Menopausal Rule Breaker
This Year we’ve taking our Easter break early, as in earlier than our School permits it – cue the music to The Omen. This was not done with deliberate anarchistic intent…No it was just a lethal combination of stupid Me, using ‘misplaced’ common sense in thinking that all the English schools would have the same Easter break, and mental blindness courtesy of the ‘pause’.
Take me to Court
Should a fine materialise as a result of this mishap, I’m more than happy to go to Court to prove my innocence. Anyone who knows Me, knows that there is no way on this Earth that I would elect to spend ‘extra’ time entertaining my children!
I’m Late, I’m Late
This ‘helliday’ started in the usual way, 24 hours of non-stop arguing and general verbal abuse. Then something unusual happened, because we’d got drunk in an attempt to get into the holiday spirit, I totally misjudged the timing for our alarm! I absolutely cannot handle being late, I morph into the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland on speed, twitchy, irrational and very shouty. My husband is the complete opposite, late for everything on purpose, because he doesn’t like other people imposing times upon him outside work – WTF?!
Airport Parking Hell
I didn’t appreciate the gravity of our lateness until we were car deep in rush hour traffic, I hadn’t even realised it was Monday morning in the real World. To make matters worse, for once I’d organised the parking and it turned out to be in the back of beyond in a place I hadn’t even realised existed.
Hot Flush Insanity
When we eventually found it and rushed on to the shuttle bus, it sat there for some further precious 20 minutes! At this point I had a breakdown, complete with hot flush and took my kids along for the ride – a how not to live my life moment!
Too much luggage to go illegal
Finally, the driver sauntered on and I pounced on him asking if he’d consider dropping us at the South Terminal first, which apparently, he wasn’t allowed to do. He did try to drop us off at the back of the South Terminal illegally – something in my desperate, deranged manner must have appealed to him – but we had too much luggage to manage the frickin stairs.
Ant Hive Reality
When we eventually reached the airport, sweaty, hung-over and stressed, the flight was boarding. The whole place was surprisingly packed in every direction; something else I hadn’t factored upon.
Mary Poppins’s Packing
Unfortunately, I channel Mary Poppins when I travel, so I always have baggage in the hold, filled to the brim with all my lotions and potions. The queue to the hold baggage check-in was predictably and heart-palpitatingly long, once again I found Myself begging someone to help us.
Thank You British Airways
The lovely stewardess manning it, found us a posh desk to immediately check it in – bless you British Airways – the difference between a budget and a quality airline! However, the steward actioning our urgent request couldn’t resist a snidey comment on our lateness, probably more from the disgust at having to deal with mere mortals.
The Worst of British
We legged it to the foreseeable, over crowded, Family Assistance security check. What a cantankerous petulant bunch of planks this lot were, they could barely bring themselves to help us expedite their painful process, despite much pleading on our part. Definitely not a good advert for Britain – though the Americans are even worse in my experience.
Bitch Eat Bitch
Of course, our bags were selected for the full ‘stop and search’ service and I nearly got into a fight with another fraught Mother who demanded to know why we’d queue jumped her. I silenced her by shouting madly in her face that my bloody flight was boarding – not something I feel good about in retrospect but my nerves had been thrice fried by this point and it was dog eat dog at this stage of the game! Why is it always the women who have to stand up for their families whilst the men look on apologetically????
Mad Dash
Clearing that, we ran all the way to the Gate with the children crying and me trying not to wee myself, it was hellish. When we finally collapsed into our seats, the last to board, I said to my Husband, never ever again!
Childhood Scarring
As a grown-up, to-date, I’ve ensured my airport experiences match my nervous system’s capabilities. This is because, as a child my Father traumatised me with this kind of experience frequently, once we even missed our flights back to school.
Fighting Talk
My Husband knows this but couldn’t hide his evil delight at the combined edginess of the experience and my triggered discomfort and so retorted that we were doing this next time too! Cue virtual rabbit punches to the face and a drop kick to the nose.
