When your jeans fail you.

I'm fairly particular about my jeans. I know what style I like and get them from the same place. A good pair of jeans is also my luxury item and I tend to spend about 2000% more than my budget allows. This sound vastly more impressive than it is because, being a mostly unemployed mother of 4, my budget per item of clothing for myself runs to about $4.50.

I'm sure as many of you know a good pair of jeans can make you feel a little younger, a little perkier and a few kilos lighter on a good day. A definite confidence boost when you're the wrong side of 40 and perkiness isn't something to take for granted anymore. So imagine my horror when my faithful jeans turned on me.

A few months ago, I took advantage of a sale and bought a brand new pair, they were a little snug at the time but I didn't really need them yet and as I was intending to save them for dressy jeans I convinced myself that by the time I was ready to wear them I would have whittled away at my muffin top. My life isn't exactly a whirlwind of social engagements and high heels so it was a few months before I had reason to break out my as yet unworn "good" jeans. The occasion? A friends 40th. Planning ahead I decided to wear the aforementioned jeans in, give them a bit of a trial run so to speak. I wiggled them up as far as my thighs and........ nothing, they wouldn't budge. I yanked some more and nearly passed out pulling a muscle in my neck. I dampened down the panic and reassured myself that new jeans were always a little tight and encouragement was often all that was needed. I lay on the bed and heaved and sucked and pulled and struggled, eventually getting them over my hips. Determined to persevere despite being a little light headed and short of breath I pulled the zip and did the button. A feat not as easy as it sounds since, what had once been a muffin top was now a tyre tube obliterating my view of anything below my boobs. Sadly not made of just stomach fat but the fat that had been squeezed from my thighs and hips and had absolutely nowhere to go but up. Refusing to admit that I had clearly outgrown a size 10 and was in desperate need of a size 18 and hoping to teach myself a lesson in portion control I headed out to do the groceries, a billowing jumper in place to hide an appalling case of camel toe. By the time I got to the car 30 minutes later, a strange shade of blue and gasping for tiny lungful's of breath I was frantic to return feeling to my legs and would have undone the zip and button if I hadn't already undone them in aisle 2. Driving home without bending at the waist impressed even me no end and is something I hope not to have to repeat.
Every cloud has a silver lining, so they say, and mine that day was peeling off those nightmare jeans and pulling on a stretched, elastic pair of trackie pants.
My relief was so overwhelming I giggled with joy. I would however like to take this opportunity to thank the person responsible for the design of elastic waisted stretch pants. You are truly one of life's unsung hero's.

Conversations

Getting a glimpse into your children’s thoughts and dreams is often very rewarding. A recent conversation with Beloved Offspring (BO) # 4 gave me insight into the possibilities that your life holds at 4 years old. It went something like this:

BO 4: Mum, when you get to be grown up can you be two things?

Me: What do you mean?

BO 4: Well can you be an aeroplane driver and also be a doctor?

Me: Honey, if you work hard and believe in yourself you can definitely be two things.

BO 4: That’s really good because I want to be a fairy AND a butterfly.

Now I don’t know about you but I certainly couldn’t go back on my assurance that she could be anything. I do wonder at how joyful life must be, to live in a world where anything at all is still a possibility, and how much potential is unfulfilled because we stop “believing” that a career choice includes mythical creatures and insects.

On hearing her first echo, BO # 3 stood still and with much awe and wonder said “Listen Mum, the world talked back”.

It’s these kinds of conversations worth remembering, unfortunately though they aren’t always rewarding.

The ones' designed to drive you to distraction usually begin in the why stage. “Why do horses have four legs?” should be a short answer. Unless your interrogator is 3, then there is no short answer, and any answer is responded to with why anyway. My advice to combat this is to start early and make your kids believe that Dad is smarter at “that stuff”, because when you’ve been forced to answer two dozen questions covering everything from “Why can’t I make a bomb?”,  “Would you rather get eaten by a crocodile or a shark?”, and “If people go to heaven when they die why don’t you see dead people flying up to the sky?”, you might want a break, and if they think Dad is smart it’s easier to fob them off. We all know the truth anyway and sometimes the price of peace is never too high. Besides it has the added bonus of watching their Dad scramble for the answers you’ve spent the day trying to find.

If this is your first time around, a little advice might come in handy and avoid much embarrassment. Never assume that full disclosure is the way to go or that timing is not an issue. On the way to Aunty Sue’s house is not the time to tell a 3 year old the truth when he asks why you always get to have Macdonald’s before you get there. I promise you the first words out of his mouth when Aunty Sue opens the door will be “Mum says you are a terrible cook and never make enough food!”

Once you’ve survived the why stage though, you definitely get to the “good stuff” where their verbal skills match their absorbent little minds and you get a glimpse of what’s going on ‘in there’. Something no-one tells you though is that “why?” returns with a vengeance in the teenage years and doesn’t even have the cute factor. The relentless drone of ”Why can’t I go to the party?”, “Why are you so mean?”, “Why do you make my life so miserable?”, “Why can’t you be like everybody else’s mum?” makes you quite nostalgic for the first round of whys.

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.