Step Mom 101
Pass me a Valium, and maybe a large tumbler of vodka to wash it down... aah, that's better!
Alec's 3 terrors came to stay this weekend. We drove them to the "handover" location last night, but I am still recovering. Friday night we went to the winery, sat next to the fire (it's cold in them thar hills) and drank our way through several bottles of various vintages. For the first time I tasted wine straight after fermentation has finished and it is really just sour, grapey, bitty muck. But John the winemaker was swirling his around in his mouth, and saying "See what a big merlot it's going to be!" And here I was trying to get the bitter lemon look off my face and untwist my puckered lips so I could offer something similiarly knowledgable, instead responding with "Ewwwww, gross." Clearly I am more suited to the drinking side of things rather than the winemaking part.
Saturday morning we drove to Warwick where we had to find Alec's middle child (Jordon, heretofore renamed Damian) amongst 4000 knee high children all racing around in miniature soccer outfits and kicking the hell out of balls or just each other. Found his ex plus two kids, and made ourselves comfy on the grass to watch a soccer game without any real rules. I think at that age they just let them run up and down the field, and try not to kill each other. The tiny little goalies kept wandering off from their posts, and the "coaches" (parents) were screaming "All maroons over here! HERE! No, not you Adrian, you're in the WHITE team!" Apparently next year they learn rules and tactics.
Some of the parents had matching Canterbury jerseys on, and RM Williams boots, and most of the women had bad hair cuts, ruddy cheeks and expressions of general worn outness. I told Alec that if we move to the country I will look like that in no time. He thinks it is more likely we will start wearing matching jerseys.
Bundled three kids + belongings into the car (took half an hour) and zoomed back to Bris, because Alec had a gig at the Plough Inn at 2pm. Once at the pub, the kids were surrendered into my sole care for the first time. I managed to get them to stay in their seats for the most part, and keep their shoes on their feet, their lemonade either in their cups or their yaps, and food on their plates. Exhausting! They watched dad set up, and then play for just over an hour.... and then the whining began "I'm BOOOOORED"..... "I want to go SWIIIIMMING"........ "I want an ICECREEEEAM!"
So it was with trepidation I volunteered to take the kids home. But not straight home, because that would have been far too easy. I wanted to get straight in the deep end of step parenting, no mucking about! So we went to the supermarket and the DVD shop before coming home. The supermarket was a mistake. Damian had to push the trolley and all 3 had opinions on what they wanted, and managed to ferret out every toylike item in the shop and hold it up to their little faces and look at me beseechingly. I sailed through that little test though - just kept repeating "Tell Santa that you want it for Xmas." Easy!
DVD shop not so hard, we got Cheaper By The Dozen 2. They had all seen the first one. And no, they weren't allowed to watch Deuce Bigalo European Gigalo. Easy peasy. All back in the car AGAIN (by now I have it down to 5 minutes especially if they help each other with seatbelts. Bafflingly, they can all seem to get themselves out of the car in 1 second flat.)
Once home, I supervised Changing Into Togs and then the nervewracking 3 Kids In Pool. I kept mentally reviewing my senior first aid stuff in my head, with special attention to Rescuscitation and CPR, and kept yelling "No running around the pool" and "Everyone put your floaties on!!!!". Fortunately the pool was freezing, and once all children were shivering and purple lipped, they allowed themselves to be swaddled in towels and led inside, to a warm bath. Of course they was a squabble about Bath Order, so I deemed that the coldest would go first. This of course was Kyle, the teeny 4 year old who was like a little blueberry popsicle. All 3 had a nice bath and were thoroughly scrubbed, shampooed and conditioned by moi, and then blowdried. I was planning on them all being clean and fluffy and sweet smelling, sitting on the couch like angels when Dad arrived home.
Dinner preparations were begun, but my newly formatted ears, super alert for Sounds of Childs, picked up noises emanating from a worrisome direction. Outside. Yes, all 3 were outside in their pyjamas and barefeet, one in the tree house, one in the tree and one in the mud. Screeching was then heard. I sensed at that point that I am a natural at the parenting jaunt.
All inside to be re-cleaned. A few minutes later I go into the bathroom and there is little Kyle, bum so far down in the toilet and legs stuck in the air, so he looked like a V. I thought he was falling in but the intense look of concentration and the foul smell in the air told me there was an organic process in train. He declined my help with wiping, but after he showed me the 50c piece sized bit of paper he intended to wipe with, I was on standby with massive, MASSIVE bundle in my hand. Only for a child of my own loins would I risk a pooey hand.
Pita bread pizzas were on the menu, ham and pineapple. Sounds simple, sure, but then the terrors decided they wanted to custom make their own. So they were propped up on the breakfast bar, and I assisted in the assembly of three cow pats. Once children were out of view, ready on the couch for their DVD, I made them a little more edible and popped them in the oven.
But then I couldn't get the DVD player to work. Called Alec in a panic, hard to hear him over chants of "This is rubbish! This is rubbbbbbish!" and he couldn't help. So they had to watch plain old telly until he got home. Not happy Jan. I slid back several points in the step parent popularity stakes.
Luckily "Dad" was home not long after, at which point I surrendered the terrors to him, and uncorked a big bottle of wine. Sunday morning I stayed in bed sleeping, reading and watching the entire first season of Deadwood, and left him to have Quality Time. That way lies sanity for Step Mom.
