Intermediate Debut

When my first-born started school I wondered what was wrong with me. Besides feeling a little surplus to requirements I turned and left for home dry-eyed.

But as I justified it to myself, I had two-year-old twins to return to who would keep me busy and the school was just a hop, skip and a jump up the road. With his nana teaching there and surrounded by his kindy friends, he was in familiar territory, I had nothing to worry about.

Last week, I made up for it. It was Master Ten’s debut at Intermediate, a day I had been dreading. The day before, with the other kids back at primary school, the two of us had spent it together and what a special day it was. There’s something about one-on-one time that brings out the best in children, that no amount of X-Box and materialistic guff from $2 shops can deliver. These are the memories they hold onto and, unfortunately, too many of us are guilty of not creating enough of them.

But thank goodness I put that time aside to spend with my ‘baby’ before he is swallowed up by the big wide world. We went for a morning jog together, followed by sushi in town and then, on a whim, as we were driving past Ten Pin Bowling, I swung the car into the car park. His eyes lit up and for the next hour, we hit strikes and sunk gutter balls and he could see I was not just ‘Sadie the cleaning lady’. After that we returned home, where I had promised to have a game of X Box with him. By then my chores were stacking up and I was running out of time before the return of the primary schoolers but I put those thoughts aside and endured a couple of games of car racing (which turned out to be fun and addictive!)

I could tell this was a day he would not forget but, all too soon, it was over as the other kids descended and Master Ten reduced to the back of the pack as they bombarded me with stories about their day.

The following day, it was all nervous energy as he donned his new uniform and chitter-chattered all the way in to school. I had asked if I could drive him on his first day, not wanting to surrender him to the bus. On the way, he spotted lots of other WIS students, all wearing the same bucket hats, which gave him confidence to put his own on. Luckily, he ran into a number of his mates at the gate and we were welcomed onsite with a powhiri.

That’s when it hit me. Suddenly I was crying! I could hear other parents around me laughing and talking – what was wrong with me? But then his friend’s mum approached and I could see she was also feeling it.

“My friend went through this last year,” she told me. “And said all the parents were balling.”

That was all the permission I needed and the floodgates opened and didn’t stop until after the long ceremony. Luckily the school boy himself didn’t notice – I was treading a fine line being allowed on this territory after apparently embarrassing him on school turf in the past.

Everyone waited with bated breath as the names were called for the classes and I watched as he tried to hide his disappointment as, one-by-one, his friends left with their new teachers.

Surprisingly, he allowed me to come over to his new class, along with several other parents, one who I noted still hadn’t managed to switch off the tears. As I later pointed out to my mother, they must’ve been hardened back in the day as my first day I walked to the bus stop and caught the bus by myself. But today’s schooling encourages parental presence and, although I’m no ‘helicopter parent’, on occasions like these, I’m all for it.

After I’d seen him settled at his new desk, I retreated and cried all the way to the car … and home … and for the rest of the day.

There was something comforting about having all the children just along the road at the same school but, despite the daunting feeling of the bus taking your baby further away from you into unfamiliar territory where they’re exposed to new experiences and likely to come home with different attitudes, his new school has a good feeling about it and, so far, he is hopping back off the bus and coming home just the same kid.

It’s: “Hi mum!”, followed by a quick hug, then off to the fridge, before joining his siblings to frolic in the pool.

Phew.

Playdate Mahem

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?!

Not So Kiddy Kaotic

Well I can’t say it’s been very kiddy kaotic round here of late – they’ve been away camping for the last week with no phone reception so I’ve not heard from them. It’s been very quiet but the trick is to keep busy.

It’s been a myriad of adventures – both with and without kids – so far this summer. We, once again, climbed Mt Manaia and this year managed to stretch out the lolly stops from ten minutes to 15. 

Taking Spotify music requests on my phone also helped add some gusto to their pace and they charged up the stairs leaving me behind listening to Ninja Turtle songs and the like, which received odd stares from passers-by on their way back down the mountain.

We also did caving and, this time, conquered the cave deemed too hard last summer. This was punctuated by Miss Eight relentlessly grilling me with questions about the little girl I mentioned who had lived there and died but whose gravestone we couldn’t find. I promised to look up the history when we got home but found nothing. Hopefully her curiosity has waned while on her camping holiday ‘cos answers I have none.

After the kids left for camping, it was time for some adult adventures: Mangawhai Tavern was the first stop, where we listened to a trio of bands, including Feelers and Dragon who entertained all generations, proving they’ve still got it. I watched as teenagers bopped along with their parents who were clearly reliving their youth, Their offspring had, no doubt, grown up being subjected to this genre by their parents, like I knew every word to John Lennon and Phantom of the Opera – two popular LPs played on my mother’s record player in the 80s. I wondered if that would one day be me and my kids and decided they would probably fall into the category of the 16-year-old girl nudging her boyfriend and smirking before pointing to her mother, high on the memories of yesteryear, who was dancing before them to the band Mi-Sex like there was no tomorrow.

Next day, it was off to the races – probably my favourite event of the year, where I had my line-up of horses already high-lighted to place, purely by name of course. I mean, ‘Sacred Rhythm’ – you can’t go wrong there.

Every year we perch on the hillside and slowly slide our way down, along with our belongings as we melt under the hot early-January sun. It’s standard practise for one or two of the babies from our group to go rolling down the hill also, and then there’s the drunken entertainment out in the car park as we queue to head to the Ruakaka Tavern.

Another repeat adventure was the Mermaid Pools, which I am still debating taking the kids over to. It can be pretty tough going and it’s hard enough hauling yourself up without losing your footing, let alone helping a youngster. But, after spotting the odd pre-schooler over there I decided that, if they can do it, my lot certainly can.

But as I write this I am taking a day out to recoup, finally reassemble the house and pack for our next adventure – our annual holiday in the Far North. Yes the peace is about to be shattered. There will be sand everywhere, constant food demands and, no doubt, squabbling. But I can’t wait.