I have been working from home for around 16 years, way before lockdown and the new normal of now. It does have its upsides – mainly the ability for me to be around for my sons, especially when they were younger, as we live far away from family so never had the luxury of easy childcare. The commute from my bedroom to office is normally pretty straightforward - sometimes I trip over a pair of trainers left helpfully on the bottom step by one of the boys - but as yet, no leaves on lines or train strikes to thwart my progress. And working for a company that has contacts in the Far East and USA, means I am able to work late into the night if needs be without worrying about missing the last train home. It also has its downsides. Read and repeat the sentences above – all these upsides have their issues. Having a working home office means I rarely turn off, it means my boss can get hold of me 24/7, it means my emails ping at me during supper. I don’t have the luxury of reading a magazine on the train into work, communicating with colleagues face to face, or going to Christmas office parties - which maybe a good thing as it saves the inevitable red faced walk of shame the next day after being chatted up by Steve in accounts, who declares undying love for you after his third glass of warm white. That did happen once, by the way, when I worked as a temp, but he was called Ian.
On a typical work day, I wake up, check emails in bed (even though I know this is a big no-no, as this very much crosses the work / home balance); freak because something I didn’t need to do now needs doing, as my office in New York overnight has sent a request for something pretty basic, but it throws me. I jump in the shower and hear the puppy start barking - she has suffered a bit from being in lockdown and is so used to being with someone 24 hours a day, she has lost the ability to be on her own company for 42 seconds. I make the shower the quickest one ever, so I can go and sort her out before she wakes the slumbering Princes languishing in their bedchambers. I then try and dress, impatiently hushing the puppy who is now barking at the towel on my head, trying to stop her chewing my pants kicked off the night before. I end up pulling on the same pair of jeans I wore yesterday, grab yet another stripy top from the top of the laundry basket as I don’t have the luxury of time to leisurely peruse my wardrobe, and head downstairs. I then proceed to juggle eating breakfast, poop scoop duty, stop the mutt digging up yet more lawn, wipe up the trail of muddy footprints that now lead from the back door through into the front room, and empty the dishwasher. Phone pinging, I check more emails, walk the dog and finally settle into my office to do some work.
Now, if life was normal and the boys were back at school, I would have thrown a school run into the equation, but I would then have the luxury of all day to work knowing the boys were being educated and entertained and socialising with real people. No such luck during the longest school holiday ever - this one starting back in March. First sign of a teenager, normally around noon, and the day is no longer my own. Although perfectly capable of feeding themselves, and to be fair, they do so quite often - the mess left by a scatty 16-year old preparing lunch is unbelievable. While I sit in my office trying to concentrate on work, I have one ear out for the inevitable shriek as something is spilled, knocked or burnt. My younger son is tidier and far more creative. Not happy with grabbing a sandwich or just scrambling some eggs for all of us, he proceeds to use every pan in the house to satisfy his inventive curiosity – normally to Michelin star standards, but without the kitchen staff employed to clear up after him. That’s where I come in useful.
After clearing up the chaos, I try and get back into the routine of working, hoping to meet a deadline so I can take the boys out later in the day to spend some promised quality family time with them, conscious if I don’t they will merge into their avatars. However, my boss normally choses this time to Facetime me, and this is the trigger for the puppy to start barking at the very annoying fly which by now is driving me nuts knocking itself stupid against at the window of my study, despite the great cavernous hole called “the door” right next to it. Grabbing a chew toy for the puppy, I manage to distract her long enough to talk, and find I have yet again promised heaven and earth to be delivered to my boss by a ridiculous deadline, while he subtly reminds me of the one task I still haven’t done; so now I am filled with yet more panic, guilty as the boys, now bored of my empty promises, have disappeared back upstairs to continue with their virtual lives.
Failing as a mummy, failing as an employee, even failing to get the puppy sorted; the rest of the day is spent playing catch up, instead of what I wanted to do. Each morning I wake vowing to make it work, each evening I beat myself up - I am consumed with feeling unsatisfied, anxious I have let my sons down, my boss down and myself down. I often wonder, does everyone go through this daily juggle? Is it a parent thing, or a just a mum thing? Or just me? Would I be this consumed with all of this if I worked away from my home, in another building, able perhaps to unwind on the journey there and back? There must now be thousands of people who work from home due to Covid-19 who face this daily dilemma. I used to be able to do this so much better, but I suppose that was when the boys were small, easily pleased by some Lego or a football in the back garden - and of course they went to bed at 7pm, so I always had time to catch up in the evening.
I know that me fretting about the boys stirs this all up – however, the times we have talked about it as a family, they said they are having the best time – loving life post lockdown, free to watch YouTube, Netflix and kill some aliens on the X- Box without the worry of school and other commitments. And I suppose I have been working for the same company for over 20 years, so I must be doing something right. But that is what having an anxious brain does. It picks holes in your logic and fills you with self-doubt; and ends the day by promising to wake you up at around 3am for another round.
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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