Eventually everybody came home. After dinner the twins and I enjoyed the peace to choose what we wanted to watch on TV. Of course that meant a movie - and if it's a movie then it's got to be a Barbie movie. Out of the twelve or so Barbie movies ( ours and theirs) to choose from they want to see the one where there are two Barbies and the Barbies sing about "Two voices, one song." Drat Mattel for putting small singing devices in those dolls - I've been listening to nothing else for three days and now this movie is going to ramp that up another level.
Oh well - I really shouldn't complain - it's not forever and it's not like I haven't listened to similar stuff in the past. Miriam was a huge Dora fan. In fact her third or fourth word was "Abba" which we finally figured out meant "abrie" or open in Spanish - something Dora says often. And I certainly survived all those " Come On Vamos" jingles, and even the seven different Dora dolls most of whom sang too. And Arthur had one toy we came to dread. Chomper, a talking truckbot, that looked like a cross between a dinosaur and a construction vehicle. He could speak in both English and French and his sensor was so delicate that walking through the room would set him off. " Hi, my name's Chomper. Do you want to play?" It was forever going off at strange times. One night a mouse set it off and the next day I was using screwdrivers to get in at the speakers and disconnect them.
Thus, by the time Uncle Robin had joined us at 6:30 the movie was well underway and they were singing happily if off key and off word - and I felt I had earned a brief escape. I went back to those piles of paper strewn across every surface in my office. Now I should explain my office. Right now you're probably picturing a room with some kind of desk, a chair and maybe a table or cabinet. That's not my office - It is also home to a large and increasingly sprawling HO model train layout, a scrap-booking/sewing/summer camp materials depot and as Brownie leader, my kit and all the stuff for meetings also reside here. Finding a level surface is not easy - let alone finding an empty one. The walls are covered in shelves and hooks, the work surfaces are covered in tracks and miniature houses and every available nook is stuffed with some kind of organizer container holding some sort of supply. All that remains is my desk on which lives the computer monitor and too many pieces of paper.
So when I said I was down to sorting through that last three feet of paperwork - it meant I had to pull it out of the space it had been temporarily stored in and then separated into the various bills, statements, and records and then I had to pull out the older ones from the filing cabinet and merge the present with the past. I know you're supposed to save 7 years worth of past income tax stuff - but what's the rule for telephone bills and dental claims? I figure I have enough room to keep maybe three or four years of that stuff. After all -you can't claim it for a tax deduction and no-one's ever asked to see this stuff. So I pull out the shredder and start weeding through, eliminating 2005, 2006 in order to make room for 2009 and 2010. The pile of paper reduces but the bag of shredded scraps is growing. And it's boring - so I turn on the tv set I have here for just this purpose. And luckily a great show is about to start. A new episode of Glee!
You cannot watch a great show like Glee and run a paper shredder. And now Uncle Robin is taking one twin upstairs to bed and none of the older kids have returned, so there's no one to watch the remain three year old. Oh well paper will wait - I'll watch Glee in the main playroom and hopefully it won't be one of their sexier episodes. This is working well until someone opens their mouth to sing and Shirley looks up, grabs the singing Barbie and joins in. I can tell you that those two voices - Disney & Glee- do not make one song! The cacophony is straining my head and that migraine is threatening to return. I give up Glee. And thankfully Shirley gives up singing.
It's now past eight and more than twenty four hours since Nichelle and Maryanne left on their overnight. Could it be their hostess is enjoying their company sooo much? Nope - the phone rings and she's explaining to me how time got away from her ( I know what she means) - the girls will be home soon. They arrive in minutes. Strangely - this time she doesn't seem eager to stay and chat. Oh well - the timing means it'll take just a little longer to get Maryanne calm enough for bed so Uncle Robin takes Shirley up to her bed and in what feels like less than two minutes he's back. "All set - good night!" and he's gone. There's no noise coming from the twins and I don't dare open the door to check on them. Let 'sleeping?' twins lie is my motto.
I get Maryanne to bed before too long. just me and Nichelle left up. I don't get to spend a lot of time with this niece. She's a pretty self sufficent girl and when ever I see her she's got her head in a book or a DS or of course she's playing with Arthur and Miriam - so I don't want to miss an opportunity to do some bonding with her. "How about a movie?" I suggest. "Okay" and we look through what I have on hand. She's seen them all or she's not interested. Then I spot the DVD my neighbour burned for me. "Ooh yes" she agrees to that one. We settle in to watch The King's Speech. I've seen it before so as Nichelle gets confused about who everyone is - sorting out the kings of England and why their names keep changing becomes a running dialogue. Eventually we've seen the movie and I send her off to sleep. But I've missed Glee - even the west coast airing - oh well thank goodness for the internet. I'll watch it tomorrow in peace and quiet. Time for bed for myself as well.
Day Five: Not having Arthur home means I don't have to get up early to give him his meds. A Sleep-in! Until I remember that it's garbage day. Not having my husband home means I do have to get up and get the garbage to the curb before the pickup - and on our street - it's early. ARGH! No sleep-in. I stumble around and pull on boots and coat over jammies and drag the stuff out. Now I'm wide awake - well I'll blog for a bit.
The noise of my efforts has roused the cats - I let them out and the ginger male pushes open the bedroom door and ounces on Nichelle. So she's up early too. She's in a chatty mood (not conducive for writing) so remembering how confusing last night's character list was - I pull up the list of Kings and Queens of England on my laptop and we sit together as I go through it with her. If nothing else - a child with Aspberger's syndrome has the ability to learn minutia if the topic interests them. I'm hoping she's interested. Her eye's don't seem to be glazing over - so I show her the mnemonic "Willy, Willy, Harry Steev" that children have used forever to remember the succession. Either she's inhaled the information and is now bored or she's being very polite, either way I release her to her DS and go back to blogging. Now the other girls are awake - oh well - time to get going any way.
