Lockdown: Week 6
I do my biggest chunk of work between 1–4 pm each day. This coincides with the lads’ naps (kind of) and allows Louise to keep up with the Kardashians or watch one of those shows where a middle-aged couple from the Midlands open a bar in Spain but it’s much harder than they’d envisaged and, after the local mayor doesn’t allow a late-night licence, they appear on camera looking hollow-eyed, contemplating whether or not they still love each other.
The other day, I texted Louise at 4ish saying I was just finishing something off and I’d be down in half an hour if that was okay? She replied saying it was. No kiss. I sent one email then watched the Bundesliga’s greatest ever debuts on YouTube and bought a pair of salmon shorts on ASOS.
“Phew, glad I finished that vital piece of work,” I said when I got downstairs.
“You haven’t been working, have you?” she said. “What have you been doing?”
She is on to me. On Thursday morning, Louise went for a shower. I then produced a parenting masterclass, managing to both get Jacob to sleep and read a book to Joshua. Contemplating a nomination for dad of the year, an award won by Peter Andre in both 2010 and 2011, I thought I’d quickly check my ASOS delivery status. In the time it takes to open an email, the scene took a turn and Louise, who had somehow walked down the stairs in silence, appeared in the living room to see me on my phone, Jacob awake, crying, and Joshua with his hand jammed in the radiator shouting.
“I am a stuck man!”
My dramatized version of Where the Wild Things just a few minutes earlier counted for nothing. Honestly, I can’t get away with a thing. I could never pull off an affair. I’d get home from the Travelodge — it would definitely be a Travelodge, wouldn’t it? (If it happened, which it won’t ) — to find my bags already packed on the doorstep accompanied by a post-it saying “see you in court.” Definitely no kiss.
I encountered a woman who may well have written a post-it of that ilk in her past in Morrisons on Wednesday. I was stood in the queue, minding my own business, when she approached me with a scowl.
“Are you stood in the queue or what?”
“Yes, I am.”
She sighed incredibly loudly, shook her head, looked up at the ceiling and walked off. I did little to retaliate, perhaps raised my eyebrows, but I certainly decided I wasn’t a fan of this lady. She and I would never be pals. As chance would have it, we arrived at our respective checkouts at the same time. I heard the cashier ask my nemesis if she had a Morrisons More card.
“No, but I do have my NHS discount card.”
For god’s sake, she’s an NHS hero? She’s probably worked a 19-hour shift, seen me grab the last bag of Kettle Chips, then stand, in fairness, slightly ambiguously, between the aisles. Did I deserve the sigh? I mulled this over as my cashier struck up conversation. She was a furloughed optician, helping out at Morrisons during this difficult time. Bloody heroes everywhere. I did attempt to be a (mini) hero a couple of weeks ago and signed up for the NHS volunteering site but I accidentally ticked the emergency responder box, a role I am categorically unqualified to do.
“I could do with your help,” I told the cashier/optician. “My son has broken two pairs of my glasses so I’m currently going without.”
“Haha.”
“Yep, I’m probably driving illegally.”
No laugh.
During our chat, with my conscience whirring, I slipped into autopilot and put all my items straight into the trolley. Didn’t bother with bags. When I got outside, it was lashing it down and I got thoroughly drenched while struggling to unload a loose weekly shop into a boot with two prams in it. Karma works quickly.
On Saturday, we went for a stroll near our house. A bald man wearing sweatbands was jogging towards us with a very serious look on his face. Joshua, toddling around, as 2-year-olds have a tendency to do, veered ever so slightly into the man’s intended path.
“For crying out loud!” the man shouted. I think at Joshua.
In my job, I have spent countless hours talking to men about managing their emotions effectively, thinking before they act and, specifically, how their behaviour will influence their children. Especially if their children are very young.
“Piss off!” I shouted at the man.
“Tosser!” Louise added.
I bet he was a doctor, wasn’t he? The old guy I beeped my horn at in Keighley last year was probably Captain Tom.
The encounters with people lacking manners have been fitting for what has been a challenging week. The weather has taken a downturn, we’ve had some issues with Jacob’s feeding, and there have been a few potty training mishaps (disasters) with Joshua. We, especially Louise, are spectacularly sleep deprived and, a couple of nights ago, even when the children were sleeping soundly, I was up most of the night because I had the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme tune running around my head on a loop. This is it, I thought. This is insanity.
Jacob needed changing on Friday and Louise chucked me a vest. We’ve bought baby vests with days of the week on, which is a ridiculous thing to commit to, and I do not recommend it. You feel like a loser if you take the time to pick the correct day but deeply uneasy if you put the wrong one on. You can’t win (clothing standards as a whole have slipped during lockdown; Joshua was dressed as a Christmas dinosaur today.) Anyway, I don’t know if it was deliberate, but the vest Louise gave me was for Monday. Groundhog week? I contemplated how much money I’d need to be paid to start the week again and decided it would have to be a lot. It would have to be absolutely loads.
Obviously, parenting during lockdown is full of highs and lows but, worldwide pandemic aside, I think we will look back on this time as a family with fondness in years to come. Anyway, Jacob is doing a bit better today, a star/cracker (bribery) system is proving effective for Joshua’s potty training, and I’m feeling positive that this week will be a better one. Also, my salmon shorts have just arrived. I’m ready to take on the world.
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this blog, please like/share on Facebook if you have a second (requesting this feels a bit like when I used to write “text back” at the end of texts to girls when I was a teenager…)
Here are the previous editions of my lockdown blog:
