The misfortune of the handsome shirt

A 10am kick off for a kid’s birthday party was always going to be something of a challenge for us this weekend. Not least because Super Daddy was out for ‘a few’ last night but also the ‘lost hour’ from last weekend hasn’t yet caught up with the nippers and we’re all getting lie-ins beyond 7 o’clock (bliss).

We did however make it out the door by half past nine, treat little monster smartly dressed in his self titled ‘handsome shirt’ with a smidgen of Daddy’s hair fudge for reworkable style and little princess duly following along since I’d promised her a malteaser cake at the soft play whilst her brother partied. Daddy was chauffeured to the local gym first for a spot of sponsored cycling (regretting those few last night) and then we were off on our merry way.

We took the twisty windy road for quickness as we probably should have left ten minutes earlier than we did, unhealthy but hey. With 6 minutes left until the commencement of party central, and a fifteen minute drive still to go, the little man pipes up from the back seat “Mummy, can you slow down please, I’m going to be sick.” I took a glance in the rear view and saw he was chalk white. Less than ten seconds later and we were in Barfsville, which for those in the know is just down from Puke Alley and round the corner from Vomit Lane.

“Aw, big guy!” I exclaimed, my heart going out to him as I looked on helplessly from the front whilst his sister made gagging noises and retching gestures as she frantically fumbled with the button to slide her window down beside him in the back.

“My handsome shirt.” he whimpers.

Swiftly followed by “can we still go to the party?!”

Certainly his colour had returned to his usual healthy ruddiness of the cheeks, and as a bad car traveller myself I knew it was the journey that had made him sick and not some contagious bug that would see me fall out of favour with all of the nursery mums if we did indeed spread the love at the party.

Trouble was, we stopped travelling without the usual kit and caboodle of a suitcase sized changing bag sometime ago. The depths of my handbag offered some hope however and a clean pair of trousers and a pack of baby wipes were successfully located. No replacements for the handsome shirt however. We had a problem.

Delicately peeling his sick-soaked shirt from him whilst we were haphazardly parked by the roadside, I weighed up our three options. The little monster was either going to the party bare chested, wearing his sisters cropped denim jacket or I was taking an emergency shopping trip on route to the party we were already late for.

If we’d wanted to stop for an eye test, a sandwich or a browse in a book store as we drove along the high street, we’d have been just fine, boys clothes aged 3-4 however, nada. My last hope was a mini retail park just on the outskirts of the town. We were already beyond fashionably late for the party anyway.

And there to our joy was a Peacocks. Not convinced they stocked kid’s clothes I set about exploring its wares with gusto, wondering whether my boy would be emotionally scarred if I had to fashion him a top from a ladies size 8 t-shirt.  Joy reigned however as I stumbled upon a very trendy striped polo shirt number which at six quid did just the trick.

One happy boy, one boisterous soft play party, one scary monster face paint and a quick stop off at the same Peacocks on the way home* and we’d once again started the weekend off in our usual chaotic spectacular style. C’mon on then Sunday, show us what you’ve got!

 

*No more sicky incidents thankfully, but spotted a few many very cute holiday numbers for the little princess on my earlier fleeting visit. Purse £74 lighter as a result however….

It’s a buggy disaster!

Did you know that 75% of mums have experienced a “buggy disaster”?

From the absolutely hilarious, pharm to the downright dangerous, medicine over 1,300 mums shared their worst moments out with their pushchairs in a recent survey by MadeForMums.com.

What’s even worse is that over 35% of mums’ disasters happened while using public transport, so we’ve put together our top 10 transport horror stories:

From the embarrassing…

  1. “Every time I went into a shop, my buggy switched all the alarms off. Embarrassing!”
  2.  “I blocked off most of the aisle on a busy bus once – the looks and tuts I got from the other passengers who had to squeeze past me…”
  3. “The wheel broke of my buggy as I was getting on the tube but I didn’t realise until the tube left and I saw the wheel on the platform”
  4. “I was trying to fold down my buggy to get on a bus, while holding shopping and the reins of my child, but it ended up with the shopping rolling down the hill and my child screaming! Luckily the nice bus driver came to offer a helping hand though”

To the super scary…

  1. “I was on the bus and as we went around a corner, the brakes clicked off and my pushchair spun around to the other side of the bus”
  2. “My buggy’s front wheel turned sideways and got stuck between the train and the platform as I was getting off the train. Now I always reverse the buggy off – it was a very scary experience”
  3. “I was walking fast with a stroller when the hard wheel hit the inside curb. The buggy fell forwards onto the ground with my two-year-old inside and I fell head first over the top of it”

And finally, to the worst…

  1. “The train driver shut the doors without looking putting the warning sound on and ripped the wheel off the front of the buggy. I had to walk around central London with three wheels”
  2. “I got on a bus and had to fold up my buggy, as there was hardly any room. When I got off the bus, I left my one-year-old on the seat while I took the buggy off to unfold, but when I turned around, the bus drove off! I had to chase after the bus and when it stopped my one-year-old was on the floor crying AND the bus driver didn’t even apologise”
  3. “I had to change platforms at my train station and was carrying my baby at the same time as trying to bump my pushchair down the stairs. Suddenly I let go and it fell all the way to the bottom! People at the bottom thought there was a baby inside, yet no one tried to stop it! They just stood there with their mouths open!”

