Country Living Versus Suburban (part two)

Besides my inability to produce a decent summer crop which I’m blaming on the lack of quality soil here in the suburbs, the noise levels are another downside to suburban living.

And I’m meaning the noise coming from our side of the fence.

Despite repeatedly reminding Master Four that we’re not in the country now, his great lung capacity makes it challenging to keep the volume down.

We’ve had very kind neighbours over the years who are good liars. They claim to only hear the children and not me yelling over top but, like I say, they’re good liars.

We swapped this:

Besides the privacy, I miss the sound of sheep baaing, looking out to rolling green pastures, working by myself down in the orchard and coming home to find fresh produce on the doorstep from kind country folk.

But I don’t miss the travel.

When you’ve got young kids and you live in the country it seems you spend half your day in the car. Getting caught short of flour when you’re midway through baking a batch of cookies is a nuisance and you’d think twice about making that trip to the “offie” when, god forbid, you run out of your favourite drop.

for this.

For any shortcomings, there are definitely bonuses to living more central;  harbour views with stunning sunsets, being closer to the beaches and boat ramp and being able to walk everywhere. This means fewer deadlines of having to be in the car at certain times. Master Six can take himself off to school and have his friends over to play.

One thing I didn’t count on though was the door knockers. The morning after we moved in a couple of girls showed up at the ranchslider seeking sponsorship. They watched in amusement as I dodged boxes making my way over to them.

“Actually, I wouldn’t have a clue where my purse is,” I explained looking around at the carnage and pleased to have a valid excuse. “We only just moved in last night and everything’s a mess.”

“Yes, I can see that,” said Miss all-of-Nine, looking down her nose at my pig sty of a house. “I thought you must’ve been burgled or something.”

You’ve gotta love children’s honesty.

Anyway, the kids love it here. Miss Four told me last night she doesn’t ever want to get married. She wants to stay living in this house with us forever.

Country Living Versus Suburban

I’ve been weighing up the pros and cons of country living versus suburban of late.

Last year I tried my hand at growing an organic vege garden. I took great satisfaction in growing plants from seed and subsequently giving away the produce we couldn’t keep up with. Such was my pride, almost every poor visitor who came through our gates got dragged down to my patch on a “garden safari”.

And then we moved to town and the warm glow of garden-growing merriment diminished along with my plants.

It turned out it was nothing to do with my prowess but everything to do with the rich, volcanic Maungatapere soil and the content predators who were far too well-fed to bother themselves with the likes of my vege patch. (Come to think of it, the fussy birds never did eat the bread we fed them).

Now no sooner have my seedlings sprouted than they disappear overnight. According to the internet, it could be birds diving down swiping away the original corn seed and the rest of the plant with it. As for the courgette, broccoli, cauliflower and pea plants, well that is a mystery. But if it is slugs, I can’t be a***ed going out after dark with a bucket of soapy water and catching 100 an hour as some keen gardeners do. I’d much rather sit inside and watch The X Factor.

So after months of agonising, trialing different techniques and running inside to look up Google I’ve resorted to growing everything indoors for now.

While these grow I have formed a plan. As most of my Google answers seemed to be coming from the Yahoo site, I signed up and according to the feedback from my many ignorant questions I need to: scoop away the top soil and replace it with quality soil in case the broken egg shells I’d placed around my plants are trapping snail and slug eggs which are subsequently hatching; cover plants in netting and make a scarecrow. Another suggestion was feeding the birds but I’m not feeling very generous towards them at the moment so that’s not an option.

I also had a rather rude response to “Look it up yourself geek.” (I may be a gardening geek but I “reported” them for rudeness and their days of Yahoo are gone.)

So what does this have to do with kids and chaos? Well nothing, although Master Six takes great delight in sending his siblings and any other small visitors through the gates of mum’s garden while he races off to turn on the sprinkler system. Garden safari anyone?

Tune in next week for more country living versus suburban.

The Unpack

Moving house is most inconvenient. Nothing is where it should be when you need it. All week the same scenario has played out on repeat. For example: I’ll go to hang out the washing then realise the pegs are still somewhere in the garage where we dumped everything. I’ll walk down two flights of stairs to the garage and, whilst searching, unearth something else I realise is needed up above. After having walked back upstairs and placing said item where it should go I’ll return to hanging out the washing only to realise I’ve forgotten the pegs.

Slowly but surely things are getting placed where they should be and the pile in the garage is shrinking.

But in amongst all the unpacking, the warm glow of home-making merriment was dampened by the fact a key member of our family did not come with us.

Our cat of ten years, Trixie, disappeared the day we moved. Although I’d half-jokingly tried to throw our problematic stray cat, Jesse, in as a freebie to several customers during our yard sale the weekend previous, he happily jumped in the car, made himself right at home on the window seat of the new abode and has been on his best behaviour since.

But half an hour before we left last Friday, Trixie was nowhere to be seen. Having looked forward to not travelling across town every day, instead we’ve made the hour-round journey back daily to search. I deposited flyers in letterboxes, door-knocked, stopped strangers on the street, played detective tracking down people’s phone numbers but it seemed Trixie had gone truly AWOL.

The new owners had spotted her several times over the weekend so I borrowed a cat trap from the SPCA and phoned the neighbours to lock their wayward cat indoors but it turned up nothing – not even a possum.

Deciding to try one last time, on Wednesday night, like all the others, I lay awake fretting. As the rain lashed around outside I tried not to think of my beloved cat out there starving and bedraggled wondering why we’d upped and abandoned her and moved a dog into what was her home.