Alec's 3 terrors came to stay this weekend. We drove them to the "handover" location last night, but I am still recovering. Friday night we went to the winery, sat next to the fire (it's cold in them thar hills) and drank our way through several bottles of various vintages. For the first time I tasted wine straight after fermentation has finished and it is really just sour, grapey, bitty muck. But John the winemaker was swirling his around in his mouth, and saying "See what a big merlot it's going to be!" And here I was trying to get the bitter lemon look off my face and untwist my puckered lips so I could offer something similiarly knowledgable, instead responding with "Ewwwww, gross." Clearly I am more suited to the drinking side of things rather than the winemaking part.
Saturday morning we drove to Warwick where we had to find Alec's middle child (Jordon, heretofore renamed Damian) amongst 4000 knee high children all racing around in miniature soccer outfits and kicking the hell out of balls or just each other. Found his ex plus two kids, and made ourselves comfy on the grass to watch a soccer game without any real rules. I think at that age they just let them run up and down the field, and try not to kill each other. The tiny little goalies kept wandering off from their posts, and the "coaches" (parents) were screaming "All maroons over here! HERE! No, not you Adrian, you're in the WHITE team!" Apparently next year they learn rules and tactics.
Some of the parents had matching Canterbury jerseys on, and RM Williams boots, and most of the women had bad hair cuts, ruddy cheeks and expressions of general worn outness. I told Alec that if we move to the country I will look like that in no time. He thinks it is more likely we will start wearing matching jerseys.
Bundled three kids + belongings into the car (took half an hour) and zoomed back to Bris, because Alec had a gig at the Plough Inn at 2pm. Once at the pub, the kids were surrendered into my sole care for the first time. I managed to get them to stay in their seats for the most part, and keep their shoes on their feet, their lemonade either in their cups or their yaps, and food on their plates. Exhausting! They watched dad set up, and then play for just over an hour.... and then the whining began "I'm BOOOOORED"..... "I want to go SWIIIIMMING"........ "I want an ICECREEEEAM!"
So it was with trepidation I volunteered to take the kids home. But not straight home, because that would have been far too easy. I wanted to get straight in the deep end of step parenting, no mucking about! So we went to the supermarket and the DVD shop before coming home. The supermarket was a mistake. Damian had to push the trolley and all 3 had opinions on what they wanted, and managed to ferret out every toylike item in the shop and hold it up to their little faces and look at me beseechingly. I sailed through that little test though - just kept repeating "Tell Santa that you want it for Xmas." Easy!
DVD shop not so hard, we got Cheaper By The Dozen 2. They had all seen the first one. And no, they weren't allowed to watch Deuce Bigalo European Gigalo. Easy peasy. All back in the car AGAIN (by now I have it down to 5 minutes especially if they help each other with seatbelts. Bafflingly, they can all seem to get themselves out of the car in 1 second flat.)
Once home, I supervised Changing Into Togs and then the nervewracking 3 Kids In Pool. I kept mentally reviewing my senior first aid stuff in my head, with special attention to Rescuscitation and CPR, and kept yelling "No running around the pool" and "Everyone put your floaties on!!!!". Fortunately the pool was freezing, and once all children were shivering and purple lipped, they allowed themselves to be swaddled in towels and led inside, to a warm bath. Of course they was a squabble about Bath Order, so I deemed that the coldest would go first. This of course was Kyle, the teeny 4 year old who was like a little blueberry popsicle. All 3 had a nice bath and were thoroughly scrubbed, shampooed and conditioned by moi, and then blowdried. I was planning on them all being clean and fluffy and sweet smelling, sitting on the couch like angels when Dad arrived home.
Dinner preparations were begun, but my newly formatted ears, super alert for Sounds of Childs, picked up noises emanating from a worrisome direction. Outside. Yes, all 3 were outside in their pyjamas and barefeet, one in the tree house, one in the tree and one in the mud. Screeching was then heard. I sensed at that point that I am a natural at the parenting jaunt.
All inside to be re-cleaned. A few minutes later I go into the bathroom and there is little Kyle, bum so far down in the toilet and legs stuck in the air, so he looked like a V. I thought he was falling in but the intense look of concentration and the foul smell in the air told me there was an organic process in train. He declined my help with wiping, but after he showed me the 50c piece sized bit of paper he intended to wipe with, I was on standby with massive, MASSIVE bundle in my hand. Only for a child of my own loins would I risk a pooey hand.
Pita bread pizzas were on the menu, ham and pineapple. Sounds simple, sure, but then the terrors decided they wanted to custom make their own. So they were propped up on the breakfast bar, and I assisted in the assembly of three cow pats. Once children were out of view, ready on the couch for their DVD, I made them a little more edible and popped them in the oven.
But then I couldn't get the DVD player to work. Called Alec in a panic, hard to hear him over chants of "This is rubbish! This is rubbbbbbish!" and he couldn't help. So they had to watch plain old telly until he got home. Not happy Jan. I slid back several points in the step parent popularity stakes.
Luckily "Dad" was home not long after, at which point I surrendered the terrors to him, and uncorked a big bottle of wine. Sunday morning I stayed in bed sleeping, reading and watching the entire first season of Deadwood, and left him to have Quality Time. That way lies sanity for Step Mom.