The Trump administration wants to dismantle the Education Department in the name of efficiency, but NPR reports that some employees now have to learn three grant-management systems instead of one. The work still involves getting resources to children, who presumably would prefer their school funding arrive without first completing a scavenger hunt through the federal government.
I’m following this from a household that has received the wrong paint sprayer twice, which has given me a particular interest in whether a process eventually produces the thing it was supposed to produce. My husband ordered a sprayer so we could paint the house before the rain comes. The wrong one arrived, so he submitted a replacement request, waited a few days, and received the same incorrect sprayer again. Somewhere, a replacement had been successfully processed. Here, the house remained unimpressed.
This morning I applied my professional writing skills to Amazon customer support, and after some prodding, they agreed to have a sprayer here by the end of the day. We’re expecting rain at six, which leaves an important scheduling dispute between Amazon and the sky. I’m not entirely confident in Amazon, and the sky has declined to open a support ticket.
The stakes in Washington are considerably larger, but I recognize the burden placed on the person at the receiving end, who must keep explaining that the original problem still exists. NPR interviewed five Education Department employees who requested anonymity. Staff describe inadequate training and complications moving grants through other agencies. They say two attempts to move Title I and other large grants through Labor’s systems were halted after states raised concerns. The October 1 Title I installment is scheduled to use Education’s existing system.
The department defends its work, pointing to more than 7,200 payments totaling over $1.93 billion processed through Labor since October 2025. Those payments matter, as do the difficulties employees describe. This reporting doesn’t establish that school funding has vanished; it raises questions about the machinery delivering it.
My grant-writing and healthcare quality background makes me interested in that machinery. Who knows how to use the system? Who answers when something goes wrong? What happens to the person waiting while two departments establish which one owns the problem? Those questions are less glamorous than a grand announcement about reform, but they’re usually where I’d start looking for whether the reform is helping. I’m happy to see an inefficient process improved. I would simply like the improvement to survive contact with the people expected to use it. A replacement request, for instance, benefits enormously from somebody checking what goes in the box.
Our own household is undergoing a staffing change today, because our oldest goes to his mom’s for his week there. We’ll miss him, especially his little sister, who will now appoint me resident big brother and expect me to carry her train while she plays Elsa and show her how to play Spyro. The position has a broad portfolio, and nobody appears interested in reviewing my existing workload. I absolutely love that her brother does these things with her. There’s something so sweet about watching a bigger child make room for a little one’s whole elaborate world, including its wardrobe requirements. I’ll do my best to fill in, although my back would like the kingdom of Arendelle to consider a shorter train.
She had her first ballet class after the summer hiatus, made new friends, and loved her teacher so much that she’s announced she’ll give her a hug every single day. I’m not sure the class schedule can accommodate that level of affection, but she’s prepared to provide it. Naturally, I’m now disappearing into a rabbit hole of ballet attire, because every single ballet outfit on a four-year-old is adorable and she must have all of them, regardless of whether we have anywhere to put them. She shall have them all, I decree, subject to further discussion with the raccoons governing my brain. They have an enthusiastic acquisitions department and very little interest in storage. I’m mostly joking, although the committee remains in session.
These are the ordinary things I want room for: a child making friends, a brother agreeing to another round of pretend, a mother being ridiculous about a tiny ballet outfit. So much of parenting is trying to keep the necessary arrangements working in the background while children get on with being children. When those arrangements become another full-time job, the hours have to come from somewhere.
Medical research has its own version of that problem. A new NPR analysis finds that preserving NIH’s overall budget hasn’t prevented substantial delays in committing and renewing grants. Congress didn’t enact the administration’s proposed 41 percent budget cut for fiscal 2026, but the process of committing funds to projects was running about 42 days behind its 2021–2024 average pace through early July.
That’s a July snapshot of agency data, subject to revision, rather than a measurement of today’s backlog. NPR also found that renewals arriving at least 90 days late were considerably more common in fiscal 2025 and 2026 than in the preceding four years. Researchers described uncertainty about retaining staff and keeping projects running. NIH says its funding strategy is intended to support rigorous science, improve accountability, and direct finite resources toward public benefit. Those are worthwhile aims. My question is how the agency ensures the people doing that science can keep working while the funding decisions move through the system.
