Invading their privacy? Haven’t teachers worked out they can put a blank backdrop on Zoom classes?

Weeks of home-schooling while the kids’ nanny has Covid have taken their toll, so Charlotte Cripps calls in her old cleaner

(Illustration by Amara May)

I got the shock of my life when a teacher abruptly ended Lola’s online class saying: “I think one of my children has fallen down the stairs. Sorry. Goodbye.” Homeschooling is tough for all parents. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for teachers up and down the UK teaching up to 30 kids “in their home” while they are looking after their own children. 

But when teaching unions complained that streaming classes from home “is an invasion of privacy”, I was gobsmacked. Haven’t they worked out they can put a blank backdrop behind them – even a photo of the Caribbean ? How can anybody in teaching not have worked that out yet?  

We are all in the same boat weathering the storm. My main concern is that I can’t keep up with all the online school projects. I’ve had to put my foot down. This week, we were asked to make homemade playdough for her maths lesson. I understand it helps Lola’s weighing skills, but as a working mum, quite frankly what is wrong with the pre-packaged stuff? I raided the kitchen cupboards for oats and flour to make a turtle that went straight in the bin, but by the time they asked us to bake a cake, even if I had the time, I had no flour left. 

I need a weekly shopping list for all the materials required to home-school Lola. For the wall hanging, she needed lolly sticks; I just don’t have these sorts of things lying around. I checked in the freezer but I knew deep down I had eaten all the Magnum ice creams a long time ago. 

I eventually sent off for an arts and crafts box: glitter is lethal. It stuck with glue to most of the kitchen when I was working. It’s all they want now; glitter, glitter, glitter. I found myself screaming: “NO MORE GLITTER, GO AWAY, LEAVE ME ALONE, I CAN’T COPE, HELP ARGH! S*** I HATE LOCKDOWN.” Then I said calmly: “Sorry I shouted.” The trouble is I want to swear every five minutes, but saying “for duck’s sake” still sounds so bad.  

My mood is not helped by the fact the house is a total tip since the schools have been closed and the nanny has Covid-19. In desperation, I call in our old cleaner Nelly, who disappears into the bathroom for ages and reappears in PPE gear like she has come direct from an intensive care unit. She’s got blue plastic shoe boots, plastic arm bags, a mask and shield, and a plastic apron. Is she scared of Covid, or is she worried about how long it was since the bathroom was properly cleaned? 

It’s always nice to see her; not that she is that visible under the gear. In fact, how do I know it is her? It could be anybody. But once she starts talking, it brings back warm memories of Alex, who was mainly laid out on the pink sofa watching TV in between the daily managing of his design and build jobs while she hoovered. Later in his life, when he was so depressed, she was one of the only people left he felt comfortable talking to.  

But she is here for 10 hours; it’s only a two-bedroom flat? I can’t work out what she is doing so I go to the park and then drop shopping supplies off at my dad’s. But when we return she is perched on top of the bath scrubbing the wall tiles. I start to wonder, does she have OCD? She is cleaning inside the kettle and inside the tops of the radiators. I’m more concerned about the cost. I don’t know how to stop her as she is going full steam ahead: “Don’t worry Char,” she keeps saying. “I’m not doing it for the money. I’m helping you.” 

I can’t reign her in; she’s having the time of her life.  But I know I will end up paying her by the hour as it’s only right. Perhaps it’s no bad thing to have a deep clean. I’ve been paranoid ever since I saw a baby mouse in my kitchen. I eventually caught not one but two of them in my humane trap. What are the chances of that? “It’s a case of lightning strikes twice,” my neighbour Paul tells me after I call him to ask him to help remove them. 

Are they twin souls? Lovers? Siblings? Whatever the situation, they are destined to be together because he kindly drove them to Shepherds Bush as he was going that way. Let’s hope they don’t have a homing beacon like the dog that travelled thousands of miles back to its owner. They are sadly going to become someone else’s problem, but at least they didn’t die alone in a painful mouse trap.  

I need the place clear for Nelly to clean everywhere properly, but it’s not easy as I’ve tried to replicate the reception environment at Lola’s school. All corners of the living room are a different role-play and subject area: construction, shop, maths corner, and arts and crafts. I intend to change this every week as I send Lola and Liberty on a rotational loop. 

She’s relieved it’s a one-off clean and compares it to cleaning a post-Covid charity shop back room. I’m not sure how to take that. “Does it look different to when Alex was alive?” I ask her innocently. The look in her eye tells the real story. She can’t even answer it. I feel a stab of sadness that Alex has gone. She leaves at midnight: “Is she Cinderella?” asks Lola, who is still awake because the intense scrubbing is so noisy. 

I was hoping for an early night; no such luck. At least there is no school run in the morning and we can all sleep in like teenagers. Dream on, I think to myself, knowing that won’t happen, but on the plus side I can sleep deeply knowing my house is sterile.