Back to School

The Facebook pages were breathing a collective sigh of relief on Wednesday.

Almost every second comment on my Homepage read something like: “Yay, kids back at school. Phew, I made it!”

I’m not sure how I feel about it.

On the one hand, the job I have held down for the past six weeks as a referee is over. The fighting had become unbearable and my empty threats, along with the naughty corner, had long worn thin. Finally in the last week of holidays, after mum suggested I take something away they love, I cottoned on to a new form of punishment. Äs a result, teddy, rabbit and baby – their respective favourite cuddly toys – spent long hours sitting in their own “naughty corner”, on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen.

This proved excruciating for they could see them but not have them.

Then one day Cadeyn decided Jai’s second favouite cuddly toy, lion, should join his own naughty teddy up on the shelf. Unable to reach, he threw him up in the air where lion disappeared over the top shelf and down the back of the gigantic fridge never to be seen again.

Cade’s teddy did an all-nighter on the shelf for that one.

So while I’m pleased that three bored kids are back into their kindy and schooling routines, I’m less than enthused about the pressure of deadlines.

This is made harder by the fact we are still living in limbo. Not knowing when the property we are looking after will sell, we kept the kids attending school on the other side of town intending to return there. So all this tripping across town makes for tight schedules, though we are constantly running late.

It’s very important to Cade that we get to school on time and, if I let it slip that we are running late, I cop a tirade of verbal abuse all the way there. He was particularly nervous this week so I made sure I got up extra early and even forewent my morning run to get it right.

But I stuffed up by not ordering his stationery on time. I don’t know what I was expecting when I parked outside the shop and ran in several weeks ago. But, having left the kids in the car, I obviously wasn’t expecting to be handed a list of 15 items such as “Clever Kiwi My Writing Book 2 Year 4 Plus, and 3F1 Limp Cover, Ruled 12mm, 32 Leaf Notebook”

Looking up from my list to the large shop spilling with random stationery I had no idea where to start. It was a hot day and I could already hear the kids fighting in the car so I left with the list, sans stationery, and ordered it instead online some time later.

By Wednesday it still hadn’t arrived and someone was not happy.

“But what will I write on?” he whimpered all the way to school. “Will all the other kids have their stationery? I don’t want to be the only one with no books!”

After dropping him off, I went home and found the stationery waiting on the door step.

This was when I checked my emails with some leading onto Facebook. In amongst the communal elation were photos of first dayers swimming in their new oversize school uniforms, accompanied by comments from weepy mums stating how fast their babies had grown. Some children had been clingy, others (like mine) had been happy to see their parents go. All the first-time mothers (and some fathers), I noticed at drop off, had been wearing sun glasses.

I suppose I should say something nostalgic here about how I will miss the kids but, while the holidays were fun, I won’t miss playing referee, they enjoy school and kindy and return home full of their news and actually happy to see each other. So early morning rush and verbal abuse aside, it’s more pleasant all-round.

Yes, I think I just caught myself breathing that mutual sigh of relief.

The Country

 The trucks and utes crawl through the gates and everyone turns in unison.

They are checking out what’s on board the trailers – the days goods – to be sold at the Maungakaramea Sale Yards.

In the beating sun, farmers hang lazily over the rails of pens inspecting the contents – pigs, ewes, lambs, steers, heifers and bulls, are among those going to new homes today. But sometimes there are chickens, ducks, rabbits, cattle dogs and once, I’m told, even a cat.

Amongst the 100-odd crowd, sitting atop his mobile scooter, is the man responsible for its origins – Murdoch Ross. He is constantly surrounded by a small crowd with others stopping by to pay their regards.

I am there with the children to buy three weaner calves to help keep the grass down in the paddock.

We’re townies and I’m sure everybody knows it.

After introducing myself to Murdoch, he kindly offers his help, should we need it. But friends of my dad have taken us under their wings to help with all things rural and they are here.

My dad would have known most of these farmers, and Murdoch. Until recently, he was the co-owner of a business centered around the farming industry which he started more than 30 years ago from a shed at our home. Obviously the farming gene eluded me and the sad irony strikes me, yet again, that he held the answers to the many questions I now have.

