Disastrous Holidays

Holidays – they can be adventure-filled, relaxing or plain disastrous. Sometimes it’s just easier to stay at home isn’t it?

I wrote earlier in the year of the misfortunate and so-called ‘summer’ vacation up at the bach which involved kids’ spew and cats’ poo. Well Labour weekend we didn’t have any of the latter – we left the cats at home. But the former? There was bucket-loads.

Actually I wished we’d had some buckets. They would’ve come in handy when one twin spewed all the way there, and the other twin spewed all the way home.

Our car reeked.

Mind you, we’ve had worse. A couple of years back we took our young family to Auckland. Everyone’s health was fine when we left but, all of a sudden, in the posh suburb of Ponsonby, I heard what I thought was water gushing. Believing the car to be overheating, I looked around for smoke. No smoke but the gushing continued with vigor until I was alerted to its origins from a protesting sibling who’d had the misfortune of being in its firing line.

We pulled over and stripped the car and kids on the upper-class sidewalk before continuing on with naked children in bare bucket seats.

The upheaval continued throughout the weekend until it was all the family, bar me with the stomach bug. My brother and sister-in-law - childless at the time - looked at the carnage we’d created in their home with thinly-disguised horror while their washing machine whirred in the background on an eternal cycle.

Finally we made the call to go home with me designated driver. It was the worst journey of my life.

Not only was it pitch-black, the other four occupants were barfing all the way home, calling for constant pull-overs on the side of the motorway. In the end there was nothing for it but to continue driving and the kids eventually fell asleep covered in vomit.

Back at home, it miraculously stopped. But it took a good two years before we were game enough (or felt welcome for that matter) to return to the Big Smoke.

Fire Safety

Maybe in hindsight it wasn’t such a good idea hiding the lighter behind the fire flue out of the reach of children.

I thought I’d been murdered when it exploded sending pieces (and my dinner) flying across the room.

Home alone for the day I’d lit the fire and just sat down in front of the tele on Saturday with a lazy dinner for one (oven fries) when there was an almighty bang. Ears ringing I gingerly got up and started picking through the remnants of what once appeared to be a lighter, strewn across the lounge and into the nearby dining room.

It was then I became worried as to the whereabouts of the lighter fluid. Still half expecting an explosion I re-familiarised myself with the fire hydrant and stood there, finger on the trigger, waiting.

Between the fire and the last of the sun the room had heated up considerably. How was I to sleep that night knowing there was lighter fluid on the loose in such a hot room? I turned to the every-trusty Google but, apart from a few freaks youtubing themselves blowing up lighters, it wasn’t helpful so I called the Whangarei Fire Station for advice and the man said he’d send someone out.

“Oh it’s really not a big deal, I was just after some reassurance,” I started backing out.

Not long after, the kids came home and at the same time about six firemen descended the r.o.w spilling into neighbour’s properties trying to locate us. What must they be thinking? I wondered. Their new neighbours already setting their house alight.

Some of the men seemed slightly baffled as to why they were there.

“I really just phoned up for advice,” I spluttered.

Luckily one of them stepped forward and seemed to know why they’d been called out. Another used an infrared camera to check the heat radiation before declaring it safe and they began retreating back to the fire engine.

“You were already on duty weren’t you?” I asked their retreating backs.

“No, I was at home having a beer,” smiled one.

“I was at home having a cup of tea,” said another.

I felt like a right twak and almost offered them a beer for their troubles but wondered how they would all fit comfortably in our house, which I’d thought was big until I saw six large firemen in their bulky gear piled into the living area.

Despite feeling like a drama queen, they were good sorts about it and, needless to say, the kids were impressed. It was quite timely actually. Several weeks earlier a volunteer firefighter had come round for an assessment, mostly to show me where to put smoke alarms in our large, multilevel house. He was very efficient and left books, activities and a dvd on fire safety for the kids, which we watched as a family last week. The kids loved it and watched it over and over again all week. That night, after they went to bed, I heard them talking about a fire plan, which we acted out the following morning.

To have real life firefighters in the house, just made their day – that and gobbling up their mum’s scattered oven fries from the floor.

# Fire safety information can be viewed on www.youtube.com/thenzfs

Soldiering On

I suspect there’s been a reoccurring theme amongst many households with young families this past week after the loss of a popular young mum from our community.

