We are finishing our third week of quarantine. To be specific, we have completed two weeks of quarantine and almost one week of Extreme Social Distancing, which is beginning to sound like a reality show nobody should go on ever again, for the rest of time.

Much of the world (although inexplicably, not all — I’m looking at you, dumb as hell spring breakers in Florida) is now in it with us. I don’t mind all the texts, emails and phone calls, asking for suggestions for how to manage a houseful of kids who seem to eat one long meal, which begins at breakfast and ends hours after I want to go to sleep.

What I don’t need to see is any more pictures of your child prodigies. Please. Under the best of circumstances, it’s annoying, and at worst, it sends parents like me into a what-the-hell-did-I-do-wrong tailspin. I don’t think you mean to annoy, at least I hope you don’t … but please, it’s just too much.

If your child has painted a Michelangelo on the ceiling of your living room, keep it to yourself.

If your child has sculpted the Thinker out of slime, silly putty, and the last drips of conditioner in the bottle, keep it to yourself.

If your child has cooked your entire family a four course meal and then (wait for it) correctly loaded the dishwasher, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY keep it to yourself.

If you’re wondering what my own little prodigies are doing… it ain’t that. I live with six other people, five of whom like to puzzle. One, like his mother, does not. He does, however, have the habit of STEALING a single piece of the puzzle (in full view of his siblings and father) so that he can swoop in when all the hard work is done and finish the puzzle off. Personally, I think it’s a fabulous idea. I only like to get involved at the very end. But this time, the little prodigy (ok, he’s not so little and is currently eating half a cow for lunch) LOST THE LAST PIECE of the puzzle.

So, while you may be looking up at the Sistine Chapel, this is the kind of crap I have to look at.

See what I mean? For every time you post about your marvelous offpsring, I am moving a pair of shoes from the middle of the kitchen (why God, why?), peeling glue off the kitchen table (all this crafting may very well be the end of me) and scraping once-banished slimed off the sofa.

There are no masterpieces. There is only mess, work, and more work.

Be well everyone, and go wash your hands. If you need me, I’ll be loading the dishwasher