As I write this, we’re into our seventh week of lockdown here in NZ and the days really are turning into one big amorphous blob. We went from Alert Level 4 to Alert Level 3 a couple of weeks ago, which meant some restrictions came off and more people went back to work, but it made minimal difference to myself and my family, aside from the fact that we were able to order takeaways again — potato wedges with sour cream and sweet chilli sauce have never tasted so good.
Speaking of food, despite more ambitious intentions, my main task during the lockdown has been the provision of snacks. In the last six weeks, I’ve served at least 600 pieces of square crusts-off bread spread with butter and Marmite (in both toasted and sandwich form), 150 bowls of cereal (to a single child) and 100 chocolate muffins (to a different but also singular child). This is as nothing compared to the number of times I’ve heard the word, ‘no’. The following is a transcript of a typical lockdown discussion with my children:
“Do you wanna do some maths?”
“No.”
“How about some writing?”
No.”
“Then I’ll tell you what. Let’s all sit down at the table and do some drawing? You love drawing.”
“No.”
“Well then, go get a book out of your room and read it to me.”
“No.”
“Okay, then why don’t we all go outside and kick the soccer ball? It’s a beautiful morning.”
“No.”
“Cricket?”
“No.”
“How about a bike ride?”
“No.”
“Then help me fold the washing/do the vacuuming/wash the dishes?”
“No! That’s your job.”
*Sighs* “Well, what do you want to do?”
“Playstation! And can I please have four square crusts-off Marmite sandwiches?”
*More sighing, tempered by the fact that the request has come with the word ‘please’ and an adorable smile.* “Have you washed your hands?”
“No.”
Who says the art of conversation is dead?
Thankfully, not all of my proposals have been dismissed so summarily. Earlier last week, my suggestion that we go outside and make flower art designs from the camellia petals that had fallen to the ground was met with a surprisingly enthusiastic response from two thirds of my cohort of offspring, resulting in these.
Anyway, it’s been announced that we’re moving to Alert Level 2 tomorrow, which means that everything can open again, with some social distancing measures in place.
Next Monday, with a sigh of relief (and yes, there has been an inordinate amount of sighing in our house over the last six weeks), my children will be returning to their school (and I’ll be returning to mine). I already had a healthy amount of respect for the work their teachers do and that’s only increased now.
It’s been a strange and fascinating time indeed, and despite the challenges and frustrations I have, for the most part, enjoyed the extra-time with my kids. And although I’m sure they would have preferred to be stuck at home with their mother while I went to work instead, I hope they would say the same.
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