Summer Nights

It was with a twinge of sadness that I noted the plunging temperature this week.

But there are some perks to the onset of winter and the darkness that comes with it.

Parents and caregivers know the frustration of trying in vain to get little monkeys to sleep when it’s just so darn light outside.

Although I get my two youngest to bed at 7pm – mainly so I can watch Shortland Street in peace with my seven-year-old (who is being educated on all kinds of worldly PC goings-on this week!) they are still bouncing around their room more than an hour later.

In the ad breaks I might go down to their room, if I can be bothered.

“Mum’s coming!” I will hear before a scrambling of feet and rustling of the bedding.

By the time I get there all is calm, however, the carnage in their room tells another story.

Last summer our neighbour, a fan of hosting late summer night dinner parties, provided many hours of entertainment for the twins, whose room backs onto her deck.

On one such ad break I headed down to their room and caught them both standing tip-toe at the heads of their beds and peering out the open window.

“Are you spying on the neighbour?!” I asked, before they guiltily swung round and dived under their duvets.

This became a regular occurance to the point that they used it as their excuse for not being able to sleep.

“What are you doing?!” I demanded one other time when I caught Master Five trying to open his window.

“I just want to tell Christine (name changed) to shut up!” he replied.

I stopped him just in time, although I was sure it would provide some amusement for Christine and her guests. And she took it in good humour when I mentioned it the next time we bumped into one another.

It turned out they weren’t so discreet. She and her guests were fully aware they had two little spies.

This summer, all was quiet on the dinner-party front and the twins could no longer use it as their excuse not to sleep.

However, one night was an exception.

I went down to their room to sort them out and got the full report:

“Christine’s having a dinner party again,” moaned Master Five.

“And we heard someone say ‘Holy crab!’ piped up Miss Five from her bed.

It seems that, while Master Seven was being educated upstairs with me, the twins were also learning a whole new language downstairs from their beds, via their eavesdropping.

I decided not to correct them on that one.