Lockdown turned me into the mother I swore I’d never become.

Nobody mentioned the teaching qualification

I never ever wanted to be a teacher. After lockdown, I’m also certain the teaching profession would be equally relieved.

When Boris Johnson told Britain to stay at home, I had a young son, a full-time job and what I considered at the time to be a reasonable grasp of parenting. Within weeks, I was attempting educational activities and wondering whether watching cartoons counted as independent learning.

Cyrus, meanwhile, appeared delighted with the arrangement. His mum was permanently available, the kitchen never closed and getting dressed before nine was optional. I was in my mid-40s, running on coffee and wondering how other parents were producing fantastic home-schooling projects while I struggled to find a working glue stick.

Mum, teacher, playmate and children’s entertainer. Lockdown parenting came with several new job titles, none of which included a lunch break.

The day I discovered why teachers deserve better pay

Before lockdown, I respected teachers. Afterwards, I wondered why they weren’t being paid the same as Premier League footballers. Teaching your own child is an excellent way to discover how little authority you possess. At school, a teacher can ask 30 children to sit down and most will oblige. At home, I could ask one child to pick up a pencil and find myself negotiating terms.

Then came the problem of filling the remaining hours. Painting, baking and games became regular fixtures, although anything involving glitter was tricky. Meanwhile, social media was awash with photographs of smiling children completing beautifully organised activities. Their mums appeared calm, their kitchens spotless. Mine looked as though a small craft shop had exploded. I suspected somebody wasn’t telling the whole truth.

Persian cooking and the limits of my patience

Being a British-Persian household gave us another way to occupy ourselves. Persian cooking became part of our routine, although Cyrus’s interpretation of helping sometimes created more work than the recipe itself.

Saffron ended up in places saffron had no business being, while the washing-up multiplied at an alarming rate. Nevertheless, preparing our usual Persian dishes gave us something to share when the alternative was another worksheet. It also helped Cyrus keep a connection to his Persian heritage. With family living across continents, video calls replaced family gatherings. Conversations involved plenty of waving, technical difficulties and the trying to keep up relationships through a telephone screen.

Explaining why we couldn’t visit people was harder. Adults understood the restrictions, even when we disliked them. For a young child, the sudden disappearance of familiar faces was more difficult to explain.

When buying milk became a distraction

I’ve always enjoyed exercise, but lockdown gave going outside a new appeal. A walk was no longer a walk. It was an opportunity to escape the house without anybody questioning my motives. Parks, gardens and even a trip to buy milk became welcome distractions. Unfortunately, taking a child outdoors doesn’t guarantee the peaceful family experience portrayed in lifestyle magazines. There are questions, complaints, requests for snacks and the inevitable need for a toilet approximately three minutes after leaving home.

Still, those outings helped. Cyrus had somewhere to explore, while I could enjoy a change of scenery and remember that life existed beyond our front door.

The problem with being everybody’s everything

The strangest part of lockdown was becoming permanently accessible. If Cyrus wanted to play, needed help or had a question about something I’d never considered, there I was. I loved spending time with him, but I missed adult conversation and the luxury of finishing a thought. Even supermarket shopping began to sound like an attractive recreational activity.

There were evenings when I felt guilty for wanting some peace. We were fortunate to be together and safe at home, but gratitude doesn’t prevent exhaustion. Loving your child doesn’t mean wanting to spend every waking moment discussing dinosaurs or searching for missing Lego.

I also realised how much parenting depends on other people. Teachers, family and friends all contribute something different to a child’s world. Without them, our little household became responsible for almost everything.

The school gates never looked so beautiful

When Cyrus finally returned to school, he could barely contain his excitement. Backpack on, ready to go, he was looking forward to seeing other children and reclaiming a routine that didn’t involve his mother attempting to explain the curriculum.

I was delighted for him. I was also looking forward to drinking a coffee while it was still hot. Yet once he’d gone, the house felt strangely quiet. There were no questions from the next room, no requests for snacks and nobody interrupting my thoughts just as I was beginning to have one.

Lockdown had been exhausting, occasionally ridiculous and nothing like the family experience I’d imagined. We’d cooked, argued over activities, laughed and somehow filled those endless days together. I wouldn’t volunteer to repeat it. Cyrus needed his friends, I needed my independence and the teachers deserved a substantial pay rise.

It was wonderful. Then I wondered what he was doing.

What was your most ridiculous lockdown parenting moment? Did you discover a talent for home schooling, or were you counting the days until the teachers took over again?

Occasional stories, experiments, discoveries and questions from Saffron & Cyrus.