Weekends away. With The Mothership.

I don't think I've really mentioned my mum in my blogs before, so tonight, my friends, you are getting introduced to her.

My mum is great, she really is, she loves the family and would do anything to help us all out - as mother's do.  She's always there for us when we need her and we all love her.  But, my God, she drives me fucking insane.

My Dad passed away December 2010 - a horrific time for all, and it still is.  So mum is a widow and life without Dad is different and difficult at times. You never really realise how much someone did until they are no longer there.......

Last weekend my lovely cousin got married, we were invited and decided to attend.  However, the wedding was in Cornwall - a fair trek from Bonnie Scotland. So the decision was made that we would fly, however flying costs a fucking bomb, so Tom and the kids had to stay at home while I got sent down with mum and brother.  SCORE! A night away without the kids!  Mum booked the flight tickets - due to work commitments we had to fly down on Saturday, arriving at Newquay 2.5 hours prior to the wedding. Loads of time.  Then I had a brain wave - which I will regret for the next 50 years - I would fly from Aberdeen.  It made sense, I live here, saves me travelling all the way to Edinburgh spending money on petrol and airport parking. I can get a flight at silly O'clock to Manchester then a flight from Manchester to Newquay,  arriving 10 mins after my mum and brothers flight from Edinburgh.  Perfect.  Mum booked a hire car to pick up from Newquay and we would drive to hotel, get changed, head to wedding.  Simple eh?

Aye, well.  This is the reality...... please bear in mind I hate flying......

Saturday - I head to Aberdeen Airport.  I'm slightly panicked as I'm actually going on a plane - I fucking hate flying, it's not right, if the plane crashes I'm going to die.  I get through departures and head to the plane. It's on time. It's fucking tiny.  It has propellers.  I'm seated next to a man in a camouflage coat - clearly a terrorist.  Opposite me is a husband and wife. The husband appears slightly agitated and panicking. A bit like myself. Then the engines start and we get ready to take off.  At this point the plane starts making a funny noise - the man opposite me says to his wife "What's that noise?! Why is it making that noise??" He looks at me as I'm now clearly shitting myself "It shouldn't make that noise should it?" he says. "No" I reply - but in my head I'm screaming "WE'RE ALL DOOOOOOOOOMED!" The man then puts his head in his hands, another person who hates flying it would appear. I offer him a sweetie, he refuses.  I don't offer any to the terrorist beside me.  He's too busy looking at his Nuts magazine. We take off and the funny noise stops.  I cling on to my seat for the duration of the flight, occasionally letting go to grab another sweetie.

Anyway, we don't die (obviously) and we land safely at Manchester.  Great stuff - on time! WOOHOO! I head to the departure lounge area to get a coffee and wait for next flight, departing at 10:30am.  Super. I have an hour to kill.  This is easy. Then I check the departure board. It's delayed.  Fucking delayed.  Departing at 12:05. What. The. Very. Fuck.

I'm now starting to fret as I know I'm going to miss the wedding.  That I can cope with.  What I can't really cope with is I have to inform my mother of this. She's going to go fucking mental.  So I text my brother, he's the sensible one and he can easily work a mobile phone, unlike mum. Their flight is due to depart soon so I need to get a message to them. My brother is very much like my dad, calm in a crisis and will think with a sensible head.  My mum on the other hand, doesn't.  I text.  "FUCK - plane delayed, not departing until 12:05, will miss wedding" My brother replies, very calmly, "It's OK - we'll book you a taxi, you'll still make it"  Simple solution. He even texts me the venue address - clever man. He's calm, I'm OK, then he tells mum.  Now, I wasn't actually there at this point but, from what I gather it went something like this...

Brother - deep breath "Mum, Nico is going to be late her flight is delayed"
Mum - "WHAT?! WHAT?! OH MY GOD! YOU ARE JOKING!"
Brother - "It's cool, she can get a taxi"
Mum - "I knew she should have travelled with us.  FFS.  I knew this would be a disaster. The weekend is ruined.  She's ruined it.  Why would she want to travel from Aberdeen anyway?! I mean, she could have stayed with me last night, all travel together"
Brother - sigh
Mum - "She won't know where she's going?! How can she get a taxi?! She doesn't have a number. The weekend is ruined" etc etc You get the picture.

My brother is a calm person, by this point he's probably got his MP3 player on full blast and is pretending to listen to her rant. They board the flight and take off.  Luckily for him they are in separate seats.  She orders a snack "HOW MUCH?! I only got 20 crisps in that tub, I'm putting in a complaint!" and so it goes on......

