Common Sense Bypass

On the one hand it’s a bonus that my numerous cock ups provide ammunition for my blog.  On the other hand, it’s a bit worrying that at the age of thirty-six I still haven’t learnt my lesson or indeed, any common sense.

Take yesterday, for example.  I’m in the ‘privileged’ position to have the choice of not just one but two extremely embarrassing events to blog about.

Ah, sod it, in for a penny, in for a pound.

The first event took place at a lovely park in Manchester with lots to do for families.  Well, functional families, anyway.  You’d think I’d have learnt from my traumatic experience at the fairground when I went down an inflatable slide in a very undignified fashion with my toddler and flashed my fanny.  Not so, it seems.

At this park there was a VERY high metal tube slide with ladders leading to each level. I didn’t fancy Z climbing them by himself so I helped him to the top where he happily slid down to be caught by my mum at the bottom.  I then turned to climb back down…and found myself trapped by a wall of children.

Waiting for them to come past me would have been the sensible thing to do in hindsight.  Unfortunately, I very rarely choose the sensible thing to do.  So I took the only other option; I went down the slide….in trousers so ridiculously slippery that they should bear some sort of health and safety warning due to their amazing aerodynamics.

The only way to describe the way I exited that slide is like a ball being shot from a cannon.  All the little kids coming down had come to a natural, gentle stop at the bottom but oh no, not me.  I flew off that bastard slide screaming and flailing and was carried forward by the momentum to skid along the rough tarmac (more friction burns) before coming to an abrupt halt.

I got up hurriedly, laughing and brushing myself off, thinking only my mum had seen me…and then noticed the whole playground had come to a standstill to witness my mortification.  I didn’t even have the excuse of having a child on my knee.  It just looked like I’d gone down the slide for my own amusement.  At the age of thirty-six.

Little did we know as we left the park that things were about to get worse because as we joined the motorway my fuel light came on but my gauge said I had twenty one miles left so I decided to risk it.

In the words of Julia Roberts, ‘Big mistake.  Huge.’

Yesterday of all days (probably still traumatised by the slide), I missed my turning.  This wouldn’t normally have been a big deal because I knew where I was and where I could turn around…except suddenly my gauge went to zero.

Too late I realised that the air con, on at full blast to cool down J who had been feeling poorly all day and was looking a bit green, had used up the little fuel I had left.  The warning message that followed, ‘engine malfunction’ with a big, scary exclamation mark flashing was enough of a cue to put on my hazards and pull onto the hard shoulder.

I admit that having a mechanic for a husband comes in handy at times; not only did I know he’d come to our rescue but I’ve had it drilled into me that if I ever break down (or I’m stupid enough to run out of fuel.  He knows he so well) then I MUST get behind the barrier for safety so I bundled the kids out of the car and got them onto the banking.  Then with 4% battery on my phone, I rang him.

Amazingly, trying to sell sitting on a blanket behind a barrier in long, itchy grass being bitten by bugs and flies with cars and lorries whizzing by at frightening speeds to three tired children as an exciting adventure is harder than you might think.

It also turns out that half an hour is a surprisingly long time with a toddler who’s been rudely awoken from a deep sleep and is cranky as hell, a sobbing four year-old who looks like an extra from ‘Oliver!’ with dirt and snot smeared across his face and an eight year old who suddenly starts puking phlegm into the very limited space in which we were all sitting/standing.

It was one of those occasions when the situation is so surreal, standing there dodging sticky vomit with three weary, bedraggled children and people rubbernecking as they drive past without a single offer of help, when you have to take one of two options: you can either laugh or you can cry.  So I laughed…

…and then I got home and drank wine 😉