The caravan of love

Anyone who knows me will be aware that prior to the birth of my son I was a 'work hard, play hard' kind of person. (I cringe at the use of such phrases but its appropriate in this case). My holidays were taken in exotic places and were usually over priced. This year my holiday cost 50 pounds 5 people and (shudder) was taken in a caravan.

It seemed like a good idea when my mother proposed the idea 5 months ago. It was a particularly rainy day, i'd recently returned to work from maternity leave and was having a 'im a bad mother' crisis.
It was sold to me as being 'a bit like a cottage on wheels' and I got sucked in.

On Friday I started to realise just what I had done and frantically began searching for a reason not to go. "The weather forecast is for torrential rain" I protested. "I think the little man has a temperature" and finally in a last ditch attempt "I haven't got anything to wear and you don't love me anymore anyway" in a pathetic baby voice. Unfortunately for me my other half is a glass half full kind of guy and wise to my tricks. "It will be an adventure he chirped", "the kids will love it rain or otherwise", and "you are as beautiful as the day I met you" (an obvious lie as I had spent four hrs preening that day and didn't smell of baby pooh). sweet nevertheless.
So it was with a sigh that I found myself squashed into the car with enough luggage for three months and several umbrellas my other half chucked in 'to make you feel better about the rain'.

2 hrs of are we there yet's later and an incident involving an open car door and a motorway later we pulled into the crazy dog campsite (I've changed the names so as not to cause offence)
My worst fears were confirmed when I saw row upon row of mobile homes crammed together like sardines and several wandering children who appeared to have escaped from lord of the flies. Even the other half appeared lost for words, his permanent smile drooping a bit.

"Don't worry, we'll make the most of it" he offered when glancing across at me.

Inside the box were two 'bedrooms', a shower and a living area. The other half and I were relegated to a sofa bed in the living room. Almost the second we sucked ourselves out of the cramped car the kids began grinning. My toddler began running round in circles and bumping into things and my step daughter chanted ca ra van, ca ra van over and over. Indeed, such was there excitement that I found the corners of my lips upturning slightly.
By the end of day one both kids were tucked up in bed (having worn themselves out running the length of the van over and over) and my other half and I were giggling on our camp bed like a couple of teenagers. Caravan fever over came us and we thought wed take advantage of having both children asleep. Apologies if i offend but just as we began rolling between the sheets there was an almighty scream a bit like a cat fighting and I sprung up in the air in terror. "HELP HELP" my step daughter screeched. Both my partner and I ran to her like our lives depended upon it fully expecting to find a stranger in her room or similar. She was sat bolt upright in floods of tears. "WHATS WRONG?" I asked in fear. "SOMEONE KEEPS MOVING MY BED" she said. Glancing around the room I relaxed a little and assumed she had been dreaming.
"its ok... there is no one in here" i replied, "YES THERE IS, THEY KEEP MOVING MY BED" she argued. "LIKE THIS" and she began rocking from side to side. I felt the entire caravan moving beneath my feet and with horror realised that my other half and I had been the offenders. After explaining it away as best we could she seemed satisfied and said 'night night' again to us both. As we were leaving her room she glanced over at us with a concerned look on her face and said "Daddy, next time you see me can you wear pants. I'm worried you will get a cold" and I realised that we had failed to get dressed in our panic.  
That night we slept about as far away from one another as is possible in a double sofa bed.

As the weekend progressed my toddler picked up on the fact that you can hear a pin drop in a caravan and began commentating on our bowel movements "DADDY POOH POOH", "MUMMY WEE WEE" and so on. I found myself suffering from performance nerves and saved trips to the loo for restaurants, pubs and the like. The plus side of this was that we got to eat out every day, twice a day.

The final day of the 'holiday' was by far the best. We packed up the car in the morning and decided on a trip to the beach before going home.  I'm not sure if it was knowing that i was leaving but I relaxed somewhat and even found myself chirping a little. Yes you can have two ice creams I told step daughter. Yes you can eat biscuits I told toddler and no, you don't have to have dinner i danced merrily. At 5 both were crazy from the sugar and tired from digging holes in the sand, jumping in the sea etc. Toddler began to get a bit niggly. NO MUMMY he protested when i tried to put him in the buggy. NO MUMMY when I tried to get him in the car and NO MMMMUUUUUMMMMMYYYY when I suggested we change his nappy.
The final no ended in him throwing himself down on the ground in the style of someone elses badly behaved child and drew glances from passers by. It was then I noticed the pooh seeping from below his shorts and called upon my other half to assist.
It must have looked a sight two adults, literally pinning down a toddler on the grass to remove his nappy wwf style (thats the world wrestling federation for those of you that don't know), and this was confirmed when one of the cast of lord of the flies walked by with his parents (extras from 'fat club') and asked "Why are those people doing that to the baby?"......the mother glanced over while expertly balancing her chips in one hand and her 'fag' in the other and replied "looks like hes got shi* down him" in a north london accent, as toddler broke free and rolled through soiled nappy triumphantly.
When I finally regained control it was with horror that I discovered I had committed the worst of those unwritten mummy sins and run out of nappies.
After a brief row about who was the worst parent we bundled toddler into his car seat and wrapped him in a towel, sumo style. Both toddler and step daughter laughing at the sight.
As we progressed I allowed myself to drift off to sleep knowing that within 2 hrs I would be home.
Around half an hour from our front door i awoke once again to my step daughter screaming and turned to see what was happening like a startled rabbit. The other half driving erratically one hand behind the seat rubbing step daughters knee and saying "its ok, try not to panic". The scene that met me was like something out of charlie and the chocolate factory, only less tasty!
Toddler had produced a pooh worthy of an Oscar, only this time he had taken matters into his own hands, quite literally and attempted to pass it to stepdaughter. When she had refused he had dropped it onto the seat between them and rubbed his hands over whatever was in reach... step daughters soft toy had been the main victim.
For once lost for words I just looked at the scene for a second attempting to regain composure.

Shi* toddler said in north london accent. I had to agree.