Archive for family holiday
Escape!
Posted by: | CommentsAfter this morning’s dangerous trip to the shops, fraught with iPods and bizarrely brained children and zombies I was in need of an escape.
“Let’s go away for the night,” I suggest.
Because there’s nothing quite like spontaneity to add some fun to your life.
So we pack some lunch to have along the way, despite it being lunchtime as we do so, pack overnight bags and pack the car. We even remember jackets this time.
Then we pack ourselves in and off we go.
The children entertain themselves by doing such fun things as touching each other and looking at each other, working Chippie up into a state so that he hits them, pulls their hair and yells and screams very loudly.
“Stop!” I say.
“Use your Inside The Car voice!” I continue.
“ARGH! HE TOUCH MY CHAIR!” Chippie screams at me.
“I meant the other Inside The Car voice,” I tell him. “Not the one you usually use. The one that is appropriate to use inside the confines of a car and doesn’t deafen everyone. That Inside The Car voice.”
“ARGH!” he replies. ‘HE LOOK AT ME!”
And I contemplate tossing them all out. Then decide I think I’d prefer to hop out myself and go and have some nice quiet time by myself. I open the packet of lollies instead.
We make it as far as Colac where we stop and check out a car show (*shudder* but that’s a long story about my previous life that I may or may not discuss, depending on whether anyone is interested or not), eat a very belated lunch and set off again.
Next stop: Warrnambool, where we have booked some last minute accommodation which is not, as Grumpy thought, a motel, but a series of cabins. No matter. We’re only using it to sleep in. And, you know, run around screaming, jumping on beds and fighting with our siblings etc.
A walk is in order, partly to get some blood flow back into our legs after sitting for hours, and in order to hunt for food for the evening meal.
Chippie turns on his feral and starts screaming and crying and wanting to be carried and Grumpy tries to distract him by collect what we think is Norfolk Island pine tree “fruit” and telling him it is a penis.
And so commences the tone of discussion for our walk.
They all collect some of the fronds from the trees, Chippie insisting he utilise his for a tail, Monkey Boy went for light sabre and Godzilla just collected a heap. Grumpy whipped everyone with his, because, clearly, everyone was far too happy and content and some disgruntlement was required.
We wandered to the train station, where Chippie performed an “I wanna see-a train!” tantrum and was most pissed off we did not produce one for him.
We wandered up and down streets, located dinner, returned back to our cabin, ate, the discussion turned to the topic of farts, and included a challenge. Basically, they each had to create a fart-like noise with their mouth and each one had to be different.
There was no prize. Nor even a winner. Just the fun of doing it.
I wondered what the appeal was – or which lunatic came up with the suggestion – of having the TV off during evening meal time? I was tempted to turn The Simpsons on for a bit of subdued discussion. It is WAY more appropriate that some of the content of the topics in our household.
Instead, Grumpy suggested another walk. I was all for it, until I recalled the talk during out walk only hours earlier.
Thankfully, we located a playground, complete with awesome flying fox and a maze and everyone was otherwise distracted
Still, I did learn a few things during our walks, and spending time with my kids:
- it is entirely possibly to talk about penises for two hours straight
- if you feed Chippie he is less likely to throw tantrums … don’t you hate that? He’s being revolting, you feed and then you think “oh, yeah – duh!” Idiot
- “Mendies” are ladies with penises
- There is along and convoluted process that goes on in your brain to come up with this and, as a mother, it can break your mind trying to work it out
- “mendies” is “men” and “ladies” combined … obviously!
- despite my sometimes thinking otherwise, there are children who are far worse and way more rude, obnoxious and revolting than my own … the one at the playground who kicked and pushed my 3 year old for no reason other than to be a little C***, you are one of them
- despite my sometimes thinking otherwise, I’m not such bad a mother
- despite already have spoken about penises for two hours straight, it is actually possible to come up with more things to discuss about penises …
How organised?
Posted by: | CommentsWe left on a Family Road trip this morning.
A Stupid O’Clock kind of “this morning”. Packing car at 4am and on the road at 4.43am. Not a bad effort.
Having experienced the Family Road Trip on numerous occasions; so many that it resulted in a blanket ban of Eye Spy, both in and out of the car, I knew to be organised to a point.
Cooler bags packed with fruit, drinks and sandwiches, and the secret console in the car stuffed with lollies, chocolates and other stuff to eat whilst the kids slept on the drive. I’m not stupid, you know.
Clothes for all kinds of weather, beach paraphernalia, pillows (for sleeping comfort and screaming into), jackets handy and rechargers for the equivalent of 18 electronic devices coming with us, including, but not limited to two kinds of phone, net books, cameras and the Wii (don’t ask).
