|These are not my kids. Not even my kids would be this annoying. I hope.|
I'm leaving work for the last time in two weeks. Finally, it's time for our first big holiday as a family of four. We're flying to Australia! With two preschoolers! What could ever go wrong?
I'm trying to get the dog out of the door to the kennels. The three and a half year old is screaming bloody murder. He's not so worried that the dog's going away for two weeks, he's more distraught that the Paw Patrol DVD we've had out from United Video has to go back after three weeks of renewals. Finally get the dog to the kennels at ten to ten, only to remember drop offs actually close an hour earlier than I thought. Thank god the owner loves our Hank so much. He's the kennel's poster boy for their doggy bath service, bloody galling given the performance we have to go through to clean him at home
It's the night before we leave for the Gold Coast. I've been researching parenting sites and social media for ways to travel by plane with young ones, and I've found that it's best to pre-empt any disruption your kids may cause by preparing a little something for your fellow passengers.
|This was a joke, people, I didn't actually do this! The angry Twitter people convinced me not to!|
I reckon we're all set
We're trying to get out the door. I feel like I'm herding cats. In fact I wish I was herding cats, at least you can just chuck them in a little carry cage, then hand them over at the airport where they'll get stowed in the cargo hold whilst you hit the gin and tonics back in economy class. Then on arrival in Australia, they get quarantined away for a couple of weeks whilst you make the most of it, or if you do manage to sneak them in you get into a hilarious public feud with a red faced man called Barnaby.
Instead I have a 3 and a half year old and a nineteen month old. They've both lost that one essential toy they just have to take with them.
We arrive at Palmerston North International Airport, which is still clinging to the glory days of one Freedom Air flight to the GC a week. Right now I would love for that flight to still exist. I take the bags and the kids whilst my wife disposes of the car for two weeks, and we head for a coffee, only to find out our flight's delayed. Half an hour in a tiny airport with kids is bad enough, let alone two hours.
We go to check in through to Gold Coast at the same moment the 19 month old fills her nappy. We meet an old friend, who helps my wife drop the bags whilst I go off on baby change duty. We return to find international boarding passes in hand, our friend having presumably been mistaken for my passport photo. He's Sri Lankan. Our friend's Jetstar flight leaves for Auckland an hour and a half before ours, and minutes ahead of schedule.
There's a cat in a carry cage at check in. I'm jealous AF of its owner.
We're on the plane at last. The three and a half year old has found the safety card and is anouncing to fellow passengers that there is a lifejacket under their seats. Much more of this, hopefully they'll offer him a job. He's the only passenger paying any attention to the safety demonstration.
|This kid takes Fireman Sam's safety first mantra far too literally at times|
We're in the air. I've just remembered that the three and a half year old has developed severe motion sickness since he last travelled by air.
All holding up well so far. The three and a half year old has just announced he needs to wee, so we trek back to the rear of the ATR-500, which, it turns out, has a much much smaller toilet than I was expecting. A little while back, I wrote a blog post about changing a nappy in a train bathroom. How I long for that sort of spaciousness now. I place my son on the seat, and try and jam myself in and close the door as best I can. There's no way it's locking, but there's also no way anyone can miss my arse sticking out of the half ajar door. It's all worth it though, as the toilet water is bright blue. This is a highlight of the day. As we return to our seats, I realise we're descending, and we've missed the lollies being handed out. The resulting reaction is a lowlight of the day.
Turns out the 19 month old's ear infection hasn't quite cleared.
The three and a half year old has dropped his Thunderbirds toy under the seat in front of him. The seatbelt sign is on, but he's winding up a bit. I glance briefly at the cabin crew, and break international aviation law by slipping my seatbelt off.
We're on the ground. The 19 month old cried herself to sleep in the descent. The three and a half year old wants to run around on the baggage carousel, so I tell him if he does that, he won't be allowed to row in the big rowing race. The no-longer-topical joke goes straight over his head.
