Bit of a Science Question for you....

Ok. Science time Ladies...

If you reverse THIS car slooooowly...


...into this fence....




Which one will come off worse??






I KNOW!!! Who'd have thought it!!

Girl Guide rule No1: Be Prepared.

So we arrive at the airport. On time and thankfully sans the small piece of excess baggage Alfie had stowed away up his left nostril. (Thank you Jesus)

That's when the fun really started.

1 x large suitcase for the hold? Check.
4 x handbaggages? Check.
2 x single pushchairs each with child in? Check.
1 other child? Check.
Husband? Check.
5 x passports? Check.
1 billion x checking in tickets and other printouts from online booking? Check.
1 x slightly frazzled NotQuiteSupermom? Check.

Ok. All going well.

Until they weigh the suitcase.

I forgot to check the weight allowance.

Bugger.

We are 7 kilos over.

Nice Airport Lady to Mr G: "that will be £340 for the extra 7 kilos please."
Mr G: (barely audible whisper) "pardon?"
Nice Airport Lady: "Unless you can redistribute the extra 7 kilos in your hand luggage?"
Mr G: "Oooo...difficult decision."

Cue frantic unpacking and repacking scenes and NotQuiteSupermom cursing the fact that she allowed her eldest to bring his BIBLE...possibly the heaviest thing on the planet..despite her efforts to convince him that his Star Wars comic book would have been a far less weighty option (and possibly slightly more normal for an 8 yr old.)

Now our carefully packed handluggages are like carrying bags of bricks around.

Still. Onwards and Upwards as they say.

Oh goodie.

Security next.

My personal favourite.

To get there we had to navigate a 10 mile maze of snaking barriers to travel (if you took the direct route) about 3 feet.

It looked as though the airport might have been expecting a stadium full of people to start queuing.

Except there were no people about.

Just us and a lone security man who could barely hide his mirth at watching us go round..and round...and round...and round...and round..(yep..you get the picture)and round the barriers.

I have to admit that had it not actually been happening to me I probably would have found watching it vaguely amusing.

Bored security man: "Pushchairs folded down..empty your pockets..children through one at a time."

Gulp.

Does he have any idea how long that is going to take?

2 folded pushchairs, 2 crying children after being forcibly removed from said pushchairs, 10 tonnes of fluff, 27p in 1 and 2 pence pieces, 4 hairbands, 2 fluff covered emergency dummies and 3 old smarties later....and his instructions have been followed pretty much to a T.

Unfortunately the stadium full of people the airport thoughtfully provided the snaking queue barriers for have turned up behind us and are waiting rather unpatiently. Some are even tutting. Obviously none have children.

I put my hand baggage on the x-ray machine.

Suddenly security alarms start ringing all over the place and two fairly burly (and not overly friendly looking) security guards pull me to one side.

Not overly friendly looking security guard #1: "Is that your bag Madam?"
NotQuiteSupermom (quivering slightly): "Yes officer..I believe it is."
Not overly friendly looking security guard #2: "Did you pack this bag yourself Madam?"
NotQuiteSupermom: "AH HA HA HA HA HA. Oh. Sorry. You are serious. Yes..I packed every bloody bag 2 weeks ago and then repacked them about a zillion times...and not ONE bugger helped me."
Not overly friendly looking security guard #1: "We need to search the bag as we have reason to believe you are carrying an offensive weapon in your hand luggage."
NotQuiteSupermom: "huh..??"
Mr G (hissing): "what did you pack?"

In delves the security guard, past the nappies, wipes, pirate figures, snacks etc etc. Into the little back pocket..wherein lies...actually...I dont bloody know. I NEVER look in that pocket.

Out comes his arm brandishing my hot pink Swiss Army Knife type gadget.

Oh. Shit. I vaguely remember putting that in the bag about 2 years ago incase I ever needed it. Ironically I have NEVER needed it. Hence the reason I forgot about it.

NotquiteSupermom: "Thats not an offensive weapon. Mr G's mother gave me that for Christmas..and its pink?"

