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At the start of our journey home from our long weekend away, I’d already decided that as impromptu weekends away go, it was probably the best we’d ever had. The hotel had been amazing (The Sands in Newquay-anyone wanting a child friendly hotel really needs to check this out,) the weather had been brilliant, I’d taken an awesome memory lane trip around Newquay, stopping to take photos of the places I used to stumble out of with my friends, after a long night of carefree Smirnoff Ice drinking, and also marvelled that the same hangover food stops we frequented were open, and to top it off, the children had slept really well in their alien environment, allowing evenings full of copious prosecco drinking.

Mid reflection, the eldest child pulled me from my musings, with an ominously anxious sounding ‘mummy, I….’ which was as far as he got before the rest of his sentence got lost in a cascade of vomit that would give the little girl from the exorcist a run for her money. It appeared to be covering every single surface in the back of the car. My husband, proceeded to prove that he wasn’t lying when he said he could in ‘no way handle vomit,’ and as the putrid smell reached his nose, he swiftly pulled over, fell out of the car….and vomited on the side of the road. It was like a Mexican wave of vom, and I started to wonder who would be next. Little did I know, we’d now entered The Vomit Games, like a series of games and challenges, where the prize was never good, and only consisted of the lucky winner being covered in a sticky, chunk filled mess.

The first game was the vomit equivalent of Russian Roulette. The eldest seemed so perky after the initial incident, that I convinced myself that as we had left for home just after breakfast, and the roads were quite winding, that motion had caused the problem. After an hour or so, he asked if we could stop for a drink. So we pulled in at the nearest service station, and obliged. While the youngest was happy to sit and chew on some toast, the eldest was flitting between my lap, and my husband’s lap, in Russian Roulette meets pass the ticking time bomb parcel. My husband was the unfortunate winner of this game, when BOOM, just as my son moved from my lap to his, the latest offering of stomach contents sprang forth. Again, my husband made a mad dash to the toilet, to both rid his clothes of his prize, and to not let the Russian Roulette game stop-he was taking his role in the game seriously, evidently.

Once we finally made it home, we began a new game-the vom version of popular 90’s TV show Get Your Own Back. This involved me and the eldest sat on the sofa, with my ‘challenges’ being reading his cues correctly and getting a bowl in the right place at the right time, or choosing correctly whether to call his bluff when he said he needed the bowl, then backtracked and said it was a false alarm after all. He was not always telling the truth about the false alarms. He sometimes also said nothing at all, and I was left to read subtle body language changes. To avoid a Get Your Own Back style vom gunging, I had to deploy stealth ninja skills in getting the bowl ready, or call him out on his very own little game of poker he had going on.

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Of course, the youngest had to join in with the festivities. He decided to play his very own game of Bushtucker Trial. I had already caught him trying to eat a woodlouse earlier in the day. He clearly decided to take this to the next stage. In Japan, sometimes people eat puffer fish. But they are so poisonous, if not prepared correctly, they can kill you. Having laughed in the face of his own mini Bushtucker Trial, the youngest attempted to take it to the next level. He was going to find something he had no clue what it was, and challenge himself to down it in one and see what happened. Unfortunately, I left a full vomit bowl within his reach, while I went for an emergency wee, which had been threatening to cover my floor in protest at being left in my bladder for too long, for quite some time. I caught the youngest putting it to his lips, in an attempt to down the contents… In a slow motion ‘nooooooooooooooo….’ I got there just in time, before he went all puffer fish, and drank the contents to see whether they would poison him or not.

However, as the stream of vomit eventually began to subside, a new game began to emerge. The eldest was totally wiped out by what had happened, and decided to sleep solidly for a couple of days, just waking occasionally for drinks and snacks. The littlest decided that he would also extend his afternoon nap, and during this time, the Mummy Pentathlon began. I did several loads of washing, deep cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, dusted things that hadn’t been dusted in years, watched something I wanted to watch on the TV, and had an actual nap. Finally, part of The Vomit Games that I had won!! My prize, instead of getting soaked in the sticky, chunky mess, was To Get S**t Done For The First Time Since 2012! Quite a rewarding end to a challenging games…!

This post first appeared on Meet Other Mums.