I can’t wave goodbye to homeschooling quick enough

When I heard the news that schools were reopening, I was so overjoyed that I started hugging the Start-Rite shoe gauge. Never have I felt happier about ordering Lola a new pair of navy school shoes online.

If looking in the mirror is anything to go by, being a teacher doesn’t suit me. I must look five years older than I did at Christmas. I’m so whacked out from Google Classroom.

When a yummy mummy friend suggested I take Lola and Liberty to a secret special nursery, my eyes lit up. It sounded absolutely amazing. It has an aquarium, so they can learn everything about the different species of fish and marine life, and it has a large outdoor play area.

She takes her six-year-old daughter Calypso. How strange? I thought nursery was only for pre-schoolers, but maybe its some kind of private club with a loophole where you can get your kids educated without breaking the rules.

I can’t get Lola signed up fast enough. Could this “hidden gem” be the lifeline I’ve been praying for? 

“How much is the registration fee?”; “Is there a waiting list?”; “How much is it per day?”; “Will Lola and Liberty be in the same bubble?”; “Do they provide lunch?”; “Is there wrap-around care after school hours?”; “Breakfast club?”.

She tries to draw breath, but I bombard her with more questions before she can get a word in. “Where is it?” I scream, realising I need to tone it down a little. I don’t want Lola and Liberty to think I don’t want them around. I ask her: “Can they start tomorrow?”

I’m sick to the back teeth of homeschooling in lockdown – I can't take another day. But she looks utterly perplexed. She drops the bomb: “It’s a garden centre in Brent.” I look horrified. “It may not be the London aquarium,” she tells me after seeing the flame go out in my eyes, “but at least it’s something to do.”

I’m so crushed I can hardly move from the spot. I haven’t dodged the tidal wave of endless assignments I’ve got to do for at least another three weeks.

I snap back into the moment. I’m clutching at straws thinking there could still be something to gain from this conversation. “Well a change is as good as a rest,” I tell her. Perhaps a trip to Brent isn’t such a bad idea. But Brent, that rings a bell. “Is this garden centre near Thornton Heath where that stabbing was last week?” I ask her. She says she will send me the link to it.

When my WhatsApp pings 20 minutes later, I think it’s her, but oh no, it’s the school WhatsApp. The mums have been messaging since 3am in the morning about replacing Lola’s lovely class teacher, who has long Covid, for a more able teacher.

Then it took a very dark turn when one mum shared a one-hour vlog from conspiracy theorist Vanessa Beeley about how the government is using the Covid pandemic to turn us into controlled minions and replace us with robots. “Pass this on to as many people as you can,” messaged the mum.

When I get the link for the garden centre later, I bundle the kids in the car for an outing. Even going to a petrol station is exciting for them these days. But as we arrive, we are greatly disappointed to see it is shut “due to flooding”. We turn back to visit my dad in his garden. 

His street off the Upper Richmond road is so quiet during lockdown, it’s like a post-nuclear explosion. Not even an empty crisp packet floats past his front door, as nobody is out and about.

How can it be so different from Notting Hill – it’s only 15 minutes up the road?

My dad did see one of his neighbours when he was putting out the rubbish who inquired about the human-sized bones scattered all over his lawn. I can see why she looked nervous. They do look like human thigh bones. But they are in fact Muggles’ ostrich bones.

My dad, 88, has taken over the tax department of his accountancy firm in his dining room at home; I can’t see him for all the files towering high.

But when he shows me a spreadsheet of what I cost him, I gasp. Not only that but he tells me is spending £2,000 a year on dog bones for Muggles. I tell him Lola won a gold medal for her schoolwork this week to try and change the subject. It seems to have worked and he asks her how she got it?

She hasn’t got a clue, as I did most of it. But has my inner tiger mum triggered unhealthy competitiveness? “We have to win the medal this week Lola,” I told her as I drowned in phonics print-outs. It put Lola under a lot of pressure whizzing through it all, not during school hours, but during my lunch break.

But when a friend tells me “all Lola needs is your love” not “more stress” during lockdown, it stops me in my tracks. Getting all the acclaim isn’t worth it. For now, it's about making life easier until they are back at school.