My six-year-old daughter normally takes the bus to school at 6.40am, only to return at 4.40pm.
I “beat” her 10-hour day by a mere 60 minutes, heading from Dubai to the Abu Dhabi office at 9am, and back for 8pm. Count the nine hours of sleep she needs, and we are left with about 90 minutes to spend together on weekdays, quality time and all.
Then along came home-schooling. Suddenly, lazing in bed in the mornings became cathartic rather than stressful – chatting about Myra’s dreams, desires and demands.
For a change, she’d stand over me as I was getting ready for work, proffering opinions on outfits and accessories. We’d choose a different, progressively more creative background for her Teams video call each morning before she’d wave me out the door.
I was also able to work from home now and again – sitting in on lessons when possible, making a note of tasks, recording said tasks and uploading them on to the school’s assignment portal.
Call it wishful thinking, but I believe her handwriting improved with me breathing down her neck, and she has mastered the difference between nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs now.
I, in turn, learnt about number lines, constructing rollercoasters out of strips of paper and Danny Go dance moves.
All in all, it was a hectic but utterly satisfying experience, one I realised I am going to miss only thanks to the clarity that comes with hindsight.
As schools across the UAE welcomed students back for in-person classes this past week, with the bus service resuming on the Tuesday, I found myself checking the assignment app almost as much as I did in the five weeks of remote learning.
I wondered what Myra would draw for “My Dreams” in the Art module; what zone of colour she’d pick to describe her emotional state in Well-being; and whether the writing techniques we’d put into practice would hold her in good stead in Phonics and English.
With a pang, I realised there were many in-school assignments I’d no longer get to marvel at or gently modify, many musings I’d miss out on hearing about in the spark of the moment, and many – oh-so-many – hours of quality time I’d perhaps never get to spend with her again at this delightful age.
Normality is a tenuous concept. We tend to adapt to what we cannot control, within reason. In the UAE, where safety and security were largely a given even in the thick of the conflict, home-schooling became par for the course as the weeks went by.
Sure there were days when my work was interrupted as more children learnt how to control the unmute button, and times when the number of assignments became overwhelming. There were also tantrums, tears, stubbornness and sass to contend with.
As with accounts I’d heard from parents of those who were home-schooled during the pandemic, I have newfound respect for the teachers and teaching assistants who educate and entertain our young ones for hours on end. But then again, they get to witness first-hand the hopes, dreams and quirky observations of our children, many of which their own parents will never know.
Sure, I may have felt differently if I had several children or if learning abilities were altered. But, as it stands, the respect I feel for educators has been tinged with envy, at least for this first “normal” week gone past.
