Milestones

The kids were grumpy with me this morning for sending them to school in the rain. When they looked out the window and saw the state of it, they were in disbelief that I should make them walk.

“But you’ve got a car now – why can’t you just drive us!” demanded Master Ten. 

To be fair, it was rather ghastly. But we just live a hop, skip and a jump up the road from the school and I was blowed if I was going to get the car out just to drop them up the top of the drive, such would be the congestion from every other soft parent dropping their kids at the gate.

Instead, I bundled them up in their rain coats and sent them on their (un)merry way. Miss Seven had an umbrella but the boys were too cool for this carry on so I stood and watched them stomping miserably up the water-streamed drive, trying to forget my last image of Master Ten’s unhappy scrunched up face from where I had pulled the drawstrings of his hood too tight.

To help alleviate the ‘bad mummy/mother’s guilt’, I reminded myself how we would walk to the same school in all elements from a much further distance and, in the olden days, kids would walk for miles and a bit of water never hurt anyone. Yes kids have it far too easy these days, I told myself for the umpteenth time as I turned to start my day.

First up, after the copious loads of washing (like that was going to get dry!), I should really come up with a topic for this week’s column, the deadline being later that day and all. Something to do with kids and chaos. Well, to be honest, things are really not that chaotic anymore. You see, my first baby turned ten this week. And yes, I did get a new car – it’s a much smaller one and I found myself wondering how, when the kids are only growing bigger, I have managed to downsize from the first non four-wheel-drive in 12 years? Why, it’s because there are no longer three massive car seats crammed in the back seat, along with the monstrous double-stroller, portacots etc. That era has ended.

I can’t say I’m sad about that but it was bittersweet when my firstborn switched over into the double-digits. On the day, I refrained from the clichéd “My where has the last ten years gone?” Facebook post and, while he was at school, instead reflected on how lucky we are to have him. 

Back when I first found out I was pregnant, after some complications, my midwife told me I had probably miscarried so to expect bad news at the scan. On the day, I was filled with dread. I quietly excused myself from work and went up for the bad news. In the little room, I lay there looking away from the screen.

“There it is,” announced the sonographer. “Aren’t you going to have a look?”

Why was she sounding so jubilant? I wondered, still looking away. That was so cruel.

“There’s the heart beat,” she continued.

What? “…Y-you mean – it’s a-alive?” I barely dared to ask.

“Oh course – here have a look.”

Afterwards, I sat in the car with tears of incredulous shock streaming down my face. I felt like I’d been given a second chance. But this was not the only time we nearly lost him. 

I was never sure what exactly happened, such was my pethidine-fogged relief that a 17-hour ordeal was over from when the waters had first broke, but he was born purple and silent. I was only aware that he had been whisked across the room and there was a team of medical staff surrounding him. However, when he was returned to me, he had regained his colour and was crying. Just before his first birthday I nearly lost him again after he choked and went blue and limp in my arms. I’ve written about that awful ordeal and the subsequent CPR and ambulance trip into hospital.

That first year, fraught with worry and multiple ambulance trips to hospital, taught me, amongst other things, how fragile life is but our little battler fought his way back each time to be with us. In the subsequent ten years he has enriched many lives – one only needs to be at his side when he steps through the school gates to see how modestly popular he is. …

Speaking of school gates and precious lives – I wonder if my kids made it … ?

 Maybe I should just jump in the car and go and have a look …

Public Transport and Weirdo Alert

It’s an eye-opening experience when you’re forced to step outside your comfort zone and take public transport.

I’ve caught plenty of taxis in the past (usually in the evening when alcohol was involved) and town buses with the kids when they were little as a treat. Yes, it was a treat to them – especially when they caught sight of themselves on the internal tv screen.

But at the moment I am in between cars and have no choice but to exit my usual hurried routine of garage to destination missions and have found myself loitering on public benches as a result.

I’ve experienced the good and the bad while carless. The reason I am carless is because a couple of years ago I got it into my head that a seven-seater would be a good idea. Trouble is, most of them look like vans or people movers and the only one I could find which looked semi-decent was given the thumbs down by the mechanical ‘bible’ which I was advised to consult. I ignored it and purchased said seven-seater and, to cut a long story short, learnt an expensive lesson. So now, with the car in mind which gets the thumbs up from my car ‘bible’, it is a matter of waiting for it to pop up on my watchlist and pounce.

Hence how the children and I found ourselves in Auckland on Monday post car sale, stranded but with a pocketful of cash. I decided to turn it into an adventure and took us up the Sky Tower, amongst other things, before catching the Naked Bus back home. It could have been a disaster, on foot in a big city with our backpacks and finding our way home but, after many hours of careful planning, it went seamlessly. The bus ride was super-fast, broken up by the young French tourist in front turning round to chat about my son’s unusual name after she heard it spoken. It turns out she was newly pregnant after a New Zealand encounter, but had already named her baby the same name as my youngest. She chatted for about an hour before rummaging for a pen for my contact details. Next minute a pen poked through the gap from the seat behind us, courtesy of another young tourist who must have been listening in.

As the kids and I emerged from our taxi at the other end, they remarked how much fun they had had. That is all the thanks a parent needs and the cost and effort were worth it.

The next day I had a couple of meetings in town so walked up the road to catch the public bus. I think the public bus system here is great. It’s just the weirdos you need to watch out for. But I will come back to that later. The good things about being a passenger are the ability to chill-out, multi-task, and observe things you would normally miss while driving. During the trip in, I spotted my son running round the school field and made a mental note to give him a bit of grief about his pace at dinner that night (I did and it turned out it was his fourth lap), and a friend, who I had no idea was into fitness, training.

On the journey home, however, I encountered the weirdo. This was not my first encounter with a weirdo of late. Recently, while my car was in for repairs, I decided to hang out at the nearby Rose Gardens while I waited. It was a lovely sunny day so I parked up by the river with a book. However, half an hour in, the tranquillity was shattered by a freak who spent a good 30 minutes circling and eye-balling me, then finally pulling out his phone and trying to take pictures. This incident lead me straight to the police station, after which I opted to hang out on a central park bench where it felt safer.

With this week’s weirdo experience, out of all the empty seats, he chose the one opposite mine up the end and turned with his back to the window and just stared. It was very unsettling so I distracted myself by replying to some texts and he finally seemed to lose interest about halfway into the ride. But that was when I noticed he was now leaning forward scrutinising the tv screen. I considered pulling the finger but continued to scowl at my phone instead before gladly jumping off at my stop.