Trying to parent normally while the United States burns.

This morning I packed lunches, avoided tripping over the latest marble run creation, and wiped both butts and noses. You know, normal parenting things.

Normal, if you ignore the part where the democracy we thought was sort of durable is being dismantled by a group of men who apparently believe the Constitution is just one of those Terms & Conditions docs they can click “accept” on without actually reading.

Note: I asked AI to generate this image and when it came out with a headless mom it just kind of felt like something I should go with.

Elon is live-tweeting the collapse (when he’s not brandishing a chainsaw for attention), Trump is rebranding autocracy as a vibe, and somehow I’m still over here asking people to please just eat two more bites of their PB&J.

I make macaroni and cheese and book dentist appointments while pretending I’m not hyperventilating over headlines that read like something from The Onion:

“President (a convicted felon) declares himself immune to the law and calls himself King”
“Tech billionaire suggests voting be subscription-only”

Serving up snacks and sanity

I feel like an NPC in a badly coded simulation, just handing out snacks while the main characters tear down the republic. The funny/ironic/terrifying thing is, I think they think I’m just an NPC too. I don’t matter to the story until I’m in the way of their next level-up.

Bedtime is particularly disorienting. We read a book about empathy while I’m mentally tallying the people who were fired, excluded, or discriminated against that day. I tuck them in, turn off the lights, and then lie on the couch doomscrolling like it’s my part-time job.

I don’t want my kids to carry this weight with me. I want them to worry about how much screen time they have left, not whether their moms’ marriage will be legal by 2026.

So we keep it light. We keep it normal.

The pancakes get made on Sundays. We get on the bus each morning. I complain about the weather. We talk about sharing, kindness, and fairness, and I try not to scream when the grown-ups running our country model the exact opposite.

Holding It Together (Sort Of)

It’s absurd. It’s exhausting. It feels like vacuuming while the house burns down around you.
(Which is why I’ve decided there’s no real need to vacuum.)

But maybe this is just a supercharged version of what parenting always is: offering your kids the most stable foundation you can manage, even if it’s balanced on a mountain of chaos.
(Mount Everest–sized chaos, in this case.)

So yes, we are still doing the everyday stuff. Snacks, naptime, storytime, bedtime, repeat.
Meanwhile, democracy is being fed into a meat grinder by men who think empathy is weakness and power is their birthright.

But my kids don’t need to know.

I’m not perfect—my son definitely knows the depths of my disdain for Trump—but I don’t think he knows how angry, embarrassed, and scared I really am.

So we will keep surrounding them with a bubble of normal, wrapped in love, held together with caffeine, wine, and denial, for as long as possible.

Cheers to all the parents doing the same. You’re not alone.