Monkey Boy claims his non-violent resistance did, in fact, work as he put himself to bed, according to himself, and determined that this was enough to have made him “win”.
I explained that missing the movie was the punishment for his behaviour, to which he replied that he did, in fact, see the movie, as he was able to hear it and then picture it in his head.
There’s nothing like taking responsibilty for your actions to get over something. Or, perhaps, not taking responsibilty for anything at all, and continuing to be an arse head.
Deciding we’d have enough of being at home and needing to get out, Grumpy suggested we embark upon a journey to Healesville Sanctuary. I made lunch for everyone, issued instructions relating to the packing of Chippie’s bad, and more instructions pertaining to potential temperature of our desination and the obtaining of suitable jackets and, perhaps, just a suggestion, pants that go beyond the knee. Just sayin’.
After repeats of similar, eventually roll eyes at the attire of two oldest, who had, at least, put on long pants and evnetually got a jacket. Of sorts. Load everyone in to the car and off we go to myriad “I want to stay home” and “can’t we just play the Wii” and etc etc, blah blah blah.
Arrive at our destination, enter the Sanctuary, and within two minutes, the kids are complaining about being hungry and Chippie is tripping over Monkey Boy’s foot and stopping himself from hitting the ground too hard by using his nose. Tears, Monkey Boy concerned about his trains being scratched and Grumpy Pants assuring me Chippie is fine and that he has no scratches and didn’t hurt himself that bad.
Of course, there were no scratches. Other than the huge one down the length of his teensy nose. Oh, and the two smaller ones on his forehead. Hard to spot, I guess, when you’re checking out the hands that didn’t stop him from smacking his face into the ground.
Lunch consumed before someone got fed to the dingos, and we set off checking out the displays, pointing at animals and asking Chippie to stop stomping in every puddle.
I lamented the very fact that I had allowed Grumpy to select the outing for the day. I’m all for below freezing temperatures when dressed appropriately. By which I mean, in a snow suit, complete with appropriate boots attached to skis. A toboggan in attendance is also acceptable. Anything less than this unacceptable in my books. If you’re going to subject youself to such temperatures, you’re to be sailing down a ski-slope, not wandering around a bloody animal sanctuary with two kids wearing t-shirts under their thin jackets and a toddler who insists on having lying down tantrums on only the muddy, puddly gravel paths between the wombats and the wallabies.
Oh, and who also has no change of pants for the wet bum he now has, because, apparently “please check he has at least one change of clothes, spare nappies and an extra jumper in his nappy bag” aren’t informative enough instructions. He did have a spare sock though. Just the one.
Substantially pissed off and not able to feel my toes, we enter the platypus exhibit, where some hilarious dad was advising his children that the platypus, doing laps of his little habitat, was, in fact “battery powered”. Admittedly, it did look it, paddling around like it was. Clearly, however, he didn’t have a Godzilla who first asked “is it battery powered” and then “but where do the batteries go?!” He then buggered off as I yelled after him “You explain it! My head hurts!” And he never did.
Desparate for our own sanctuary we located a kiosk and paid approximately $87 for two hot chocolates, watched Chippie get knocked off the slide by an “oh, he’s a twin”, because, apparently, that is an acceptable excuse for being allowed to go down a slide when there is a child still on the bottom of it, and Monkey Boy and Godzilla fight over who was going to sit on the bronzed emu, resulting in both falling off.
Now more than desparate for our own sanctuary, we leave and decide on a bit of a drive before heading home. If we head home know, we will have more hours with them at home before bedtime. Being in a car with them, miles and miles from home, in near freezing temperatures, driving up windy mountains with two kids prone to motion sickness and being extremely cold, tired and grumpy is way more fun.
We turn the radio up to drown out the noise from the back seat and hope they will get bored with us ignoring them and go to sleep. Whatever staion we were on was playing some classic rock countdown or highlights thing, so Grumpy and I were happy to listen and become all nostalgic. Until Stevie Wright’s Evie came on, which I, personally, can do without, but we let it go as we chat amicably over it.
Thinking the kids had gone off to the Land of Nod, we were most surprised to hear a loud, exasperated *sigh* from the back seat. I whip around to see Monkey Boy roll his eyes and say “Why doesn’t he just stop singing about “ebay” and go and buy something?!”
Once I’d stopped laughing I explained it was “Evie” and not “ebay”.
“Well, he’d better get onto ebay and buy some singing lessons.”
They fall asleep, we continue driving, Grumpy recalls the whole motion sickness thing when we get to peak of windy road and is most miffed when we get part way down, two kids wake up and feel like vomiting all over him. Godzilla decided he was “feelin’ sick” only after Monkey Boy suggested it and demanded we pull over immediately, and incurred my “You’re only saying it becuase Monkey Boy did” wrath.
Until I looked at him and tried to determine exactly what you’d call that particular shade of green.
Time to head home, me thinks.
Besides I think my tits froze off when we stopped for an “I’m gonna vomit” stop, and I leapt out of the car, thinking only of the children and thoughts of cleaning up vomit from down the sides of the seats, without my jacket. I also went a bit woozy at that point, but am not sure if it was fatigue, exasperation or my cerebro-spinal fluid had actually frozen solid.