Three Little Pigs

“Mum, we’re doing a show called Three Little Pigs,” the twins cried last week as they raced in the door.

“Oh cool, what part are you playing?” I asked.
”We’re the houses.” 

“Oh.”

“I’m the stick house,” went on Miss Six.

“And I’m the brick house,” added Master Six.

“What is everyone else?”

“Well they’re mostly singing and playing instruments,” they informed.

“Would you like to be doing that?” I asked them.

“No, being a house is cool. This is how I fall down when the wolf blows the house down,” Miss Six demonstrated a rather carefully choreographed descent.

I must admit, after taking part in a musical a few years back, I had aspirations of my kids starring in some shows themselves, but playing the role of a house wasn’t quite what I had in mind.

However, come Wednesday, the day of the show, I was pleasantly surprised to see the houses were, indeed, quite an important role. 

With five classes featuring in the junior show, the majority made up the chorus and were based on the floor in front of the stage. And there were my little twinnies, standing tall on the stage, proud as punch and waving madly in my direction.

By the looks of their chequered costumes, Miss Six had now been promoted to a brick house (the door no less), like her brother so would not need to make her graceful fall after-all. And the houses got to sing.

She took it all very seriously and did not crack a smile the whole time, while her brother, who was meant to be holding his arms up to form the roof, grinned and waved.

The show was a delight and the narration, read by five and six-year-olds, impressive.

Around me, parents were like kids with ants in their pants, popping up and down from their seats to proudly take photos of their kids or filming the show from ipads.

Because I thought my two would be obscured as a house, it hadn’t occurred to me to bring a camera but I soon whipped out my phone and, full of pride myself, joined them.

Trick or Treat

The kids came tearing in last Friday evening high on sugar. “Hi Mum, can we go trick or treating?”

The answer was no, but I suggested they get dressed up to answer the door for the trick or treaters who would inevitably call.

They shot off downstairs, the dinner I’d just prepared abandoned. I caught a glimpse as they raced back past me and up the drive to see if anyone was coming: Master Eight had donned his Spider man costume from when he was two – the pants now came up to his knees and the top was rendered a boob tube; Master Six was wearing a mask and the extent of Miss Six’s costume was some fairy wings.

“They’re coming, they’re coming!” she shrieked from up the drive, before they all skittled excitedly back into the house.

”Where are you going?” I asked, following them around the corner into the lounge where they were all huddling on the furniture.

I was answered with giggling.

Next minute, ‘knock, knock, knock,’ a skeleton and miniature female Spiderman appeared at the door eyeing up the bowl of lollies waiting nearby on the benchtop.

“Come on guys, this isn’t my job. You wanted to do it,” I cajoled. But, suddenly shy, they wouldn’t budge.

Meanwhile, the miniature Spiderman wandered into the house and peered around the corner at my cowering children. She was followed by her big sister who apparently goes to the same school. Master Eight went pink in the cheeks.

“Do you guys know each other?” I asked, as they eyed each other.

“Mum you’re so embarrassing!” emphasized Master Eight once they’d gone.

“Well, I’m not playing this trick or treating game. If you guys aren’t, then you can go to bed and I’ll pull the curtains.”

The next lot came down the drive and, once again, mine hid.

This time, Miss Six cautiously crept out from her spot and shyly offered the bowl to the six kids standing on the doorstep.

After I reminded them their manners they left and were followed by another two who said nothing but took the lollies and ran.

And that was it. Despite my lot waiting up at the top of the drive for about an hour, we had no more trick or treaters.

Not that I minded. By now, they’d calmed down so I bathed and tucked them in bed and pulled the curtains ready for their big day.

It began with the parade for Whangarei’s birthday, followed by the party at the Town Basin. This was fun. The music was good, the Mayor was dancing and we saw heaps of people we knew but we had to cut it short to head off to another party in Auckland – their cousin’s birthday.

There they had a visit from ‘Fairy Clare’, a well-known children’s party entertainer in Auckland. Despite having an audience which ranged between one and eight, she managed to hold everyone’s attention throughout. Apparently eight-year-old boys aren’t too cool for Fairy Clare when their friends aren’t watching. The party hosts concluded it was money well spent and Fairy Clare declared, before departing, that she was going to shrink herself back into a tiny fairy before disappearing into fairy dust. 

But several of the tiny tots were most disgruntled to spy her out the window getting into her car further down the road.

Not to worry, she’d left them each with a bag of fairy dust to put under their pillows for sweet dreams and while changing the kids’ sheets this week I came across those bags under three pillows.

School Trip

Wednesday was a day of high-excitement. We awoke to an electrical thunderstorm – the thunder rolling out continuous, while the flashes lit up the sky and house.

This was the day of our school trip to the police and fire stations but the weather didn’t deter.

While the parents traveled in their cars, the bus got pretty uproarious apparently. Outside the police station, off they all tumbled in their raincoats and lined up outside.

“Look!” exclaimed one Master Six, pointing in the window like he’d seen a celebrity. “A policeman.”

“It might be Ian!” shouted my Master Six, referring to his first-name-basis buddy - the Constable who sometimes comes to the school for educational reasons. 

“We might get to see some baddies,” remarked the other.

We filed inside and two constables emerged through the door.

“Holy!” enthused one wide-eyed Master Five. “Two polices. And they’re real.”

“Hi Ian!” shouted my Master Six, to one.

“Are you really Ian?” I asked the constable. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

He affirmed that he was indeed ‘the Ian’ and, after splitting into two groups, the children, slightly star-struck, followed along behind constables Ian and Mario.

After showing us their gym, lunch room and visiting areas, we went into the car park where the kids were allowed to sit in one of the cars with the lights and sirens flashing, and talk into the loud speaker.

Two dog handlers emerged with police dogs, who conducted some tricks, before the kids had a pat. We were then taken into a graffiti-littered holding cell – the lone toilet in the corner being the highlight for the kids – before they each got to walk through the metal detector. After being finger-printed, it was upstairs - still looking for baddies along the way - to have lunch in the lunch area.

I’m not sure if it was a matter of drawing the short straw as we noisily trailed around the police station with our tour guides, who swapped grins with their peers along the way, but they did extremely well.

Next stop was the fire station. As we pulled up, two engines came hurtling out, lights flashing. 

Turns out, our chaperones were aboard and headed off to an emergency. Luckily, an off-duty fireman, who had called in to pick up some paperwork, took pity and kindly offered to be our host. He disappeared for a minute, then emerged in fireman’s attire and proceeded to show the kids the alarm system, demonstrating how the sleeping firemen had only two minutes to don full apparel, and board the engines, before the roller doors came back down. 

Upstairs it was a blast from the past for me. While the fireman gave the kids a firewise lesson, I looked around the lounge room and reminisced how we would spend our Saturday evenings there as kids. Of course things always look smaller as adults and although the pokie machines have long been removed, along with the ping-pong table and pole we would slide down on the way home (for OSH reasons), the bar and pool table were just where I remembered them. I was also pleasantly surprised to see my late father’s name on a large wall plaque under Whangarei Brigade Honorary Life Members, along with ten other, some familiar, names. Definitely a highlight for me.

After a quick fire drill, the kids filed back downstairs where they were allowed to go through a fire engine before each having a blast with the hose. A teacher then got dressed up in full heavy fire apparel before the kids were handed some goodies. They then boarded the bus and returned to school. We were wet and it had been a long day but a good one, thanks to our emergency services crews who good-naturedly put on a great show.