Travelling

I realise everyone’s idea of what constitutes travelling is different. Mine however is, if I have to take toilet breaks into account, then that’s travelling. With the youngest being 3 and only recently out of nappies that means anything over 25 minutes (she clearly has a bladder with the capacity of a medicine spoon).

So when we had to take a 5 hour drive to attend my sister’s wedding I was, I had decided, going to be fabulously organised and leave no room for error. If you can’t already see where I went wrong let me point out that my first mistake was assuming I had any control. My second was hope. Never ever be hopeful when you have a large family, that things will go smoothly, that way you don’t have to swallow the bitter pill of disappointment.

After waking up at 4.30am to an already strategically packed car, making travel mugs of Milo and bundling still sleepy kids into the car I was feeling naively optimistic. I would not even become defeated when discovering that my darling teenage daughter (BO#1) had neglected to bring her bag to the car the night before and therefore another space had to be found for a bag the size of a small island. If you have ever had the pleasure of transporting the luggage a 17 year old girl needs for three days, when one of those days is a wedding, you will know that this is hardly an exaggeration.

After major re-arranging we were off, only 30 minutes later than planned but a triumph all the same. Ten minutes later my husband is doing a u-turn because apparently he thought the GPS was wrong. Twenty minutes after that he is going back on himself, again he knew better than the GPS. I can hear you all wondering why the hell he has a GPS. WELL, DROP ME A LINE WHEN YOU FIGURE IT OUT. A few quiet words through gritted teeth later all is quiet.

I’m trying to hang on to my slowly seeping hope when all hell breaks loose. My slightly anally retentive 9 year old (BO#3) has spilled Milo all over herself and her “favourite” blanket. She’s in no position to sort herself out as she has a broken collar bone and can hardly move (another story) so we have to pull over in the dark so that I can climb over the first row of seats and a sleeping teenager to do damage control. A change of clothes, a few tears from a sore and now over-tired child, a blanket swap and we are off. 

Shortly after that another wail announces the fact that “dad didn’t put my seat belt on!” The 3 year old who can’t strap herself in has being sitting in the car for an hour without a seatbelt. A quick search by my husband proves that the connection for the belt cannot be found and must have somehow been taken out when the seats in our 9-seater were moved around. The ensuing words between my husband and I did not reflect in anyway the vows we made on our wedding day. Needless to say we had to go back home to find the belt that was there all along. No, I’m not proud of what I called my betrothed but admire my restraint in letting him live. By now my two teenagers have had enough, have gone back to bed and are refusing to go. Threats involving mobile phones and a serious decline in financial support changed their minds however and got them back into the car.

So, two hours later than planned we left and stopped for breakfast 15 minutes away from home before setting off on our still 5 hours-to-go trip. I wish I could tell you I’m hopeful that next time will be better, but next time I’m sending the kids with their father and taking my chances hitchhiking with the first deranged, toothless trucker driving a bolted meat locker that will stop. Couldn’t possibly be worse!