Polar expedition
On Wednesday I decided to give the kids a treat. At least it started off as a treat. I decided to take them all to a festival event about polar exploration. The idea was to meet huskies and, so it said on the programme, make a sled out of paper. Daughter two was rather intrigued by the latter. Her imagination is huge so she was envisaging a life-size model with power engines, etc. I tried to dampen her enthusiasm, but it was impossible. In fact, the sleds they were making at the event were about five inches long and followed a cut-out model. Not exactly what she had in mind.
Anyhow, we headed out, with my mum gamely volunteering to come along. We reached a park and ride car park and my mum took everyone to the toilet while I interviewed someone over the phone. God bless the iPhone. The girls discovered some book scheme at the park and ride which meant they could borrow books and return them once they had read them. It sounded odd to me and possibly they had misread the notice, but we ended up taking a pile of books along with us for the journey along with my 'black hole' bag full of nappies and assorted spare clothes [possibly dating back to the baby's birth]. It was at this point that I realised that I had forgotten to pack the baby's pushchair.
We staggered into the polar museum and I tried to enthuse people in the exhibition. They were more interested in lunch by this point, but they all made a paper huskie and we spotted the real ones through the window. Bad mummy had failed to book the meet and greet the huskies session in advance and it was booked up. We decided to go and listen to a film about polar exhibition. Unfortunately, it was a silent film. Watching a silent film with a boisterous, not so silent toddler is not to be recommended. He wanted to go on his own expedition up and down the lecture room stairs and kept popping up grinning under the lecture seats. We made a swift exit and headed for a pub lunch.
However, I had forgotten the exact position of the pub and we decided to go to a nearby restaurant instead. Except, of course, no-one agreed which one that might be. Daughter one wanted Nando's. Daughter two was adamant that Pizza Express was the place to go. Luckily, I located the pub before it got nasty [with daughter one ending up suggesting I am favouring her sister, eg, I asked her the other day what her ambition was and she answered "to be as loved by my parents as much as my siblings". Daughter three wants to run a sweet shop. Daughter two is too busy making stuff to care]. At the pub, daughter two walked off in a dramatic huff. The baby was tired and seemed to become slightly obsessed with getting hold of knives and forks. Eventually, we got lunch and the baby fell asleep. We exited the pub, leaving a table which looked slightly older and more stain-covered than when we had come in and with a sleeping babe in arms.
The day ended with a trip to a museum to draw exhibits. A small toddler in a glass-encased museum is not perhaps the best idea for a stress-free afternoon, but he loved making a crown and wore it exuberantly. We then struggled to the park and ride stop and waited while several buses all packed out passed us. My mum was beginning to look edgy and to talk about ringing taxis. I could see her fantasising about getting home to relative peace and quiet. She had indeed written 'collapse' in the next day's entry in her diary in anticipation. We finally got home after a rousing round of a Madness compilation [what daughter one refers to as 'old people music'] and everyone did indeed collapse. Except me. There were still pets to feed, children to feed, clothes to wash, the Tesco delivery to unload and emails to check.
I felt like I had done my own particular version of a polar expedition, but with no huskies to help.
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