I went to Smiggen Holes and all I got was this lousy spew bucket

While I'm on our giant South West WA road trip I've got some guest posts lined up. Let's all pray to the Google gods that I've scheduled this stuff correctly and it works.

Today we've got Kelly. On a side note, Smiggen Holes is the best holiday destination name I've ever heard.

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In June we decided it was time we introduced the kids to The Snow. Isn’t it a bit silly how so many of us call it The Snow, as if it’s the name of a suburb? Snow happens to fall in many places... But anyhoo.

The 6hr drive with a 4year old (J), 2year old (H) and 3 month old (A) was a dream. I’d packed an eski full of drinks and snacks, a potty (no the potty was not IN the eski), 2 portable dvd players, an iPod, some books, there was plenty to keep them occupied. There was a music festival on this particular weekend so between snowman building, exploring, eating and listening to music, our days were full and so were our hearts.

The second night there, the boys wanted to go to kids club so Hubby and I took the opportunity to have a nice, slow, 3 course meal. A was pretty well behaved and let’s face it, when you have 3 kids, ditching just 2 of them feels like a holiday. When we picked the boys up from kids club they were so happy, they’d had a great time and told us that they wanted to go back. This is heaven, we thought. We should go away more often.

After a shower, we tucked all 3 kids into bed. We couldn’t believe what an amazing time we were having. Everyone was so well behaved, the weather was perfect. Bliss.

Later that night H climbed into bed with us. “My belly hurts!” he moaned as he snuggled into me. After a while his restlessness was annoying so I sent him back to his bed. Within 10 minutes we heard a godawful noise, ran into their room and switched the light on. Vomit. EVERYWHERE. This kid was like a burst water main, and he was spraypainting the room with the contents of his stomach. Hubby quickly scooped him up and stood him in the shower. Genius, right? I was impressed. When he finally finished, we showered him, brushed his teeth and gave him a drink of water.

Then he started again.

And again.

And finally it was over.

We now had a stinking pile of sheets and towels in their ensuite, a huge wet patch on the carpet, and one stripped bed, but reception didn’t open until 9am – there was no one around and the laundry was locked. The room that the boys shared had 3 beds so we moved H to a different bed and finally got him to sleep.

In the morning we gave H some dry toast and water for breakfast, but it seemed he couldn’t keep anything down. Suddenly our mini break had turned to shit. I took a deep breath and approached the reception desk...

“Um... my 2yr old seems to have picked up a stomach bug, and... ah... there’s spew all over our room. And we need some more towels. And sheets. And I need to do a load of washing. And our room smells really bad. And do you have a bucket we could borrow?”

Lunch time came and H complained that he was hungry so I made him some noodles. He started to pick up, and it had been several hours since his last vomit, so when he asked to go outside and play in the snow, we thought it was safe. We were wrong. We had to bury vomit in the snow. Apologies to those at Smiggin Holes in June. The yellow snow was not what you thought.

We were stupid enough to brave the restaurant for dinner. He’d kept some biscuits and water down so we figured it was over. But, just like John Farnham, calling it the Last Time did not in fact mean that it was THE LAST TIME. We made it through 2 courses with A asleep on my lap and H asleep on Hubby’s lap. This isn’t so bad we sighed, finally starting to relax. Then H got a little restless, so again my quick thinking husband grabbed him and headed for the door, while I waited at the table for the bill. 

They made it all the way to the door that led from the restaurant to the bar. And it was there, in the door way, that H finally had his last spew. I sat at the table, mortified, pretending for a moment that this child didn’t belong to me. Until I saw Hubby proceed to remove spew-boy’s vomit covered shirt right there, in the doorway. I grabbed A and ran toward them...

“Take him back to the room!” I whisper-yelled at Hubby.

“But his clothes are...”

“People are trying to eat,” I interrupted “and they don’t need to watch him regurgitate the same four cheese pasta that they are consuming!”

I apologised and paid the bill. I was mortified. I was THAT parent. The one with the spewy kid. I have judged THAT parent many times. As if you would take a spewy kid to a restaurant. As if.

We tucked the kids into bed, it was our last night in the Snowy Mountains. Before long, J wandered into our room. “My belly hurts...” With the reflexes of a cat, Hubby ran and grabbed the bucket from H’s bedside, placing it under J’s chin just as he began to heave. We stared at each other, words weren’t necessary, we knew we were both thinking the same thing. You better not start too.

Long story short, both boys woke up good as new in the morning, but we did ask for a second bucket for the long drive home.

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Kelly is a sarcastic perfectionist who suffers psychotic outbreaks in her endeavour to be a Superwoman. She blogs at Handmade Tears and Triumphs about glorious victories and epic failures, appropriate social behaviours, recipes, and the odd fiction piece about a woman named Stella. She can also be found on Twitter and Facebook.