I even packed a lunch.
As if I didn’t already know it would be McDonalds all around, but I foolishly sliced oranges, made up rolls and ensured I had enough water.
I was off to ‘create memories’; or in this modern era, spice up my Insta feed.
We were on an adventure to visit the city and everything Christmassy it had to offer the kids. I had done my research and mapped out my little circuit. My only concern was whether I had credit on the bus cards. This was going to be the most fabulous day EVER! I was smashing it out of the Mummy ball park.
Only a short wait at the bus stop and we were off. Straight down to the back seat, because we were incredibly cool (and it’s actually the best spot for the 3 of us to sit and all be able to see out the windows). It started so well. Spotto Christmas decorations, group cuddles and two incredibly excited kids. Until the little one decided she was tired and needed a rest. Perfect. I was thrilled she was going to reserve some of her boundless energy for the big walking day ahead. We hit the city traffic and inched closer to where I thought we needed to get off. I squinted at signs and landmarks and bobbed up and down in my seat, hand hovering anxiously over the ‘next stop’ button.
It was a tiny groan.
No fuss….just an incredibly huge vomit across half the back seat and all over my poor, little daughter.
I had no plastic bag to catch the second vomit, no wipes to clean it up (I know, right, who EVER leaves home without them?!) and finally our stop was in sight. I grabbed my son’s T-shirt from my pack and started frantically mopping up sick, whilst simultaneously jabbing the button to stop the bus. Little love was crying and my son was rendered frozen in shock. As I bundled up what I could, including two small children, the bus driver began to leave our stop. My begging and profuse apologies were not met with any degree of sympathy, and he slammed the brake on and told us to hurry up and get off. I mean, I get it, I do. It was horrifically gross, plus he does have a tight schedule, but sheeze!!! I was doing my very best in the circumstances.
I somehow hit the footpath, where I stripped my quivering daughter down to her undies and my very first Christmas Miracle occurred. I HAD RANDOMLY PACKED A CHANGE OF CLOTHES FOR HER!!!! One nudie, one crying, and one mummy holding her shite together (only just) by singing a slightly wobbly version of Jingle Bells whilst pulling clumps of vomit out of her hair with my bare hands.
Oh, look; we pushed on. Possibly not my finest decision, but after a quick Wet Wipes bath (newly purchased at the IGA along with a stack of plastic bags), her colour returned and she insisted she was better. I wanted to believe this of course, and rolled with hoping it was nothing more than her first bout of motion sickness. Despite whipping a plastic bag under her mouth every time she coughed during our travels, we ticked a lot off that day. We did the rounds; saw the trees, the candy canes, the elves, the reindeers; even had a chat to the big man himself.
Sometimes these days don’t quite go to plan.
I learnt that the joy was in the small pleasures.
We made it home on the bus vomit free (she waited till we got home to continue; bless her).
No one cried when they saw Santa.
The fact that the elves are able to watch the kids behaviour EVERYWHERE is exceptionally handy to know at this time of the year.
The ridiculous balloons they insist on handing out to the kids (yes; I am possibly the Grinch) did not pop and miraculously made it all the way home in one piece.
I did not manage to get one, single photo with both kids smiling, centred or looking remotely ‘normal’ in front of the beautiful QV crystal Christmas tree, BUT the photos did manage to capture the true joy of two incredibly excited kids.
I felt incredibly justified when we got home and I slapped a Christmas movie straight on the box for them.
Oh; Ho Ho Ho.
It is certainly beginning to feel like Christmas.
Merry Christmas one and all; and especially to you, Mr Bus Driver.