On Monday night I thought the arrival of the promised rain the next day would lift me briefly. I felt it would provide a change, something different, a lifting of the guilt I feel if I let the kids watch TV when the sun is out.
And to start with it did. Rather than being our prison, the house became our sanctuary. Cosy and dry, a space where we could shelter from the horrible weather and feel safe and lucky. We loved the house for a time. I started to believe it was a bank holiday, and found myself sitting on the playroom floor in my pyjamas playing cards with the kids at 10am.
Then, of course, the novelty wore off. By noon we were fed up of looking at each other. The house felt claustrophobic, the ratio of people to square metres too small.
I started off with the best of intentions. When I did finally get dressed it was into my sportswear ready for a workout. But first, I snuck off to do some actual work and got through 20 blissful uninterrupted minutes while Andy ploughed through Maths and English with Henry.
Sadly though, this meant Bella was left unattended. As is the way with three kids and one parent, the numbers are all wrong and at least one child will always be ignored. Henry’s school work takes priority, Xander’s penchant for eating feathers/marbles/crawling backwards (he only goes backwards) until he’s straddling a door and crying means his needs come a close second. Poor Bella, as ever, was bored stupid.
Later on, when I had abandoned all hope of work, I tried to engage her in something we could do together. But if it wasn’t a screen she wasn’t interested. This state of mind probably wasn’t helped by the fact I accidentally left her playing on her tablet for two hours straight.
At about noon I had put Xander to bed, done a work call, sorted Henry out with reading to my mum online and started on some ironing, but all the while there was something nagging in the back of my mind that didn’t sit right. A bad feeling that was just a little out of reach. A thought that slightly unsettled me, but that I couldn’t catch and process.
Then I peered into the playroom and spotted Bella, quiet as a mouse, her tablet inches from her face, on episode 35 of Paw Patrol. She has recently adopted exactly the same tactics I did as a child when I wanted to stay up for the end of the Generation Game: sit still enough and quiet enough and the grown ups will forget you are there. And this one did.
Like the chicken stock you put on to simmer on a Sunday night then only remember about some three hours later when you walk into the kitchen, I had all but forgotten about her.
Her Mega Screen Session meant I couldn’t then fall back on a movie later on when tempers were frayed and I had lost the will to parent. My standards have slipped dramatically in recent weeks but the one thing I hold on to is not letting them gawp at a screen for more than two hours in any 12 hour period. Sure, I’d rather watch them loafing about complaining they’re bored, or fighting with each other, or trashing the playroom for no good reason than let them watch TV. But I can’t get beyond the screen guilt.
So after the unsolicited tablet session from Bella, I had to find other ways to entertain her later. All her nursery friends seem to be busy making exotic animals out of junk so I suggested that. It started off ok but after less than five minutes I found myself sitting alone at the kitchen table painting two toilet rolls and an egg box sellotaped together to look like a giraffe. While she lay on the floor in the next room singing a song about the jungle.
Later on, when I went to put Xander to bed, I found at some point during the afternoon she had gone upstairs and filled his cot with wet wipes. Thankfully they were sealed packets, not individually deposited.
She has also moved into the spare room. She took her eye mask and Gro clock and relocated out of protest at Henry. She has finally realised what we have known for the last few weeks - they need some time apart.
The workout I had dressed for took place at 7.30pm and I felt about a million times better for it. Though I did get a bit depressed when I realised I have 85 days left of my 100 workouts in 100 days challenge.
It was only when I got changed afterwards that I realised the fact that I had been wearing a sports bra all day had almost certainly contributed to the tension I’d been feeling since lunchtime.
One thing we have learnt today is how important it is that we go out at some point every day. We didn’t leave the house today. Tomorrow, rain or no rain, we will go walking.
We have to go out soon anyway - the only thing in our fridge is four bendy carrots, a bottle of Calpol and some mini gherkins my sister brought over in February, for reasons unknown.
If I’m lucky I’ll win the lockdown lottery and be the one who gets to go to Sainsbury's. A full hour and a half alone, with only a marginal risk of contracting a deadly virus. Bliss.
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