Hold up a finger. “One minute.” The dogs leave quickly, because the dog walker can’t come in, can’t say hello. She hustles them out. I unmute again. I believe I may literally have my hands over my eyes and forehead. I look into the camera and say “I don’t know. I’m frazzled. I know I have office hours today and I’ve already spent time working with this person and that person. I’ll update the doc.”

No one really says anything and I mute again.

The meeting is over.

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