Home office with children: Be there live as our editors seek their center between Lego bricks, video meetings and Corona news …
3.19 p.m. (Tine)
The teen told the 8-year-old that there might be a curfew soon. Now she stands in front of me with her shoulders drooping, a thick jacket and backpack on her back and announces to me that she is "saying goodbye to the world". I don't need a daily soap today. I have enough drama for today.
2.42 p.m. (Tine)
Note: Especially when you have teenagers, you should keep exact minutes of conversations. Otherwise the day fills up with "But you said that …" discussions. Current: "But you said that you listen to the vocabulary at half past two and I get my cell phone. You didn't say that I had to be good at it." UFF!
1:00 p.m. (Henning)
Surprise: Today is Wednesday, and on Wednesdays sports are on the schedule for both children. "Huh, papa? How's that supposed to work now?" "Quite simply: Your teacher sent these exercises around that you can do at home, I added a few." "Oh, no … squats? Yoga?" "… and jumping rope. You love jumping rope!" "But not as homework." I am the meanest dad in the world.
12.43 p.m. (Tine)
I make the phone call, two children run into the room screaming "Hunger, Hunger, Hunger" and take over the call. My questions are not really clear, but at least my colleague now knows that we have chickens. They have tortellini, the children say. Good research!
12.30 p.m. (Julia)
There is lunch (in pajamas).
11.50 a.m. (Henning)
Panic calls for help from the bathroom. "Papa? If all people are so stupid and buy all the toilet paper, don't we have any more?" Without saying a word, I point to the unopened package lying on the shelf. "Thanks, dad, that's good." I am the best dad in the world.
11.38 a.m. (Tine)
It is suspiciously calm. I know that my three kids have been watching TV secretly for an hour. I ignore that. Am I a raven mother?
10.43 a.m. (Julia)
The little child discovers Katja Lewina's "She's up for it" on my bedside table. Unfortunately I removed the dust jacket and underneath you can see the picture of a woman who has her period. "Mamaaaa, what's that?" My head just like that: damn it! I do my best, but blood remains blood and the child does not want to grow taller than one meter and no older than four years. Learning of the day: Check rooms for safety, because: "Mamaaaa, you are not alone".
9:58 a.m. (Tine)
Video conference is in two minutes. My son: "Why don't I have a gem lamp? It's the meanest thing in the world!". Before I turn on my microphone, I bribe him with the promise to contact the Easter Bunny about a gem lamp when he is quiet for two minutes and goes out of the picture. Then he: "And an ostrich feather!" He'll go a long way …
9:01 a.m. (Henning)
Oh oh. My children have slept in and are angry because they are "too late" now. Grumpy they gulp down their cornflakes and want to know how they should EVER catch up with their "backlog". "We don't detain, that is clear to you!" I am the worst dad in the world.
8:07 a.m. (Henning)
Difficult, difficult: According to the "home" schedule that we have put up for the next time, the "school" starts at 9:00 am – but should I wake the children up for it? Oh no, I let them sleep in. I am the best dad in the world!
07.37 a.m. (Julia)
The 3-year-old, who spent the night next to or on top of me, opens her eyes. "Mamaaa, when can I go to daycare? Mamaaa, may Madita come by today? Mamaaa, I want to see my friends. Mamaaa, are you going to work today? Mamaaa, can we go swimming?" Mamaaa, on the other hand, tries to put her two fallen asleep arms in a position in which the blood can flow again, thinks: "It would be nice!".
6.50 a.m. (Tine)
Get woken up by the 6 year old with the golden to do of the day: "Mom, the most important thing today is that we find an ostrich feather." Explain to him that we don't live in Africa, that I have to work, and that there are two or three more important things today. He puts on his shoes and wants to go.