Kids just show up at our door clutching their own sleeping bags now.

Busily serving up pancakes for 12, through the window I spot the back of a midget escaping up the drive.

"Abby, is that one of yours?"

"Um, no.. she's with Matt."

"WHAT??"

He's still asleep in his pit when I confront him. 

"Relax, she's 21, just short."

RELAX??  As he uses the house for a knocking shop? 

I don't think so.

I bloody well hope they used protection, he only met the drunken slapper the night before.  Talk about disrespectful - sheesh - and as for the the boy himself, well he is nothing short of a slutty tart, isn't he?  I ask you, what kind of an example is that to show his siblings?

Och yes, yes, of course, sure he's nearly 20 -  I'm not that daft, I know there's a fair amount of casual bed-hopping  going on between the young, free and single, but I'll be damned if he's going to be dragging his carrying's on back here under his parents roof, there are some things I just don't need to see.

"Well, but you weren't meant to see her, were you?  If she'd only gotten her bum up there thirty seconds earlier, you would still have been none the wiser."  

Grrrrrrrrrrrrr..

Mind, as if my other's are any angels.

"Bec, how come you and your mates were camped out in the living room last night?  Unlike Abby's, your room has ample space enough, you knew she was planning on using the sofa's for her sleepover - seven of them had to cram themselves into her tiny room, that's ridiculous."

"No one was here when we got back, I thought they were sleeping over somewhere else."

EH?????????

Bec and her mates came home after I went up to bed, I knew they were at a birthday party, and wouldn't arrive in 'til around 1am.  When I'd gone off upstairs, I'd left my youngest and her pals cosied up to a bowl of popcorn, watching the start of a good movie.

I eyeball Abby as they and she squirm.

"Well, thing is, we got bored, and decided to play football down by the river.."

Shit.  Little buggers.  Their parents would likely have a fit if they knew.  I'm gobsmacked.  Though not that gobsmacked that I can't still first read them all the riot act.  Talk about betrayal of trust..

Hang on.

"Bec, that still doesn't explain why you crashed out in the living room..?"

"V threw up in my bed."

V (Bright scarlet) "Sorry."

WTF??? 

"YOU LOT WERE DRINKING?"

Chorus of denial.  I'm meant to believe she had a stomach bug.

And there was me thinking it was Sam tuppence short of a shilling - blimey, pardon me, looks like he's actually the only sane kid in this entire asylum.  Sagely lying low, he's scarpered out into the garden dragging a reluctant Jake along (the poor mutt obviously hasn't had a wink of sleep all night, and is now literally howling at the back door to be allowed to crash in his basket).

Being no fool, hubby, in training for the marathon, left early this morning for his run, so (surprise, surprise) I'm the only crappy parent left around this place to dole out all the indignation, threats and groundings.

It's not like I don't try to play happy families.  This week I treated us all to lunch out by the quayside.  It was a glorious day, and the outdoor table at the Mexican restaurant proved the perfect spot.  I and their dad were the only ones to make any effort at all at conversation, no one wanted to engage.  With no school or college, they don't function until after 2pm, and even when they do, it's only if they are surrounded by a mob of self-styled clones.

Much as I love them, they're driving me nuts. 

So yup, sure looks to be shaping up to be yet another lively Easter over here at the Shrinky camp.

(Sloping off to check on-line flights to Timbuktu..)