kids

Allow this mum of three to summarise the unique struggle of getting the kids in the damn car.

Leaving the house with kids. Two hours to get ready. That’s ages right? I might even put on some make up today and pretend I’m not a hot mess.

Fast forward to the middle of this morning tea, into the bathroom I go to change a nappy and find my reflection looking back at me, presenting a blotchy red face and those frizzy post-baby hairs sticking out framing my face like an exotic flower. Every mother out there knows these pesky fluffs of hair I’m talking about. Do we shave our hairlines for the rest of our lives or power through while it grows out? (The answer: power through. Ain’t nobody got to shave your legs, let alone your hairline.)

The twins ate breakfast in their pyjamas so we could simply change into fresh clean clothes and head off. After breakfast, once stripped down, the free spirits decided a seven degree morning didn’t warrant clothes. After I petrificus totalus their ass, we have clean nappies, clean clothes, and two loads of washing on the line. Boo yah!

Have you checked out our co-listening podcast for parents and kids, That’s Incredible? It’s perfect for car trips. Post continues after audio.

Shower time for me. On goes the TV so I can shower in peace. Pretty drama free, we’re getting there. I’m showered and dressed, kids are fed and dressed. We still have half an hour to go – I can put makeup on now, right? WRONG! Sienna’s flipped it because the TV has been turned off and the twins now want to be carried around.

Distraction time, who wants a banana?! Everyone of course, success. Hazel’s breaks in half and she has a meltdown because it’s fallen on the ground. God forbid she have to bend over and pick it up. Please your highness, allow me.

Now Violet wants hers broken in half so she can hold two pieces as well. Oh wait, now she won’t have free hands so let’s just throw that fresh banana to the ground. I grab a bowl to put it in, she sees the bowl and starts smooshing pieces off to go into the bowl because apparently if banana sits in a bowl, it must be in small pieces.

I cut the banana up and figure she can finish eating it in the car. Hazel sees Violet has sliced banana in a bowl so now she MUST have hers sliced in a bowl as well. It’s time to leave now so fine, no makeup, hair not done, let’s just get in the car so we can at least be on time.

Kids in car
Image: Supplied.
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Old me had a cute little ride. I’d pick up my phone, wallet and keys and just walk out the door. I’d blast my music with no worries about the language. I was at my prime.

I’ve changed.

These days, I drive a car that can seat a mighty seven people. Leaving the house requires a day's written notice. I’m a provider for my children, also known as the snack bitch, so I gotta make sure I bring the goods.

I herd the kids into the garage. One climbs into the car themselves, and I will be forever thankful for that. While I strap one in, I listen to the other one scream because dammit mum, you’re taking forever and my little legs are tired of standing here! Their screams at least save me from whipping my head in and out of the car to make sure they aren’t running onto the road. That’s what I like to call positive thinking.

The next one to get strapped in is normally pretty pissed by then, so you gotta hold that spaghetti down while yanking limbs through the strap, and tighten them before they wobble their way back out like jelly at a rave. You also need to do it gently enough that you don’t tear their limbs off. I pride myself on the quick, but delicate, balance I have mastered.

Closing the door, I enjoy that sweet walk of silence before entering the nightclub with a live performance from my kids, singing me the song of their people.

To strap the eldest in, I gotta lean through the middle of the car. When we are out places, I normally flash a poor, unsuspecting victim as they are walking through the car park. On the odd occasion, it makes someone’s day and they normally stand there enjoying the view before I turn back around to buckle myself in. If they’re really lucky, I’ve been dumb enough to wear a dress. You’re welcome.

Even though the car was recently cleaned, I hand out crackers of silence to shut the club down before my eardrums explode.

I then listen to my four-year-old play Spotto until she suggests “I spy with my little eye”. Only she can’t spell. So we play with descriptions and it goes something like, “I spy with my little eye, something that’s a pole with a light on it”. Gee, is it a bloody light pole?

Old me can suck it up though. I created these little people, and I’ll rock these sh*tty games. One day they will ignore me for their earphones and I’ll play my “old person” music...

This content was originally published on the Facebook page Living My Family Life. It has been republished here with full permission. 

Katie Hicks is a mum to a 4-year-old girl and 21 month-old twin girls. A part time hairdresser, she spends her time blogging about her days of chaos.

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