The Kids Are Alright

I missed the part in the marriage vows that said “forsaking all other hobbies, interests and pastimes till death do you part”, so this becoming a butler and chauffeur thing for my kids came as a big surprise to me.

Last weekend was devoted to my kids’ usual request for me to do a “Robert De Niro”. In this re enactment I find it easy to look fed up as I drive round all day providing a taxi service for them. Unlike Travis Bickle, however, I don’t get the satisfaction of killing anyone for ruining my days off.

First up was daughter number one, Annalie, who was going off hiking and camping in order to get her Duke Of Edinburgh Silver award. This is set up to give youngsters a sense of responsibility and survival and involves hiking for nine hours a day with only a compass and map for guidance. I wasn’t sure the message had quite got through as I ended up collecting three of my daughter’s friends who couldn’t find their way to the starting line, one of them turning up with a helium balloon attached to her rucksack announcing her sixteenth birthday.

As the chatter in the car turned to the birthday girl’s new hair dye job and how many of them had shaved their legs, I thought how proud I was that my daughter is a bit more sensible and rugged. She looks like she could eat the countryside up whole. But as I dropped them off Annalie asked her friend if she thought she’d brought enough make up and then enquired where she could plug in her hair dryer. Had she asked where the bar was I just know it would have been a nail bar.

Arriving back from the camp site it was time to be taxi driver to daughter number two, Luisa, who was being Confirmed. Various far flung family members had arrived for her big day and she decided to relax by watching television. She announced to us during a commercial break that she had decided she’d just seen what she wanted for her upcoming birthday. Looking at a cute tiny dog playing with a toilet roll she said, “I want a Durex puppy.”

Picking myself up off the ceiling I asked if that’s what she really meant and, after she’d repeated it, I explained that while Durex did make something that wiped up silly little mistakes, it was an all together different product. “Of course”, she knowingly told us. “Silly me. Durex make paint, don’t they?”

Please God she’ll believe that for many years to come.

After the ceremony where, incidentally, eighty kids and adults were confirmed in a ceremony lasting slightly longer than the War of the Roses, we all came back for a cordon bleu dinner cooked by me. And let me tell you, cooking for fifteen people is not easy when you only have a barbecue big enough for six. Fortunately, God realised this and gave us beer which means everyone forgets whether they’ve actually eaten or not. I usually just fire up the barbie, place a few dirty dishes on the table, and then start by asking everyone if they want more. They look at the plates and usually slur “no thanks, I’m stuffed.” Sometimes I’ve been known to get away without actually cooking one single sausage.

Now, at last, I have a few hours off and then it’s the kids’ birthdays, both this week. More running around daft, more barbecues, more make up tips, more tantrums and hairdryers.

In my next life I’m putting my foot down. We’re having boys.