The next morning I checked my phone with bated breath. It was good news – they had our cat!

I’ve never got ready so fast in the morning in my life. We raced out there and were reunited with our slimmed down, but otherwise healthy-looking cat.

Trixie proceeded to tell us her story of the last six days all the way to her new home, which she thoroughly checked out before coming to rest in her favourite posi – Jayla’s pillow.

She hasn’t stopped purring since.

Home Sweet Home

Packing

It’s like a circus in the twins’ room after hours.

It’s my own fault - although they’re coming up four, I insist on still putting them down for a midday nap so I have an hour’s downtime during the day. But I pay for it, come night time.

Collapsing on the couch to unwind, the banging starts up through the wall, the whispering becomes louder until it’s full-on shouting and there’s laughing, lots of laughing. Yes they’re having a grand old time in there.

Finally I peel myself off the couch and, sure enough, their room is trashed through and through.

Putting one in the naughty corner doesn’t work at this time of night - any excuse to get up is a good one. But the one thing that does work, and it feels very cruel, is depositing the naughtiest one on the doorstep in the dark. They absolutely hate it and, although I only leave them there for around 30 seconds, it does the trick. They both shut up quick-smart after that.

The other night, however, the weather was particularly atrocious so I needed another punishment. With our impending move this week, I’d been procrastinating packing their room (procrastinating packing full-stop actually) because, amongst other stuff, there must be close to 100 pieces of paper each under their beds.

Under Jayla’s is her own work – she can easily churn out 30 pictures a day, which I try and ‘edit’ on my way to the recycling bin. But if I’m not quick enough, they get stashed in her “special place” under the bed.
Under Jai’s bed, due to his obsession with boats, is every kind of boat picture imaginable. Most of these are not drawn by himself but any poor unsuspecting victim who comes his way.

So when the yelling and yahooing reached fever pitch I had an idea. Reaching under Jai’s bed I pulled out a yacht picture. The artist had obviously gone to great lengths with the detail so I slid it back under and selected another – one of my own poor illustrations of a speed boat. I held it high in the air and dramatically tore it in two before reaching under Jayla’s bed and producing a picture of a person hovering in the air amongst hearts and kisses.

She looked crestfallen as I ripped it in half and, leaving the room, I felt decidedly mean. But, rounding the corner in the hall, the laughing re-started.

“Oh you think that’s funny do you?” I spun round and strode back in the room feeling like Hitler.

I tore up two more once-cherished but probably long-forgotten pictures before their eyes, making sure not to select one of my own which, I imagine, he probably wasn’t too fazed about.

Finally, after three pieces each of their artwork had been destroyed, they got the picture (excuse the pun) and fell silent.

That was six pictures down and about 96 to go – I was well on the way with the packing. I gave myself a pat on the back as I re-parked on the couch and tried not to think about the Tupperware container crammed full of cicada shells lurking in amongst the debris under Master Six’ bed.

The Rhyming Game

“My god he’s loud,” commented someone today for the umpteenth time regarding Master Three’s vocal abilities.

“Try living with it,” I replied for the umpteenth time.

His high-decibel garrulous nature was brought to our attention the moment he was born when the midwife made the comment: “My, he’s got a good set of pipes on him.”

It was true “Throw your baby out the window” material in the nights that followed. Don’t take that the wrong way. I’m sure we’ve all had those moments in the middle of the night when we’re rocking a screaming baby who just won’t settle, – it’s just that most of us don’t act on it.

His twin sister soon and miraculously learnt to sleep through it which was a blessing.

When he was a few months older I got his ears checked out – I mean, could he really be hearing himself? But his acoustics came back all clear. “No, he’s just got a good set of pipes on him,” I was, once again, told.

Wherever we are, he makes sure to attract attention our way, prompting the stranger in the supermarket to ask: “Who needs a foghorn?”

At kindy recently I was in the office and the twins didn’t know I was still there. At mat time all I could hear was Jai. I don’t know why I was surprised by this.

“Is he always like that?” I asked after the session.

“Yes,” the teachers replied unanimously, smiling.

I began apologising but they stopped me.

“Don’t be silly, that’s just Jai’s personality coming out. We wouldn’t dream of crushing his spirit.”

I later found this heartwarming story in his portfolio:

“Jai, I really enjoy the conversations we have. The other day I was reading “Who Sank The Boat”. I could tell that you were really engaged and waited in anticipation for what storyline the next page brought about. Was it the sheep, or the cow, or the donkey, or the pig or the mouse? I waited and peeked at the page while you waited to see who sank the boat. Then I declared that it was Jai who sank the boat! We had the usual Jai response – “Naaaah”, followed by that unique Jai laugh. This infectious laugh got everybody laughing. I love your sense of humour Jai. It’s contagious and you actually get the jokes. Our joking around continued today. Just because Jayla sat next to Layla  gave us enough reason to start rhyming words. Then it was Jai which rhymes with a pie and that was the beginning of exploring with words.

That afternoon I talked to your mum about our rhyming game Jai. Without thinking too much I suggested that you will have to tell me what rhymes with mum when you come to the kindergarten the next day. Your mum stated that it was obvious what rhymed with mum and your brother responded by saying ‘that’ rhyming word. I could tell that your whole family has been engaged in the silly old rhyming game! Your mum also came up with some more words that rhyme with Jai – bye and tie.

Jai, I’m looking forward to what you may come up with that rhymes with my name.”

-          Madhu, 11 June 2012

Jai tells me he wants to be a comedian when he grows up. Look out future comedy scene – there’s one loud comedian coming your way!