Housework is not just for mums!

Housework is the bane of my life. In fairness, it’s not the doing of housework that especially bothers me – if anything there’s something quite therapeutic about taking a room apart and putting it back together again, discovering a hairbrush, baby talc and the portable dvd remote control all of which have been missing for the past week, in the process. It’s the less therapeutic effect of returning to the same room two minutes later only to find it has been restored to its former lack of glory as Spiderman scrambles over the now cushion-less couch while Ironman drags the decorative throw along the floor giving Superman and The Hulk a sleigh-ride. Darth Vader meanwhile turns the playroom on its head in search of his lightsaber and a watergun.

This summer, I decided it was time my kids learned to do a few things for themselves. To start with I wasn’t looking for miracles, just basic things like putting their underwear in the wash basket.  The sort of things that are supposed to distinguish us from the rest of the animal kingdom. And after daily reminding of approximately 5 – 226 times we’re finally starting to have success, some of the time.

More recently I decided it was time to encourage some age appropriate chores.  Not only, I figured, would this give me a little bit of help , I felt it might make the older children aware of how much effort goes into running the house and hopefully make them think twice before creating a mess.  My naivety never ceases to amaze me.

Harry Enfield’s Kevin and Perry had nothing on the sort of reaction I was greeted with.  The mere suggestion of making their own beds and tidying their room after some of them had ALREADY placed their own used breakfast bowl in the sink was met with declarations of “that’s not fair” and insistence that the requested child would only tidy their side of the room. Cue stomping upstairs and a literal battleline drawn. Two minutes later the dulcet tones of two lads killing each other echoed down the stairs and I was forced, in a gentle manner, reminiscent of a fishwife, to lovingly call “don’t make me come up there!!!”

Downstairs, meanwhile, the next two up to the “not literal” plate were all ready to resist the task in hand. Emptying the dishwasher and hoovering apparently is tantamount to child abuse, plus the hoover is a very complicated piece of equipment to operate, it seems.  Grumbling every step of the way the two carried out the job asked of them, badly. Their claims that none of their friends would ever have to do anything like this, fell on deaf, but fed up, ears.

As I slowly lost my mind following battles which ended withhalf hearted, half completed jobs I realised I have a long way to go.  I am however, determined to persist and teach my children a bit about responsibility. All I need now is to summon up the strength to be consistent. As Gloria Gaynor so eloquently put it “At first I was afraid, I was petrified” but “I will survive”!

You know you’re a parent of a larger family when…

 

1.   Every day is laundry day, several times a day at that, and what the bottom of your washing basket actually looks like is a distant memory. Furthermore there is a real and very likely possibility that whatever clothes are actually stuck at bottom of this basket have been outgrown by the child they belong to and in all probability the one that comes after him/her too.

And it’s not just dirty clothes that you’re drowning in. As the washing machine works overtime, the mountain of clean, fresh smelling clothes builds up in your, wherever you store them, until you get a chance to put them away.  Building, building, building waiting for your toddler to sneak past  you in his mucky wellies and recreate that scene from Peppa Pig “jumping up and down in muddy puddles (of clean clothes)” minus the part where Mammy Pig rolls on the ground laughing .

2.   You count how many children you have with you when you leave the house and as you enter and leave all shops, parks and elevators. You in all likelihood quickly check you have predominantly the right gender and do a quick scan on hair colour

3.   You feel completely justified in not remembering all of their names and believe your children should know who you mean when you call “you” “whatyamacallit” or “whateveryournameis”.

4.   People count as you go by and frequently ask “are they all yours? What do you drive? Have you not got a television? Are you done?” and slightly less frequently (but have asked all the same )“are you Miriam O’Callaghan?”and declare “you must be devoutly Catholic”.

5.   You have to motivate yourself to load them all into the car because that task and locating the necessary, shoes, coats and underpants takes longer than the reason you’re actually leaving the house.

6.  You have to label the toothbrushes because toothbrushes only come in so many different colours and duplication is necessary.  This is especially important if you need to identify which toothbrush the three year old used to fish the breakfast waffle out of the toilet.

7.   You watch reruns of the Waltons and find yourself looking for tips on how to make mealtimes run more smoothly.

8.   You find that’s not the only thing that you’ve taken from the Waltons and as you kiss them all goodnight you add in “Goodnight Mary Ellen. Goodnight John Boy” just for good measure.

9.  No-one is quite sure how many children youactually do have – just that you’ve “a load”

 

10.  In spite of the noise, mess, relentless workload and constant battle with certain family members to wear underpants, when you see them all together in a rare tranquil moment – you just can’t believe your good luck.