As one of her friends said: “I was busy doing paper runs for both my children, then making lunches for them and generally running around after them. ‘‘Gosh,” I thought, “Aren’t I lucky that I can do that!” I will never think of it as a chore again because of you!”

I have recalled these words all this second week of the school holidays – commonly a trialing time for stay-at-home parents.

After running out of excuses to give Miss Four who’d been begging to paint my nails (and fingers) in stripes of all the colours of the rainbow from the nail art set I’d (rather thoughtlessly in hindsight) given her for her birthday, I finally fell victim. Then reminded myself this was a privilege.

Despite being up to my elbows in meatball mixture, instead of telling Master Four, who was perfectly fine, I was too busy to come to him for yet another cuddle, I thought of our 32-year-old friend and her two precious pre-schoolers who, although with a wonderful dad, will no longer receive cuddles from their mummy and I washed my hands and went to him.

If I’m ever brave enough to catch another bus into town for a holiday treat and the boys, high on fizzy drink and cake from Tiffanys, laugh raucously about farts and bums all the way home on the otherwise quiet bus, I might be proud they’ve brought ill-suppressed smirks to the other passengers’ faces, instead of turning round to the one behind me and asking whose kids they are.

When we walked up to the shops yesterday and Miss Four was dragging behind I picked her up and thought she was giving me a little kiss, then realised she was wiping snot on my shoulder. Sure, that’s fine, I don’t mind wearing snot on my sleeve, I told myself and gave a giggling Missy a poke.

When the tenth fight erupts before 8.30am I’ll … well maybe I’ll draw the line there – I only have so much patience.

Another young mother who’s inspired me over the last two weeks is Anna MacDonald, sister of murdered Fielding man Scott Guy. Despite all the adversity she’s faced, she is still soldiering on as a young single mother of four kids and I watched her on 60 Minutes with admiration as she danced with abandon around the lounge with her children.

Nadia’s funeral service on Monday was beautiful, like she was, and I’ve put her photograph on the fridge to remind me to treasure those special moments.

And now I think of Nadia when I crank her favourite song - Sir Mix-a-lot’s Baby Got Back. Funnily enough, I’d just downloaded it the week before for the kids and, ahem, me to dance around the lounge to – Anna MacDonald-style.

Multiple Birth Awareness Week

It’s quite timely that my twins were born during multiple birth awareness week. Last year I shared my story of the early days up at the hospital. I can still remember being wheeled back from surgery on the gurney, cradling two pint-sized babies under the sheet. As I passed a woman in the corridor, she, obviously seeing my horizontal state with protruding tubes, thought the worst and gave me a sympathetic smile. I beamed back and cuddled my hidden gifts tighter.

These little treasures will turn four tomorrow and the last few years have had their challenges but many families have it far more challenging. Fertility treatment and giving birth later in life are contributors to the rise in multiple births. Fifteen out of 1000 women who gave birth in New Zealand in 2010 had a multiple birth resulting in 910 sets of twins and 20 sets of triplets. One in 80 births produces non-identical twins.

I couldn’t count the number of times during the first year I was asked if my boy/girl twins were identical. I’d stare at the person waiting to see if they were joking. When it became apparent they weren’t, my response would be: “Ah, well one of them kind of has an appendage …”

Usually they’d laugh redly but, surprisingly, some still looked blank.

Just to clarify, generally boy/girl twins cannot be identical.

It struck me the other day as I watched a family walking along swinging their toddler between the mum and dad that our twins have never experienced this. It was always a case of too many babies and not enough adult hands.

It’s simply an accomplishment to parents of multiples to safely transport their children from A to B (and all going in the same direction if on foot). The local supermarket must empathise for they now have double newborn trolleys, not like “back in my day” when I’d have to awkwardly push one while pulling the other.

But for any shortcomings of being a multiple, there are bonuses, like always having your best friend by your side, including regular ‘sleepovers’.

Sadly, many twins drift apart as they get older and I know of many who are no longer close. As I lie awake at night listening to the occasional boy racer roaring off in the distance, I can only hope mine will still be looking out for each other in their teens at least. At this stage I’m happy to report they’re still BFF’s.

So for tomorrow’s birthday we’ll just be celebrating with one cake. It won’t be pink and it won’t be blue. I figure I’ll get away with only making one while I can.