This particular Family Road Trip has, of course, coincided with the Selling Of The House and the Open For Inspections that usually accompany such phenomena. This Sale/Series Of Inspections was a minor trigger for said Family Road Trip … you know, to get us out of the house and 1600km away so we had no hope of making it even remotely messy.
It also meant that we had to have the house in Inspection Shape before we left. Yes, at 4.43am.
Grumpy was working, so I got all the special jobs, like packing everything (the result, everyone had a plethora of undies and we probably took a suitcase too many), ensuring the house was obsessively tidy, the shower and toilets scrubbed and the floor food hoovered up by the children.
I sent them off to bed as I finished the bottle of wine (I couldn’t leave it! Are you insane?!) and faced my final dilemma … what if … and there’s a good chance it could happen … on of them wets the bed.
Given all the surrounding circumstances; leaving early, tidy house, selling incentives, the chances of a piddled in bed were dramatically increased. Murphy’s Law and all that … *sigh*
Grumpy arrived home and found me dragging kids to the car. I mean, I’d already had them sleeping in their clothes for the trip, why couldn’t I just have them sleeping in the car, as well? Hmmmm?
Anyhoo, we left a neat, tidy, clean, non-peed-in house very early. And exactly 16 hours and 3 minutes later … we arrived …
Can we start our holiday now?
Ah, relaxed and refreshed … and ready for a holiday
Posted by: | CommentsI hate that moment you realise you are no longer on holiday.
For me, it usally hits me when I look at the two suitcases sitting just outside the laundry – usually the two largest ones, the ones that can hold a small African elephant and an adolescent rhino respectively.
They’re sitting outside the laundry because they are full, and I’m mean stuffed full, of dirty clothes. Clothes which appear to have bred overnight while you took a well earned rest after your holiday.
And you always need a rest after a holiday!
You sort the washing and put a load on, and when you go back to hang it out the clothes appear to have multiplied again and taken over the laundry.
Sit down to do some work … ah, so much less stressful and much more relaxing than a long car trip wtih 3 children and a grumpy husband …
The final leg….
Posted by: | CommentsLeave Canberra house in relative peace again, removing the boys, and driving off with them.
Chippie now back to “normal” plus excessive snot cried a majority of the time and could only be placated by holding a biscuit. Ever now and again, in slumber, he spat his dummy out, took a bite out of the bikkie, gummed it for a bit, spat it down his front, and shoved his dummy in again and returned to the Land of Nod.
A long lunch stopover where food was shovelled and minimal running around had. As per normal.
Back in the car, Chippie started up again, having to have a hand held on his leg before he’d drift off again. Attempts to remove hand before REM sleep stage resulted in eyes springing open and subsequent squalling.
Another stop just over an hour from home, the older two running around like idiots and climbing. Not on the things that were suitable, like the playground, but the fence beside a train line, trees and construction vehicles. Chippie entertained himself by having tantrums when removed from precariously up high things and eating a disgarded donut half located under the playground near several cigarette buts.
Back in the car, with little tears this time as Chippie managed to placate himself in this last stage, by reaching his hands down and retreiving small bits of pre-masticated biscuit with which he then consumed. Along with a lavender flower we’d picked at some stage along the way.
Godzilla, clearly disgusted at the sleep like state of his older brother recommenced the reaching behind seat and poking game.
We had completed the trip to this point without any threats to leave children on side of road, were we to be forced to now?
Thankfully, more food was located and that shut them up until we made it home.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way – even when your parents use preventative measures
Posted by: | CommentsBack on the road and back down to Canberra for a night’s stopover before heading home.
Grumpy and I had been extremely clever, or so we thought, in moving Chippie’s car seat into the middle, separating Monkey Boy and Godzilla. That was one reason, anyway. The other was Monkey Boy’s propensity for car sickness, and to make it easier for whoever wasn’t driving to attend to Chippie in case of need.
And need we did. He was over is lethargy in the car and insisted on spending most of it fighting sleep and crying. He appeared to be happy, and more likely to sleep, if holding a biscuit, then biting bits of it in a semi-conscious state, mushing them up and spitting them out again.
Then, the bit we least expected happened.
“Mu-um” came the cry “He’s touching me!”
What the …? It was definitely not a baby brother touching me complaint, which is usually accompanied by some mirth. Nope, a full on whingy complain. And then Godizlla crying in pain and the “he hurt me!”
There’s a bloody car seat between them. This can’t be happening.
