Are We There Yet?

I’ve just come home from a weekend away. And now I need a holiday.

There’s nothing quite like packing two small children in the car for a trip to your home town, to make one contemplate the differences between the life you’re living & the one you left behind, and the journey in between.

And whoever said “Time flies when you’re having fun” obviously hasn’t taken a trip down memory lane with my lot on board.

Since we finally bought a car that wouldn’t break down 5 minutes out of town, I decided it was time to head north for only the second time this year to see the family; my Beloved chose to spend some quality time at home alone.

I set the alarm for 5am to get an early start on our 3.5 hour journey. It was after 1pm when I finally pulled into my mother’s driveway. (I'll let you do the math.)

In that time, I had to re-pack the car twice to allow my sister to fit in, hand over the entire weekend supply of ‘travelling lollies’ to the kids, stop to refill drink bottles a couple of times, sought out toilets of acceptable sanitation quality at least twice, referee countless arguments, try to deduce the reason behind my daughter's feet feeling "fizzy", and pull over for an impromptu play in the park in a bid to wear the kids out enough to sleep the rest of the way.

But on the upside, I only had to stop twice to attend to a vomiting child. (Loving those V-Bags I buy in bulk- they catch it all nicely!)

We all agree the best thing about this car is the DVD player in the back. The kids get to watch a movie with their headphones on while up front I get to listen to the CDs of my choice. I didn’t realize just how much I was enjoying the latter until my son pipes up from the back seat: “Great singing there mum.” No wonder the people in the car next to us at the traffic lights were looking at me that way.

Not to worry. I continue to cruise on down the road, with “Nineteen Somethin’” at (almost) full boar (love that 9 speaker stereo system!), and marvel that Mark Wills is obviously of a similar age to me, he describes it all so well. (Except for the Daisy Duke bit- I preferred Luke Duke myself…mind you, John Schneider seems to be ageing rather nicely…but I digress…)

Due to a bed shortage in the ol’ 3 bedroom house I grew up in, I had to share with my 7 y.o. son. (He was cranky because his 5 y.o. sister was quicker than he at “bagsing” sleeping with Nanny instead, and he drew the short straw as far as he was concerned. He neglected to ask me what I thought of the sleeping arrangements, mind you.) After a late night at my eldest sister’s place celebrating my niece’s birthday, we all fell into bed well after the regular bedtime.

Then, after being kicked 15 times, head-butted 4, and used as a footstool once or twice, I decided to use the body-pillow as a barrier between us, curled up into the foetal position, and finally managed, ooh, 4 hours sleep.

Then guess who had to answer the call of nature around 5.45am and decided the quickest route to the bathroom was to crawl directly over the top of me…?

That aside, we passed another pleasant day with the family before we waved goodbye and promised not to leave as long between visits next time. We hit the highway and head home…along with what seemed to be every single ‘L’ and ‘P’ plate driver in the known universe, who all had the same reaction- sheer panic- every time their speedometer hit 80kph and had to hit the brakes. (I'm sure you can guess the subsequent response from the line of traffic following.)

But at least it was only a 5 hour trip home.

We walk in the front door: there’s dirty washing in the sink while the dishwasher stands empty. The clothes are still waiting in the washing machine, right where I left them. We’re low on milk and we’re almost out of bread. My Beloved is in bed trying to stock up on sleep before a night-shift at work. The dog, on the other hand, is wide awake and going crazy in the driveway causing me to trip over while I’m carrying the bags in from the car. Which gives me reason to pause and ponder why we always manage to come home with more than we take, it’s not like we had any time (or indeed inclination) to go shopping! (I come to the conclusion that Mum must’ve found more of the flotsam and jetsam of our childhood and decided it was time we got to keep it at our place. Thanks Ma.)

Now the kids are fighting in the bathtub. My Beloved is up and about and muttering something about the end of his peace and quiet. And the dog is sitting on my feet while I sip a hot cup of tea and type.

Yep. There’s no place like home. And don’t we just love it!

Jx
©2009