Village People
I live in a village. Friday afternoon... friend turns up early to a) pick up son b) she knows there will be wine and good conversation. I have an easy meal to prepare and plenty of it so I invite them to stay (I can cater for an extra family of five at the drop of a hat). The husbands come home in due course, one brings more wine – isn’t texting a wonderful thing – and kids watch a DVD, although they do get a bit ticked off with the rowdy parents. At some stage it is decided that all the kids will stay the night, and we sort them out into various bunk beds and mattresses on the floor. Parents walk home close to midnight. The next day at 9.30am six of the kids migrate south down the road and stay there all day and the next night. We contemplate the attractive concept of week about parenting... I only see my kids briefly as I call in for a glass of wine and freshly caught crayfish. The next morning I turn up earlier than expected and find them all in their pyjamas. My friend starts to fluster about being seen in her pjs and gives up – we are past that! This why I moved here. I wanted to live in the area where my kids attend school and have great friendships with local families. Mission accomplished. Awesome.
Full Circle. Coming home on the Saturday night, I had a familiar feeling of coming full circle. I had been to a friend’s 30th, A & C had been to the rugby, and we were flicking between two radio stations The Rock and Radio Hauraki. A & I were enjoying a rare opportunity of control of the stereo and Saturday rock favourites from the 80s and 90s by bands such as Nirvana, Metallica and even a little Bon Jovi got the nostalgic juices flowing. A & I revelled in the ‘old’ numbers that we knew all the words to, at the tops of our voices and I was aware of my 14 year old in the back rolling her eyes and wondering what on earth her old parents were yakking along to. I had a vivid memory of myself at her age sitting in the back of my Dad’s car listening to his music wondering what on earth drew him to this crap he was listening to. Stuff like Van Morrison, Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley. I felt strangely old, and also strangely connected to my Dad, who must have been young once, with little children making him feel old.
Ahhh... have sent and confirmed receipt of Z’s application to her next school. My administration skills are severely lacking at the moment and it was quite an effort. I hope they come back. I don’t even have pregnancy or breastfeeding to blame for my fuzzy brain.
Growing Up. C has been attending a Sunday evening church service in Lower Hutt for the last few weeks. She really enjoys it; the music and the vitality of being a youth service, and tells me that there are really hot guys there. So that’s fab. Everyone’s happy. Whether it’s the hormones or the worship, who knows but she has now loaded several worship songs onto her iPod so I am revelling in watching her motivation. It is blissful watching your children grow and develop, and especially nice to see them make small and large connections in their faith. Z has also made steps this year. She is much more willing to attend church and doesn’t turn her nose up so readily when we talk about ‘God stuff’, and is even asking the odd question. Small steps.
Netball Rage. I have experienced my first. One young man was hacking me off so much I got lippy on the court. Well, I have never had much respect for those who lose their cool in sport, but my goodness it can happen to the best of us!
Full Circle. Coming home on the Saturday night, I had a familiar feeling of coming full circle. I had been to a friend’s 30th, A & C had been to the rugby, and we were flicking between two radio stations The Rock and Radio Hauraki. A & I were enjoying a rare opportunity of control of the stereo and Saturday rock favourites from the 80s and 90s by bands such as Nirvana, Metallica and even a little Bon Jovi got the nostalgic juices flowing. A & I revelled in the ‘old’ numbers that we knew all the words to, at the tops of our voices and I was aware of my 14 year old in the back rolling her eyes and wondering what on earth her old parents were yakking along to. I had a vivid memory of myself at her age sitting in the back of my Dad’s car listening to his music wondering what on earth drew him to this crap he was listening to. Stuff like Van Morrison, Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley. I felt strangely old, and also strangely connected to my Dad, who must have been young once, with little children making him feel old.
Ahhh... have sent and confirmed receipt of Z’s application to her next school. My administration skills are severely lacking at the moment and it was quite an effort. I hope they come back. I don’t even have pregnancy or breastfeeding to blame for my fuzzy brain.
Growing Up. C has been attending a Sunday evening church service in Lower Hutt for the last few weeks. She really enjoys it; the music and the vitality of being a youth service, and tells me that there are really hot guys there. So that’s fab. Everyone’s happy. Whether it’s the hormones or the worship, who knows but she has now loaded several worship songs onto her iPod so I am revelling in watching her motivation. It is blissful watching your children grow and develop, and especially nice to see them make small and large connections in their faith. Z has also made steps this year. She is much more willing to attend church and doesn’t turn her nose up so readily when we talk about ‘God stuff’, and is even asking the odd question. Small steps.
Netball Rage. I have experienced my first. One young man was hacking me off so much I got lippy on the court. Well, I have never had much respect for those who lose their cool in sport, but my goodness it can happen to the best of us!
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