Growing Up - An Unwelcome Visitor
We have a new guest in our house. A guest that no one has invited. She only visits now and again although her visits are becoming more frequent.
I am sad to admit that no one in our house particularly likes her. She is volatile, demanding, unpredictable, grumpy and often distracted. In her world of what is ‘cool’ its friends that matter and life is terribly boring without them. On her worst visits she has been known to slam doors, sometimes rattling pictures off the wall.
Interestingly our girl-child clearly does not like this visitor. I know this because girl-child is nowhere to be seen when unwanted guest appears. But the most disturbing thing about this guest is that she looks almost identical to girl-child to the point where I often get them confused. It is most unnerving to greet what appears to be my lovely 10 year old girl-child only to discover it’s the ghastly look-alike visitor pouting back at me. Just as suddenly the guest disappears and my lovely daughter is back. It is most unsettling to wake up not knowing who will be in the house today– child or fledgling teenager.
Some days I’d like to toss this ghastly visitor out on to the street, but while I don’t wish to admit it, this guest evokes a few childhood memories in me. I too remember when nothing was right, my parents were so very uncool, and life was always unfair. Everyone in the world had every technical device that I did not (although in my day it was colour TV I coveted as opposed to Xbox and Nintendo DS). The entire world also got to hang out with their friends all weekend, where as I was unfairly forced to stay home and learn to sew or worse pull ragwort on the farm. How shameful it was to admit to my friends on Monday what I’d been doing in the weekend.
All in all life is getting a little more complex. Although I never thought this would happen, I find myself fondly remembering when the days were filled with feeding and potty training challenges rather than this growing psychological torment. Worst still I am told the visits will increase. I guess in time I’ll learn to get used to my new bolshie, stubborn guest. I may even get to quite like her.
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Thursday, May 13, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
The Terrors of School Camp
‘You need to be at school for the camp at 6 o’clock.’ ‘The what ?’ ‘My school camp.’‘Oh hon you know I don’t do camping.’
Large pause – face starts to pucker like a shriveling tomato…
‘Okay, okay I’ll do the camp, although I’m sure I didn’t sign anything to say I would…’
The event
I don’t get there until the kids are getting ready for bed. It’s early yet and still time for a bit of fun – or so I think, until very nice teacher by day turns into big scary teacher by night. ‘Be quiet’ she roars (slightly ironic given the volume of her voice). You should be asleep. OMG its still daylight.
The parents stand around on one leg and then another. So what now? Wine? Beer? Scrabble? There is nothing for it but to retreat from the threat of mozzies and face a bed time I only usually dream about. And it would be a dream except (jaws theme music) I am surrounded by three eight year old boys. Aaaargh.
Can we tell ghost stories? “yea,’ says I far too enthusiastically for a mature adult. “Weeeeeell’ …..child one goes off on the longest, most tangential, unscary ghost story I have ever heard. Child Two has dropped off to sleep with boredom.
“Be quiet,’ booms scary teacher who has now transformed into Atilla the Hun. We all jump bolt upright including No2 who was asleep. “right’ says I ‘here’s my ghost story.’ ‘You can’t talk about blood,’ says one, “or ghosts’ says another ‘ or vampires. ‘ My creativity is stunted. Child one and two start to drop off to sleep.
‘What do we do now?” says child three (who happens to be mine). We could play with the torch. “Be quiet,’ roars Attila. Sighing, I use my number one method of trying to get to sleep – day dreaming in detail about the day I learn I have finally won lotto.
The night progresses.
‘Caaaaaas, I need to go to the toilet.” “Caaaaassss, I can’t find a torch.” “Caaaaaaaaaas, I can’t unzip the tent.””Caaaaaasss, my airbed has come down.” Casssss, can I get in with you.’‘ Absolutely not’ says I emulating Attilah the teacher. There IS a limit !
The night drifts on. In my dream world I have now won lotto and recklessly squandered the spoils.
A roar comes from outside the tent. Someone is playing the DVD of ‘Where the Wild things are.” “Or perhaps I’ve woken up in the Wellington Zoo. No, no, it’s the children in the next door tent. He,he,haw haw, giggle, chortle. Now that’s the kids on the other side. It’s in stereo. And its pitch dark. The time is 5am. It’s the middle of the night!