8 thoughts every parent has, three weeks into the Summer holidays

8 thoughts (some of which I may have voiced) every parent has three weeks into the summer holidays

1.   The sun is out hurray.  The school holidays haven’t been so bad this year. Oh I love the sun.  It’s so much easier to do things with the kids when it’s glorious like this.  I could get used to this weather.

2.   I’m such a good mother- the kids haven’t spent hours on the ipad or Wii.  They’ve been outdoors enjoying themselves. Well done me.  Technology is not rearing my child.  Wow, I can’t believe the fun they’re having with this paddling pool.  Best 15 euro I’ve ever spent.

3.   Oh for feck sake. Can no one dry their feet before they come inside?  The kitchen floor is covered in water and grass. Right, I’m getting everyone showered now.  I think they’ve had enough of it anyway.  Time to put the paddling pool away for the day. Oh you don’t want to come in? Ok so. Suppose we should takeadvantage of the sunshine. I love this weather

4.  I’ll keep an eye and make sure they don’t go inside again until they’ve dried their feet. Someone could slip on the kitchen floor.  The dog looks very hot. Hang on – one, two , three… six . Damn! Someone has gone inside …. Who owns these swimming jocks in the middle of the kitchen?!!!

5.   I wonder have they had enough fun yet?  Need to get them showered and get the dinner on. Oh for God’s sake has he no trunks on again? Get off the trampoline and put some underpants on now!!!

6.   Right that’s it.  Time to go in.  Last two minutes – I mean it now.  I’m counting to 120 in my head.  Where’s that water coming from? How did you turn that tap on?  Put down the hose! Aahhhhh my washing!!

7.   Ok, in now! This second! – shower time.  No you can’t go back in after your shower, not today. You can the next day. Because I said so. No, no, no. You can play on your ipad.  Well what about the Wii then? WHY IS THE KITCHEN FLOOR SOPPING AGAIN???!!!!!!!

8.  Oh my God, how can we be less than three weeks into the holidays?  How am I going to get through it? I’m putting a scissors through that bloody paddling pool.

                                                                                                      ………or is this just me?

 

Car journeys ain’t what they used to be.

Last week we set off on our family holiday to West Cork.  Packing took an eternity as I tried to locate 56 pairs of socks, jocks and pants, not to mention ordinary items of clothing, for the kids alone.

My own personal packing was done in about 5 minutes flat as the laden down car practically reversed out the driveway without me. With every available space in our red bus filled, and a bum on every seat, we set off on our marathon journey.

Car trips have taken on a new meaning since the children’s arrival.  Gone are the days of leisurely drives.  Nowadays it’s all about bribery and distraction and trying to make sure child number six doesn’t swipe child number seven’s soother en route!

 

We had set off in the evening time, after rush hour traffic and after the children had been fed their dinner.  The hope was that the younger children might doze on the way and we could carefully lift them into their beds when we arrived, where they would sleep peacefully for the entire night and wake up wholly refreshed the next morning, full of the joys of life.  That’s one of the fascinating wonders of parenthood.  Even though you know there isn’t a hope in hell of something happening you still dare to dream it might.

And so the early part of the journey began with my husband and I nodding in agreement that they were definitely getting tired and they’d most certainly drift off any moment now. And as the miles passed we knew they were definitely just about to go to sleep.  And after we stopped to let some of them go for a wee, we knew that that was obviously all that was keeping them awake and their now empty bladders would mean they’d be fast asleep before we knew it. The conversations directed at us from the back of the car however, suggested sleep wasn’t on their minds just yet.

“Do you know that beavers’ teeth keep growing?” the five year old informed me “and we better get there before midnight because that’s when the mud monsters come out”. “This city is upside down” the three year old exclaimed, in spite of the fact that there wasn’t a house to be seen, never
mind a city! “I’ll really miss you when you die mum” the five year old continued, “I think you’ll probably be 109” “I think Ireland might be a planet sometimes” he added. This comment was enough to bring the seven and ten year olds in on the conversation. “Ireland is not a planet” they roared in unison.

Undeterred by his brothers, the five year old continued “yes I think it is a planet, but I don’t think foxes are real”. The seven year old wasn’t entertaining this notion at all “of course they’re real” he said “I’ve seen one” “Yes, but he was probably trying to sneak up on you like a mud monster” the five year old replied. “I love Spiderman” said the three year old. “I’m going to be a daddy when I grow up” said the five year old, “not a mummy, because I have a willy, like Spiderman”. “I love Spiderman”, said the three year old once again.

I attempted a little gentle persuasion to encourage the younger children in particular to go asleep and said that their daddy and I would carry them into bed once we arrived. “But we’re not tired” the five year old protested “we just have itchy eyelashes.”

