Unexpected Benefits of Lockdown

Like most families we have had to quickly establish a home-working routine that suits everyone, and thereby create some structure to our locked-down days.

Last week I managed at home by myself and had to multi-task my way through teaching my students alongside my own children, while Hearth-Father tied up things at the garage.

There were some noteworthy achievements during that time, though. I finally rediscovered what the bottom of the laundry basket looks like. It isn't a black hole, after all, though most reports put its last sighting back in 2006, before the advent of children.

My brother-in-law was rude enough to suggest that the image had been photoshopped. As though my photoshopping skills were superior to my laundry ability. In true, Hollywood ending, socks long consigned to the 'odds' basket have been happily reunited with their once forlorn partners.

Not that there is anywhere to put all this newly laundered stuff. Turns out, if it's all done at once then it doesn't actually fit into the available wardrobes and drawers. Who knew?

We have managed two family facetime calls in the last fortnight, with four households tuned in simultaneously, joining Sussex, Surrey and Dorset. We didn't quite get the Isle of Man contingent online at the same time, but will try again with that next week.

Another highlight was that Gertie and Gilby baked bread. Together. Unprompted. Almost harmoniously. Or at least as if they quite liked each other. Ok, so it didn't quite rise as they might have hoped, but still. We chewed gratefully, if for longer than expected.

And brand new horizons have been reached today; while I merrily created resources for several different year groups for home learning this morning, half the lawn was dug up ready for reseeding. Oh yes. Hearth-Father has been very busy indeed. I shall have to get over myself and forgive the radio blaring all day long that has accompanied his labours.

Currently reading: The Female Persuasion by Meg Wolitzer

The Battle of the Socks

It will go down in history: the one (and only?) time the boys beat the adults in a sock battle.

For the benefit of those who don't regularly engage in sock wars, a reminder of the key elements of the battle might be in order. The rules are simple: 

1. Gather as many balled pairs of socks as you can. 

2. Set a timer. (Five minutes is ample.)

3. Position teams on opposite sides of a double bed.

4. Pelt sock balls as hard as you can at members of the opposing team until the timer runs out

5. Decide which team has sustained the most direct hits.

6. Declare a winner.

Why does Hearth-mother condone such a violent, aggressive activity, you ask? Easy. Because my other sock battle is the endless quest against odd socks, and at the merest hint of an upcoming sock war, Eddie and Gilby can't pair them up fast enough.

Oh, and Hearth-father quite gets into it, too.

You're welcome.

Currently reading: The Language of Birds by Gill Dawson

The Little Battles

Thankfully, there is no major war being waged in our house currently, but there are a number of key strategic battles being played out on a regular basis. Here is a small selection:

• The struggle for a 'dry night' for Gertie. We have taken the plunge and are nappy-less, but my goodness there is a lot of washing as a result.
  


• The crusade to get a vegetable inside her. Fruit is not a problem, but you would think it was the outbreak of World War III when I offer carrot or peas.
  


• The area surrounding the laundry basket is a military zone that requires regular patrol. Why, why why can the dirty clothes just not make it in? I know that I am not alone in this particular battle, but I am certainly 'fatigued' by it.
  


• The fight for sleep. Gilby now only wakes up once or twice a night. But he has never, ever gone through. Oh, for just one night's unbroken sleep.
  


• The daily clash over the brushing of teeth. I have tried so hard to make it fun, but Gertie is not fooled and there is an ongoing battle of wills that sometimes becomes physical!
  
  
• The nightly skirmish over what time we eat. The children eat around five, when Daddy is not even home, so we always sit down to eat later after they have gone to bed. We are lucky if it is by nine o'clock. My husband does all the cooking, and is a perfectionist, demonstrated in his fleeting appearance last Thursday on Masterchef...

This post is written in response to Josie's writing workshop this week at Sleep is for the Weak, and inspired by Vegemitevix's PS3 house invasion.