If you are one of those overprotective parents who bubble-wrap their child on his first day of preschool, you’ve taken all the necessary precautions to protect them from Covid-19. Any physical interaction with the outside world has been forbidden. A self-assigned in-house custom officer, the father mostly, suspiciously eyes every package and doorstep delivery. Entry to the house is approved only once the contents within have survived a thorough five-step security check and fumigation that involves dangerous amounts of Lysol, soap and Purell.

Armed in yellow rubber gloves and a Putin-inspired PPE, the other adult patrols the borders: wiping, spraying and disinfecting every contact point with sanitisers and rubbing alcohol. The dread of running out of disinfectants is the only deterrent in your quest to annihilate the virus.

Every 40 minutes, Alexa has been programmed to go off like an air-raid siren, a drill that has been designed to drive the kids to wash their hands. In fact, this is just driving the neighbours crazy and might result in an eviction notice, but you don’t care. Unlike Trump’s initial response, you are not taking this lightly.

But a greater fear lurks deeper under the surface of your paranoid albeit calm facade. A fear you share with parents across the globe now being forced to work from home, knowing one wrong move could turn them into the next Professor Robert Kelly or, as the internet has come to know him, ‘BBC dad’. 

Years of experience has allowed you to master the skill of wrestling a screaming toddler, change a diaper and, with much patience and persistence, glare at your descendants and watch them squirm under the death stare as you calmly discuss strategies and budget cuts with the person on the other end of the phone line.

As more and more people are forced to work from home during the Covid-19 lockdown, teleconferencing is gaining traction. But its challenges are more profound with kids around

But watching a toddler strut in mid-video conference can leave any parent like a deer caught in the headlights. The chances of your progeny blasting in mid-conference call happen to be indirectly proportional to their age and directly proportional to the toy vehicle of their choice, rendering all skills, glares and non-verbal cues useless.

If there are lessons that can be learnt from the professor’s miscalculations to avoid the events of that unfortunate day, now is the time to implement them.

Like Kelly, dedicate a space and set it up to look as if you are organised. Opt to sit with your back towards a wall, never a door left ajar — and just in case, wear pants. Avoid giving younger members of the household any sugary items before or during the designated meeting time. The same applies for fast-moving mountable devices that can sneak up on you faster than your spouse can run.

A good rule of thumb: lock the door.

In case you can’t find privacy in your new make-shift home office that also doubles as the bedroom or the living room, scout out other areas of the house. The terrace may offer some solitude, though a noisy neighbour or an obnoxious bird might make you reconsider. The bathroom offers privacy, but loud banging on the door and a concerned voice demanding to know if you’re pooping right doesn’t make it all too appealing. So far, the closet seems to be a nice spot, and is the last place your children would wander in. 

Unless you want to livestream your mom barging in like a SWAT team, reminding you of your right to remain silent and your responsibilities as a functioning adult, keep the mouse pointer hovering over the mute button.

And if the internet has taught us anything, when you need a bathroom break, excuse yourself and leave the conversation. If you’re new to the technology, power off the device for extra measure. Now is not the time to take it along for a game of Candy Crush. 

Since most of us won’t be doing any interviews on live TV, placing a mirror on the side to warn you of any fast-approaching offspring and a pair of noise cancellation headphones should allow for minimal damage.

On second thought, let your children stroll by, pick them up and ask them to say hi to everybody. In these difficult times, we all know you could use a little humour — at your expense of course. Maybe an adorable four-year-old ballerina twirling in the background as her dad talks about the looming recession is exactly what we need to get through this together.

Bonus points if you can condition your child to fetch snacks every time you ring a bell. Call it homeschooling and a more hands-on approach to Pavlov’s classical conditioning. It’s a win-win.

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2020