Enough was enough.
We needed a Day Off.
So we packed the bathers – it was, after all, allegedly going to be 26 degrees today – and the towels, and headed off up the Great Ocean Road to Lorne.
Which is just that little bit too far for two smallish children, who begin the Whinge five minutes up the road.
Two hours of it is enough to make anyone wonder why the bother contemplating Family Outings.
Eventually arrive after what seems like 2 months, locate a reasonable fish and chip shop and order, while two smallish children are saying “I need to do a wee” and a Grumpy One is looking for a car park.
Oh what fun.
Locate a nice spot on the grass, eat. Well, we eat, Godzilla throws great handfuls of chips and half his fish at the seagulls. Because its not really fish & chips on the beach unless you have seagulls harrassing you whilst you’re trying to eat.
He then proceeded to annoy everyone else, by chasing the seagulls. And screaming loudly.
The kids then decided a swim in the beach would be a lovely idea. We didn’t.
Do children really have no nerve endings anywhere? Or is it jus that they lack “cold” receptors?
The changed into their swimming gear, and played happily in the sand for an hour or so.
Then came the time to rinse them off – cold water only, of course, which is when they began to feel it and scream at the top of their lungs. Causing everyone around us to cast dirty looks, shake their heads, and some to comment on what horrible parents we were.
This was quickly sorted by Monkey Boy, who screamed “He’s got sand in his arse crack“. Apparently, we soon learned, a word he learnt at school the previous week. And served he purpose of creating more shaking of heads and casting of filthy looks at his parents.
Bellies full, we hopped into the car. Grumpy thought taking the “scenic” route home was a good idea – through the Otways.
I did pass comment on car sickness, full bellies and little boys, but “Never fear” he assurred me, all will be fine.
“Fine, don’t complain when I say “I told you so”, then, ok?”
Off we head, along curvey roads for some kilometres, picking up speed and having a lovely old time (well he was, I was looking anxiously at the pale little boy sitting in the back seat) until six year old says “Daddy, I need to stop. NOW!”
“Well, you’ll just have to wait, I can’t stop here.”
“Um, he’s going to vomit. Its not like he has a choice. I told you so.”
Pull over for the evacuation, then decide to go for a little walk near some farms to look at cows and get some fresh air. End up, somehow, in a paddock and can’t locate a way out, short of climbing over barbed wire and electrified fences.
Locate a gate in the distance and set off toward it. Godzilla felt that walking through the blackberry bushes (fortunatley devoid of foliage) was the quickest way to get where we were going. After several rescues and removal of pants from prickles, I gave up and dragged him the rest of the way to the gate.
The locked gate. That there was absolutely no way we could open.
Commenced the climb, located the car and eventually got back to it.
Head for home, returned in one peace, bathed (including removal of sand from “arse cracks” and associated commentary) ate and once again contemplated flat packs from Ikea residing in middle of loungeroom.