Post-apocalyptic posting: Apparently I'm a "gluten" for punishment

How silly and naive I was. In the event of the Apocalypse, I was worried that my survival hinged on my lack of knowing how to "grist" wheat into flour (and then, consequently, knowing how to do ANYTHING with the flour I had thus gristed. Plus, it had never been adequately explained why people first funnel flour through that fun flour confetti device that either has a fragile lopsided handle crank or a hand-squeezie exercise mechanism.). I also cannot make fire...be it with two sticks, flint, matches, or a lighter. I also cannot siphon gas out of a container. Surely, I was going to be among the first to die in the Apocalypse.

But no. Turns out...once again...I was wrong. Apparently my survival during the End-of-Times is based on my technological expertise...or lack thereof. So while my friends Tyler and Eric are smoothly transitioning to educationally-enriched interactive on-line experiences in real-time...conducting exciting science lessons...leading in-depth book club discussions...I'm trying to find the "record" button on my phone's filming device. I don't understand the difference between "upload" and "download." The thought of either of them makes me want to up-chuck. Being pregnant, our team's technological guru is understandably holed up like Saddam Hussein, probably busy gristing her wheat, so the rest of us are left "flour"ndering!

After hours of exasperating taping, Geri and I painfully pieced together our first lesson to roll out to an excited 4th grade public who have been eagerly waiting to resume the high-level of instruction to which they are accustomed. "I'll just up-load/down-load this to The Facebook and we're good to go!" I said confidently. I began this process at 11:30 in the evening as my internet connections were pretty spotty on a good day...The Apocalypse has since gatling-gunned my Google. What I thought would take ten minutes TOPS ended up with me, four hours later in the fetal position, hyperventilating as I screamed out to this cruel, cruel world, "WHY LORD? WHY? WHY have you cast this burden upon me, your not-so-humble servant?" After sniffling and feeling sorry for myself for several minutes, I then stood up, dusted myself off, went out to retrieve my laptop from where I had cast it out the window and onto the lawn like I was exorcising demons, and bravely declared, "Not my will but yours" before STARTING ALL OVER AGAIN.

For some reason (Satan? My own ineptitude?), I couldn't get the videos to post privately so I said screw it and posted them publicly and then "Shared" them over to the private 4th grade page. This should ASTONISH those who know and love me that I even knew how to do THAT. There were consequences to this little maneuver as cousin Jeff in Iowa was now baffled as to why he was suddenly being re-introduced to quadrilaterals. With cautious hope, I posted public, shared private, then went back to delete public. ARRRGGGHHH! Yup! Deleted EVERYTHING!

Started over AGAIN. Posted but then realized I posted in the wrong order. Huh. Maybe there's an option to shift their order. NOPE. Started over AGAIN. My face grew used to the feel of tears streaming down it.

3:30 am. Couldn't...take...it...any..more. Googled how to grist wheat into flour. It HAD to be easier than this. Posted the videos. Then discovered that they either cut out or looped back to the beginning. Many swear words were said. Began posting them individually...maybe Virgil in Alaska needed a refresher course in quadrilaterals. Heck...maybe the WHOLE world needed to know this information seeing that we are involved in a global crisis.

I forgot to mention that in the midst of all this ridiculousness, I'd inadvertently hit a wrong button (the first of thousands, I'm sure) and somehow recorded Geri's voice saying, "Are you there, Mrs. Mosiman?" which began to play, unceasingly, on my device. Think of the scene in Jurassic Park when Wayne Knight's character booby-traps his computer and when the good guys try to over-ride what he's done, Wayne's face pops up on the screen with "Uh-uh-uh!" playing on repeat. That was me...fighting to post...while listening to Geri chant "Are you there, Mrs. Mosiman?" a million times. "No! I am NOT THERE!!!" I screamed. I couldn't fix what I'd done to have Geri's voice germinate in my phone so I finally turned the sound off. For all I know, she's STILL asking me if I'm there.

By 4:30 am, completely traumatized and emotionally-spent, I crawled under the covers. In the morning...wait...it was ALREADY morning...LATER that morning, I begrudgingly checked Facebook only to discover that my teammate, Kristie, had solved my problem with a quick "Swish and flick" of her wrist. I spent the rest of the day:

• Apologizing to families who neglected to read the lesson description instructing them to by-pass Facebook and go to another platform: "Mrs. Mosiman...the video keeps repeating..."
• Clarifying to other families that I wasn't REALLY retiring to raise dachshund puppies and
• Assuring concerned friends and family that my state of mental health was, more or less, stable

 I never knew teaching could be so rewarding. Now...off to figure out how to conference call!