At long last after several years we are finally getting our house sorted out and knocking down a wall downstairs to achieve one big living space.... and moving our front door (long story)... and converting our downstairs loo into a shower room.
'No problem', I thought optimistically, 'We'll just arrange the building work for the Easter holidays and I'll go away for a couple of weeks with the children.'. Having focused doggedly on just getting this to happen, packing up and whisking the kids off seemed like the end of a busy journey. Little did I realise it was the start of a travelling fiasco!
You'd think I'd be a dab hand at packing up the car and entertaining the kids en route but at times I would do well to take my own advice! I was determined to travel light, then relented and let the kids pack up their own funky frog suitcases. In the frenzy to depart before the builders arrived, my husband kindly offered to pack the car for me but I had to furtively repack while he wasn't looking as he just doesn't get the whole 'pack in the order you need things in' - PJs and bedding on top, not buried at the bottom under the 'just in case' wellies!
Deep breath and we're finally off. For one glorious moment I enjoy the drive through the New Forest, uplifted by the sun streaming in through the windows, reveling in that feeling of being on the cusp of something new, kids singing along happily to their CD, then it starts... demands for lunch (NO, I want to hoolld the box myself mummy'), music ('that's not fair, we listened to 'Bing Bang' twice, Space Pirates are rubbish and I want to listen to the Diego song') etc and I turn into a sandwich wielding, button pressing octopus. I did try; 'Now it's mummy's turn to listen to her song,' but Radiohead was unfortunately booed into submission and I did take my own advice and introduce some boredom busting children's car activities instead.
We get to our destination and it is truly great to see everyone, but what I singularly fail to remember every time I undertake these trips away by myself with the kids is that they are not really a holiday but more of an endurance test! Having struggled with camp beds, travel cots and turfed my niece out of her bedroom, we settle down for the night. I foolishly look at my double bed and look forward to a night's sleep. Pah! Rosie discovers her travel cot is actually a musical instrument and if she strums her nails up and down the netting it makes an amusing sound, and what's more, it wakes her brother up. Will abandons his camp bed as it's too low, 'But that's fun,' I say, 'Well, you sleep on it then and I'll sleep up here'. He's only 5 and already his logic leaves me stumped. Needless to say I wake up (or should I say give up trying to go to sleep?) at 5.30am with both my gorgeous fidgets in bed with me.
Several more nights like this ensue and on our final morning Will is in the bath getting spruced up for our trip back to see Dad. It's while we are just getting his clothes sorted out that I realise there is water.... water... everywhere. Turns out the waste pipe has picked that moment to inflict plumbing hell on all around it. I am sloshing around in my slippers and dressing gown and have a decidedly middle aged moment - I used to go out, laugh with friends, sleep lots & wear nice clothes! Instead I am a sleep deprived wreck mopping water up from my brother's newly laid wooden floor with towels and anything pourous I can lay my hands on!
I escape with the kids to my parents house a short walk away leaving my dad and brother to sort out the mess. Time for a refreshing shower. Not so - somehow I have managed to blow the fuses and I am standing there shivering waiting for the shower to start when I realise this is what has happened. If it sounds like I have made this up believe me I didn't!
The day is recovered with a BBQ before we embark on our homeward journey. More shoe horning of bags into boot and finally we're ready. I pick up my bag, swing it round onto my shoulder and wonder why it feels wet. Then I notice the spray of liquid splattered onto walls and yet more wooden floor in the lounge. Yup - hadn't done the milk cup up properly.
My brother looks at me and says 'Sis, you are evicted from the big brother house'. And here endeth the tale of my Easter trip away to escape the building nightmare in our home. Hardly the restful interlude I had hoped for but we had fun!
Does this experience ring true with any of your trips away with children?
Read about how I feel when the work is nearly finished >>> Travelling light