We've got just under an hour and a half to get to the international terminal, so we walk. It's a nice day, and it's a bit like the Wizard of Oz, except with a green line instead of a yellow road, with other harassed looking families instead of magical scarecrows and woodmen, and with 3 1/2 hours in a metal tube to look forward to instead of a wizard. We get to immigration, and realize they've taken all the pens on chains off the tables, so we head back to the bookshop to buy one for five dollars. I want to put my occupation down as comedy writer, but my wife says one published column is well short of qualifying me for that.
We're at the gate. Thank god, there are loads of young kids on this flight... surely our two won't be the worst behaved ones? Because we're flying pleb class, I've decided to buy a sandwich and a few drinks to have on board from the airport cafe. It's quite expensive, but surely it'll be cheaper than buying on the plane?
After boarding, I check the on board menu. The prices are in red on a green background, so my faulty colour vision makes them hard to read, but my wife confirms the sandwiches are about half the price of what I've just paid. The three and a half year old is very excited, as we're parked next to an Emirates A380 which has elephants painted on the side of it, or a Journey Express, as he calls it. Take off is more fun on a jet, as it goes a lot faster. Soon we are 'driving over the sea'.
The kids are getting hungry and grumpy. I got an egg sandwich on the ground. Turns out this isn't an ideal food for confined spaces, and the egg is going everywhere. I open my son's sipper bottle and water sprays everywhere. The 8 dollar beers are starting to look tempting. The three and a half year old looks out the window and notes that we are still driving over the sea. I tell him there is a lot of sea between New Zealand and Australia. He asks why. I briefly consider a lecture on continental drift, but decide it's easier to shrug in a non commital manner, which seems to work.
My amazing wife has packed a bag with new toys. Theres a magnetic jigsaw puzzle, which seems like a good idea, but it's are still going everywhere. The Planes magic coloring book is a hit. We're still driving over the sea. I found a couple of bibs in my bag which would've been helpful with the sandwich.
|Toys for the flight, all ready for packing|
Two hours in, and tolerance of wholesome activities is starting to wear thin. We admit defeat and put on an hour of Peppa Pig episodes. Why are all the houses in Peppa Pig on top of hills? Are they living in some sort of post-apocalyptic water world where half the land area has been made uninhabitable by climate change or something? Still driving over the sea, but the three and a half year old is engrossed so he doesn't notice.
The 19 month old isn't too keen on Peppa Pig. She'd rather I lift her up repeatedly so she can turn the reading light on and off. We pass ten minutes this way. She wants a drink. I forget the lesson I should've learnt earlier, and water hits the ceiling as I open her bottle.
|Ready for some LIGHT entertainment? Ahahaha shut up Dad|
Quick toilet break for the three and a half year old, now Peppa Pig is finished. The toilets on the Virgin 737 are more spatious, but not as fun as they make a scary noise instead of flushing with blue water. Also, the (fully grown adult) guy who went before us didn't flush, something the three and a half year old is perfectly capable of EVERY SINGLE BLOODY TIME. Still driving over the sea. He wants to know if we're actually moving.
We're watching something called Sydney the Sailboat now. It seems to be about an anthromorphic sailboat called Sydney who lives in Australia and gets into hijinks. It's very similar to every other sentient vehicle cartoon I have ever seen, but on water. The three and a half year old is getting grumpy as the captain and the head steward keep on stopping the entertainment programme so they can make announcements.
Landed. We disembark, and the three and a half year old declares himself dissapointed as there isn't a water park waiting on the Tarmac, or in the terminal. There is an ibis eating a discarded takeaway in the carpark, or a 'funny duck' as the 19 month old brands it. We pick up the rental car. The kids pick up multiple tourist maps in Cantonese. We wrestle two rental car seats into the back seat of the car. My wife does an awful lot better than I do.
At our accommodation at last. It's 7.00pm NZ time, by all rights the kids should be dead on their feet. In reality, the parents are, but the kids will be hyperactively overtired for another three hours. We go to Burgerfuel for tea across the road. Australian Burgerfuel is licensed, and I have a beer. In my sleep deprived state, it wrecks me. We pop in to a mini mart to get some milk and bread. The three and a half year old tries to go to sleep on the floor by the counter.
Finally in bed. hopefully the late bedtime will help them adjust to the three hour time difference.
No, of course it hasn't.