Kiwi Beach Holiday

Those whose grandparents held onto the family bach should be thanking their lucky stars this time of year. 

Every year I dream of having just one place to park up to spend Christmas and holiday and, afterwards, I vow to do things better the next year but the truth is, these days, with broken and blended families, everyone wants a piece of the kids, the lucky things, and we end up spending the day and thereafter, chasing our tails.

And so we found ourselves at 3pm, after a morning of stressing to get everybody to the right places on time, on the road to Auckland which was unsurprisingly, quiet and calm. I mean, who in their right minds would be traveling to Auckland on Christmas Day?

And the following morning, while we filled in time to pick up the kids, there we were in amongst the Boxing Day sales, which I’ve always likened a little to the illness of casino gambling – it’s sad watching the swathes of people trooping to the shops they’d supposedly had enough of before Christmas when they should be relaxing with family.

Travelling home in the heat, I looked longingly out the window at the large groups parked up under their gazebos with their barbis while others frolicked in the ocean. By the time we got home it was too late for such carry on so it would have to wait until the next day. However, the next day the kids were tired and just wanted to stay home building their new Lego sets and swimming in the pool. I would get my Kiwi beach day the following day.

But, Wednesday dawned overcast and the kids were still tired. Too bad, I was determined. I packed a picnic and eventually, after the usual whirlwind, loaded everybody in the car and we set off. Everyone was silent on the way out – it was obvious they didn’t want to go and to tell the truth, I was exhausted from the effort of packing the picnic and multiple sun screening, checking for hats, togs, towels, body boards, etc, to speak much either.

Pataua we were bound and as the grey skies stretched out before us, I was beginning to wonder if I should have just gone with the flow and stayed home. But then we rounded the corner and the stunning site of a sunny Pataua loomed before us and everyone perked up.

Out we tumbled and parked up under one of the many Pohutakawa trees in full bloom where we ate our picnic, chatting to the friendly locals around us and watching kids bomb off the bridge, before swimming, boating and playing cricket.

The mobile library happened to be there on this day (what a great initiative!) offering free books or just a cool sanctuary from the sun to sit on cushions and read, as well as outdoor giant-sized games of Connect Four and the like.

After that it was low tide so we joined the locals at the new pipi-picking spot (it changes every year), stuck our bums in the air and dug for pipi, cockles and mussels. 

Back on the grassy verge with our full buckets of kaimoana, the fishery officer materialised on cue, as he does every year, to check our contents. (We were under but the whanau next to us were not so lucky.) They are always very pleasant as they go about their job and happy to offer advice.

We drove back home content after a blissful day at the beach with barbequed kaimoana on the menu. I had got my typical Kiwi beach day after-all.

Santa Magic

This time next week it will be all about Santa in this house.

I’ve no doubt it will be the twins last year believing. Perhaps I could’ve strung it out a little longer with Miss Eight but her bro is seriously questioning the legend. In fact, I’m not entirely convinced he isn’t just playing along so as to receive presents in his stocking this year.

I’ve got similar suspicions with the tooth fairy. Last week his tooth fell out while I was at a work Xmas party so I didn’t find out until the next morning when he showed me the gap.

“Ohhh, you will have to remember to stick it under your pillow tonight,” I said.

“I already did!” he replied. “I got $1.20.”

Say what?

“Ummm … are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you.” And he ran off, returning with $1.20.

I grilled him, I grilled everyone in the house but they all denied placing the $1.20 there. And besides, why would they want to part with their money for a measly tooth? Which made me wonder if Master Eight was just calling my bluff because he was starting to cotton on. But then why would he use his own money to prove a point when he could have received more and that didn’t explain his absolute confusion as to why I was questioning him so thoroughly. As far as he was concerned, the tooth was placed under the pillow, the next morning the tooth was replaced with money, everything went as usual, end of story.

Had I just been punked by the tooth fairy? That mystery still remains unsolved and was further deepened when Miss Eight found said tooth several days later under the bed.

So back to Santa.

Last Xmas Eve was the first time I’ve been told to shoosh by the children during the news. It was the Santa report they were interested in and they sat there, transfixed, while he delivered his message.

After, a then Master Seven wouldn’t leave his vigil by the window, eyes on the sky. He already had a glass of milk going warm on the bench, with some fast-browning chopped up fruit (poor Santa) and a note stating: “Santa, you’re the best in the world. Ho ho ho.”

However, the following whereabouts update showed a glimpse of Santa in his sleigh and it was clearly a different Santa to the previous report.

“Hey, his beard’s too short,” pointed out Master Seven.

“Ah, maybe he stopped and had a haircut along the way,” I tried feebly.

“Nah, that’s not Santa,” he concluded.

However, all was saved by a trick of the light and a seven-year-old’s imagination for ten minutes later, following some more window-watching, he was adamant he had spotted Santa and it was back on.

“Ohhh, I’m so excited!” he proclaimed to which Miss Seven shrieked and they tore downstairs to bed with Master Nine following along smirking. He knows to play along else he will be waking up Xmas morning empty-stockinged.

Marble Resurrection

“Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, clunck, clunck, clunck.” I could hear them coming a mile away.

In they trooped, one after the other, flinging their bags from where the cluncking noise derived, on the floor.

“Hi mum!” they chorused, making a beeline to the fridge in search of their afternoon tea.

Afternoon tea was downed but they did not head to the cartoons. Because people, there is a new phenomenon going down and this is serious business: welcome back, the return of the marbles!

Out they come in their Click-Clack boxes (the source of the clunking noise – whatever happened to good old marble bags?) and they pore over their day’s wins, before heading off to the back lawn for their post-school sibling games.

It’s funny, I’ve had my marbles, mixed together with my dad’s from back in the 50s, sitting in his original named marble bag in a cupboard in Master Ten’s room since he was a toddler. Not knowing what they were for, he’s never shown any interest in them.

I’ve often thought about resurrecting the game but couldn’t remember the rules. Clearly someone else’s parent did for, one day several weeks ago, Master Ten marched in from school, by-passed the fridge, heading straight for the marble cupboard and it was game on. Suddenly they’ve realised the value of certain marbles and they are like gold. When they discovered their dad still had his childhood stash at his parent’s house, even better!

So holes have been dug up in the school playground – possibly the original holes their mother played in back in the 80s, albeit with new rules attached. These days they are to play ‘friendsies’ only. Apparently a handful of seniors were bending the rules by playing friendsies and keepsies when it suited, shafting the juniors out of their loot. However, after school, they are playing for keeps – hence the stash comparison upon homecoming.

“It teaches them some skills but needs a certain amount of supervision,” commented one teacher. “Because there is an element of gambling involved.”

True that but, oh great, yet another childhood favourite game that has gone all pc. Anyhow, there’s no stopping them.

This morning: “Bye mum!” yelled Master Eight bang on 8am.

“Why are you going so early?” I asked.

“Because Kelvin is giving me a King this morning.”

A King is one of the top marbles, in case you didn’t know. Followed by Queen, I would imagine. Then there’s Granddaddies, Bonkers, Galaxy, Swirlies, Pearls … Oh it’s all coming flooding back now.

So while I’m still kicking myself for not being the cool parent to re-introduce this trend, I’m meanwhile conjuring up the resurrection of another couple of old childhood favs: if you notice Elastics and Knuckle Bones out in full swing, you know who started it!