After 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