Shit. They’ve finished school. Like actually finished. And we have no idea how long for. Will they finish their current year? Or will they go straight into the next year? Or have they left school for good?
Will they make it through the first week of isolation at home? And by ‘they’ I mean me.
Home schooling is not something I ever thought I would do. But here we are. How do other people home school? In fact, how do teachers do it? Every single day?
Where do you find the energy for home schooling?
I mean mental energy. I find it hard enough to get them to put their school shoes on before leaving the house. I’ll admit to having used bribery in the past, on at least one occasion (ok, twice a week) to get them to do homework. And now I have to be in charge of their learning? Actual learning. Not just going over what a professional has already taught them. There’s not enough bribes in the World to get us through this.
I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out. Definitely not freaking out.
Ok freaking out a lot.
I feel like I need to take a crash course in millennial maths. Seriously. What the fuck is the Bus Stop Method? It makes no sense to me. And I did A-Level Maths with Statistics, (100 years ago) in 1999.
Twinkl have tried to explain the bus stop method. But I can’t even get my head around their explanation.
And it’s only day 1! Day 1 of God knows how many 😭😭
I’ve been telling myself all week that it’s just going to be like the school holidays. Lots of fun, nice and chilled out, and lovely to be together. But I was wrong. I feel like one of those people who voted for Brexit and were then surprised that their vote counted, causing a huge shit-show.
I feel a little bit like crying and running to my Mum for help. Except I AM the Mum. And I don’t run. (Unless running late counts?) So basically I’m just going to cry. A lot.
Home schooling for the insane
Firstly, I’ve seen teachers teach. Secondly, I’ve seen them command a whole room to be quiet just by raising their hands. And lastly, I’ve seen them captivate their young audiences into listening, and then doing.
How the fuck do they manage it? The last time I tried to use the hand-in-the-air-to-attract-silence thing, I was asked why I was smelling my own armpits. (Read half term hell for more on that little gem.)
Trying to get any of my sleep thieves to listen to anything I say is about as easy as teaching a T-Rex to juggle. Frustrating. Fruitless. And well, impossible.
Or to put it another way: If collectively, they were a T5 Tornado, I’d be the cow caught up in the vortex spinning round and round mooing but not actually achieving anything.
A bit like what has happened today when I’ve tried to get somebody’s attention;
Every time I’ve called “Emily!” the dog has come running.
Every time I’ve called “Ruby!” the dog has come running.
When I’ve called “Snowy!” (the dog’s actual name), there’s been zero response. From anyone.
Every time I’ve called “Joe!” the dog has come running.
Every time I’ve called “Jess!” Well, there’s been nothing… Because some things never change.
And I’m now ready for my straight jacket thank you please.
So home schooling hasn’t started off very well then?
No. It fucking hasn’t.
I have 3 mugs of cold coffee dotted about the house somewhere. I remember making them, but I don’t know where I put them.
There is one child sitting in her underwear in a strop, because I won’t let her put her school uniform on.
There is another child rollerbooting round the back garden, making elephant noises and absolutely confusing the fuck out of the cats.
Somewhere upstairs there are a couple of teenagers, who’ve either ripped their ears off so they can’t hear me, or have wedged their AirPods so far in, they’ve blocked out all outside interference.
The dog is helping matters by constantly pulling things out of the bin and leaving them all over the house. And when she’s not doing that, she’s dragging shoes out of the cupboard and strategically leaving them in places only I trip over them. FML.
And the Amazon delivery driver just asked me for ID. For the coils for my vape that is now permanently attached to my hand, in a makeshift nicotine delivery system.
Apparently showing him my very grey roots, and almost having a nervous breakdown because I couldn’t find my purse, wasn’t enough to prove my age. Nor was the rollerbooting maniac yelling “MUUUUMMM! Guess what animal I am now!” from the back garden.
So I had to capture the demented dog, run upstairs, drag Joe off Need for Speed (he wasn’t happy) to get him to show the Amazon guy his ID. Because I have a 19 year old son, grey roots, bags under my eyes but apparently don’t look old enough to buy age restricted products.
For Fucks Sake! It’s only DAY 1!!!
A while ago, I was a school governor for a couple of years, and was flabbergasted at the reams and reams of data, reports, statistics, target tracking etc that teachers do. On TOP of teaching, writing end of term reports, meeting parents, meeting outside agencies, doing their CPD, and all the other million things they cram into their day. And I’ve been in awe of them of them ever since.
Now I’ve been home schooling less than 24 hours, I think teachers should be paid £1M a minute. They are truly worth their weight in platinum.
The only lesson learnt on the first day of home schooling is : I’m NOT cut out to be a teacher. Mum? Yes. Taxi driver? Yes. Cook? Yes. First Aider? Yep. Seamstress, personal shopper, admin assistant and housekeeper? Yes, yes, yes, yes.
But NOT a teacher.
Tune in tomorrow for home schooling day 2 : most likely the day I put myself up for adoption.