Tom is in Fife visiting some family, so I text him, he starts looking for train and buses I can get.  Basically, it's impossible.  Taxi is £60. Great, that's my drink money out the window.  Then a miracle happens. The flight time is changed, now it's departing at 11:30.  Which means we will land just after 12:30. Mum's flight lands at 11:20, by the time she collects her luggage -all 19.5kg of it, for a 3 day trip, plus her hand luggage and hand bag?! What the fuck has she packed - I'm hoping it's loads of vodka.  It's not. As it turns out it's 3 cardigans, 3 pairs of trousers, short trousers, skirts, tops, blouses, going out clothes, 4 pairs of shoes etc etc. So, by the time she collects all that and sorts the car hire it'll be about 12:15, she can easy wait 20 mins for me.  Fuck - she's even got time to get changed! Great!

So I text my master plan to my brother, knowing they are in flight and he won't get my text until he lands, by which point I'll be in the air.

Sorted.  I pop off to the loo and put on my wedding outfit - cos that's how classy I am. So I'm all sorted and all is well.

Flight departs.  Then I arrive in Newquay. I walk through to the arrivals to see my brother, sitting looking drained.  Head in hands. Music on. Wearing his kilt. He simply shakes his head. No words need to be spoken, I know she's been doin' his head in for the past 3 hours. "How is she?" I ask. "Fuck sake Nico, just get in the car and you can listen to her stress".  Great. 

We get in the hire car "The car doesn't have a cigarette lighter - so I can't plug in the satnav" Ahhhh I can see she's still stressed out.  She's changed into her wedding gear, so that's a bonus - no need to go to the hotel.  We can head straight to wedding.  My brother starts hunting about - "Found it" he announces.  When mum is stressed she can't see anything that's in front of her face. He plugs in the satnav and then reality dawns.  My dad isn't here.  My dad, the navigator. Fuck.

Dad was in the army, 4RTR, a tankie for many years.  He's amazing at map reading and navigating, a skill that, sadly, he never passed on to myself or my brother. My mum has never needed to navigate as dad always directed her here, there and everywhere. So here we are, in Cornwall, having to get to a tiny village the locals have never even heard of.  Totally relying on SatNav. If this goes wrong, we are screwed.

We plug in the postcode. It finds our location and off we pop.  Mum gets in full nagging swing "I KNEW you should have travelled with us", "We're going to be late", "I had to get changed in the toilet!! The TOILET!", "People in Cornwall are so slow and laid back - can they not see I'm in a hurry, FFS, I booked the car hire on line so it would be quicker" and so it went on. My brother has obviously heard this a thousand times and is staring blankly into space.  I consider opening  the Pimms. 

We're making good time, satnav telling us it's only 30 mins away, mum decides we should go to the hotel first so she can "freshened up". "Why? You're all ready"  note to self - never question mum when she's stressed, it only leads to more stress.  The satnav is instructed to take us to the hotel. It shouts out "Take the next exit on the left" Which we do.  Then it said that wonderful word that you never want to hear on satnav...... "Recalculating"  FFS. We're on the wrong road.  Mum - "What?! Why is it recalculating!! We're lost!" Brother - "Calm down, it's fine" eventually we get to the hotel, time is now tight, we only have 30 mins to get to the wedding.  According to Satnav it's 10 mins away.

We enter the hotel to check in, but check in isn't until 2pm and our rooms aren't ready.  At this point I seriously thought mum was going to crumple in a heap. My brother just rolls his eyes and tells me to get back in the car,  mum heads to another toilet so she can "freshen up". One is not amused. 

We get back in the car and head to the wedding.  The satnav decides to take us over a field.  Fucking great. It's like a farm track, single track road.  Mum is driving like a rally driver, 2nd gear, revs at 5000, oblivious to anyone and anything.  One mission in her mind - to get to the wedding on time.  And we do.  With 10 mins to spare would you believe! 

The wedding is beautiful, the bride looked amazing and everyone was happy! Joy! Now we have to get to the Reception venue.  Another tiny village.  Here's my plan - follow someone who knows where they are going! Perfect. But mum thinks there's no need "we have the instructions! I can get us there" Fuck. She ends up being miles away from the car I was going to follow anyway, so she pulls in. We are lost.  We think.  We might not be. We don't have a clue.  So we decide to do what I suggested in the first place.  We follow another car that is going to the reception.  Sorted.

We arrive, I crack open the Pimms and my brother cracks open the cider. Ahhhhhhh...... now we can relax....... Mum? She's trying to relax by drinking some wine, until she's informed she's driving later so can't drink much........"I've only had one or two......it's only 1% anyway!!" No, mum, no it's not.....

Another Pimms anyone?

Blaine has a birthday party. Mummy has a breakdown.

Blaine turned the grand age of 7 in July.  7.  How he's not put me in some loony bin by now is beyond me, but here we are - 7 years on and I'm still learning every single day at being a great mum. Or not.

