Travelling

I realise everyone’s idea of what constitutes travelling is different. Mine however is, if I have to take toilet breaks into account, then that’s travelling. With the youngest being 3 and only recently out of nappies that means anything over 25 minutes (she clearly has a bladder with the capacity of a medicine spoon).

So when we had to take a 5 hour drive to attend my sister’s wedding I was, I had decided, going to be fabulously organised and leave no room for error. If you can’t already see where I went wrong let me point out that my first mistake was assuming I had any control. My second was hope. Never ever be hopeful when you have a large family, that things will go smoothly, that way you don’t have to swallow the bitter pill of disappointment.

After waking up at 4.30am to an already strategically packed car, making travel mugs of Milo and bundling still sleepy kids into the car I was feeling naively optimistic. I would not even become defeated when discovering that my darling teenage daughter (BO#1) had neglected to bring her bag to the car the night before and therefore another space had to be found for a bag the size of a small island. If you have ever had the pleasure of transporting the luggage a 17 year old girl needs for three days, when one of those days is a wedding, you will know that this is hardly an exaggeration.

After major re-arranging we were off, only 30 minutes later than planned but a triumph all the same. Ten minutes later my husband is doing a u-turn because apparently he thought the GPS was wrong. Twenty minutes after that he is going back on himself, again he knew better than the GPS. I can hear you all wondering why the hell he has a GPS. WELL, DROP ME A LINE WHEN YOU FIGURE IT OUT. A few quiet words through gritted teeth later all is quiet.

I’m trying to hang on to my slowly seeping hope when all hell breaks loose. My slightly anally retentive 9 year old (BO#3) has spilled Milo all over herself and her “favourite” blanket. She’s in no position to sort herself out as she has a broken collar bone and can hardly move (another story) so we have to pull over in the dark so that I can climb over the first row of seats and a sleeping teenager to do damage control. A change of clothes, a few tears from a sore and now over-tired child, a blanket swap and we are off. 

Shortly after that another wail announces the fact that “dad didn’t put my seat belt on!” The 3 year old who can’t strap herself in has being sitting in the car for an hour without a seatbelt. A quick search by my husband proves that the connection for the belt cannot be found and must have somehow been taken out when the seats in our 9-seater were moved around. The ensuing words between my husband and I did not reflect in anyway the vows we made on our wedding day. Needless to say we had to go back home to find the belt that was there all along. No, I’m not proud of what I called my betrothed but admire my restraint in letting him live. By now my two teenagers have had enough, have gone back to bed and are refusing to go. Threats involving mobile phones and a serious decline in financial support changed their minds however and got them back into the car.

So, two hours later than planned we left and stopped for breakfast 15 minutes away from home before setting off on our still 5 hours-to-go trip. I wish I could tell you I’m hopeful that next time will be better, but next time I’m sending the kids with their father and taking my chances hitchhiking with the first deranged, toothless trucker driving a bolted meat locker that will stop. Couldn’t possibly be worse!

Reinvention

After spending the last 17 years either working for myself or doing odd casual jobs that came my way, I decided that since my “baby” was now in school two days a week I would get a resume together and start seeing what was out there. Well that sounded easier than it is. To start me off, my talented and very experienced sister sent me her resume to edit. Not the best idea! Editing her skills and talents with mine was quite, if I tried to keep it honest, confronting to say the least:

Developed the skills and competencies of all team members

·     Development and ongoing monitoring of business plans, budgets and resource plans

·     Built a highly collaborative and customer focused team which consistently met the needs of stakeholders

Is just a small sample of hers which became, when edited into mine:

>Excellent multi-tasker - evident by the fact that I can breastfeed and prepare a meal, while yelling at the kids all at the same time.

>Can effectively and efficiently investigate under trying conditions – that is I’m great at breaking up poos floating in the toilet with kebab sticks.

(I was looking for a marble – but that’s a whole other story for another day).

>Consistently find creative ways to keep my team interested. I.e. make great play dough and bring out the paint a lot.

Mixed Emotions

When parents tell you that your child will bring you more joy than you will ever know, they are not wrong. No emotion I have ever felt can match the joy my children bring me.

What they don’t tell you however is how important it is to store these moments of joy in the recesses of your brain as you are really going to need them; because if babies and small children are about joy, teenagers are about survival.

It’s all about battening down the hatches and waiting out the storm. That’s where those memories come in handy. Just like waiting out a three year storm when memories of sunshine and clear days are a promise to come and get you through the horror of hiding out in the basement, so do the memories of your sweet little angel get you through the shock of those teen years.  Admittedly, we still have times when we glimpse the sweet child (BO#1) within but it’s more like a wild cat dressed as a kitten. Lovely and cuddly until you step out of line and get up close, this is when you’re likely to get your eyes scratched out. (Metaphorically speaking of course, I’m not yet running a juvenile detention centre).

