I love the school holidays. When the whispers of a school shutdown first started, I was excited at the prospect. Who wouldn’t fancy an extra couple of weeks of slow starts and no school runs?
Be careful what you wish for.
Last week, Clore Shalom, the primary school where I’ve been a parent for nearly eight years, closed its doors. Who knows when it will open again? My children, aged 11 and nine, are delighted. I’m unsure whether my son (halfway through Year 6) realises the implications
There’ll be no Leavers’ Assembly. No running around in school shirts covered in scribbled signatures and no summer residential trip. I’m bereft. As I hung his uniform on my washing line for possibly the last time, I shed a furtive tear for all the experiences that have been snatched from us. He has been looking forward to the “fun stuff” after SATs for years. Who knows when formal education will resume?
I really should get things in perspective. What’s a few memories compared to saving the lives of thousands? My parents are both in the high-risk group and I cannot contemplate compromising their health.
I’m hugely unsettled at the prospect of school being out for weeks or even months and feeling rudderless at the prospect of the lack of routine. I love my children but I also relish a schedule that means sitting at my desk in peace and quiet once they’re at school. It gives me space to think, to write, to interview and recipe test without the constant interruptions of “Where’s x?”; “What’s for lunch?”; “I’m hungry”; “I’m bored”; and particularly, “He/she did this/that”.
How on earth will I work, with my children at home? Combining their education with my job currently seems a mountainous task.
Ever since they were babies, I’ve carved out time for work — facilitated by nannies or my mother. I took only a few weeks maternity leave for both as I needed to carry on working. I had no choice. I have no choice now.
School hours are my safe place, a time to get things done. I’ve managed losing that time during school holidays, by squeezing work into evenings and grabbing days when my parents or a friend has them. That can’t happen now. Grandparental assistance — which I, and many of my contemporaries rely on — is forbidden; I wouldn’t ask them anyway. Nor is it possible to ask my friends, not with social distancing.
Which leaves me with the prospect of continuing my job as the JC’s food editor while at the same time serving as teacher, cook, cleaner and (most importantly) mother.
I’d been fantasising that lockdown meant a chance to kick back. To declutter the house, to hang out with the children without pressure. I wasn’t thinking it would double my stress.
But there’s the constant bickering. They argue from the minute they wake up and continue until bedtime. Although it does make me oddly nostalgic for the same relationship I had with my younger brother, it drives me nuts. My daughter constantly winds up her brother verbally, until he reacts physically. How will I cope with them 24 hours a day and seven days a week? It’s hardly conducive to concentration.
I’m taking it a day at a time. I’ve made a schedule for their work. The school has been amazing, sending home packs of work and even a suggested timetable. My daughter’s amazing Year Four teacher, Mr Thompson, even made a whizzy Star Wars-themed vlog explaining what they need to do.
It still involves considerable parental input though, which is leaving many of us mildly hysterical. The parents’ WhatsApp groups went crazy on Sunday night when the week’s work landed and are constantly pinging with questions.
The reality, this morning, wasn’t too bad initially. After I’d had a meltdown trying to make celebrity trainer Joe Wicks appear on our television, my nine year old and I did star jumps with him in the lounge while I shouted at my 11 year old to “Get down here now!” We then sat down to a quiet hour of work while I navigated my new normal. Hour two required me to help design a crossword — not so great for my work.
Meal-times had been a worry. I normally grab something at my desk, but it was actually nice to eat en famille with my husband. That’s the silver lining in all of this — the chance to spend some precious time together. They’re at the best age: old enough to do the basics — dressing, washing, clearing up — but young enough that they still like us. For now…
They’ll remember this time for the rest of their lives, and I hope that Mr P and I can make the memories fond ones. On my days off we’ll have pyjama days and loll in front of movies. We’ll relax the rules. This is not boot camp. Not all the time anyway.
So wish me luck. You may be seeing quite a few child-friendly recipes over the next few weeks, months and years. Challah fish finger sandwich anyone?
Victoria Prever is the JC’s Food Editor