Not overly friendly looking security guard #1...flicks open the knife part of it (in a very macho way it has to be said)

NotQuiteSupermom: "Ah. yes. see your point (literally)."
Not overly friendly looking security guard #2: "we will have to confiscate this from you Madam."
NotquiteSupermom: "Ooohhh. Really? Can I bring in some other things the Mother in Law got me for Christmas?"
Not overly friendly looking security guard #1: *sigh* "No Madam, you can't."


So off we all skip, breathing in the freedom of the departure lounge all happy and jolly after the small run in with security.

Until I suddenly remember how terrified I am of flying.

AND how "low budget" and "airline" really should not be mixed.

What also should not be mixed is a stressed out, scared stupid of flying mom and white wine.

Oh God.

Anyone fancy a Staycation?

Firstly I would like to apologise for my lack of blogging.

I went on HOLIDAY.

Abroad.

On a plane.

With 3 kids and Mr G.

I have yet to fully recover from The Experience.

The preparations went well. I was very very excited. I booked the holiday in January in a flush of Post Christmas Cheer to "give us something to look forward to."

I know.

I am stupid.

Six months later, nearly time for The Holiday and I am a bundle of excitement.

As a Supermom in training I packed our bags a week before the holiday so I was well prepared and organised.

Unfortunately I had to keep unpacking them as none of us had anything to wear and it was becoming a bit of an issue.

We flew on a "low budget no frills airline."

They charge for baggage. I thought ONE hold baggage and 4 hand baggages would suffice.

I know.

Stoooopid.

ANYWAY: I had arranged for my mother to drive us to the airport. V. organised and efficient.

It was roughly 20 minutes before she was due to pick us up that things started to go horribly wrong.

That day had so far been spent fielding the MILLIONS of phone calls because we were going away for TWO WEEKS.

I was on the phone when Alfie came up to me crying and pulling at my leg.

Alfie: " Me put something up nose."
NotQuiteSupermom: "Hold on darling, Mommy's on the phone right now..just give me a minute."
Alfie: "Nose. Plasticine. Me."
NotQuiteSupermom: (to caller)..."I'll have to call you back after the holiday." *hang up* (To Alfie) "WHAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT?? You know you should never put anything up your nose, or in your ears...or up your bottom? You havent? Have you? Truth?

I laid him down on the bed and got out the torch.

Yep.

Big lump of plasticine. Right up there.

Shit.

Sadly my "First Aid for Parents" book DOES NOT HAVE A CHAPTER ABOUT OBJECTS BEING STUFFED IN NASAL CAVITIES.

So, without the help from my bible, I look for the tweezers. Very calmly. Reiterating the point to Alfie that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES he should sniff. (Note: have you ever tried to teach a small child the difference between sniff and blow??) Sniff= easy. Blow= Very Very Difficult.

Cant find the sodding tweezers. Anywhere.

Less than 1 Hr before we NEED to check in.

Vaguely recall reading that POTENTIALLY it might not be great for a child to travel ON A PLANE with plasticine up his nose.

Bugger.

Thinking about using the scissors. Its the only "pinch grip" type thing I have...unless I raid Mr G's tool box in the garage. But I'm not entirely sure that a monkey wrench will fit up Alfies very small nasal passage.

Oh God.

Flash of inspiration.

Either this will work or it will go HORRIBLY WRONG and a trip to A&E will be required.

NotQuiteSupermom: "Alfie sweetie. Bend down and touch your toes."
Alfie: "Huh?"
NotQuiteSupermom: " Lets pretend that you have to...ooohh..I dont know. (NOT GO ON HOLIDAY BECAUSE YOU HAVE SOMETHING STUCK UP YOUR NOSE)....blow something really hard OUT your nose AND not sniff it back?? Do you think if you bend over you can do that for Mommy? Superman does that all the time."
Alfie: "Ok."

We all held our breath.

To blow..or to sniff? That is the question.

I held my breath.

Alfie (fortunately) didnt hold his.

He gave a HUGE Superman styleee blow.

With a quite astounding "POP" the plasticine pinged out his nose and onto the carpet.

Our silent worship of the blue plasticne ball was rudely interrupted by the doorbell.

Mother: (v. cheerful) "Already to go?"
NotQuiteSupermom: "Yes. Absolutely. Let's go."


Although...with hindsight..had I known what was to come..I think my answer would have been very different.

Yep.

It gets worse.

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