But I don’t want to sugar coat this: We are going crazy. And not just us. It’s fascinating to see thePeanut Snoopy Charlie Brown Friends TV Show shirt But I will love this ways confined people are cracking up, from Anthony Hopkins, to that Israeli mom, to Layla who can’t get her Nando’s. You may suspect you’re sick, or be suffering from isolation, or fearful for a loved one, or you may be crazy for the simple reason that my wife and I are crazy. You’re working from home and you have young children. That’s a recipe for insanity, my friends. My job at Vogue keeps me hopping between Zoom meetings, connecting with colleagues and writers, editing stories, keeping up with email. My wife is a high school teacher conducting Zoom classes with her students at least twice a day, prepping for said classes, joining faculty Zoom meetings, grading papers. Meanwhile my daughter is in second grade and my son is in preschool. Can they teach themselves to read and do subtraction and build stuffed-animal homes from recycled materials and construct obstacle courses and learn about change-makers all on their own? They cannot. Did I mention that we have a dog who needs to be walked?
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My wife and I have held it together through steely will and daily schedules composed with military precision and taped to thePeanut Snoopy Charlie Brown Friends TV Show shirt But I will love this kitchen counter every morning at 7 a.m. And no, we are not shy with screen time. After a certain hour of the day, the kids are allowed to sit two inches from a big TV. Later in the evenings there is Love Island: Australia and knitting; there is Better Call Saul and gin. How are the kids coping? That’s what my relatives want to know. And they’re right to wonder. The emotional life of a child during a crisis like this is so hard to fathom. My son had a Zoom with his preschool class and the teacher asked them all to say how they were feeling. I listened attentively but they all basically said the same thing: Happy! They were happy. I smiled, profoundly relieved. William seems okay. He talks wistfully to me about when he will see his friends again; he burst into tears thinking of the stuffed animals left in our Brooklyn apartment; and he complained just this morning that mom and dad are working too much. But basically, he’s five. He plows ahead, searching for the next snack.