But it can, when there is a teensy gap, just large enough to fit the arm of an eight year old boy, behind the baby seat. There went the next 20 minutes of one reaching through and pinching, poking and otherwise annoying the other, whilst the other either retaliated or, if quick enough, grabbing the hand of the protaganist and squeezing, pulling or otherwise maining.
Not content with the goings on inside the car, we also got the luxury of dealing with people outside of the car, just to make life more interesting. Like the old lady who slowed down to considerably below the roadworkds speed limit – of which there were a few – sped up to 20 kmph below the post roadworks limit of 100, then slammed her brakes on at this considerable speed despite no roadworks or other obvious reason for her doing so.
Or was there … just in front of her, doing the speed limit, was a truck carrying roadwork signs in his back. Two of those signs were speed limit signs, one saying 40 and the other 60. She had slowed down to the limits shown on the signs on the back of a truck.
I did wonder if she had gone into major panick wondering if she was supposed to be doing 40 or 60.
No time to ponder that thought …. “Mu-uuum, he threw a biscuit at me!”
A relaxing, holiday sort of day
Posted by: | CommentsDecide to do something holiday-y today and off we head to the river for a spot of bbq lunch and fishing.
Within minutes – actually, I think it was seconds – of us setting up, Chippie throws a tantrum because his grandfather removed a cigarette butt from his mouth and Godzilla gets the fishing hook caught on some rocks and gives up.
Calming Chippie, locating somewhere cigarette butt free for him to sit (not hard, give there was 1 cigarette butt in the vacinity, which he managed to find in amongst multitude fallen leaves and twigs) and retreive the rod before it slid down the bank to join its snagged hook, I ask Monkey Boy to hold the rod so I can climb down to untangle the line and commence what we came to do. Monkey Boy, in all his boyness, kicks off his shoes and scrambles down the bank, releasing the line and scaling back up to have a fling of the rod.
Bored after 13 seconds of not catching anything, he hands it back to me in a way that catches the hook again, so back down the bank he heads. The hook is much harder to retrieve this time, particularly as a boat zooms past, causing a wash that covers Monkey Boy’s feet and causes him to slip.
And draws blood.
Great.
The pain then kicks in and I get to do that Calming From a Distance Whilst Child Is Racing To Get To You From A Precarious And Potentially More Dangerous Spot whilst trying to recall what first aid supplies I may or may not have in the nappy bag (first aid supplies, along with baby panadol, and kids panadol and grown ups panadol for that matter, also left at home).
Locate mostly clean tissue (only minisculy snotty) to stop flow of blood and try to get good look at cut whilst Monkey Boy screams – in pain or because he can, I’m not quite sure. Thankfully the cuts aren’t deep, except perhaps for the small chunk taken out just above his ankle, but appear to be packed with black gunk. I really don’t want to think about consequences, nor do I want another trip to hospital these particular holidays. Squirt some water on it, whack several bandaids on, spend some minutes letting him know it’s ok to get off the seat and stop reading book and it’s unlikely he will experience any dire, life threatening situations given the activities we have planned for the rest of the day.
Go home after eating all food, catching no fish and Godzilla goes for a swim. If you consider stepping into river water up to your mid-calves a “swim”. Convince Monkey Boy to sit whilst I have a good look at his cuts, and the bits of oyster shell and grit in them. Icky. Get hands on antispetic and a decent pair of tweezers, argue for some minutes with Grumpy over who gets to pull the icky bits out, I pull the “mum” card, along with innate desire to care for child that is way beyond any comprehension and trump him.
He gets to hold Monkey Boy down, though, and watch.
Delicately, as delicately as possible given the screaming and writhing from Monkey Boy, I remove several pieces of grit and shell from the cuts, add some more bandaids and experience a relief that I have, singlehandedly reduced the potential for infection and trips to doctors and hospitals.
And a sense of satisfaction that is inevitable when removing foreign objects from body parts.
Or perhaps that sense of satisfaction was a subconscious reaction brought on by payback after the “squish”iness and public pregnancy comments of yesterday … who knows …
And the “holiday” continues …
Posted by: | CommentsChippie still not great, although the fever has gone.
It has been replaced with a disgustingly snotty nose and the dry cough substituted for a disgusting mucousy one. Nice.
Step mother offered the washing machine for our dirty laundry. What the heck? I’m no holidays. And despite having packed enough (ok, more than enough, but it’s a disorder, I can’t help it) for our trip, I do some anyway, and drag in the “washing” suitcase that we’d intended to leave in the car.
Now well and truly into holiday mode, ie Grumpy happy to explore or sit doing very little, and I’m busting to go shopping, I talk Monkey Boy into coming for a walk with me for a latte and to check out the local book shop. I convinced him by saying that I wanted to spend time with him which I haven’t done since before Godzilla was born.
