Real life in lockdown.
For the purposes of balance, I thought it was important to share the reality of life in lockdown with teenagers.
My kids aren’t crafting. They’re not reading. They’re barely up before lunch.
They’re definitely not doing Joe Wicks.
The 14yo probably has a vitamin D deficiency and hearing loss from listening to all his mates screaming whilst playing consistently on the PS in a darkened bedroom.
No-one is waking up with gratitude. No-one is breathing in the new life of a new day whilst staring at the blue skies. Because you know it’s morning and the kids haven’t seen a morning for two weeks and I need coffee before I can think of how to say gratitude let alone feel it.
I’ve given up home schooling because I’m still trying to work and you know…..that’s what teachers are for. And, you know, I can’t deal with the battle of 45 minutes of science. And. It’s the Easter holidays. And will be until September here.
There’s no routine. Last night we all ate separately because the ‘grown ups’ wanted salmon so the ‘kids’ made their own pasta break. Cooking life skills right there.**
Of course, every so often the not so smalls do demonstrate incredible talent and new skills as the picture here demonstrates. The nearly 18yo showed how she is going to survive at uni by making a fantastic cock pizza the other night. I’m. So. Proud.
There’s still very few vegetables being consumed – the 14yo successfully managing to pick out finely diced onions in a lovingly prepared slow cooked beef bourguignon the other night. More skills for life right there.
The not so smalls are still sighing at having to empty the dishwasher…..again (because we all know it only needs emptying once a day when there’s locusts living in your house hoovering up anything resembling food.)
I’m still screaming at them to pick their towels off the floor, do some tidying up and clean all the goddamn crumbs off the work tops. And no-one, no-one ever seems to see the debris in the sink plug hole. Or sees the things left at the bottom of the stairs to take up the stairs. (In fact there’s been a bottle of shampoo on the bottom of the stairs now for 10 days – people will probably give up washing their hair before taking that sodding bottle up the bloody stairs.)
The 14yo has settled into his skinhead life mainly wandering round the house like an extra from Trainspotting wearing just his pants. On the upside this is massively reducing the need for washing whereas the nearly 18yo is still trying to keep up ‘some’ standards for the daily Snapchat pout.
We have managed 7262929292 games of Uno before we all sigh at each other and contently return to our screens.
No-one is using this downtime that ‘we’ll never get again’ to get new skills. I dared to suggest a Spanish course (obviously online as there’s no way I would be teaching that given I can only order wine* and ask for the bill) and world war 44
broke out so I mainly gave up. Again.
I’m still mainly doing all the shouting in the house and there’s plenty of swearing going on.
And yesterday the stupid fecking dog successfully jumped up and knocked a box of after eights off the shelf in the nearly 18yos room. After she was discovered having inhaled half the box, we all really enjoyed the trip to the emergency vets and the distinct smell of minty sick that has been emanating from the stupid dog ever since. She’s still alive and now living her best charcoal diet.
At 5pm prompt I will be opening the fizz. After of course I have undertaken some meditation, done a few downward dogs and run a marathon in my garden whilst still working.
**aka mum can’t be arsed, sort yourselves out.
***expert in that I’ve kept them alive for nearly 18 and 14 years respectively