A laboratory can’t pay its staff with the reassuring knowledge that Congress has approved an impressive number somewhere. The money has to become something usable, on a timetable that allows the work to continue. I imagine “your rent has entered an additional review stage” would be received with limited enthusiasm by anyone’s landlord.
At home, Ezra has decided crawling is no longer the fastest means of transportation and now runs all over the house. It’s amazingly cute and precious, and I already miss the sound of his little hands and feet clobbering through the rooms. Apparently his feet alone will have to suffice this time, although I would’ve appreciated a little notice before he discontinued the previous service.
We’ve booked the hotel for his MRI trip. We leave next Wednesday and come home Thursday, and after all the waiting, we finally have a trip to make. I’m nervous, but I’m grateful we’ve reached this point. I probably won’t be very active here those two days, though I’ll be sure to give you an update afterward.
For now, he’s busy discovering how quickly he can get somewhere, while I’m trying to hold both things at once: the joy of watching him grow and the worry that comes with wanting answers. He’s my sweet baby pie, even if he now travels at a speed that suggests he has somewhere more important to be.
Wanting dependable answers also brings me to the third story, because good decisions require information we can trust. On Wednesday, Senator Elizabeth Warren asked Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick to explain why the department removed language protecting scientific work from political interference. Her letter concerns an August 19 policy revision and requests answers by October 7.
Commerce oversees both the Census Bureau and the Bureau of Economic Analysis, so this reaches into the statistics used to understand our population and economy. Warren’s letter asks who ordered the changes and how the department will protect its data. NPR reported that Commerce and the Office of Management and Budget hadn’t responded to its requests for comment; the Federal Reserve said it planned to answer a separate letter.
From a quality and compliance perspective, I’d want an especially clear explanation for removing an explicit safeguard. If a rule needs replacing, show me what replaces it and how it protects the work. My raccoons can submit a ballet-clothing budget based on their feelings, but I’d prefer the federal government maintain a more demanding relationship with numbers.
We’re still waiting for the public health department’s findings on the lead concerns at our house, and I’m trying to be patient because I know they’re trying. I’m also trying not to call too often, with what might generously be described as mixed results. The receptionist and I are on a friendly first-name basis now; she has a boy and a girl who are constantly fighting over the television remote. Every day might be overkill when your follow-up calls have developed a supporting cast.
I want the answer to be careful and useful, and I also very much want it to arrive. I can appreciate the people doing the work while still being the mother who looks at her baby running through the house and finds waiting difficult. Both things fit inside the same phone call, although I’m sure the receptionist would appreciate an occasional day off from mine.
Odin, meanwhile, remains fluffy, is Ezra’s chosen favorite, and is thoroughly enjoying all the smells the moist air is stirring up. He has found a way to appreciate the weather without acquiring equipment, comparing estimates, or contacting customer service. I respect his approach, even if it seems unlikely to get the house painted.
What I want from the systems around us is enough competence to let people get back to the lives they’re trying to live. Let teachers teach, let researchers work, and let families spend a little less time following up on the thing they already followed up on. There’s a great deal worth doing with those hours.
Here, there’s a little girl who’ll miss her brother, a baby who’s finding his feet, and a husband trying to finish something before Oregon turns the rain back on. I’d like to help carry a train, admire a ballet outfit, and watch Ezra make another delighted trip across the room with his favorite fluffy companion nearby. If the correct paint sprayer arrives, we may even get to use a little of this day for the thing we ordered it to do.
If you know someone who’s spent their lunch break chasing an answer, a payment, or a replacement that didn’t replace anything, please restack this for them. A paid subscription helps Mom and me keep reporting on the public decisions that follow families home, with enough humor to get through the hold music.
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Right now, those adventures include the trip for Ezra’s MRI, lead testing, and trying to make our home safe and beautiful while the children continue growing at a frankly inconsiderate pace. Your kindness helps us carry the worry and the unexpected costs, leaving a little more room to enjoy the running feet, the ballet excitement, and the life happening around all these plans. There’s never any obligation, and we’re grateful to have you here with us.
With this administration it’s hard to know if the glitches are a flaw or the objective.
Their mode is typically to starve and hobble the agency, then condemn it for poor performance.
🙏🙏💙🌹