Diary of a demented homeworker: Namaste to the downward dog brigade

It’s week three of working from home for Emma Connolly and the cracks are definitely beginning to show, with plenty of tears, tantrums (all her own) along with a growing crush on Dr Tony!

What I've learned this week:

• MI5 has nothing on the antics in my house this week. With two adults prepared to do anything to get some work done undisturbed, things got dirty. Throw in a resident four-year-old with the nose of a bloodhound who can sniff me and the laptop out just about anywhere, and it was a case of survival of the sneakiest. I can testify that crouching down at the side of a bed is as good a home office as any I’ve known (since the pandemic started).

• Hardly surprising that on non-work days, I derived strange comfort in mindless tasks such as ironing tea towels and cleaning the gunk from the bathroom sink stoppers with a cotton bud (even if what I recovered was as horrifying as Covid-19).

• Equally as scary was the sight that greeted me when I sat into my car for the first time in ages the other morning to make a work call and took a peep in the overhead mirror. Is there anything more revealing? No wonder my husband was maintaining a social distance. For plucks’ sake!

• Random household observations I made this week: turns out I’ve more saucepan lids than saucepans, and I wasn’t just going mad after all; my skirting boards were absolutely manky and I never even realised; and in a rare moment of clarity I concluded you could easily spend the rest of your life brushing the kitchen floor. Once every second day should be the social norm to avoid insanity.

• Like nearly every woman in the country I’ve developed a major crush on Dr Tony (Holohan) and am fully behind the (unofficial) campaign to make him our next president.

• To all those people online ‘helpfully’ suggesting morning meditation, or an afternoon yoga session to pass the day, here’s what I have to say: once I’ve done my ‘work work,’ attempted some home schooling, child minding, tear wiping (mainly mine), tantrumsorting (again mainly mine), cleaning, cooking, reassembling the house so it doesn’t look like it’s been burgled, apologising to every member of the family for biting their heads off, and come out of the dark corner where I’ve been rocking … I’ll certainly give it a go. Namaste to you all.

• On the single occasion I ventured out to the supermarket, I jumped a mile when anyone came too close, but got seriously offended when anyone skirted around me. I felt like tapping them on their back and asking what was their problem, like? Oh yes, a global pandemic.

• I’ve started flossing like my life depends on it. A toothache would be just too much to even contemplate right now. The sourdough I made last week proved hazardous in this regard, and showed some things are best left to the professionals, doesn’t matter what you see on Instagram.

• A friend of mine was wondering if the ‘use by’ dates on cosmetic products are just ball park, or to be taken seriously? And, specifically, would anything bad happen if you used a face mask, say from 2015?

• That same friend is also wondering how many hours TV is too many for your pre-schooler? Would a warning sign be when your child only identifies as a My Little Pony and not her actual self?

• On one or two occasions I was convinced that I had contracted the virus, mainly first thing in the morning. Then my husband smugly reminded me of my liberal top-ups the night before. Just as well I’ve a medicine cabinet packed with paracetamol.

• With no routine in place, did anyone forget to bath the kids this week? No, neither did I obviously.

• There’s new episodes of PJ Masks on Netflix. If you know, you know.

• I’m swinging from thinking this is the best thing that could ever have happened to us and that I love my family so much I could burst; to secretly plotting to pack a bag and creep off in the dead of the night. But I’m usually so wrecked from a day of playing Barbie that after my daily fix of Dr Tony I can’t be bothered, and just hit the sack.

• If you were at all curious how a combination of PMS and lockdown turns out, I can vouch that it veers from the very unpleasant to the downright ugly.

• Italia 90 celebrations aren’t going to have anything on us when we’re eventually out the other side of all of this. But in the meantime ... sweet Lord, I’d kill for a McDonalds!