Steve and I had completely opposite parenting experiences. Steve’s was along the lines of you can play with one toy and one toy only, and you had to put it away in the cupboard once designated playtime was over. My childhood was more along the lines of piss off outside (with no sun block or hat) and don’t come inside until you’re called. Most evenings were spent in boiling hot showers to deal with horrendous sunburn – yeah burns and hot water, hello! In our house we could go anywhere and do anything as long as we didn’t disturb our folks.
One could say Steve’s childhood was of absolute control and mine was of absolute freedom but neither were what we would call ideal. We certainly don’t intend to raise our lads on either model. Don’t get me wrong, they weren’t bad childhoods and there are aspects we both appreciate, but more that we laugh about. In truth, I loved my childhood.
Anyways, one comparison that came up last night was a discussion around car sickness. Neither of us ever got it – our guts are rock solid – but Steve’s sister Sam got it real bad, and my sister Phillipa got it bad too. So did one of my brothers, but I can’t remember which one – think it was Mark.
To give you an idea of the opposite childhoods we had, here’s how both families’ dealt with car sickness. Steve’s family prepared for all car journeys’ hours/days in advance and a plethora of plastic bags were pre-packed in handy to reach compartments. The moment Sam got even remotely nauseous, the car was pulled over (The M5, highways, country lanes, where ever necessary), plastic bags distributed and the puking got under way.
My family, all tightly packed into a small car with me and the non-travel sick brother squished in the middle, usually heading up the mountains to ski or to check out an art gallery hundreds of kilometres away, dealt with things slightly differently. Phillipa and Mark just put their heads out the window and spewed. Every return trip was finalised with a spraying down of the car.
Naturally when you discuss these sorts of things, Steve was horrified at how my family handled it and I was horrified at how Steve’s family handled it. My families’ way makes total sense to me – otherwise we would never have gotten anywhere, but Steve’s families’ way makes total sense to him – they just took hours even going down the street.
It can be so bizarre comparing experiences of childhood and while I do think that even the worst parents thought they were doing their best, it is bloody funny how our parents handled situations. It definitely makes you wonder what you’ll be remembered for once you take on the mantle of parent.
Who knows what our boys will talk about to their future partners regarding what we did? One thing I can definitely guarantee is if they are pukers, they’ll be putting their heads out the window. Oh and the other thing Steve and I have agreed is that Christmas from now on will be five star and we both plan to get wasted and throw the boys in the pool afterwards. Should make interesting comparisons to other kids doing the traditional Christmas….
So how was your puking handled? And who wants to join us for Christmas?
Yours, without the bollocks
Andrea
1 thought on “Car puking – whose way was the right way?”
Mum always packed an ice cream bucket to catch the spews and the spewing wasn't allowed to interrupt Dad's driving.
If it did, iyt meant Dad had to pull over all the seven million cars he'd just taken over (while nearly killing us all) would "get in front of us again and he's going to need to take over them again".
("Yes Dad, I will keep my lucnch down if you stop weaving in and out of the damn traffic all the TIME!")
At one stage (just before we went on a family trip around Australia) I begged mum not to give to me the (chemical) raspberry flavoured car sickness tablets as this was what was really making me spew.
I won that argument and was never car sick again!.. ok I was car sick but I hid it well and never spewed again!