I dislike travelling in the car with my children. In fact I would go as far to say that unless I am packed full of wine and Valium most journeys make me feel borderline suicidal.
My three little leg hangers sit side by side by side. BB sits behind me and spends the vast amount of the journey switching between chanting “mummy, mummy, mummy” and then screaming as if she has knives in her nappy. Twin boy likes nothing more than to encourage this behaviour by casually stroking her leg mid scream which merely intensifies the cry of anguish coming from my youngest girl.
Whilst Twin girl sucked her thumb she was an absolute delight to have in the car. Buckle her in, start the car, watch the thumb go in and silence from the far corner for as long as the journey continued. Then one day I had the idiotic notion that thumb-sucking was evil and would only lead to expensive braces and jutting out teeth and we developed an incentive plan that meant Twin Girl said goodbye to thumb-sucking forever. When we kissed the thumb goodbye we inadvertently awoke the car devil in my eldest child, who is often found doing the nudge in order to entice a riot.
The nudge? Perfected by many a six-year-old, it is simply where they nudge the child next to them, repeatedly so until that child gets incredibly hacked off and turns round and belts the first child causing a noise that can only be likened to wolves howling at the moon.
Tonight I climbed into the car with apprehension washing over me, the children were hyper and as predicted once we were buckled in and ready to go my car sounded like a kebab shop in Swansea at pub closing time in the height of stag do season. One child was singing See saw Maj -a-ree-door off key and with the wrong words, the second was sobbing helplessly into their hands because one of the others had taken his band and snapped it and the third sat their with mischief etched on her face whilst gently kicking the back of her father’s chair.
“Can you stop that please” enquired he who helped create them. I wasnt sure to which of my off springs he was talking to but guessed the chair kicker was the intended child.
The wailing hit fever pitch, “my band…..” yelped my son melodramatically, “I loved my band”. The singing from the baby stopped for a moment, just enough time to allow her to tap Twin Boy on the head and proclaim “Stop!”
…then she carried on…”jon-eee will av new mus-tard”.
Twin boy didn’t stop; he merely got louder.
Twin girl swung her feet that little bit harder.
The car felt like it was shrinking, my t shirt felt tight around my neck, the volume in the car was precariously close to bursting the sound barrier. He who helped create them was turning a funny shade of purple and I figured he wasn’t enjoying the drive either.
I am not much of a smacker, I think Twin Boy has felt my palm twice and Twin Girl maybe once in her time, but in situations like this my fingers do start to twitch.
Desperate I turned to my children and said….
“If you don’t stop when we get out of the car you my hand will be coming up your backside.”
Silence fell across the car, it felt like a break in the clouds after weeks of rain.
Then the chair kicker piped up…
“Well you with have a really stinky hand then covered in poop.”
The crying stopped as my three leg hangers collapsed in unity sharing the sweet joy of laughing at their mother.
Valium and wine: the only way to drive….
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