When schools in Northern Virginia switched to remote learning last spring, Andrea Picciotti-Bayer started planning ahead. The attorney and mother of 10 knew the change could persist through the fall thanks to COVID-19, so she made a contingency plan: Her children would join a “microschool” instead. Parents put together microschools, or “pods,” where they pool resources to hire instructors for groups of area children (usually 10 or fewer), often in a parent’s home.
Her reasoning had nothing to do with politics or ideology. When the pandemic sent children learning from home via virtual classrooms, “a lot of parents discovered … that their kids were behind,” Picciotti-Bayer told the Washington Examiner. Even putting that aside, there’s the inconsistency and unpredictability of the way school systems are handling learning this year. “All parents are better served knowing the plan for the long term and not having to wait every few weeks to see what districts have decided to do now,” she told me over the phone recently. “A lot of parents have been farming education out, subcontracting it out. They need to know, ‘I’m in the driver’s seat.’”
COVID-19 has thrown a wrench in the way school administrators and local leaders facilitate education. School districts in some parts of the country, such as New York, Virginia, California, and other states, have faced too much teachers union opposition to open their doors full-time to in-person schooling. Some districts have offered hybrid models that include teaching children in-person two or three days and virtually two or three days. Some have only offered virtual schooling, and children are struggling. Many, such as Picciotti-Bayer’s in Fairfax County, Virginia, one of the wealthiest counties in the country, have changed their reopening plans several times, leaving parents unsure of what to decide, lest that option be eliminated down the road anyway.
Once it was clear parents would still be wrangling with this uncertainty or forced to watch their children learn only virtually this fall, many used the summer months to formulate a plan of action more suitable to their children’s needs and their own. COVID’s disruptions proved to be a wake-up call to parents about their children’s education. As of this writing, Facebook’s “Pandemic Pods” has over 40,000 members.
Libby Emmons, a senior editor at the Post Millennial website who lives in Brooklyn, did her best to facilitate her son’s virtual learning experience as COVID-19 wreaked havoc on the city she loves. “Virtual learning this past spring was horrendous for our family,” she told me in an email. “Because the school is doing two days in school, and three days of virtual, it made sense to enroll him in something where he’d be around other kids, and actually learn something.” When her son’s music school invited him to participate in a pod with approximately 15 other children, she was relieved. Her son’s local public school had offered a hybrid model of virtual and in-person education.
“The music school already has great instructors, including certified teachers. While they’re going to be working alongside the public school curriculum, they will be doing field trips, additional music and art programs, and have a faith-based element as well,” Emmons said. She is excited for her son to be able to attend a school at least this fall semester in person, and she’s hopeful it will meet his social, spiritual, and academic needs while allowing her to continue working.
Melinda Brown lives in Santa Cruz County in California, parts of which are burning due to wildfires. She told me in a Facebook message, “I started my pod because I just knew no one else would be able to organize it, but also knew my kindergartner needed to make social connections and have the opportunity to interact with other kids.” Brown is in school full-time and is preparing to take the LSAT, but she’s enjoyed planning her child’s schooling experience, and it has boosted her own confidence. “I’ve found out I’m quite the coordinator, a masterful worksheet developer, and an interior/exterior designer on a budget,” Brown said, remarking that she’s happily doing it unpaid so it remains accessible to everyone. Before the wildfires began, she hosted her pod outside in order to help the children practice social distancing, even if it required her carrying 15 pounds of whiteboards into parks to teach.
Melissa, an attorney and mother of three girls going into 2nd, 6th, and 8th grades, decided to form a pod with like-minded families after her youngest child struggled last spring with virtual learning. “The teacher tried very hard. We were very fortunate,” Melissa told me over the phone. “Virtual learning just wasn’t a good platform for her.”
When it became clear Fairfax County was going virtual again, she and three other families decided to form a pod. With her basement as home base, Melissa and the others hired a former teacher to teach a hands-on curriculum for at least nine weeks. “School days will be much more condensed,” she said, only taking up afternoons four days a week. “The teacher will focus primarily on reading, writing, with little science and social studies.” Every child will log on to his or her school’s program for virtual math class first thing in the morning. The rest of the teaching will be done by the pod instructor in-person. The fifth day will be reserved for field trips, such as exhibits and museums. “The parent is the primary educator, and we’re overseeing all this, but we’ve allowed the teacher to come up with the details so I don’t take on too much,” Melissa said.
Some school districts aren’t too thrilled with the competition. Fairfax County Public Schools, in a blog post on the district’s website Aug. 7, wrote that while officials “can’t control these private tutoring groups,” they “do have concerns that they may widen the gap in educational access and equity.”
Melissa pushed back on the notion that this is being done only by those of means: “None of this is affordable. This isn’t rich people. This is people doing the best we can. I was incensed that Fairfax County sent out an email discouraging this.”
Some governments did more than just discourage pods. Erika Blair is a full-time working mother in Maryland who tried to set up a pod. “My original plan for my pod was to hire a certified early childhood teacher to help my kindergarten twins along with two other kindergartners in my home with their virtual online MCPS instruction,” she told me in an email. “The teacher would provide hands on technical and learning support as they work with their MCPS assigned teachers virtually.”
At the beginning of the lockdown, Maryland officials suspended certain regulations, including those around unlicensed “family and friend care.” In July, the state reinstated them: Parents hiring a non-relative to help their children over 20 hours a week must register for a license with the state. Blair attempted to get such a license but was told the process would take months, yet she needed a temporary solution immediately.
“Now that we cannot do the pods parents are going to have to struggle with being their child’s teacher, tech support and tutor while trying to work demanding full-time jobs at the same time,” she told the Washington Examiner. “Not sure how this is possible but there are no other options for those of us in my shoes.”
For now, Blair’s experience seems rare, and pods and microschools continue to pop up nationwide, especially where schools are only reopening virtually. To some, it has helped parents tap back into a sense of responsibility many have outsourced. Picciotti-Bayer told me something that seems to echo the experiences of most of the parents I interviewed: “I’ve reconnected with that skill and to know that you don’t need to rely on someone else.” She also warned against parents holding themselves to perfection. “The lesson the kids are learning is: How are we facing this?”
Nicole Russell (@russell_nm) is a contributor to the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog.
