Ah. last day of school for two weeks.
I always have mixed feelings about this time of year. No routine, no having to be somewhere or specific, monotonous things to do, not having to get out of jarmies at any specific time … but the kids are home and you’re required to think of multitude things that aren’t “boring” for them to do.
As everything is “boring” this makes the job particularly hazardous.
Typically, end of term is when they are tired. Very, very tired. I find them tired to the point of obnoxious and revolting.
Yeah? Well, I feel the same.
Tonight, like last night, was no exception. Chippie has had a full week of waking overnight, not just every second night as is the norm. I’m very, very, very tired. So not far from the edge.
School pickup was early, so I got the little cherubs at home for an extra hour before dinner. During the walk home we negotiated a “special treat” dinner – chicken and chips from the place up the road. The Grumpy One is at the Grand Prix, so he can just miss out. So long as he doesn’t come home drunk, I’m happy.
That extra hour they were at home proved disasterous. They played nicely for a bit while I relaxed, played with Chippie and chat about their day. We organised the time we were leaving to get dinner. They were given explicit instructions about what they can and cannot do before we left. Close to the time, they asked for food, I specifically said “No, we are leaving. DO NOT EAT!” and five minutes later ask them to get off the Wii so we may leave.
To find them in an area I had specifically forbid them being on, and eating tins of spaghetti. Then taking ten minutes to get off so we could leave.
That ten minutes was all it took for them to be walking up the street with me NOT getting our pre-organised meal, but to get provisions I could whip up for Chippie and I. It started raining, which presented me with the opportunity to advise them that had we left when I wanted to; the first time I asked, not the 806th, we wold have been home before it started raining. I cooked up a meal for two, repeatedly ensuring them they had already eaten, so, no, they couldn’t have any.
In my frazzled state, I cooked up too much and had to eat it all, just to make my point and not let them have any.
Although it is highly recommended that children under the age of two years do not watch any sort of television, sometimes you just have to not give a shit. So I sent the big ones to bed at 7pm and shared the couch and a Bridget Jones DVD with Chippie, a glass of wine and a teensy carton of chocolate ice cream.
(I didn’t share the wine or chocolate with him. That would mean I got less!)
Sometimes, you need to get rid of them for your own sanity and their safety.