When your baby jumps out of the pram at the zoo and lands head first on their face on the concrete and other fun travelling with kids moments.

Kids are funny creatures. They have to be, because I swear if they didn’t make me laugh as much as they do, I would leave them screaming in the pram somewhere public and just keep walking.

My kids are mad. And taking them out of their comfort zone does not make them any less crazy. In fact new places seem to just draw the crazy out even more. It’s like they sense an unfamiliar place and just let loose. A new supermarket, what a great place to test how fast I can run down the aisles. A funky cafe, the perfect place to try out my cow dying sound at the top of my lungs. A new house, there may be hidden toys here somewhere so I must leap out of bed at 5am and search the place until I find them.

Being on holidays means lots of time to do fun things. It also means a lot of driving, unpacking, packing, walking, getting lost, cleaning, working and making decisions. So let’s re-phrase, being in another place with two small children means all of these things, just a little bit more complicated than usual. And in between there are lots of fun things to do, some are fun, some are fun for a while before the wild child loses his shit over something massive like the tiny bit of icy-pole left on the stick falling off the stick, and some are more embarrassing than singing Abba with the police band in front of 1500 boys that you teach! (Yep I can tick that off the bucket list)

Sometimes it’s just about the timing.

Like the Taronga Zoo, awesome fun, for me. I loved it. I didn’t love paying a ridiculous amount for the slowest train in the world to take me 5 meters down the road, just so I could avoid a full-blown public meltdown from my spoilt child. And it was the bloody train that was our undoing. I just wanted to go see the Lions. My chubba bubba did not. He was done. So done that he would not sit in the pram, or walk, or get carried. So just to get quickly to the next animal I sat him in the pram with no straps. Bad idea. Happily family shot of us all looking and smiling and pointing at the animals is quickly replaced with a screaming baby who lept out of the pram, landed on his face on the concrete, and scored an egg on his head that looks like something that belongs on a baboons bum.

Or the trip to Circular Quay. Bus ride remarkably normal. Well other than the most vigilant bus driver marching down the bus demanding people stamp their tickets. Or the strange old lady who proceeded to tell the rest of the passengers that I was the dead spit of Samantha from Bewitched and trying to make me do the nose twitch. Or the wild child proclaiming to the ferry that he needed to do a poo, and on the return, sharing proudly that it was “massive”. No it was his obnoxious yelling for another ice-cream that did it, and then the running. Just running around and up and down and over anything he could find as Japanese tourists videoed him running and his brother laughing hysterically on their phones. Hell they are probably on Youtube, with me in the background wishing there was something stronger than coffee in my cup.

It was probably too much to ask for the wild child to sit for one more minute in the pram, and the chubba bubba not to do his best most-annoying-sound-in-the-world-as-per-dumb-and-dumber sound in a cool cafe. Having Martin Sacks bail me up to ogle in impressed horror at the size of my montrous pram had used up the last five minutes my kids have of behaving in a kind of normal way. That was it, my son wanted my attention and instead of asking nicely as I was trying to get him to do, he reached up out of the pram and slapped my face. Cue mortification. Yep Sacksy was watching, the coffee man gently lent over and said if you say sorry to your mum I’ll get you a coffee, and the baby was doing his best sqwarking piglet impression.

And the coffee was terrible.

So if you want to know all the good stuff, the laughter and fun and time spent together. The amazing achievement of my hyper wild child walking all the way to the Byron Bay lighthouse, or standing up on his dad’s surfboard and catching a wave with the biggest smile on his face. Or the obsession my bub has for his Dad or the pure joy of his first shower, then check Instagram and Facebook. But if you really want to know what it’s like travelling around with two small crazy little people, then this blog is for you.

Just don’t read it if your thinking of doing the same.




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