When you umm and ahh for weeks about going away over Easter and then on the Wednesday before Good Friday you finally find somewhere that doesn’t involve the phrase “non flush toilets“, is not on the coast and doesn’t feature pools, games rooms and the other paraphernalia that shit you to tears.
And you think, ‘yeah, let’s do it’.
And then it’s the Thursday before you go and you have all these other things on – like giving Felix a special early mark for school holidays and taking him and the two little fellas to The Powerhouse Museum to see the Star Wars exhibition (which was awesome) and then a minor detour to a camping mega store to pick up some camp beds for the boys because you now have two more of them (children that is) to the last time you went and the two you did have are now a lot bigger and the self-inflating moon mats will just not cut it. Allow extra time to dream of all the additional camping paraphernalia you would like to have.
Then you have to rush back to pick Oscar up from his first ever school camp and OMG I think he sprouted some underarm hair in those four days away from home. (He had an AWESOME time and the teachers all said he did brilliantly and was so independent and had a ball and wha? independent? WTF? Why am I then cutting up your food and getting your dry after your showers you not-so-little shit?)
And then you have to do a quick call in at the supermarket to buy some stuff for dinner for Oscar’s request – mac cheese – and it dawns on you that you’re going camping for a week tomorrow, which is Good Friday so nothing will be open, but there’s no time now to be buying up for camping – not with one exhausted child and three other hungry ones in the car.
AND then – you get home, throw the entire contents of Oscar’s bag into the washing machine with pre-wash and extra rinse and more detergent than the environment should ever have to endure, shower, do.your.hair, apply.makeup(!), IRON.A.GIRLY.BLOUSE. and fly out the door for dinner with a group of lovely not at all creepy
good eaters fellow drinkers bloggers. So.Much.Fun. (I swore like a washer woman which I do when highly exciteable, in good company, limitless alcohol consumption and excellent food)
AND THEN – you get home at around 11.30pm and collapse into bed.
OH HELL YEAH – We’re all about the planning and organisation around here.
So, the next morning, the day we’re leaving, we get up and think, right, what do we need to pack.
As I am just throwing random clothing (some cold weather gear, some hot, some jackets, about three beanies each (WT?), a couple of scarves) into New Zealand suitcases Chef is out in the garage hoisting down our camping gear and successfully dropping a bag of tent poles onto the bonnet of mum’s recently repaired car gouging a nice little row of chunks out of the paint. Awesome.
I notice that we don’t seem to have many socks for the little fellas but figure they’ll spend most of their time running around in their Crocs anyway. Fail.
I am literally trying to generate clothing for Oscar out of thin air as the kid has just been on school camp for four days and well, that kind of swallowed his entire wardrobe. Blessedly a friend had recently given me a massive bag of hand-me-downs from her son and there were some shorts and other oddments in there that would have to do.
Miraculously, and by that I mean even I was amazed, we were on the road by 11.30am. I reckoned, considering we had done NOTHING before that morning, starting at around 8am, that was pretty good going. Fail again.