Pass the Remote

Three weeks in and if feels like a lifetime. This remote teaching is something else. The workload has tripled; the tiredness has too. The planning is relentless and all of the extra keyboard activity is ridiculous. I am trying to co-manage a department, support team members and juggle a timetable of Key Stage 3, GCSE and A level classes - And I often forget I have four needy children of my own to mother, educate, feed and water!
Three of our four children attend primary school: all are in different year groups. This means three separate zoom calls to log into in a frenzied panic each morning, three lots of learning to facilitate and three lots of snacks to supply on a regular basis. (I’ll save this little gem for another blog post)

To keep as safe as possible, we are allowed to work from home. I, simply cannot! I wouldn’t be able to tame the zoo in the background whilst trying to remain professional. I’d be exhausting that ‘mute’ button to silence the squeals and squabbles of the other school kids my husband and I are supposed to be teaching. So off to school I trot, three times a week. The other four I spend planning marking, planning some more...teachers - you know the drill - sigh!
At school, we teach live sessions to every set of students we would normally deliver to ‘practically’ in the classroom. In the absence of the real school environment, students have been promised a plethora of opportunities to engage in exciting online experiences, lively lectures and interesting tasks.
We have been advised not to turn on our Laptop cameras on during live lessons: so I can look as rough as shit, and still sound professional - the perks!
The other day then, when I simply hadn’t had time to prepare my morning fuel (of the food kind), I quickly whisked up one of my homemade smoothies, packed it up in my school bag and off to work I went. After I’d gotten caught up in the mountain of morning emails and various meeting alerts (I’d missed!) I realised I still hadn’t had my breakfast by the time period 1 had started. Now this ‘no camera’ rule comes in handy if you want to quickly check a text or scan a story of your favourite influencer on Insta! I mean, we as teachers are used to doing ten things at once. Why not take advantage and eat brekkie and lecture at the same time - multitasking at its best right?!
Wrong...as I flipped the bottle lid of my flask and took a subtle silent sip, I secretly celebrated the small win of deceiving the young folk. I paused the PowerPoint and asked them to ‘take notes’ so I could consume some more. But my lips got stuck in the hole with suction and as I pulled away, it sounded as if I had farted - with force. Found myself having to matter-of-factly acknowledge my lack of organisation on the eating front and explain that I am in fact downing a breakfast smoothie, whilst taking a few more loud and slurpy swigs for effect! - standard!

In my 17 years of teaching, I don’t think I’ve ever worked so hard. You see, where I would normally be able to rely on my ‘improv skills’ to verbally deliver an instruction or discuss connective knowledge to class content; for obvious reasons the art of ‘rolling off my tongue’ is now not a option. The students aren’t here in front of me, so I can’t read their faces; Gage if they’ve understood, digested (or even listened!) to what I’ve been banging on about to the metaphorical whirl of tumbleweeds. I’m finding that I’m putting every single word (I’d normally say) into the blooming PowerPoint! It’s like setting a really thorough cover lesson, covering all bases in your absence, but at the same time, making it visually engaging too. The planning is taking twice if not three times as long.

I am starting to wonder whether we shall just get used to this way of teaching. Much like we have gotten used to being locked up in our own homes for the best part of a year. In some ways, remote delivery is easier. I don’t have to ‘perform’ as much; my face can be a bore. The kids can’t see my sarcastic stares and secret sniggers at their silliness when they ask in the chat if they can go to the loo! I have found, however, that I am at high risk of morphing into an annoying children’s TV presenter: the kind you loathe when you learn it’s their turn to tell the bedtime story. My tone is becoming more and more enthusiastic and just to make sure my students understand, I repeat myself more times that I care to count. The kids must honestly think I’m a total loon some days. With lack of sleep and mostly sugar as a supplement, I sometimes find myself quite amusing and laugh at my own impersonations as I desperately try to demonstrate HOW a ‘stern Doctor stereotype’ might sound in his surgery. The joys of teaching Drama via what is effectively a telephone call to 30 odd kids at once - note to self - stop laughing at your own ridiculous behaviour! It’s not cool - ever!

It is then, when you suddenly realise that’s it’s probably not just 30 kids listening to your crap comedy- chances are, their parents are watching over and helping their children - cringe!