With transport at the top of the list for the most common reason for a buggy meltdown, the weather came in second, while faulty wheels came in third and forgetting how to fold the buggy up and down came in fourth.

 

*****

Supermummy: Thanks to Made for Mums for the exclusive on top ten buggy disasters – Perhaps this would be an alternative mode of transport?!

Have children, will travel. Have smartphone, will blog.

I’m currently 30000 ft in the air. Destination, viagra sales Edinburgh.

Unfortunately this is the return leg of our very successful family holiday and not the outward bound leg, viagra canada and here I am with three hours stretching ahead of me and not a stitch to read. Now, as some who can devour a book or six on holiday as readily as a lion presented with six lithe gazelles on a plate, this is an unusual situation for me. I feel a little naked.  However, the situation is one by design, as I genuinely did not expect there to be any opportunity for a holiday bonk buster fix.

I do have four items of hand baggage and they are packed to bursting, but not a beach read or trashy gossip mag in sight. I could indulge in ‘Beautiful Bananas’ which is a lovely story about an African girl who picks a bunch of bananas to take with her on a visit to her granddad but she meets a variety of jungle animals and of course mishaps on the way. It is however aimed at preschoolers and has been bedtime story fodder for Little Monster Blue for nearly the last three months. Similarly, ‘Superduck’ is a riveting read….when you’re under five. Ditto for ‘Here comes the crocodile’ and ‘Let’s get a pup’.

We have wax crayons a plenty, a mermaid colouring book, a farmyard colouring book, an animal magazine with odd pictures of cats wearing tiaras, magic picture books that reveal animals when you scratch them with a coin (we went through 14 pages of one before we got to a cow on the outbound flight, much to LMB’s annoyance.) We have a Hello Kitty dress up sticker book and a further four animal sticker books, unsurprisingly the farmyard one being a firm favourite with LMB given his obsession with cows persists (I could devote a whole blog article to that
alone!)

Not only do we have bags full of these traditional means of entertainment for small children on a flight, but as we have Superdaddy, so follows we have gadgetry. Cue, tablet PC, loaded with LPP and LMBs movies of the moment, and somewhere in the region of 342 episodes of Peppa Pig (I know, I didn’t think there were as many as that either given the only episode that ever seems to be on in our house is ‘Pirate Island’.) Even Superdaddy managed to grab a tabloid at the hotel shop and sneak it into my perfectly arranged (and on-trend aztec designed) oversize beach bag. So whilst the nippers are entertained and Superdaddy reads the newspaper back to front, here I am literature-less.

I’ve already engaged in pleasant chit-chat with the lovely older lady sitting to my right about the merits of seat allocation (i.e. sitting Superdaddy beside LMB and LPP and sitting in the aisle opposite them myself).  I’ve read the free in-flight magazine from cover to cover, dawdling over the interview with Olly Murs and wondering when pop stars started giving interviews for airline magazines as opposed to Smash Hits! I’ve chosen which perfume and bronzing set I’d like to buy with my left over holiday Euros when the in flight tax free shopping service commences and I’ve educated myself geographically by studying all of the destinations that the airline flies to. (Gerona is in Spain don’t you know, I always thought it was in Switzerland and when I expressed my surprise to Superdaddy he reminded me just how blonde I am by helpfully pointing out that Geneva and Gerona are not the same place.) I’ve perused the in-flight menu and decided that the fantabulous, super special deal of a Twix for the great price of 80p with a £2.20 cup of tea is not really the amazing bargain you are led to believe when you can buy them separately and independently of one another for, yes, you’ve guessed it, 80p and £2.20 respectively. I’ve partaken in a little spot of people watching. Quickly sussing out those people who would be the most likely to clap when the plane touches down in Edinburgh and those who are going to ‘bing’ the ‘bing-bong’ button to call over an air-stewardesses every five minutes. I’ve worked out which couples had lots of holiday sex (row 14, seats C and D, well, just D actually) and which couples can’t wait to get home to decree their relationship officially over.

So here’s where I have to give some credit to gadget-tastic Superdaddy for convincing me I needed to invest in a new smartphone. In the absence of anything else to read, I say thanks for the dinky notepad functionality that allows me commence much blog activity following our week away. Three days ago (I’m not sure what day that actually was as I’ve been on holiday time for a week and think every day is Sunday) I lay ona sun lounger whilst Superdaddy splashed with the littlies in the pool and again made use of said smartphone to list all of the things I’d plan to blog about post-sunshine.

So here I go…oh wait a minute…..is that the in flight tax free shopping service commencing?  I’ll be back in a jiffy…..might just buzz to see if I can grab a cuppa too, ooh and a twix.

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