MONDAY
Today marks the start of the summer term – sort of.
Last night they all had the Sunday Blues, which was ironic given that they weren’t actually going back to school at all. But I didn’t dwell on this point too much.
This morning, just eight minutes in, the 15-year-old stares wistfully into the middle distance and mutters ‘I really wish I was at school’. I should have taken a recording of this, for future use.
We get off to a slow start, which we collectively decide is because of technological hiccups. The eight-year-old loves this idea and starts faking his own hiccups. We all find this funny for the first half dozen or so, then it gets a bit annoying. By mid-morning, all three children find their rhythm and look very industrious.
On the face of it, everyone seems quite accepting of our new topsy-turvy existence. I put this down to a need for structure - there’s comfort in daily routine when you’re a child. They may be lulled temporarily into a sense of security by our four walls? Whatever it is, I really expected more vocalised complaint; this passive acceptance is unnerving.
Satchmo sulks on his bed in the corner of the kitchen. Last week he was part of the gang, with noise and chatter all day. Today he's been into the garden for his necessaries but has barely had a passing glance since. Humans are so fickle.