For the purposes of remaining professional I shall refer to my ‘challenging class’ as 5B! Let me tell you. 5B can damn well stay in isolation! They are like a different bunch of kids, on a call. I have been pleasantly surprised by their attitudes to learning in lockdown. No behavioural issues to attend to, no back-chatting or bickering with their classmates. No telling ‘Jonny’ to remove his mask (from his eyes) for the fifth time in a row... and no taking ten minutes to complete a register as you continue to wait for silence! It’s these kind of lessons that see me staging a shameless fist pump in the air as I ‘leave’ the Teams call, sending the little darlings off with a task I only dreamed up to ‘tick a box’ for their independent study. Pointless tasks I’ll need to mark and give feedback for - Damn!
At least I am contained in my empty classroom with no audience to witness my non-verbal celebrations and happy dances!

These high points seem few and far between. There is barely enough time to pop to the loo before the next Teams meeting starts. Kids are already joining the meeting before I have - making me look totally late to my own party! The mad dash to make sure everything is set up for a session adds to the anxiety which fuels the adrenaline rush. The heart begins to pound as I pursue the process of uploading the PowerPoint, getting the resources ready by dumpling them into as many places as possible to limit the chances of students not being able to access them! Setting my ‘meeting options’ before joining myself to prevent any of the little lovelies being able to piss about with my slides. Remembering to ‘mute’ immediately so they can’t hear me whisper the word ‘Bollocks’ in my bid to quickly banish the outlook screen; remind myself to download the participants attendance list, close down Sims, and let people in, who are waiting in a virtual lobby to enter my virtual classroom, equipped with just my trashy telephone voice and yet another sodding PowerPoint presentation... “Bollocks... I needed Sims”
I feel like a supermarket worker on the customer service desk ready to make an announcement on the tannoy. I prepare to ‘unmute’, stick my head as close to my laptop camera as I can, clear my throat and greet the class with my best stage voice “Can I just remind you that ‘talk’ in the chat box must be kept to a minimum please, and remain relevant to the context of the lesson. I shall start recording this meeting.... now!” Bugger - I need to hit record...shit...am I on mute?

Lessons these days start with a number of notifications to tell me that the students are patiently waiting to begin. Gone are the days where they line up outside my classroom or rather, just bundle in with animated arms and rowdy remarks. Now, I simply serve my class welcome from an empty, echoey room. I miss the traffic. I miss the end of class clear up. I miss the smiles and the “Cheers Miss”. Often students will thank me and tell me to “have a great day” in the chat as I close the meeting: it’s nice, but it’s not the same!

Instead of seeing cheery faces, I see random profile pictures, strange bitmojis and a bunch of initials. The other day I was teaching Justin Bieber and Donald Trump all about Role-play and Characterisation, together in the same lesson. Sadly, that’s my only ‘claim-to-fame’; who’d have thought?!

My first remote lesson didn’t even start. Nor did my second as it goes. I’d spent three whole days worrying, rehearsing and going through the ‘virtual’ motions of delivery. And by the time Thursday morning came, I was actually excited to try out my clueless skills via a viewless video call. Turns out my first two back-to-back key stage three classes witnessed quite the shit-show, as a ton of technical issues prevented me presenting the PowerPoint I’d spent days perfecting. Typical! “Can’t hear you miss” “Are you there miss?” “R. I. P miss!”
IT issues resolved, I was so relieved to finally ‘see’ my year 10’s that afternoon that I babbled on like a prat about what an appalling morning I’d had. They acted empathetically but I could tell they really didn’t give a toss! - Note to self - don’t milk your misfortunes and expect student sympathy (move swiftly on with the lesson Miss!)
Next I had to figure out how to ‘play it cool’ with my examination groups. They had just learned from Boris that their summer exams had been cancelled. I obviously preempted some uncertainties, much wonder and even more worries. With no consultation or contingency plans from the Educational Gods, I needed to put my on big girl pants and reassure the classes with sod-all suggestions for the immediate future or means of assessment for this year. It truly sucks when you are just as gutted as they are.

I felt I owed it to my year 13 A level class to meet face-to-face for our first catch up. I say face-to-face, more them just staring at my awkward mush. You see I realised almost half way into the lesson that I wasn’t at all looking into the lens and addressing the students like I should have been, but instead curious and conscious of my emphasised facial expressions and focusing on my own huge head that was right in the middle of my screen. What a tit! I must have resembled a bad tv presenter ‘live on air’ reading obviously dialogue cues (no where near the camera lens). Ever the professional, I carried on with smiles whilst secretly dying inside; forever trying to find a suitable slot to convert to audio call. - Note to future self - just don’t!

Onto the next one then!