What It's Really Like Homeschooling During Lockdown

“I don’t want to do this.”

Those were the words of my seven-year-old daughter, in the middle of a maths* lesson on the fifth day of homeschooling.

It was the third Zoom learning session of the day for her Year 2 class. Nearly sixty children from her school were online with her, taking the weekly spelling and maths tests.

But time had run out. And my daughter wasn’t finished with her test yet.

I saw the look of panic in her eyes.

And she wasn’t alone.

An hour earlier, my whatsapp was aflutter with messages from other parents from her class. One parent celebrated that we were nearly through the first week of homeschooling, while another parent commented how tired their child was at the start of the day. This led to a deluge of similar messages from other parents, and many appearances of the words ‘exhausted’ ‘struggling’ and ‘tears.’ 

In the middle of an English lesson the previous day, a child took themselves off mute to announce that they’d had enough of online learning.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” an exasperated child’s voice announced to the class (and to their parents or other adults who were listening).

My daughter is now working at a desk next to mine, and I could hear the pain in her classmate’s voice. The parents were working in another part of the house, and the child was struggling. 

The teacher tried to show empathy as she explained that this wasn’t an optional session. This was school now. I felt for the teacher. She and another Year 2 teacher are trying to manage 60 kids online, give instructions, answer questions, and keep kids on task. 

The child persisted, and the frustration was palpable as they resisted. It wasn’t a child being difficult – it was a child being exhausted. Their voice was trembling – it sounded like the tears were about to come. 

At that moment I felt so sorry for the child and the teachers. And I also felt relieved that my child seemed to be coping with this transition.

But that was Thursday.

A lot can change in a day.

The first two lessons on Friday were fine, but then it was test time. One child was late to the session and joined the spelling test as they were on the fifth word. The child wasn’t on mute (the kids seem to struggle with the mute button just like adults), so the exasperation and frustration the child felt was audible to all of us.

The teacher repeated all of the spelling words and took extra time to support the children who needed help. But the extra time for the spelling test meant there would be less time for the maths test.  

The problems were displayed on the computer screen and my daughter began writing them in her notebook. 

But I knew we were in trouble when I heard the teacher say, “OK, let’s look at our answers.” 

My daughter hadn’t finished the test and she looked at me with wide, expressive eyes. It was a look that I had seen last year – when we were in week 3 of Saturday gymnastics lessons – via Zoom. She loves gymnastics – but not on Zoom. She wants to walk on the balance beam, jump on the vault, and interact with the kids and teacher in person.

We had a mat in our living room. That was not cutting it.

She turned to me and said the same thing she did during that gymnastics session in April.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

I hear ya, kid.

*Not a typo, US readers. They call it ‘maths’ in the UK.