There’s nothing like having six kids tearing through your house
and trashing it to make you change your mind about loving the school holidays.
Yeah, nah, they can go back to school now.
There comes a point, somewhere after the pre-school years,
where many parents welcome the lazy, late mornings, following the late nights
and lack of deadlines to be out the door that the holidays bring. By then the
kids can entertain themselves for the most part so it doesn’t matter that all
activities have shut down for the summer, something which could throw a mum of
pre-schoolers into panic-mode.
It’s been on my ‘to-do’ list all holidays to finally have
their friends over for a playdate. They are always getting invited places and
we can never seem to find the time to return the favour.
Because of all the adventures they’ve been having, it got
left to the last day possible and so it was that I found myself with six kids
ripping through the place.
The good thing was it was an even number so there was no
ganging up or exclusion. And the bad part … well let’s just say it was them
against me. I was mad to think I could meet a work deadline that day or do the
housework. Absolutely starkers.
In the morning I received an invite to the beach to which I
replied I wasn’t in a position to go that day as I had six kids.
“Six kids?!” they replied.
“Yeah, I find even numbers are easier than one toddler,” I
confidently texted back.
About an hour later, as I watched my house get turned
upside-down and when I realised they would all need feeding, I took my words
back.
I sent Master Ten and his mate up to the supermarket to buy
some food. No sooner had they polished that lot off and I had cleaned up the
carnage, then it was lunchtime.
In between mealtimes there was the three youngest deciding
it was a good idea to squirt a wasp nest with their water pistols before
tearing, shrieking with laughter, back into the house with wasps in hot
pursuit. There was the transformation of my lounge and dining room and
everything pulled out of the linen cupboard as they built huts before they
abandoned these to have some kind of war game wearing camo gear and carrying
walkie-talkies. This lead them all round the property and through the house,
trampling dirt and leaves to the constant sound track of the thumping on the
stairs and the thud-thud-thud of one of the older boys making a weapon in the
work shop with the hammer under the house.
Then out came the go-cart at full speed down the steep
driveway – something I can’t bear to watch. It was at this point I realised
that sometimes you’ve just got to leave them to learn the hard way and make
sure there’s enough seats in the seven-seater, should a mad-dash to A&E be
called for.
When three of them asked if they could walk up to the dairy
with $1 of their pocket money I welcomed the semi-silence and sat down and
churned out half an hour’s work. But then they returned brandishing a can each
of the dreaded fizzy drink and the craziness resumed.
After finding it spilt on the carpet in my b&b I’d had
enough and settled them all down with a movie. They chose Forrest Gump, which
kept them absorbed until a naked lady playing the guitar came into view and
they convulsed with pink-cheeked hilarity.
Apart from a bleeding tooth, there were no casualties. Just
my house. After seven hours of crazy-town I shepherded them all into the car
and delivered them to their abodes and that wrapped up probably one of the most
un-pc playdates in today’s times. Who would ever send their kids to my house
for a play date?!