Breakfast this morning - Hmmmm - No one is interested in Ostrich eggs on alligator hide with frog egg jam. Instead we have scrambled eggs on cheese whiz toast. Happy they all ate it - I do the dishes, get dressed and leave all four to play together. But apparently without the presence of my kids these girls have reverted to their at home personalities and for the first time at Camp Aunt there is squabbling amongst them. Instead of intervening I choose instead to start packing up all their stuff in anticipation of their going home today. I start in the twins room and deflate the air mattress and gather clothes and toys up. I find a sippy cup wedged under the bed. It's been there since day one - and the milk is looking decidedly thick. Then I move on to Miriam's room and do the same with the air mattress there. I decide that the bigger girls are responsible for packing their stuff. things are quiet again downstairs so I figure I can get back to the blog.
And again the morning has slipped away. I catch the arrival of a van out of the corner of my eye just as I finish writing. The teenager is here for her last round of helping. Where did the time go? But it turns out not to be her. Instead Miriam is home early from her sleepover playdate. "She banged her head at the swimming pool yesterday and this morning says she isn't feeling well." The mother looks a little nervous - but I know my daughter - she didn't tell anyone about the banged head for fear they'd make her get out of the pool early. So I'm not upset - but I do examine the pale purple bruise on her forehead and thank the mother and gather in her stuff. Oh well - it's not a bad idea that she's home this afternoon with her cousins. I go back to try and edit the blog and this time the vehicle that I spot at the end of our driveway is the teenager arriving. Oh well - I post and pray there aren't too many glaring spelling/typo errors. ( Forgive me the ones you found yesterday dear readers.)
Lunch is just underway and I'm thinking about that paperwork waiting in the basement and how to barricade myself in to get it finished -when Arthur calls. "When will you be here Mum?" Okay - apparently he wants to come home now. "It'll be a bit - I need to put on socks" and I give up again on getting household chores accomplished. Oh well -Arthur's friend lives in the same town as my mother's nursing home - I can deal with a couple of bills, and pick up my son and then drop in to see her briefly. Arthur hasn't been to visit since Nana moved in so this is a kill-two-birds scenario. Alright - off I go again. The teenager has lunch and crafts and five girls - and I have some fresh air.
Arthur and I get back around 2pm. The front hall is now filled with my children's incoming paraphenalia and my niece's outgoing accouterments. Thank goodness we did that reno years ago. Our home is a typical 1970's raised ranch style home where the entrance is actually the landing between the two levels. But that entrance is always the size of a postage stamp with only space for the door to swing and one person to stand before someone or something gets pushed onto the stairs. When my husband and I bought our house, my father (an architect) drew up plans for a small extension - 7x12 feet of breathing room and as soon as we could afford it - we did the work. The resulting space means I can accommodate a week's worth of groceries, schoolbags, snow suits, and myraid of boots when we throw our annual christmas party. I'm waiting until the teenager is finished her duties, is paid and sent on her way home before I call the older kids to the front hall.
"Nichelle- you are responsible for helping me get the sleeping bags rolled up."
" Maryanne - you get all the pillows and bring them here."
" Arthur - please take your stuff up to your room - but do not unpack before I get a chance to vacumn the floor."
" Miriam - take your stuff and put it away - and don't tell me you don't feel well - you've been bouncing around all afternoon."
"Then everyone is going to tidy up the playroom." I finish " Including putting away the Duplo, the Barbies, and picking up all the crayons!"
Orders given and the work commences. The twins get a tad confused and try bring their stuff back into Arthur's room which causes loud discussions; but, by 5pm the entrance is sorted, the playroom tidier and everything ready for the return of the Newfoundland adults.
My husband calls - they're on the road from the airport and due home within the half hour. Time to put the pizzas in the oven. I juggle the racks and figure if I put the bottom pizza on the tray then the top one can go in as is - and both should cook evenly. I set the timer, then set the table, and set myself down to read the newspaper until dinner. Somehow I missed the timer going off. Maybe that was when the screams from downstairs about whose turn it was on the Wii distracted me. Yes - after five days everyone's running out of nice behaviour. They've been very good - but I can't say I blame them. We're all tired of keeping our best foot forward. I turn off the oven and call the kids to do their dinner duties. Arthur complains he's can't find a sippy cup for the twins because I packed them all. Maryanne has taken the twins to wash hands, Miriam is putting napkins down around the table but arguing that we don't need cutlery for pizza and Nichelle is not here in the kitchen where I want her - I call for her- "Coming" she answers, but doesn't. I call again, " Just putting away my DS, " "Come now!" I answer, and still no Nichelle. Even my best behaviour has run out. "NOW!" I scream at the top of my lungs, whereupon Nichelle arrives looking terrified, and there's another pitching scream from the bathroom and Audrey is suddenly tugging at me telling me Shirley's hurt. She wouldn't let go of the towel they all like to use for drying their hands and Maryanne pulled at it and Shirley got pulled off the step stool and landed on her face. Great - the adults will be here in minutes and three out of the four nieces are in tears and everyone is yelling. What a way to end the visit. I throw my arms around the littlest, hugs and reassurance - she's fine, then I tell the next one I'm not mad at her and send them to the table. I find my eldest niece, apologize for scaring her and get everyone seated. But the top pizza is stuck to the rack and I make a mess of it getting it out, Oh well - I cut around the dark brown crusty bits, making up plates of pizza bites for the twins and eventually everyone is happy. We say grace and I breathe. And that's when the adults come home.
No comments:
Post a Comment