The book shop had none of the books he liked or wanted, and his open-to-trying-new-things demeanour meant he flat our refused all suggestions for similarly themed books about bums and underpants. So we left.
By passed several cafes until we settled on one that looked like it was run from the old people’s home or the elderly ladies auxillary, perhaps. Served up old lady version of a latte and iced chocolate, whilst Monkey Boy complained about lack of kids and that everyone in the town either had “bits of grey in their hair, had no hair at all or their hair is all grey all over”. He had a point. At least there was a primary school in the are. There was no one my age!
Popped into the supermarket to grab some provisions for lunch before heading home, when, standing amongst elderly men, Monkey Boy, bored stupid – it’s the only reason I can think of why he then said what he did; that he was stupid! – says “are you pregnant?”
“No!” I replied, horrified.
“You are! You’re pregnant!”
“I’m not pregnant.”
He puts a hand on my belly, and one on my back, and bounces around excitedly and yells “You are pregnant! Yes you are you are!”
“I’m not bloody pregnant ok! I’m just really FAT!” and was only thwarted in my attempts to stomp off in a sulk by slow old men and zimmer frames in my way.
Monkey Boy then proceeded to alleviate his boredom by pinching bits of flesh around my abdomen and saying “squish squish” then following me around the supermarket doing same to my bum.
Vow to never have children again as long as I have lives.
Make it home, have lunch (despite, or because of, my now depressed state) and Monkey Boy talks Grumpy into heading back to the bookshop to purchase some books.
I bet he didn’t “squished” or loudly accused of being pregnant. And he looks it! Humph.
I want to go on holiday with a nice family!
On the road again
Posted by: | CommentsAfter two days in Canberra doing all the fun and exciting things we can, catching up with friends, somehow managing not to go insane due to the crying, snotty, coughing growth I now have permanently attached to my body, and repacking the bags so all the clothes requiring washing are located in the one spot, we all hop back in the car and head off to the next part of our “holiday” … further north.
It was with great rejoicing that we noticed the temperature hit double figures the further we moved from Canberra.
Chippie still not well slept a majority of the journey, thankfully, and Godzilla started on the “I need to go to the toilet” thing ten minutes after a decent length stop somewhere for refuelling and meals.
The further north we went, the greater the temperature and the diminishing of child-friendly facilities, such as, oh, playgrounds and the like. We stopped for lunch in Gosford and set about locating somewhere to sit and eat, and where the kids could race around and burn of some energy. Took the turnoff to a memorial “park”, did consider the possibilty that it was going to be a pet cemetary, which would have been preferable to the vast expanse of dried up grass and lack of any sort of amenity or play equipment.
Found another park, agian, much grass, no facilities for climbing, lots of old people, and an art exhibition located where the toilets were, forcing us in all our long car tripped dishevelled state to enter the neat, clean and stylish building , complete with extremely expensive works adorning the walls, to go to the loo.
Not a place for energy packed kids who haven’t had any opportunity to run, climb or jump … except for that thing out the front that they ran to, climbed on and jumped off and turned out to be a sculpture on display. How were we to know? It looked like a lump of something! Even Monkey Boy, who hates art, can do something more artisitic and aesthetic!
After managing to relieve ourselves of bladder pressure without being asked to leave due to wearing tracksuit pants (suitable for long car trips) or the police being called, because 6 hours of travelling in a car will make you look a bit like a crim, we went on our way, attempting to explain to Godzilla that the middle of a very busy highway is not the place to stop so he can wee on a tree, and eventually made it to our terminus and accommodation for the next two days.
Great Aspirations and a visit to Parliament House
Posted by: | CommentsBreakky and off we went to do some sight seeing.
First stop was Parliament House, which we had to visit to show Monkey Boy where he would be working when he was (is) Prime Minister. In we went and had a good look around, visiting the various rooms and displays featured in the building.
Monkey Boy then asked where the room was that Kevin Rudd swore in, so we set off on a mission to find just where the infamous tirade took place. Unable to verify where the incident occurred, I merely suggested that Monkey Boy go and ask at the information desk if he wanted to know so badly.
So off he went, by himself, and asked the very nice lady behind the desk where the “swearing room is”. He then came back and informed me that they don’t have one at Parliament House (liars). Then he said that the lady told him his mum was telling him bad things.
“Did she really?” I enquired.
“No. It’s what I said.” he replied.
At which point we left and spent the afternoon with both Monkey Boy and Godzilla making up “RuddSwears” (after having been introduced to the Potter Puppet Pals on You Tube and their skit on Wizard Swears). So it was a fun afternoon for all involved …