He decides he wants to have a party. Well, it won't be fucking happening in my house! The kids, the mess, the noise, the mess, the organisation, the mess, the stress. No way.  I learnt this lesson on his 1st Birthday - that was hell.  Tom decided to power wash the fucking patio an hour before the party kicked off, I'm in the kitchen attempting to make party food (sausages on sticks, crisps in bowls) and trying to keep Blaine clean and stop him from eating all the food. It was a very stressful occasion and one I vowed never to repeat again.

So, it's been soft play, some arty farty thing, tubing at the ski centre etc etc  This year he wants a party at Pizza Hut.  Yes, that high class kids eating establishment.  Sounds easy enough. "BOYS only - I HATE girls!" that's his instructions.  We invite all the boys in his class who aren't actually away on holiday.  8 in total. 8 boys. 7 year olds.  In Pizza Hut. How hard can this be?!

My friends kinda gasp when I tell them my wonderful plans for Blaine's party.  "You're fucking joking?!" is the normal response from those who know me well, "Och, it'll be fine, 8 boys, all eating pizza - wtf can seriously go wrong" Famous last words.

We arrive at Pizza Hut.  Some of the boys are already there, they appear to be a tad excited, but they'll chill out once they are seated. Yep, all going fine.

We are shown to our table - it's at the very end of the restaurant, the wifey informs me I can sit in the booth adjacent to the table, so I can have some of my own space.  Great stuff - I even get to sit in peace!  HURRAH!  Then the first problem occurs...... the boys all want to sit next to certain people.  Just sit the fuck down. Does it really matter where people sit?!  Apparently, yes.  Eventually they sit down. Well, when I say sit it's more like they are on springs.  7 year olds can't sit still.

Then the waitress appears to take the drinks order.  I'm assuming the little darlings will order water or apple juice.  No. Do they fuck. "COKE! COKE! COKE!"  Ermmm....wtf?! COKE?!?!? Hold on. Wait one. I ask the boys "Coke?! Are you all allowed coke?  What about apple juice?" Blaine probably died of embarrassment at this point.  "YES WE CAN HAVE COKE!" They all shout back.  7 year olds can't speak quietly.  They can only shout. So the waitress goes off to get all the drinks.  I even allow Blaine to have fizzy juice too.

The drinks arrive and they act as if they are dying of thirst and guzzle it down "MORE! MORE!" erm..... OK, it is unlimited I guess........

The waitress then gives them crayons and colouring books "THAT'S FOR BABIES" they holler. So they decided instead of drawing with the crayons they would catapult them across the restaurant using their forks.  Genius idea.  Then another decides that his juice isn't for drinking, oh no, it's for spraying all over people. Through a straw.

At this point I call the waitress over "Hello.  Yes, do you sell Valium? Or vodka? Straight?" the wifey just laughs and informs me she'll be bringing the pizza bases over for the boys to make their pizzas with.  Oh good, this will distract them. 

The bases arrive, along with all the stuff to put on them. One by one the little animals are ordered up to the table to create their pizzas.  One of them calls his "The Volcano" as he's piled it high with crap.  Another is "The Mountain" again because it's piled high with crap. And so it goes on.  The waitress brings over more and more toppings as it wold appear these kids have never eaten anything in their life.  Or so you would think.

The pizzas go away in the oven and then more chaos erupts.  "Let's wrestle!" one decides.  Wrestle?! Where the fuck do they think they are? "NO! SIT DOWN" but they are past the stage of listening to anything I have to say, hyper on coke, and being 7 year olds, they will do exactly what the very fuck they want.  And wrestling it is.

The pizzas arrive.  No one has died in the wrestling.  I can get through this. Then a miracle happens.  They sit down.  They eat. They are even a bit quieter.  Hurrah.

After pizza they get a pudding.  Unlimited ice-cream, with toppings. Lots and lots of toppings.  For those of you who have never endured the hell of Pizza Hut let me enlighten you - the toppings aren't fruit, sprinkles or wafers.  Oh no, don't be ridiculous.  The toppings are Smarties, Jelly Tots and Chocolate Buttons.  Followed by lashings of high sugar sauce.  Seriously - who the fuck decided this was a good idea? They are hyper on coke, now they are going to be filled with even more sugar thanks to all the bloody Smarties they are piling onto their ice-cream.  My advice of "That's enough sweeties boys" falls on deaf ears.  "AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA MORE MORE!" They are possessed - making more "mountains" out of ice-cream and sweets.

They devour their ice-cream, then go up for more, then one decides to tip all of his on the floor.  Then one finds a (clean) dog poo bag in his pocket and they all start squabbling over who can wear it on their heads. It's a fucking dog poo bag.  Stop arguing. Sit down. Be quiet.  Nope, they are not listening.

And then the parents start to appear! Praise the Lord and all that is holy - it's the end of the party, the chaos is over. They are getting collected to go home.  "Have they been good?" the parents ask.  My reply....."Of course! Not a problem, such lovely boys!"

I pay, I leave. I go home and crack open the vodka.

Next year he wants to go to the cinema with his friends.  Tom can take them.