So, you’ve heard about our Legoland trip already. I didn’t dish much on our mushy gushy first day, but more our tearful and testing second day. As much as I love the mush, I know it can seem boring when typed. So I hold those memories in my head and frame them on our wall. Besides, if we’re going to have an awful time, I need to at least find something entertaining about it.
This overnight stay was the reason for that second day. The one that saw me crying, as I carried a planking child around Legoland on my hip. Bearing a smile that said “I don’t care, we’ve paid for this day and we will sodding enjoy it”.
My friend had done this with her toddler last year. She warned me we’d get little sleep. We’d probably all end up in the same bed, she said. She was half right.
The thing that made me laugh as I was telling her how anxious I was about the overnight stay, is her saying they put their daughter down to sleep in her travel cot at 8pm. They then turned the tv towards their bed, kept the volume low, and had high hopes that their then two year old would think ‘ah, this is their time to relax, my time to sleep’. If only. She told me they tried negotiating with their daughter, until eventually they gave in, switched everything off and were all sleeping in the same bed before 9pm. Because you can’t negotiate with a toddler terrorist.
This gave me some insight as to how our night would go.
After our first day at Legoland, we checked into our hotel, ditched our bags in the room, had a quick bed-jumping session then headed out for a meal.
It’s very rare we show our faces as a family inside a restaurant, someone always ends up dancing on the table and mummy always has one too many glasses of wine to numb the embarrassment. However, this meal was brilliant, to top off our brilliant day, mushy gushy. The kids behaved like angels and we managed to finish all of our meals before giving up and leaving, having only taken a few bits of a club sandwich.
After our meal and a little wander around the town we headed back to our hotel room.
Don’t laugh, but I bought a face-mask for a little pampering.
Back in the room we all had a wash, got into our pjs’ and snuggled up on the bed watching cartoons, drinking milk. That itself was a lovely moment. Then came 8.30pm. The kids were slacking. Whingeing for no reason. Walking into walls. Hysterically laughing one minute, then crying the next.
So we switched everything off and laid them in their beds. Because maybe they would settle and sleep?
At first it was going well, they were silent. I assumed asleep. So I crawled like a ninja into the bathroom and popped my face-mask on. Look, at least I managed to use it right? Don’t laugh. I seem to always use a face-mask when we stay away. They say you should use them weekly, but I think a good two times a year is enough for me.
Rinsing the green cream from my hands I heard giggling. Giggling is better than crying. Then I heard the proper belly-ache laughing coming from my baby-beasts. I walked in to see my boy peering over my girls’ travel-cot. That’s what they were laughing at, looking at each other.
My boy rolled back over in his bed (his bed and her travel cot were side by side) and gave his teddy a squeeze. Then we hear “you still awake, I awake” followed by hysterical laughter.
Only, a few seconds later my boy fell asleep. Weird.
My girl couldn’t sleep, she went through a cycle of singing, standing, laughing and chatting for a full hour before giving up and falling asleep herself. It was now 10pm and my face felt like someone had covered it in cement. I’d had the mask on for so long it almost became part of my face. That would have been awkward at the 9am checkout.
That was it, that was our evening. I felt a little smug that they were both asleep, there were no tears and they were both in their own beds.
The evening may have been better than expected, although not the early night I’d have loved. The night could have made a grown man cry. Our girl woke hourly, not a gentle wake with a little grizzle, but a roaring scream. I had a heart attack seven times that night, I’m surprised I’m still here with you.
I don’t blame her that she didn’t sleep well, travel cots must be like sleeping on cardboard, covering pipework. That’s pretty much what it is though. Paper-thin mattress over criss-crossing poles. Uncomfortable. She was welcome to sleep in our bed, even in her brothers, but when given these opportunities it made her angry.
I was up and down throughout the night every hour until 4am. 4am came, as did her screaming and all I wanted to do was bury my face into my pillow and yell. So I kindly hinted at Mr Firstooth, with a gentle kick in the ribs, that it was his turn to settle his daughter.
He stood up, bent over her cot, ‘shushed’ her for a few seconds, then claimed “she’s just not going back to sleep, I can’t do it”. I will let you imagine my response.
So that was it, we were up for the day at 4am. Shortly after, my boy woke up too and we all sat in bed, bult upright with blood shot eyes, waiting to go down to breakfast. Which wouldn’t be open for another three hours. Brilliant.
In these three hours we did all manage to shower, pack our bags, get dressed and load everything into the car. I don’t know why we bothered dressing our children before breakfast, one of which face-plants every meal she has.
We arrived at breakfast with smartly turned out children and left with two baby beasts, covered in milk, bean juice, with cocopops hanging from their face and egg stuck to their chins (it was a buffet breakfast), who were also in desperate need of a nap. They were filthy feral children and we were just about to head off to the land of Lego for a fun-filled second day.
There’s why we’ll pretend Day 2 never happened.
For more sarcastic and bluntly honest parenting posts, join me on Facebook and subscribe for continuous giggles