SCHOOL’S in on both sides of the Border and now I’m all out of excuses for not doing my homework.
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Today I will finally make the beds properly for the first time in a fortnight.
During the school holidays my clan collectively goes to ground on the homefront: things get a little laissez-faire in that French way or “let the people do as they choose” in English.
On the first day of the NSW school holidays our six-year-old set up camp at the bottom end of our dining table. Under two polar fleece throws draped over three bentwood chairs to reach the middle shelf of the bookcase, there were cushions, a tribe of Beanie Boos and twin tealight candles in Finnish glass holders – fortunately unlit. Not to be confused with squatting, this was certified glamping.
When it came time to set the table for dinner that night, my husband began to dismantle the makeshift camp one Beanie Boo at a time.
“Just so you know,” I say.
“She pegged out that prime site very early in the day and she’s booked it for the whole holidays.
“Evict her at your own peril.”
As working parents know a tent city in the living room is a small price to pay for school holiday harmony.
Had “BBC Dad Gone Viral” Robert Kelly known about the merits of indoor glamping he may not have had to share the spotlight when his children crashed his live broadcast from his home office earlier this year.
The panic-stricken academic later admitted the moment when his toddler daughter and baby son burst in to the room where he was Skyping the BBC was “terribly cute” in hindsight.
But after the video went viral Kelly and his wife Kim Jung-A were bombarded with Twitter and Facebook notifications and phone calls, forcing them to check out of technology for a few weeks.
The wave of copycat YouTube clips that followed were just as entertaining as the original – like the working mother BBC correspondent commenting on the day’s political debate while breastfeeding her baby, handling a toddler tantrum and diffusing a bomb. The latter two actions can and do require a similar skill set.
Political journalist and commentator Annabel Crabb said it best once: “The obligation that evolves for working mothers, in particular, is a very precise one; the feeling that one ought to work as if one did not have children, while raising one’s children as if one did not have a job.”
I have never managed to do either but I’m confident I’m in good company. Here’s my best work with our daughters in tow:
1) Three minutes into a phone interview on speaker in my parked car, my then four-year-old piped up from her car seat with: “I’ve forgotten who we’re actually talking to here and how long I have to zip my lips!”
2) With my girls now used to the odd phone interview I do at home, the dog is generally the one who speaks up at the worst time. Last week I was feeling thankful she hadn’t barked once during an interview when she stood right beside me and sneezed the loudest, wet, sloppy, sneeze down the phone line. “You’ll have to excuse my labradoodle!” said no one ever.
3) Interviewing from the relative quiet of the pantry once, our youngest declared a state of emergency: “I’M ALL OUT OF BISCUITS AND YOU’RE IN THE WAY!” Luckily the foodie folk I talk to can relate.
Meanwhile, I’ll sign off on this column as I pack away the glamping gear until the next school holidays.