Finally, at 11:30, we arrived, and all seven children were awake. As we left the cramped confines of the car, we realised, not for the first time in our lives, that we were very sadly deluded.  The kids had no intention whatsoever of going to sleep anytime soon.  They ran excitedly into the house we had rented, running up the stairs in heated debate over the sleeping arrangements.  It was a long car journey, but an even longer night……

 

War song of the holidays

It’s summer break and school is out
There’s parents on the brink
Of panic at the thoughts of it
It’s driving them to drink
The children have a different view
Of the weeks that stretch ahead
With no early starts or busy days
Do they need to go to bed
At 9 o’clock or even ten
Sure the sun is in the sky
And if you try to coax them in
You know that they will cry
And cry and moan a little more
Protest that it’s not fair
Cos Johnny, Sam and Sarah too
Are playing over there
And on the days the sun’s not out
The rain has come instead
The little darlings everywhere
Are bouncing on the bed
They’ll tell you that they’re really bored
They don’t know what to do
In spite of having many toys
That fill a room or two
The squabbling starts, “he hit me first”
Your nerves are all a flutter
You count the days up in your head
And “pleasantries” you mutter
But though you think you’ll lose your mind
There’s something to remember
When school is out, there’s one great thing
No homework til September!

 

School’s out for Summer

And so we have reached the last week of school.  I say it every year but that was an unbelievably fast year. My Junior Infant has almost completed his first year in school and taken to it like the proverbial duck.  My eldest son is about to go into sixth class and my daughter has finally finished her Junior Cert. It all seems to have gone by in the blink of an eye, except for mid-year project on the Great Famine – that took an interminably long time.

The graduation for the sixth class children is due to take place this week and my friend’s son is one of the boys who will be leaving and getting ready to start a new chapter in his education. She is feeling particularly emotional about it and she doesn’t even suffer from hyper-sentimentality like me! It’s a huge milestone for any child or parent. I expect there will be lots of tears on Tuesday, mostly from the parents I imagine, and some pretty embarrassed pre-teen boys. It will be my son next year. I’m not in any hurry for it to come around.

So now with bleary eyed sentimental reflective rose tinted glasses I am looking forward to the summer holidays.  No homework induced battles for nine weeks. No smelly, temporarily undiscovered, lunch leftovers to be scraped off the bottom of schoolbags. No sudden disclosures of urgently required paraphernalia mentioned two minutes before we leave for school. It all sounds like bliss

Roll on Thursday when they finally finish up and our time, for a while, is our own.  Watch this space for complaints, from Friday, about how on earth I’m supposed to fill that time and ramblings and rantings about long until they go back!

 

 

Father’s Day

A father is a hero,
in his child’s adoring eyes,
He keeps the family safe from harm,
from villains and bad guys.
A father can do anything,
he’s the best at every game,
And stronger than every other dad,
he’d put them all to shame.
A father can fix anything,
from sadness to a broken toy
With a hug, a kiss or sticky tape,
for his little girl or boy.And even when we’re grown up too,
some things will never change.
A father remains a hero,
for his kids of the adult range.

 

Happy Father’s Day to dads everywhere! Thinking also of
those especially missing their dads today. Jen, x

One final battle

Mid-June already and we’re trundling towards the end of the school year but not before the one last torture that is Summer Tests.  This house is still under the dark cloud of the Junior Cert and now the end of year exams for my older primary schoolers have been thrown into the mix. Stress levels are rising. The already manic afternoons now have an extra demand on them and frantic scouring of revision sheets is commonplace once homework is completed. The weekends haven’t escaped either as mountain, rivers and counties of the Emerald Isle are listed off and alternate discussions about the Bronze Age and the Great Famine take place in the kitchen depending on which child happens to have wandered in at the time.

But let me clarify. It is not my troops who are initiating these discussions, nor they who are feeling the stress.  It is not they who are scouring the revision sheets to check what needs to be known for their impending tests and it certainly isn’t they who feel the need to know the where the Galtee mountains are or which river flows through Cork. Horizontal, is not a strong enough word to describe my “Summer tests takers” and “laid back” doesn’t do them justice either. They’re much more focused on playing outside with their waterguns, flickers and lightsabers.  They see the
reduction in written homework as an opportunity to escape to their own planets all the quicker.  I am reassured by them on a daily basis that it will “all be grand”, after all, it’s things that they have done through the year. I use the word “reassured” loosely. They talk the talk but they certainly don’t recollect the details!

