Something truly extraordinary happened this morning: I sat down with four school mum friends after drop-off and had coffee. For half an hour, we moaned about lost uniform and our husbands, discussed buying deodorant for our suddenly-stinky sons (consensus: more showers), and laughed our heads off about something gossipy which I’ve now forgotten… So trivial, so ordinary – but so vital.
We hear daily reminders of the big casualties of Covid-19: the death rates and the economy; the cancelled weddings and the redundancies. But what about the tiny ones? The twice daily 20-second catch-up at drop-off and pick-up is all the social life most of us have (or frankly, need) – just enough time to catch someone’s eye, compliment a new haircut, notice if someone’s wearing sunglasses and has had a rubbish day.
These days, our schools have become drive-throughs without the burgers – our offspring raise their fringes for the temperature gun and then hop out, with us shouting lame reminders about swimming kit and piano books into thin air, before driving off again. ‘My children couldn’t care less,’ one mother tells us, ‘but I’m left feeling bereft in a way I never did in normal times.
Parents are reporting a new form of road rage, as others at the head of the queue bend the staff’s ear about their child’s maths homework/runny nose/ingrowing toenail, ignoring the seething line of cars behind them. ‘Is it wrong to hoot?’ one mother asks us. (We think yes, but we sympathise.)
There’s a shared terror of accidentally breaching protocol, getting the bubbles wrong, dropping your child off at the wrong time or in the wrong place, of forgetting that you can’t leave your car. ‘I had to go back with my child’s swimming kit,’ says a Herefordshire mother, ‘The entire school was lined up waiting to go into lunch, and I was told off by the deputy head in front of them all. I may never recover from the embarrassment – and my children may never speak to me again.’
There’s unintentional comedy: a London mother reports the horrified intake of breath from the socially distanced, mask-wearing queue at pick-up when one mother enforced an unwanted hug on another. ‘There was a collective wince,’ she reports. ‘The hugger went for it with open arms; the huggee’s body language screamed, “Get off me.”'
One father says he misses the casual interaction with his children’s teachers. ‘You feel like Harry Redknapp on transfer deadline day, leaning out of his car window to talk to the press. You have to have your banter honed and prepped for the 10 seconds you have a teacher’s attention, before they move you on.’
At Pinewood School, the PTA is having its first virtual meeting this week. Normally the Friends of Pinewood raises tens of thousands of pounds each year for local charities from its famous Bonfire Night party, Christmas fair and other events. This year, these events won’t be taking place so the school is discussing virtual replacements, such as a Zoom wine tasting.
It’s not all bad: ‘My husband loves it,’ a Dorset mother tells us. ‘He doesn’t have to get out of the car, doesn’t have to make small talk with anyone, doesn’t even have to change his pants.’ ‘I now drive to school in my pyjamas,’ says another. ‘I got caught out yesterday when I had to stop for petrol on the way back.’ Speaking of getting caught out, that’s another problem: those of us whose school run is slightly longer have been used to nipping into the visitors’ loo at school – no longer an option.
These are tiny inconveniences in the big, scary picture of Covid-19 consequences, small stitches in the strange tapestry of 2020. For the time being, we’ll put up with crossed legs and cross drivers – and cross our fingers that our children can stay at school, even if we have to stay in our cars.