Be surprised – not always pleasantly

By the time I had baby number 4 I truly thought I could take anything they could dish out. I mean I had seen it all before hadn’t I? As it turns out, I hadn’t. By the time she was three, Beloved Offspring number 4 (BO#4) had been naughty in ways so creative that I was dumbstruck with admiration.

Putting a house up for a home open is unpleasant, not being a natural at keeping a house in show condition, it was made even worse when the night before our open day Miss Three decided to cover her naked body in a family tub of yogurt and “swim” along the freshly polished wood floors. This incident took place within hours of me moving a toy box to find more 3 year old art work on the newly painted wall. I’m hoping God has forgiven me for the thoughts that momentarily crossed my mind as it didn’t take me long to see the funny side, especially with my older kids hysterical laughter spurring her on.

New linen on our main bed doesn’t seem to stay that way for long: kids in and out for cuddles and sick kids and their vomit (don’t groan; you’ve all been there).

So when I do splurge on new stuff it’s a bit of a treat. One particular time however the newness was even shorter lived than usual when before it had been on the bed a few weeks, the very same child covered her naked body in Vaseline to “slide around the bed”. Incidentally a giant grease stain in the shape of a snow angel is very unappealing.

Good grief, reading this back I think I may have cause for concern, covering her naked body in strange substances seems to be a theme.

Always enterprising she (yes the same she of the yogurt, linen episodes) one day decided to “help with the washing”. Adding soap to the toilet bowl and stirring her dad’s socks and underwear with the toilet brush wasn’t really what I had in mind as help though but I guess the intention was good.

Embrace the things you get to say, even when it’s over and over and over again

OK, admittedly there are days when you will sound like a broken record. Stop fighting, don’t tease, quit whining are probably my three most used sentences, with “do your homework” bringing up the rear. Some of the things you get to say though are only ever going to be said by a mum and are well worth a laugh.

“Stop farting on your brother”, “don’t let the dog lick your tongue”, “don’t pick your sisters nose” and “why are you washing the tooth brushes in the toilet” are never going to be said by someone without kids, and let’s face it you better laugh since the other options are crying or vomiting, neither much fun.

Never, ever be without numerous sewing and craft tools

I recently remembered how vitally important this tip is.

I had just returned home from work at around midnight, climbed into bed and started to drift off when, like a bolt out of the blue I remembered that my son, Beloved Offspring number 2 (BO#2) had told me the day before that he had to be an orange fox in the class play. I leapt out of bed to start raiding boxes and begging God to please let me find a fox tail and ears even though I had never bought either. Needless to say this didn’t happen as He was clearly busy with things more important than my fox tail drama. I was however lucky enough to find orange cardboard and a head band in the dress-up box, hence the ears. The tail was more tricky as I don’t tend to use orange stockings much of the time, I find they tend to clash with my paint and play dough stained jeans and T’s. I did find a pair of pink ballet tights which I promptly cut and dyed in orange food colouring. Feeling inspired and mother of the year-ish I chucked the tail in the dryer and went to bed. Bleary eyed and exhausted the next morning I presented my rather sceptical son with my dubious achievement and continued to supervise the morning chaos.

Remembering it was ballet class for my 3 year old (BO#4) I began to hunt down the ballet outfit which I discovered dirty under her bed (of course), gave it a quick hand wash and into the dryer. I’m quite sure that the mothers reading this that are less exhausted and more organised than I (yes, I’m talking to both of you) will realise the fool hardiness of this without me having to spell it out. For the rest of you: suffice to say that the pink leotard is now blotchy orange, because who would have thought, it turns out sodden wet orange food dye stains the inside of the dryer.

One would be inclined to think the saga ends here but one would be wrong.

On his return home that afternoon from school I asked my son how his play went. He casually informs me, “Oh we didn’t do it, I got the day wrong, its next week. And by the way don’t stress about the costume, the teacher's giving us one.” So yes, the drama ended with his death (or very close to it).

Listen, listen, listen 'til your ears bleed!

Much of the advice you get from the experts is to listen, listen, listen, because apparently at some point your kids stop talking to you.

As the mother to one teenager, one almost teen, a 9 year old and a 3 year old I have yet to experience this phenomenon. I’m well aware that my teen doesn’t tell me everything and quite frankly as far as I’m concerned she would be rather unusual if she did, but not talking is unheard of in our house. In fact we have been desperate enough as overworked exhausted parents to try and convince the smaller (read more gullible) kids in the house that each person only gets to use each word a limited amount of times and that if you talk too much you are in danger of running out of words. Cruel? Possibly. Necessary? Definitely.  I still believe that this would have been a successful strategy for quiet time if the older two hadn’t sprung us.

In my experience should you ever be concerned that your kids are not talking enough I have a few helpful hints.

1. Sit on the toilet, this is guaranteed to get them talking to you through the door. Should you ban this however you may be as lucky as I am and get notes passed under the door.

2. Pick up the phone. The minute a connection is made your child will desperately need to tell you about the awesome dream they had last Wednesday.

3. Try to watch TV.

These are sure-fire ways of getting your kids talking!