‘Our best-laid plans for lessons at home lasted about half a week’
❝ My worst fears were realised as my diary turned into a big fat scribbly mess
Five weeks seems a lifetime ago as I look back on my lockdown journey to date. It all began with furtive whispers between fellow parents about potential school closures.
Some were brushing off these wild rumours as mere conjecture, while I was leaning more towards the doomsday scenario of imminent shutdown.
Sadly, my worst fears were realised as event after event got cancelled and my diary turned into a big fat scribbly mess.
Then came the pre-emptive strike to cancel publication of my tourist magazine (tourists, what tourists?), followed by the inevitable early ending of the children’s school year.
Of course, we didn’t know for sure way back then that school really was out for spring. But, again, I feared my kids wouldn’t return for the rest of their academic year.
And so began those best-laid plans of home schooling, as I attempted to keep the academic and physical momentum going.
Up we all sprung for our 9am appointment with Joe Wicks. Furniture pushed to the walls, we star-jumped, squatted and lunged our way around the living room — and the somewhat perplexed dog.
Whiteboards were scrawled with lesson timetables and creative breaks to cook and craft were factored into our “working” day.
That lasted about half a week. Worms were safe from us early birds. Dressing gowns became de rigueur. Joe Wicks was all but a fading memory. The whiteboard was nothing more than a hallway hazard. And schooldays had shrunk smaller than our waning patience.
Meanwhile, baking was halted, due to the national flour shortage and “craft” was abandoned when the 1,000-piece jigsaw turned out to be a 996-piece jigsaw.
Rumours were reaching me of Zoom chit-chats and quizzes. I participated in a few of the former, emerging with an audio-glitch-induced migraine and have still to play along with any of the latter (how can people not cheat?).
At the start of all this lockdown business, my first instinct was “welcome to my world”. As one half of a couple who works from home, my husband and I have had several years of, shall we say, close proximity.
The children are old enough to be amazingly stoical and self-reliant. My teenage daughter is chronicling her coronavirus experience via Youtube and my nine-year-old son is chatting and playing online with his muchmissed mates.
What worries me most is the inability to travel, even throughout Northern Ireland.
And, once we emerge from this cruel exile, an overnight on Rathlin will seem like a roundthe-world cruise and a day trip to Barry’s amusements a fortnight in Disneyworld.
And then there’s the sport. Saturday afternoons at Seaview to watch Crusaders are long gone, never mind the glimmer of hope that Northern Ireland could qualify the hard way for Euro 2020. TV sport is all “classic moments” and Whatsup catch-ups with your favourite footballer in their millionaire mansion. Don’t forget folks, we’re all in this together.
Indeed, TV generally resembles a split-screen 70s Abba video, with sound courtesy of two baked bean tins and a length of string.
Speaking of baked beans, I have recently engaged in a couple of “queue dates”, wherein I co-ordinated my grocery run with a friend so we could chat across two trolley lengths. What larks.
On Thursday I even went further and delivered a birthday card to a mate who shares her birthday with the famous Colonel Tom. At least her birthday was on a Thursday, so she could imagine all the clapping was in her honour too. Spare a moment for all those Friday to Wednesday lockdown celebrations that go unrecognised.
As for learning a new skill or utilising my enforced downtime for personal enlightenment, forget it.
If I can muster a hoover under the bed, or showering before Popmaster with Ken Bruce, it’s a day of significant achievement.
As my son recently said, “Mum, you’re setting your children a very bad example.”
And as I snuggle under the sheets, sipping my milky coffee and getting stuck into my tenth online Scrabble game, I simply cannot argue with that.
❝ As my son recently said, Mum you’re setting your children a very bad example