The children have named their calves the night before. Cade’s is James, after the train (?), Jai’s is Chocolate and someone came up with the great idea to name Jayla’s Milkshake - which she latched onto - before they realised these are not dairy cows.

I am not willing to disclose who that person was. But like I say, we’re townies.

And we are learning.

After an hour of sifting through the stock, the auctions begin at midday.

With all the rain – and therefore grass – sheep and cows are in hot demand. Not like the droughts of recent summers. It’s not just animals being auctioned today either – sacks of wool and all sorts of random paraphernalia are being snapped up.

Things are moving along swiftly but the kids are now tired and, frankly, embarrassing me.

I leave the bidding to dad’s mate Roger. He’s a farmer from way back and knows his stuff.

Roger rolls up to our place 30 minutes later with our new babies – actually I do know they’re Friesian Hereford Steers - and they are shown into their paddock.

Cade claims the one with the eye patch.

“Why don’t you call him Pirate?” I suggest.

“Why don’t you call them Mince, Chop and Steak more like,” adds Roger with a chuckle.

I shudder, then take a photo of the kids with their new “pets” which I later show to a few family members.

“Make sure you don’t name them,” cautions one. “Else they’ll never make it to the freezer.”

Oops, too late. I fill him in on their new names.

“Possibly Barbi, Roast and Hangi may have been easier all round. Never mind, I'll happily come for a “Milkshake” on the spit in a couple a years,” he jokes.

As Roger’s wife Teresa says, the life and death aspect of farming gets easier with time.

Anyway, it hasn’t put me off. Next time, I’ve decided I’m buying chickens so have been scrounging around the property for timbre and netting for the coop which hubby doesn’t yet know he’s building. Cade has also put in an order for a pig.

I’m not thinking about what will become of our new calves, or the chickens and pig – I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Heading for greener pasture.

Swimming

To quote a mother I met at swimming several weeks ago, there’s nothing like a bit of incentive.

Term one marks the start of school swimming and Master Five was keen to sit it out.

His water confidence had taken a nose dive in recent years so we realised we’d better get with the programme and enroll him for lessons.

He’d been taking lessons for two years since he was four months old. But when the next two babies came along the juggling act became too difficult and the swimming lapsed.

Shortly after, his dad took him down to the beach with friends while I stayed back at camp with the newborn twins. When they returned someone let it slip there’d been a mishap at the beach. It turned out Cade had fallen in the estuary and they’d agreed not to tell me. However, the sight of a two-year-old face down with arms and legs splayed was a scary wake-up call.

We rejoined swimming lessons – this time at another swim school closer to home - but it was obvious he was back to square one. In fact, he’d regressed to the point where he wouldn’t even enter the pool without kicking and screaming – something that doesn’t occur to many oblivious water babies.

Swimming ceased once again until this summer. I took his reluctant self along to the local swim school (by now I think we’d been to all the swim schools in town) for an assessment and, within half an hour, he was going under and had his bubble blowing down pat.

We went back for several more shared private lessons in order to bring kids up to scratch to join one of the after school groups. As the swimming instructor said, there was no point learning arms until they could float. Then, in the last week of holidays, the group was down to just Cade and another girl.

Then one day the other five-year-old girl could, all of a sudden, float. This was when her mother leaned over and, winking, said “There’s nothing like a bit of incentive.”

“What was it?” I was eager to know her secret – we were running out of days here.

“Well I wouldn’t call it bribery, it was more of an incentive,” she grinned. “I just told her that once she was floating I’d take her out to a café for a cake and a fluffy.”

I shamelessly stole her idea and after the next lesson Cade came home with his dad and promptly informed me I was to take him out for his cake and “fluff”.

Phew, he nailed it just in time.

So incentive, bribery, whatever you may call it, it works and his togs and towel were duly packed for the first day of school.

Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I have a date with a five-year-old for a cake and “fluff”.

Says Whangarei Aquotic Centre’s SwimMagic Co-Ordinator Catherine Bagley: “The importance of teaching young tots to swim is that they learn to wait before entering the pool when they are invited in. It teaches them hesitation and that can give parents that few seconds needed. It gets them out of the typical child reaction which is to rush headlong in.

“Swimming lessons also give young children confidence in the water. With mum or dad in the lesson it is a great way to spend bonding time learning that confidence along with water safety skills.”