Thursday, May 2, 2013

I Ran To Paradise

I enjoy the school holidays, I really do. I enjoy my life not revolving around 9am to 3pm.

I awoke on the first day of SH Feeling refreshed and excited at all of the things I would get done. All of the things I save for the School Holidays, like cleaning out the linen cupboard, pantry organisation and giving the fridge a good wipe out. These mind numbing tasks are much easier when I have a small army to fetch things for me and race each other to the outside bin.
Also, I don't feel like I have to finish by 3pm.

Found; The Bi term fridge wipe out, April 13.

While it does mean that I do in fact, only wipe my fridge out once every ten weeks, it gives my children the opportunity to earn holiday spending money. I even managed to pay my four year old in stale bread and a promise to go to the local duck pond to feed them with it, in exchange for climbing into the bottom pantry shelf to wipe the back of it.
So much winning.

It goes a small way to making up for the CONSTANT dobbing and fighting, moans of boredom and mess that come with the SH.
I put a ban on dobbing in the house these holidays, after day two, so then my children began dobbing on each other for being about to dob.

My mental state was rapidly deteriorating, by the end of the school break, and whilst my pantry was sparkling, it was emptier than a politicians promise. It became very apparent that I would be visiting the shops, with the kids, on the LAST day of school holidays.

This should always be avoided if at all possible, I know this... But as I couldn't send the children to school with two hard boiled eggs and a stale Sao wrapped in toilet paper, this was clearly one of those unavoidable scenarios, and what started as an innocent trip to Woollies ended in... Well. Let's just say that the last day of the School holidays... It broke me.

We arrived at Woollies, grabbed a trolley and started our assault on the fruit and veg. The two youngest made a beeline for the grapes and began taste testing immediately, after much pretending I didn't see, I discovered Ms 4 poking tiny holes with her finger in the plastic wrap of pre packaged corn. This was unacceptable so I threatened her with confinement in the trolley and rushed off to get some meat.

The Teen moped behind me dragging his feet, asking at least eighteen times in a toneless voice, if we were almost finished, and peered out solemnly from behind his fringe, or as his father and I refer to it, the hair veranda. No doubt adding up the wasted minutes spent at the shop that would be better spent shooting people via Xbox and shouting the word NOOB.

Master eight, who declared himself a fan of the movie Pitch Perfect these School holidays, was doing the cup song, minus the cup, do he was really just clapping his hands and flicking various shelf items. All of these things I could tolerate, apart from the corn vandalism and the grape theft, things were going OK, but I could feel the tension rising. I was racing the clock of child patience, and I knew it.
My cunning parent Witt kicked in and I sent Master Eight and Master Fourteen to pick out school snacks whilst I raced the clock of child patience throwing in everything I could possibly need when I heard it...

I knew immediately it was one of mine... It was a shriek I had heard many times.

"YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!!" I tensed and strained to hear, willing it not to be my children, but knowing... Deep down it was. I didn't have to strain too hard to hear the much louder shriek of YOU ARE SUCH A BUTT MUNCHER, YOU ARE A MASSIVE JERK BUTT MUNCH" followed by a thump and a noise that would have convinced many people that a small child had been hit by a stray bullet, and as it was at Tahmoor, there was a real possibility this could be the case.

I could deny that the butt munching children were not mine any longer and I marched to the checkout to meet them with a steely gaze which I hoped conveyed my disgust and anticipation of...wait until we get in the car...

My gaze must have long lost its effectiveness because Master eight pummelled toward me, arms flailing out at his sides, his mouth dramatically and annoyingly agape letting out the most ear piercing and over reactive wail, accusing the teen of assault with a muesli bar box. It was uncomfortable to watch.
 The teen not far behind him, arms outstretched, eyes wide as to appear as innocent as he could, he began yelling over the top of Master eights shrieking and pointing to his upper arm... "I DIDN'T!! He is LYING, he is such a LIAR, YOU ARE SUCH A LIAR!!" to which I cracked, and instructed them to sit outside and to not even look at each other till I was done or else... "Steely gaze of wait until we at in the car"

The checkout operator gave me a sympathetic glance and assured me that soon they will have moved out and I will miss them and I refrained from clocking her with the dented muesli bar box, which was now referred to as evidence A, and avoided eye contact with everyone else in the store who was now staring at me and feeling like a smugly superior parent.

I wanted to point at them and say, that they too, had left their grocery shopping till the last day of the school holidays, and DON'T YOU DARE JUDGE ME!!
But I didn't. I walked as fast as I could through the car park and into the car.

The three kids sat silently in their seats, waiting for the inevitable barrage that was to spew forth, I said nothing. This made them more nervous, I could tell.

In silence I started the car, flicked on the radio, and drove away with an expressionless face, like a serial killer that had just picked up three hitchhikers.
The three children shifted uncomfortably in their seats, well not Ms 4. Ms 4 was doing her best Taylor Swift impersonation along with the radio.

I slowed down at some road works when the Teen changed the radio station. Run to paradise was on, I smacked his hand away when he tried to change it again, took a deep breath and began tapping in time to the beat on the steering wheel.

Still not saying a word, I began to feel suffocated, the air was hot, and I had a rising panic in my throat. I slowly opened all the windows and put the lock on them, so as they could not be wound up... It was then the Teen turned to me and said...
As if being in this car is not embarrassing enough, can you at least turn the radio down? Or put the windows up? This song sucks and the council workers are staring at us.

This. Song. Sucks. Does it? I am embarrassing you am I? I. AM EMBARRASSING YOU.?? We're the only words I spoke.

I cranked the radio, and began belting out the lyrics as loudly as I could belt.

BAYBEEEH! You we're always gonna be the one..
I accompanied this with some pistol fingers out the window, when it got to the "open your eyes up bit, I began pointing at council workers, stating it was there turn to take it away!
Open your eyes up
Your turn Mr council worker... OPEN YOUR EYES UUUUUUP"

They stared back. The teen and Master eight sat as low in their seats, their fucked up little flat peaked hats pulled low over their faces,  Ms four just looked slightly confused.

I continued doing forty long after the road works had ended, mainly be because I did not trust my ability to head bang, shoot gangsta signs and finger pistols out of the open windows, sing loudly and drive safely at the same time, but also to prolong the embarrassment I was bringing to my children.

When we pulled up at home, I declared that the two boys were to bring in ALL of the groceries, and if they EVER, embarrassed me with behaviour like the kind they showed at Woollies ever again, I would purchase a Dolly Parton CD... *steely gaze

I need to hear your tales of genius punishments, in order to enable mine.

Em xx

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