Where is Attila the teacher when I need her? Not a sign. Seems like it’s a hanging offence to talk after 8.45 but 5am is perfectly acceptable. I clamber out of the tent. ‘Be quiet - I’ve got sleeping children in here,’ I demand looking slightly ridiculous in my pink pyjamas. . “ha ha, chortle, chortle. ‘ I clamber back into my sleeping bag enraged. Child One has departed. I try to get to sleep but I am livid with the injustice of the situation. Why are early birds so righteous and night owls condemned?
Time to get dressed I hear one of the parents say. ‘It’s only 6.30!’ Child two and three sleep on.
I am furious and give in to the fact that I will no longer sleep. “I’m outa here,’ I say. I abandon ship. Go home and pull weeds out of the garden for an hour to release my fury and so as not to wake the rest of the family, finally shower and head to work for a strategic planning session with the board – a picnic in comparison with what I’ve just been through.
Next year their Dad gets the job.
Large pause – face starts to pucker like a shriveling tomato…
‘Okay, okay I’ll do the camp, although I’m sure I didn’t sign anything to say I would…’
The event
I don’t get there until the kids are getting ready for bed. It’s early yet and still time for a bit of fun – or so I think, until very nice teacher by day turns into big scary teacher by night. ‘Be quiet’ she roars (slightly ironic given the volume of her voice). You should be asleep. OMG its still daylight.
The parents stand around on one leg and then another. So what now? Wine? Beer? Scrabble? There is nothing for it but to retreat from the threat of mozzies and face a bed time I only usually dream about. And it would be a dream except (jaws theme music) I am surrounded by three eight year old boys. Aaaargh.
Can we tell ghost stories? “yea,’ says I far too enthusiastically for a mature adult. “Weeeeeell’ …..child one goes off on the longest, most tangential, unscary ghost story I have ever heard. Child Two has dropped off to sleep with boredom.
“Be quiet,’ booms scary teacher who has now transformed into Atilla the Hun. We all jump bolt upright including No2 who was asleep. “right’ says I ‘here’s my ghost story.’ ‘You can’t talk about blood,’ says one, “or ghosts’ says another ‘ or vampires. ‘ My creativity is stunted. Child one and two start to drop off to sleep.
‘What do we do now?” says child three (who happens to be mine). We could play with the torch. “Be quiet,’ roars Attila. Sighing, I use my number one method of trying to get to sleep – day dreaming in detail about the day I learn I have finally won lotto.
The night progresses.
‘Caaaaaas, I need to go to the toilet.” “Caaaaassss, I can’t find a torch.” “Caaaaaaaaaas, I can’t unzip the tent.””Caaaaaasss, my airbed has come down.” Casssss, can I get in with you.’‘ Absolutely not’ says I emulating Attilah the teacher. There IS a limit !
The night drifts on. In my dream world I have now won lotto and recklessly squandered the spoils.
A roar comes from outside the tent. Someone is playing the DVD of ‘Where the Wild things are.” “Or perhaps I’ve woken up in the Wellington Zoo. No, no, it’s the children in the next door tent. He,he,haw haw, giggle, chortle. Now that’s the kids on the other side. It’s in stereo. And its pitch dark. The time is 5am. It’s the middle of the night!
Where is Attila the teacher when I need her? Not a sign. Seems like it’s a hanging offence to talk after 8.45 but 5am is perfectly acceptable. I clamber out of the tent. ‘Be quiet - I’ve got sleeping children in here,’ I demand looking slightly ridiculous in my pink pyjamas. . “ha ha, chortle, chortle. ‘ I clamber back into my sleeping bag enraged. Child One has departed. I try to get to sleep but I am livid with the injustice of the situation. Why are early birds so righteous and night owls condemned?
Time to get dressed I hear one of the parents say. ‘It’s only 6.30!’ Child two and three sleep on.
I am furious and give in to the fact that I will no longer sleep. “I’m outa here,’ I say. I abandon ship. Go home and pull weeds out of the garden for an hour to release my fury and so as not to wake the rest of the family, finally shower and head to work for a strategic planning session with the board – a picnic in comparison with what I’ve just been through.
Next year their Dad gets the job.
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