At the moment I'm not sure whether our home looks like an arts-and-crafts shop with a particularly untalented display manager, a scene from a soon-to-be-released domestic Stephen King horror movie or just as though I have never tidied it. Ever. In the entire time we have lived in it.
At the beginning of lockdown, before the mammoth task of trying to instill rather random information into my children's minds was thrust upon me, the days stretched before us in a long rosy haze of potential. NOW was the time to do all those hobbies and activities that had always appeared so enticing on other people's Instagram pages. Now I could read the books that I hadn't had time to read and we could play family board games and do charades until we started to resemble the family from 'Cheaper by the Dozen'. Or 'The Sound of Music'. The future looked promising and so full of potential.
Let me tell you what transpired in reality. The puzzle reached the stage of one-third completed before we all lost interest in it, from which point on it remained splayed out across our entire kitchen island until I eventually bit the bullet and started packing it away yesterday. Granted, it was not the most appropriate puzzle. I think I bought it hastily one day when I had the boys both with me while shopping. They were about 4 and 6 at the time and both simultaneously melting down, as they were want to do, and when Matthew looked at the puzzle with the vague promise of stopping screaming, I threw it carelessly into my shopping basket. A brief glance showed cartoon figures building the pyramids. Fairly educational, one would have thought. Or not. Quite bizarrely, the cartoon figures were either slaves, shapely naked women with very historically inaccurate large, fake boobs or aliens doing unmentionable things to camels. I kid you not. Zoom in on the photo and you might see what I'm talking about.
The sewing machine belongs to my younger son who decided that he would make clothes for the toys in his soft toy collection. This too is true: can't make this shit up. He made one outfit before losing interest, but naturally the sewing accessories could not be packed away on the off-chance that he was to resume his budding career as a fashion designer. Our house frequently reverberates with the screams of family members who have accidentally impaled themselves with discarded sewing pins. This adds considerable emphasis to the horror movie atmosphere.
The biltong-maker is my husband's project and granted, it has produced some very delicious biltong and droewors, but every time anyone opens the inter-leading door between garage (where the biltong maker has found its home) and entrance hall, one is assailed with the chocking, eye-watering odour of raw meat that has been soaked in vinegar and then left to cure in a hot, humid garage. I can't find the precise words to describe the smell: it's something between the ripeness of damp, well-used running shoes, a dead gecko and a teenage boy's shin pads that have been left overnight in the car. Makes for a pleasant welcome on entering the house.
The little model house looked great on the box and really, it is. It even has a tiny light that switches on and miniature books with real, teensy-weensy pages. It's also painstakingly finickity work that takes the patience of a saint to complete. Perhaps we will get past finishing the study in the next ten years. I ordered a model battlefield scene for us to build as a family, before lockdown started, but it didn't arrive in time. Perhaps the boys will find that more interesting. I might just have to buy us a new table on which to do it...
I am now forced to ask myself whether we are a family of quitters. Are we those people who are all keen to start new projects, but can't carry through with them until the end? I hope not. I think it's something else. I think that when the prospect of lockdown loomed, we couldn't imagine what life would look like without activities to fill all of our free time. In normal, non-lockdown life, we used to rush from one extra-mural to another; every minute of our day as a family and as individuals was meticulously filled with 'productive' exercises. Simply put, we lived an objectively goal-oriented life. As lockdown has progressed, I think that we have come to realise that it's okay to sit and chill; to have coffee on the deck and watch the sea for a while; to simply chat to each other (in the case of the boys, sometimes try to kill each other). Not every minute of our day has to be accounted for. Life is more organic and time has taken on refreshingly relaxed, stretched proportions. We may not be mass-producing puzzles and masterpieces and model anythings, but I think we are all happier. There is a contentment in our family that I don't remember from before. I hope that once 'normal' life resumes, we will be able to hold onto that sense of peace to some degree. The downside is that it looks as though our home will forever be haunted by the ghosts of unfinished lockdown crafts.
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