Eleven weeks of lockdown and John had to wait until the morning that I was going back to work to get a toothache! The timing was absolutely shocking, as I told him while I was struggling to get hair that hadn't seen a professional hairdresser since February, to bend into a reasonably neat position around my face. He texted me at regular intervals throughout the day with a blow-by-blow account of his pain and of his many phone conversations with the dentist, attempting to get them to class him as an emergency case.
My day at the office itself, was also pretty trying. Antonio and Olivia were like a pair of Year Ten kids who hadn't seen each other over the school summer holidays; giggling and talking complete rubbish all day. Between their nonsense and John distracting me, I barely managed to get any aspects of the project off the ground at all. I may as well have stayed at home eating toast and inspecting my split ends in front of 'Judge Rinder'. Of course when I returned home, John's 'excruciating' toothache had prevented him from so much as washing a mug. The house looked like we'd been burgled (by a very incompetent and messy burglar at that). None of the homeschooling tasks had been completed. The only evidence that there had been any attempt at it was the little pile of pencil sharpenings that had been left on the dining room table, most of which floated onto the floor when I walked past and inadvertently created a waft of a breeze. The kids informed me that they were 'staarvin!'
A massive hissy-fit on my part was the result. I threatened him with all sorts, if I was to be faced with a similar scene upon my return from my next working day (Wednesday). I needed Tuesday to recover from the shock of Monday and to regain some semblance of domestic order.
Unfortunately, Wednesday got off to a very bad start, as John's toothache did in fact get upgraded to emergency status after a hellish night of him tossing, turning, groaning and shouting out, "This is fucking agony, Daisy!" Cleo was still half-asleep when he left for his appointment, so this meant that I had to watch the kids while he faced a dentist who he said looked like a pale blue version of Darth Vader. He was a nervous wreck by the time he got back, suggesting that he should go up to the bedroom and self-isolate for two weeks after being exposed to such a high level of risk. I told him that I needed him to get his arse into the dining room and ensure that the twins got their book reviews in to Mr Braithwaite before 3pm. We'd have to take our chances with the germs that he'd brought from Darth Vader and his surgery. When I arrived at the office at 9.45, I was greeted by Olivia tapping at her dainty Gucci watch. I had to bite down VERY hard on my tongue, focus on my work and blank out all of the mindless chatter.
I had taken a MASSIVE amount of work home to complete on my 'working from home' day on Thursday and didn't even get through half of it, due to John and his recovering teeth and the kids' incessant bickering. So on Friday I actually went into the office, even though it was officially another 'working from home' day, just so that I had peace to do everything that needed to be done for Victoria. Sharon, who cleaned our office, said that it wasn't a problem as long as I stayed at my own desk and used the same toilet cubicle every time I 'went'. There was no Olivia and no Antonio. It was bloody lovely! I got a whole heap of stuff done and therefore felt completely justified in collapsing onto the sofa at 6.30 with a glass of Pinot in one hand and a takeaway menu in the other. How I'd missed that Friday feeling! The wine helped me to ignore the mess.
I was just starting to get nicely numb, with sweet and sour chicken on order, when John came stomping in with a face like a slapped arse. "Guess what!" He didn't give me time to guess, as people rarely do when they set you that particular challenge. "The building work is starting back up on Monday. I'm needed back in next week!"
"Oh. I suppose we'll have to look at our childcare then. I don't want to leave Cleo in charge over such long days. It's too much."
"I haven't done half of what I meant to do around here during lockdown. I'd better crack on with those DIY jobs this weekend," John said. "Can't believe how fast the time's gone!"
I took a huge slug of wine.
I'd done just three days back in work this week. Three days! I felt wrung out. It was only gonna get harder from here.😩
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