Every Day An Adventure
100 days! Apparently that’s how long we’ve been bonding with our children over home schooling, trying to occupy them and prevent lasting damage to our homes and sanity. Some friends have the added challenge of fitting in jobs, while others have had the pleasure (or nightmare) of being furloughed, or worse. Personally, I entered the pandemic lockdown with four children, one dog, a long-distance husband and a sense of relief. Having friends and family all around the world, I’d seen the build-up - well, shut-down - that was heading our way and had been playing a strange waiting game in the weeks before; one sick child prompted me to keep them all at home and a certainty that UK schools would shut made me delay sending them back. In hindsight, I regret that decision in the same way I regret not having one last, grown-up wild holiday before becoming a parent!
Our first few weeks of lockdown were sporadically busy - a mishmash of cooking, gardening and home learning. I was both amused and amazed by an early suggestion that parents could use this unexpected ‘free’ time to take up a hobby, hone a long-forgotten skill or learn a language. My children, who in normal times swarm like bees to honey if I make a phone call or try to leave the house, took to following me when I moved from one room to another in search of 5 minutes solitude. Even locking myself in the bathroom and pretending to have a poo didn’t deter them from banging on the door for an urgent consult on hair, nails or homework. There were arguments too, of course, generally of the low-level misplaced-stationery or incursions into personal space variety, but they were easily defused by relaxed electronics access and TV viewing rules.
It took time to adjust to spending so much time together but we’ve now fallen into a routine, of sorts. My day starts between 8am and 11am (for reasons that’ll become apparent). I shower, dress and wake the girls. Youngest normally gets dressed and heads downstairs for breakfast while middle daughter shuns clothes and food in favour of getting stuck into her work. Over breakfast I print out youngest daughter’s school work while eldest asks me what we’re doing today/whether she can have a driving lesson/if we can go to the beach and simultaneously demands my opinion on the latest watch/phone/coffee machine/surfboard she plans to buy with this month’s wages from her furloughed part-time job.
As I unload and reload the dishwasher youngest will often start her maths, accompanied by a conversation along the lines of…
her: “this is easy”
me: “that’s good!”
her: “have you seen that cloud?”
me: “yes I have. Maths”
her: “oh, sorry. Question one. 2.14 times 1000… look at that bird”
me: “I’ve seen it. Maths”
her: “sorry. 2.14 times 1000 is… can I have some chocolate milk?”
me: “have you brushed your teeth?”
her: “oh, I forgot. I’ll go and do them now”
Up until lunch, which is sometime between 12 and 3pm, I supervise and encourage youngest while occasionally answering tricky questions from middle and eldest daughters on GCSE and A’level maths (because I did both, lots of years ago. My standard response is “let’s watch the tutorial again”). As I start to prepare food middle daughter may experience a sudden drop in blood sugar and mood, triggering a hatred for me/her siblings/the food I’m preparing and use of words or actions which result in her losing access to any electronic devices for the rest of her life. An hour later, when all is calm again, she’ll finish her work and get dressed. My middle daughter, a conscientious student, can have all her work completed in two hours or be so engaged she’s still working while I cook our evening meal. Similarly, youngest daughter can either have her work completed in two hours or still be answering maths question 1 at 9pm!
At around 3.30pm I’ll suggest a walk, at which point my son will appear with a cheery “good morning” and say he wants to come too. As the girls get their shoes, he’ll get in the shower. At 4pm I’ll shout that we’re leaving, he’ll ask me to wait and then come downstairs at 4.05pm, wrapped in a towel, to rummage through the clean laundry. At 4.30pm he’ll be dressed and then start preparing himself a mid-afternoon pre-breakfast snack. We’ll finally leave the house at 4.45pm!
Our evening meal, traditionally at 6pm, has now slipped to around 7pm, which has a knock-on effect on bedtime. The younger two, who used to be asleep by 8.30pm, are going to bed later; they’re often still awake, and popping downstairs to make sure I know, at 11pm. My eldest daughter studies in the kitchen but spends her spare time in her bedroom so when the other two girls go to bed she comes downstairs and insists we watch a movie together because I might get lonely. It’s a lovely sentiment and sometimes she even turns the volume on her phone down so I’m not struggling to hear the movie over the YouTube videos she’s watching. By the time I go to bed it’s often after midnight so I shouldn’t have trouble falling asleep. However, because he’s become nocturnal, it’s around this time that my son wants to discuss his latest creative idea. Sometimes these conversations trigger a thought or idea which then keeps me awake until I give up on sleep and open my laptop. Last night was one such night. I finally closed my eyes at 5.30 this morning.
It’s now 1pm. I’ve been up since 10am, my son’s just come downstairs (in his post-shower towel) to let me know he’s going to bed, eldest daughter has retreated to her room, middle daughter is next to me finishing the last part of today’s schooling (a drawing of a sea-creature) and youngest has yet to make an appearance. The sun is shining so I’m making an executive decision to call today ‘sports day’ and will shortly head to the beach with some kids and surfboards. We’ll have another crack at the routine tomorrow!