‘It’s all about the journey’ someone once said – they clearly hadn’t travelled with children. Yesterday we flew from Edinburgh to Exeter with our three under five. It wasn’t exactly long haul (why on earth would you ever put yourself through that??) but travelling with children is not for the faint hearted. Here follows a run down of our highs and lows:
Packing – Prior to even leaving the house comes the hell that is packing for children. I hark back wistfully to the days when I could chuck a few pairs of clean knickers in a bag and run. Now packing is a major military operation.
I’m all about a list, with the first draft compiled at least a week before departure. Twenty-four hours before the off ,the list has grown to at least two A4 sides long with only about five items on it relating to me. Nappies, wipes, wellies, woolly hats, waterproofs (don’t you just love a UK holiday), sippy cup, books, teddies…. But the main thing is clothes, lots and lots of clothes because you know that they will get pooed on, peed on and have bolognese smeared all over them within the first 24 hours and the only communal washing machine where you’re staying will constantly be full of every other child’s manky ones.
Getting everyone out of the house – Why is that when you go on holiday with kids your flight always seem to be at some ridiculous hour of the day that means you have to get up even earlier than usual? I can’t get my head around waking a sleeping child, even if it is to go on holiday. My two boys don’t seem to mind and begin to rebound off the walls with excitement. My daughter however, is a different story. When she eventually comes round there are tears – many tears – and a lot of shouting. She also appears to overnight have lost the ability to do anything for herself and point blank refuses to walk, dress herself or feed herself. It’s a miracle we manage to leave the house just ten minutes behind my husband’s exacting schedule.
Arriving at the airport – The journey to the airport is pretty uneventful and everyone seems happy, even my daughter who has now recovered her motor skills. When we get out of the car at the airport carpark I smell a vague whiff of vomit. I dismiss it as a lingering reminder of the horror from a few weeks previously, when my youngest had an exorcist style puke as I was driving round the City Bypass…. But no. As I reach to lift said youngest from the car, I realise he has vomited down the inside of his jacket. He seems chirpy enough but the regurgitated Weetabix absolutely stinks and the poor wee guy needs a full clothing change. This results in our suitcases being removed from the carpark courtesy bus, which has been patiently waiting for us, so I can rifle through for something for him to wear. A quick clean up with baby wipes (how could we live without them?) and we’re finally ready for the off – accompanied by a feint aroma of vomit.
Checking in – We finally arrive at the terminal and I’m beginning to regret having worn my extra thick wooly jumper as a cunning ploy to save on space in my suitcase. I am now seriously sweating but with only a very threadbare breastfeeding vest underneath (even though I stopped breastfeeding nearly six months ago) I decide I should probably best keep it on.
We check the boards for our check-in desk number and proceed into the agitated confusion that is ‘checking in without a human being’. I’m all for technology but asking an overstressed, overtired parent to work out how to check in their mountain of luggage which is collapsing off the trolley in front of their very eyes, is just asking for trouble. Eventually we locate a very helpful human who sorts us out and sends us on our way.
Security – Big tick here to Edinburgh airport who have a designated family lane which basically lets annoying people like us queue jump. Brilliant! Once we’ve removed all three children’s coats and managed to prise their precious ‘pack-packs’ off their backs we’re off – only problem is I’ve forgotten about myself (nothing new there) and get sent back to remove my coat, boots, belt, dignity… and so begin the process again.
Surprise surprise my bag gets pulled over to be searched. I watch in horror as the carefully organised contents get pulled apart and look with envy at the lady next to me holding three sealed clear plastic bags full of whisky miniatures. I contemplate lunging for them just as the offending item in my bag is located (a rogue tub of sudocreme) and the moment is gone.
Having a coffee – Things are looking good so we decide to have a coffee while we wait for our flight. The place is mobbed and the only seats are at a large window table with just one inhabitant – a twenty-something man listening to something on his phone through super large headphones. I hope for his sake they are the expensive noise cancelling ones because before he’s had a chance to say no, he is surrounded by my three children. They are ripping at packets of sandwiches and crawling across the table spilling apple juice in their wake. I neck my coffee and make a break for the shops.
I arrive back to find that my husband is in total control. The kids are sitting happily drawing and he is chatting to the middle aged couple sitting behind us. Their children have grown up and left home. They are heading to Phoenix, Arizona but talk wistfully about family caravan holidays when their kids were small. ‘Make the most of these days’, the very smiley lady said, ‘they are the best of your life’. And of course she’s right. Being together as a family with no commitments except to each other is a rare occurrence and despite the high levels of stress there are moments so precious they melt your heart.
Boarding the plane – For some reason Edinburgh airport decided during its generally very successful revamp, to put a departure gate right in the middle of an extremely busy narrow corridor. Surprise surprise, our flight was leaving from this gate. We found a tiny patch of floor space to park up our buggy, which was now creaking under the weight of coats, bags and assorted shoes. My youngest son decided it would be great fun to try and walk on the wrong end of the moving walkway. After a few stumbles he got the hang of it and it became a gargantuan treadmill. Despite the sneering looks of others I left him to it – I reckon he probably covered a good few kilometres before a member of airline staff tried to forcibly remove him.
The flight – We had barely boarded the plane steps before arguments ensued over who sat where. The big question between the grown ups was who was going to get the ‘infant’ on their knee. Aforementioned ‘infant’ is now a strapping 16month old and rather heavy and wriggly to have strapped on to you for over an hour. My husband settled down into his seat alone thinking he had pulled the long straw. ‘Could you just hold him while I put my coat in the locker?’ I asked. Before he knew it, he’d been given an infant seatbelt and said ‘infant’ was strapped wriggling onto his lap. Result!
Once we were in the air and the seat belt sign was off, the oldest two settled into an Octonauts marathon on the iPad and the youngest shocked us all by falling asleep. As we cruised above the clouds and the sun streamed through the window I too quietly nodded off, waking up with a start and a dribble at ‘ten minutes to landing’. This had to be the most relaxing fight I’d had in years. But then the gale force winds hit.
As the plane descended through the clouds it began to pitch like a metronome. My stomach began to churn and I clutched onto a sick bag for dear life. Amazingly I didn’t see my breakfast again but the little girl behind me wasn’t so lucky. When the seat belt sign went was turned her rather green looking Dad lurched up the aisle clutching, at arms length, a bag full of vomit.
Car hire – There is no doubt in my mind that hiring a car is the most hellish part of a journey. The queues, the unhelpful staff, the stale smelling offices. Usually I take the option of waiting outside with the kids but torrential rain scuppered that and we all ended up squashed into the tiniest office. By now the kids were hungry, bored and tired and proceeded to wrestle each other rolling around on the floor. The youngest managed to unpack someones handbag.
Thank god for the airport shuttle bus which sped us through the driving rain to our car. We could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel and then we remembered the car seats. Anyone who has ever hired a car seat will understand my pain. How on earth do you put a car seat that isn’t your own into a car that isn’t your own?? T hose rubbish little pictures that supposedly show you how to do it are so small you need a magnifying glass to read them and even then they’re way too complex to understand. After a lot of sweating, swearing and YouTubing everyone was finally strapped in and off we went.
An hour and a half later we cleared the brow of a hill and the wild Atlantic Ocean of north Cornwall opened out to us. My eldest son’s face broke into the most enormous grin and his eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘We’re here’, he declared. Yes we were and thank god for that.
Postcards From My Kitchen Table 