Peace for the homeworkers

Change is afoot. The Husband (TH) plans to work from home more in future to enable us to 'spend more time together as a family'.

I am excited.

I am picturing us all breakfasting together over pancakes and maple syrup in the style of a latter day advertisement for Bisto.

Ah...

*******

So we have a trial run.

'Now, remember that I am working, so I don't want the kids disturbing me,' he says.

'Right, ' I nod dutifully.

'And I've got a teleconference at 1pm, so I'll need some peace and quiet then for sure.'

'Fine. They'll probably be napping then anyway,' I reply.

I try to keep The Son (TS) and The Daughter (TD) entertained with supposedly 'quiet' activities, such as puzzles and drawing, after I have cleaned the kitchen following a cereal throwing incident.

TH pops upstairs to make a coffee.

TS and TD look excited. Daddy is home from work already!

I tell them that Daddy is going away again any minute now to work some more and shuffle them back into the living room.

The morning passes off without too many noisy ructions and TS and TD disappear upstairs for a nap.

TH reappears to make us both some lunch, which, he says, we will sit down together to eat. How civilised and quaint! I say I will sort through the laundry in the meantime.

But then he hears his mobile ringing downstairs.

'Damn, the teleconference is now - must have got the times muddled up. Don't suppose you could finish making lunch and bring me down my soup and sandwich when it's ready?'

I abandon the 15ft high pile of dirty sheets and towels and rush upstairs to grab the almost-burnt sandwich from under the grill and put the soup into a pan.

After delivering lunch to TH who is spouting acronyms at a rate of one every fifteen seconds, I wolf down my own lunch and then sit down at the computer to sort out a few bills online whilst TS and TD are still sleeping.

Suddenly a small box appears on the bottom of the screen (must be the new instant messaging service TH said we were signed up to):

'Please bring me down a glass of water and a coffee - still on teleconference.'

The cheek!

I carry on with the bill-paying and make a quick phonecall to rearrange a doctor's appointment before darting downstairs to shove on another load of laundry.

Ten minutes later, my mobile rings.

TH is talking in a whisper: 'Hey! Where's my glass of water and coffee? I IM-ed you ages ago!'

'Al-right!' I mutter, irritatedly.

So I dart back into the kitchen to prepare a tray of hot and cold beverages for his delectation.

I place them carefully in front of him and tiptoe out of the room.

'Psssssst!' he hisses and points at the soup bowl and plate, which I duly relieve him of before going back upstairs.

I settle down in front of the computer again and just as I am rebooting, I hear a some crying from upstairs: TS and TD are awake.

Great, just great.

*******

So, assuming I can find a nearby building in which to spend the hours between 9am and 5.30pm with TS and TD, I reckon that TH's 'working from home' thing could be a great success.