Why Big Families Might Be A Bad Idea When You Are From New Zealand

Today I got rained on, and got blanked by a friend’s husband and my new Stella McCartney jacket was run over by my pushchair. Luckily, there is a pie in the oven, which may fix me. And I just busted the children still awake, with all of the lights on, at 8:15pm, making some sort of trap involving yoyos, rope and mesh tunnels. I got cranky and yanked the tunnel off the top bunk and the yoyo string broke and pinged me in the forehead which TOTALLY ruined my righteous anger. And there will be NO WINE to soften the wrongness of today (see below). It shall have to be extra pie, instead.

Anyway, to thoughts of Christmas. This year we are flying home to New Zealand to see family and friends. Before you get all envious though, with your thoughts of Crowded House and The Piano and Rachel Hunter and flightless birds, THINK ON THIS ugly little nugget of economy-related travel-doom:

It will take 27 hours flying time and it will cost us £7374.00.

Yes. The kids will be punching each other before we even get to Heathrow. I will be weeping in a toilet cubicle at the airport, wailing and sobbing and wrapping myself up into a tiny tiny ball. There will be wee-incidents in the waiting lounge. We will be sweating, the children will be shrieking. Everyone will shudder when they see us board. The baby will want to walk up and down the aisles from London to Dubai, only to fall asleep when we land. We will then be hauling everyone off the plane, to walk through Dubai airport at the equivalent time of 3am, only to get back on again for nearly 20 hours.


Except, this Christmas, we are. Oh, I feel nauseous just writing this. And how many ways would I rather spend £7000? Aaaaaand then we will come home to freezing London and we will be fined for taking the kids out of school for three days unauthorised leave, and so we will have to fork over £300 to Westminster Council. AWESOME. The jetlag! The plane illnesses! The 27 hour return trip! OH OH OH!

And in other middle-class-woes, I drank too much wino at The Providores on Monday night (which, as normal people are well-aware, is a school night) and I said yes yes yes to the Dog Point sauvignon blanc and the pinot noir and the Sipsmith gin and it all turned so unbelievably ugly on Tuesday morning when the children ran in screaming at 6:15am. The room was spinning and I was sick, and I had to lie down on the couch. It was AWFUL and I am blacklisting wine for at least one more evening. I was hoping that this little wino-free-period would make me feel thin and my skin would be like a shining dewy baby and I would spring out of bed in the morning, virtuous and athletic, but I feel the same.

Moral of the story? Wine-holidays are for the weak. See you at the bar, baby.

Fearless Casper Attempts To Insult Big Kids

And before I go, Casper, he of the permy white bighair, who has been in a little bit of trouble at nursery for poking other kids and hitting his best mate Harry, was in the park today after school, taunting enormous teenagers. His insult was a spontaneous creation, linking the worst thing anyone ever says to him (“You’re a baby”) with an extra word to really make it clear. I caught him standing near them but at a safe enough distance to be able to run away, yelling at them earnestly and desperately while they failed to notice him at all, with this:

“You’re a baby…..SITTER! Hahahahahahahaha! A BABYSITTER! Yes, you ARE! HAHAHAHA!”

I led him away, ranting and gaffawing maniacally. It was a sweetly pathetic.

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9 Responses to Why Big Families Might Be A Bad Idea When You Are From New Zealand

  1. Charlotte Knight says:

    Casper is a genius!! Love love it!!!
    And yes I will see you back at Providore’s for the next wine evening Jod’s. Good form girlfriend x

  2. PaisleyJade says:

    Just about wetting my pants here…

  3. Belinda says:

    I am envious of your Monday nights! Not so your Tuesday mornings. My Monday night was a power cut and Tuesday morning was a leaking water cylinder. Flying home sounds awful. I would recommend everyone in nappies….all 6 of you! And lots of strong sedatives/sleeping pills probably mixed with some wine also.

  4. Sally says:

    Did you say PIE in the oven? That girl not in the mix yet then?

  5. Elizabeth says:

    Oh how I do miss you.

  6. Tutak says:

    Oh brave Jodie. I do not envy you that flight. I’ve had the experience (twice) of one hyperactive child on a seven hour flight each way, with three hours of tantrumming at the airport before departure, and that was enough to make me still have nightmares….can’t imagine doing New Zealand with changes, with four…..The worst thing is knowing how much the childless adults hate you for having offspring; I often think that they should make certain flights 18 certificate only, so that all the child-haters can choose to go on those planes and then designate other flights Raft of the Medusa-type extravaganzas of wailing infants and their tranquilisered parents….

  7. Patience says:

    “You’re a babysitter.” That’s priceless. You have to pay a fine for unauthorized absence from school? That is harsh. I have always been able to persuade my school district that travel is more educational than sitting in a classroom, although even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been fined, just forced to appear in court, although it occurs to me that the outcome of a court appearance is often a fine. Hmmm.

  8. Oooohhh the loooong flightd.
    But before that, the peasures of the check in, where an underpaid moron charges you $560 for 2.5 kg.
    The delightful flight, where you can hear the vertebrae crumbling, the knees crushing, the arese going rapidly numb, them the pain starts. Just pray you don’t get visited by the haemorhhoid fairy, or the PMTdemon or even the menstruation monster.
    But wait.

    What’s in store?

    Immigration officers smiling at you and giving lollies to the kids (and you)Tuis warbling in the flax, ordinary people smiling at you in the street, deserted beaches, Tip Top ice cream, Lamb Shanks, Steak and Cheese Pies, Feijoas, Tamarillos, Kumara, Fish & Chips with Watties sauceand of course Winston Peters.

    If you want a laugh, start reading about Hone Harawera and the “Mana” party

  9. Long-haul Christmas hols are always a double-edged sword, but in this case I fear there are many edges. You could call it a multi-edged sword if you were so inclined. Or maybe a ninja throwing star.

    But also it will be FUN! So keep thinking about that part…

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