Getting the motivational balance right is proving more difficult every year. I don’t want them to be overly worried about their tests but I would like them to have some interest and try their best. Any attempt to keep them at the dining room table just ten or fifteen minutes longer to revise for the next day is met with huge resistance. Every day I am told the tests were “fine”. I think this might be my lads’ favourite word – non-committal, covers a multitude and pacifies mam, the kids think anyway.

 

Roll on the summer holidays. Free from homework, free from making lunches, free from school runs and most importantly, temporarily free from the reminder that I still can’t pinpoint the counties, mountain and rivers of Ireland!

Time flies when you’re having fun!

Fifteen years ago tomorrow, I became a mother for the first time when my beautiful baby girl came into the world, informing it of her arrival with lungs that Shirley Bassey would have been proud of. She turned my life as I knew it, on its head and if I’m honest, in the weeks that followed, made me wonder what on earth I’d done.

In spite of the shock to the system that was first time motherhood, I fell completely and utterly head over heels in love with this gorgeous bundle of pink and my parenting journey began. Twelve years later to the day, my sixth child, her little brother and Godson was born.

 At the time, his arrival made my daughter seem very grown up by comparison, as she approached the end of her primary school time. He seemed so dependent in every regard while she was about to start an exciting new chapter in her education, one she couldn’t wait for. She strived for independence and he couldn’t live without me. The different needs were stark and challenging.

The first child gets to be the guinea pig in so many regards. I was she myself, so I can appreciate the frustrations but now I’m viewing it from a different perspective. This week as my daughter takes on her Junior Cert I’m like most mums I imagine, and I worry that she’ll get enough rest, not stress too much and hope the paper goes well. I’m trying in the little ways that I can, to make home life a little bit easier for her so she can do what she needs to do. What I really want to do however, is actually go in and take the exams for her.

As I type, my nine month old son is bouncing to the tune of “In the Night Garden” and my “one day away from 15” year old daughter is taking Irish Paper 2. How she gets on will be totally down to her. I can’t influence or affect the outcome of the exams, save maybe for helping her to be in the best frame of mind possible and discouraging the pointless post mortems after each paper. In contrast, I can pick up my bouncing nine month old and feed, change and do everything he needs done for him.

As I walked back from the school today many parents stopped to admire my littlest dude. They said they couldn’t believe how he big he is now and everyone agreed time goes so fast. It certainly does. As if birthdays aren’t enough of a reminder, state exams certainly hammer that home!

 

Dinner dramas

We try to eat dinner here as a family, as much as possible. The idea behind this is that we can all sit down together and have a chat about our day, and the added bonus is that I’m not standing over the cooker all evening as I would be, if meals were staggered. The disadvantage is, that in spite of adequate snacks, my kids are fading by 4:30, declaring their starvation and in whiny monotone drawn out voices ask me constantly “how much loooonnnngggger to dinnnnerrrr”. The constant questions start to grate after a while and I find myself watching the clock until my husband walks in the door when I thoughtfully suggest that they go and annoy their father instead while I dish up dinner.

I usually call the older kids to set the table and my reluctant helpers argue over who is to bring in the knives and who is to bring in the forks.  It appears in my children’s minds that this should be a two person job.  All the while, we try to keep the table setting operation a secret from my only enthusiastic helper, my “not yet three” year old. Any help from that terror, involves a massive clean up and a larger than usual dinner for the dog! Once dinner is served, at least two drinks have been knocked over and a row has taken place over who is drinking from which colour cup, we get down to the nitty gritty of eating and chatting.

The randomness of my children’s thoughts, feelings and resulting conversations never fails to amaze me. Yesterday at dinner the “not yet three” year old announced that he thought he had a chicken in his willy – and it was really making him need a wee. The five year old attempted to establish and confirm the fact that if his father and I died, his sister would be his new mammy and she’d probably need to marry her twelve year old brother because they’d need a dad too. The ten year old announced that he and his friends had set up a new band called “chicken in sticks” in which he is the lead singer. One friend played the tambourine, another the violin.  Obviously they needed security too, ahead of their destined fame , so, two nine year olds had been recruited as “heavies”.

The fifteen year old still gagging from the suggestion that she would marry her twelve year old brother nearly choked with laughter on hearing of her ten year old brother’s new musical direction. Too cool to be scoffed at, he continued to describe their musical genre – “ we do a bit of rock , a bit of rap, bit of oprah (no that’s not a spelling error, he was talking the Winfrey, while obviously referencing the classical). Apparently, we were informed, if they get really good, they might be allowed to perform at assembly.

In the meantime the “not yet three” year old returned from
the bathroom and confirmed he was actually poulty free, but he thinks he might have missed the toilet bowl a bit. Dinner can be a very informative experience here…..