Further Mishap
All was calm until…..upon arrival I realised that I had no idea whom we’d booked our hire car with….This is because I’d organised it in my Husband’s name and so he’d received the email details, which he’d deemed not important enough to open and absorb. These days any information that hasn’t got written back up is lost in the mists of time, occasionally that doesn’t help it to stick either.
Shitty Service
Cue another harsh exchange, he eventually found the details whilst we waited at the wrong desk for about 20 minutes…..Unhelpfully none of the staff sitting at the empty desks next to us thought to ask if we needed any assistance despite working for the same company?! This made his blood boil, along with the £1,000 insurance excess I’d selected to get a cheaper price. He is always boasting that he is a better driver than me, despite the children and I firmly disagreeing, so I felt I was totally justified.
Silver Linings
With the glory of hindsight, I should have realised that this would involve him not allowing any of us to even touch the bloody thing until he’d fully inspected it and a holiday of him cursing anyone who might have damaged the damn thing. There is one small silver lining, he is driving slightly more carefully than normal around hairpin bend Scotland. Horrifically, by the time we finally got ourselves sorted and on the road, the children had gone irritatingly, headache inducing, hysterically crazy – FML!
Once he’s Started
When we reached our final destination, given the day we’d had, I agreed out of guilt to go to one of the playgrounds to have some fun. We coerced a very tired and grumpy Daddy to join us, which he finally managed but only after he’d had a go at me about my inability to lock our holiday cottage door properly! Given that we are the only people here for the week and in the middle of nowhere I felt it was quite safe – but where there is a chance to have a go…..
Adding Accident to Insult
So, in a bid to cheer the poor kids up and shrug off some of the stress, I threw myself into the rope swinging. Whilst trying to jump between a couple of stacked tractor tyres, I miss judged and came crashing down to earth with a bone crunching scream. Nothing ends the perfect day like an agonising injury, my husband, who was trying not very hard not to laugh, helped me to hobble back. We couldn’t face anymore drama so we decided to leave sorting it until the morning, praying it would all come miraculously good!
Collecting A&Es
Did it? No of course it bloody didn’t. The damn thing had swollen up, was even more painful and the lower part of my leg was numb. I decided, for peace of mind, that a trip to the local A&E Department was in order. We seem to have to visit one every time we take a holiday.
Ignoring Wife’s Advice
Husband suggested taking the children’s kindles to keep them out of trouble, but as they’d been on them since the crack of dawn, I suggested he take them to the beach whilst I was making the usual wait. As with everything else so far, this too didn’t play out in my favour. After checking on the wait time, it turned out he didn’t think there was enough time to get to the beach and back. Cue more expletives as the children went predictably wild in the aisles; his blame thrower was out in full.
The Diagnosis
Post x-ray I was informed I’d got a bone bruise and needed a leg splint, crutches and wouldn’t be able to do physical exercise/drive for weeks and possibly months. WTF???
Not a natural slave
My husband turned an interesting shade of grey as he digested the glorious news and the consequences filtered through his mind. Not only is he not one for looking after other people, he’d just done a long stint after my operation before Christmas – which nearly killed him.
Serves him right
Plus, he’d verbally signed me up, without my consent and with his signature lack of consideration, to being his chauffeur for his final two days of holiday, after we got back, to help him find a new car. I was not amenable, because I’m the organised one, and had long since packed the days with fundamental things like hospital appointments for the children.
My Price to Pay
I also wanted/needed to attend gym sessions to maintain my eroding mental health and reduce my fat holiday arse, before I faced 2 weeks of solo 24/7 parenting. But typically, as he’d sold his motor to his friend and the friend wanted it ASAP, we all have to jump to attention. Well, now I clearly can’t….even jump anywhere if I want too.
Holiday Reality
So here I am, disabled in a very able-bodied environment with a very grumpy husband and two wild, under exercised, young children who just want to have fun. Life swap anyone??
