Countdown to a Covid School Year

I'm up because he is, six hours before the pandemic's new school year starts. 

"Can I have melatonin?" he asked, when caught with all the lights on, no evidence of Minecraft or YouTube or Fortnite or any scramble to conceal activity. 

He said he couldn't sleep without the cat. 

"No. It's too late for melatonin," I told him. "And why didn't you just go find her?"

"I don't know."

"Go to sleep. Seriously. Now."

Yesterday, we had a virtual conference with this advisor. He participated from the other room, yelling occasionally to dispute my side of the conversation -- that distance learning last spring had been fine!, that he DOESN'T HAVE! a greatest strength, and to PLEASE STOP!!! talking about him. 

Eventually, he retreated to his room. "Goodbye, Dylan!" she yelled when our time was up.

"Oh, he's not there, anymore," I told her. I thought it had been obvious when the interruptions had subsided. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm unflappable."

A newspaper friend once called me "unflappable," and I consider it one of the biggest compliments ever paid me. It's also true -- being steady and unbothered by most things is how I thrived in a deadline-driven career at the time, and how I've survived my motherhood years so far. I feel hopeful about this teacher (whose Zoom password is Tacos, so, really, I should already have known she's good people).

So if -- oh, let's just be honest -- when Dylan misses the bus in the morning, may she be unflappable. And may she have a big stash chips and salsa just off camera.