Result

I think we all know by now that I should never say anything about anything. When KT first asked me about helping out with her kids, Master J and Cyclone Bella, while she was away (see “And Then There Were Five“), I said something like “Yes, yes, it should all be fine – as long as nobody gets gastro and the car doesn’t break down.”

And you know what? Both those things happened and it was still fine. No really, it was. 

Of course, I can say this now because KT is back this weekend and my first “tour of duty” is officially over. In fact, to celebrate I might just get a t-shirt made up that says “In the last three weeks, I survived three kids with gastro, a fairy birthday party, hosting mothers’ group, the death of the Love Bus and eight whole days of looking after two extra children and I’m still smiling, except I’m not really because I went to the oral surgeon’s yesterday and it kind of hurts!”. But now that I look at it, it’s a little on the wordy side and the writing would have to be really small and would probably mean complete strangers with bad garlic breath would come up really close to me just to read it. Stupid t-shirt. 

But I digress. 

“Hang on, hang on. What was all that about oral surgery, NDM?” I can hear the usual people asking. “We remember your last trip to the oral surgeon was a little, uh, trippy. In fact we’re including a hyperlink to that post in this little interjection of ours… here it is: The Monsters Upstairs.”

Thanks for the hyperlink there, people. And yes, it was another trip to the oral surgeon and I can tell you this much: I embraced the idea of being intravenously sedated so that someone could drill into my skull like it was a holiday in the Whitsunday Islands. Because it meant that I didn’t have to look after any children for an afternoon. 

But, actually, now that I think about it, with all that money I spent on oral surgery, I could have paid for a week’s holiday for me, my husband, the kids and a full-time nanny in the Whitsundays and still had change for cocktails. And let’s face it, you don’t need teeth to enjoy a jug of Mango Daiquiri. What the hell was I thinking?

Again, I digress.

My point here (there’s a point?) is that I did it. I survived all those things listed on that fictitious t-shirt of mine and still managed to crack a few jokes about it all.  It wasn’t always easy, it certainly wasn’t pretty. But I did it. 

And here’s the proof: when, on the second last day, Uncle B came to pick up his kids, I admitted to him that the “shouting [NDM]” had made a big appearance that day but that, hopefully, there had been enough of the Nice NDM in the mix as well.

Master J, who was standing next to me, piped up, completely unprompted, to say: “No, there was only nice [NDM]!”. 

Which makes me think that my celebratory t-shirt should probably just say : “When all is shouted and done, I’m really quite nice.”

No, really.

Read Full Post »

And Then There Were Five

There have been some changes here at NDM HQ. It would seem that I have somehow acquired a couple of extra children three days a week. Because I’m obviously managing so beautifully with three. 

Actually, there’s a good reason for this acquisition, other than me being a glutton for punishment. My dear friend (and an amazing performer), KT, has landed herself a gig. But it’s the type of gig that requires her to be away from home (and her two children, Master J and Cyclone Bella) for weeks at a time. And so she has reached an equitable arrangement with Mistress M and I, where we will share the daytime care of her children during her absences and, in exchange, she will (mostly) pay us in wine. 

And yes, that is the same Mistress M who helped me lose KT’s daughter Cyclone Bella at the zoo just last week (see “3 Hours, 7 Kids And 1 Lost Child Announcement“). And yes, KT has still consented to leave her children in our dubious care. Go figure. 

Anyway, I thought I’d start myself a little diary so I’d have some material to draw from for my blog. This is how the first week of having KT’s children has played out:  

DAY ONE (MONDAY): 

Dear Diary,

Today was a total success, perhaps only because KT was still in the country and looking after her own children. I wonder if she would agree to still pay me in wine when she’s doing all the work? Just a thought…

Love the Not Drowning Mother

DAY TWO (TUESDAY):

Yo, Diary!

I did the school and kindergarten run this morning with five children. I know you’re expecting to hear about a guest appearance of the Screaming Crazy Bitch, the issuing of A Late Pass and Tears All Round. But listen up, you cynical Diary! I did the whole thing on foot and we were five minutes early for that ominous 9 o’clock bell. Result! (Although for a while there, I was worried we were actually five minutes early for Wednesday’s bell). 

“You’re early!” one mother exclaimed to me, after I established with her that it was still, in fact, Tuesday. 

“All this time I thought I was always late because I had too many children to organise,” I replied, breezily. “But it turns out I just didn’t have enough!”

What’s more, the children have hardly watched any television today because they’ve been so busy playing games with each other and doing happy crafting projects on the kitchen table while I baked cakes. I’d write more now but I need to go polish my halo,

Love The Now “Domestic-Goddess” Mother. 

PS. That mother at the school thought I was joking, but I was totally serious. Am currently looking into buying KT and Uncle B’s children off them for a reasonable price. I hope KT will continue to pay me in wine, however.  

DAY THREE (WEDNESDAY):

Dear Whatever, 

I have had no sleep because The Pixie decided to run the full gamut of the Vomit Scale all night long and burn hotter than the sun. 

The only benefit of her being sick was that there was one less drop-off/pick-up to do today for my school, kindergartenS and creche run. Of course, one of the (many) downsides was, even after calling in a few favours from friends, I still had numerous pickups/dropoffs remaining, all with a vomiting child in tow. 

(An aside: when I swung by a cafe to revive myself with a takeaway coffee, the cafe owner and I could see The Pixie’s back-lit silhouette through the tinted windows of The Love Bus parked outside. Which might have been a beautiful sight if she hadn’t been spitting into a sick bucket at the time.)

Meanwhile, I can’t say the television has been turned off once today. The Pixie and Master J have both entered some kind of television-surfeit-induced trance. 

Also, Tiddles McGee has decided that snatching any toy Bella picks up out of her hands is appropriate behaviour. And Bella has decided that squealing very loudly is an appropriate response. 

I have decided that a daughter’s squeal is something only her own mother can bear. Luckily, I have also decided that I am far nicer to other people’s children than I am my own.

Finally, I have decided that I need that wine NOW. 

From The Needs-to-be-Drunk Mother. 

Now, there are people out there who might deem me irresponsible to have taken extra children into my home when it is so obviously beset by illness. 

“Where’s your sense of civic duty?” those people are probably saying. “Won’t somebody please think of the children?”

In my defence, I rang Uncle B first thing Wednesday morning and we both decided that if he was going to be left without childcare every time one of my (or his or Mistress M’s) children were sick, he might as well quit his job right now and call himself Mr Mom. We also decided that since the kids had been sharing icy poles and baths the day before, they were likely to get it anyway. 

“We’re all family now,” I concluded, channeling shades of Papa Lazarou, as The Pixie threw up ominously in the background. 

Yep, there’s definitely some great blogging material in all of this. Now, if only I can get enough sleep and/or get sober enough to write those posts…

Read Full Post »