In the last month, I have got to know my children very well. That may sound odd. But do we really know what they’re like, after they leave us and go to school? Who are they during daytime hours, when they are with their peers? How do they respond to instructions from other adults? Are they happy? Are they worried? Are they “good”?
And so this period of time when they are here with me constantly is very interesting. Home schooling aside, how are they coping with the anxiety of this pandemic? Can they deal with boredom? Are they able to play? And how many flipping cups and plates can they actually soil in one day?
My son in particular has been a revelation. He is currently sitting next to me, humming an annoying tune, trying to break his sister’s pencil, kicking my chair and procrastinating like a pro over a few short and simple Maths questions. IT IS TORTUROUS.
The girls have all done sufficient work for the morning. Mini Seymour is now playing with ponies. Number Two is doing D.T in her bedroom, and Number One is trialling A Levels online.
But the boy… oh dear, the boy.
He is clever. But he also cannot be arsed. He’ll happily throw an egg off the garage roof in a lame attempt at a Science experiment, but will he plan the process first? Will he evaluate and conclude it properly? Like Hell he will. At a push, he’ll write a paltry diary entry, but it will be rushed and uninteresting, and littered with lazy spellings. He will read a book only if there is a reward of “Roblox on the Huawei” later.
He will congratulate himself if he does five minutes of a lesson, and then wander off, declaring he’s done enough work for the day. He will make excuses about being dyslexic, short-sighted, lame and ugly, all so that he can go and do something else.
What else? What does he like to do? Screens, yes, but they are not allowed unless Mummy says so. Therefore, he can be found tearing the lawn up with wheelies, hitting stuff with big sticks, destroying the conifers and breaking everything in his path. Mainly, he’ll be found goading Mini Seymour.
He has the attention span of a gnat and the wrath of the Titans.
I did not know this about my son. Is he like it at school? I was especially intrigued to discover that for the first two and a half weeks of Lockdown, he was wearing a hand-crafted bracelet that he had made himself out of beads. Only when I looked closely did I see what he had spelled out. It said “Fuck Off”. I was mortified, * and promptly took it off him.
I also did not know that Cadbury’s Eclairs make him itch and get little spots, that he thinks skinny jeans make him look gay (he has not got a problem with people being gay -it was purely an observation), that he is very good at fixing punctures and that he holds grudges. His voice is also very loud.
The other day, Boy found a little injured bird. It was a lost cause, I’m afraid: blind and disabled, and vulnerable to the follies and whims of predators (cats) and a slow death. He brought it home and tried to nurse it. He was planning building it a hospital cage, and then re-releasing it. In the morning, the bird was dead, and my usually infuriating, quick-tempered, antagonising son spent an hour crying quietly under pallets in the garden, mourning his loss.
This morning’s school work has been painful for both of us. I don’t care if he finishes it or not really – I just want him to try, to engage, to put some effort in, to jump through those hoops, just a little bit. After all, life is easier if you do.
And as long as he can combine a little bit of effort with all of that lovely, sensitive compassionate kindness, he’ll do alright.
*The Fuck Off Bracelet found its way onto my own wrist, and proved very useful in Tesco last Friday, when people got too close. Whether they looked closely enough to read it or not, it made me feel better. Social distancing, people!!
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