Before I begin to tell you this story, I need to first stand up and say two things:
One: The previous post on flying with children was horribly misleading. Why, you ask? I’ll tell you why: that aeroplane trip was easypeasylemonsqueezy and as pleasurable as an all expenses paid spa weekend in comparison with what I am about to tell you.
Two: You may not want to eat your lunch while reading this blog today. Ignore this warning at your own peril. Seriously. put. down. the. sandwich.
Okay, here goes…
The day had finally arrived. I had been waiting for this train trip and visualising it for months before. Having been born in South Africa and now living in Australia, I was looking forward to my first sighting of snow-capped mountains in the same manner that my kids look forward to trashing my house on the day I clean it.
There I was, in the Zurich train station, waiting to catch a train to St Anton, Austria. It was going to be two and a half hours of blissful travel through the Swiss Alps and I was itching to get on that train. Between us we had four giant suitcases, four backpacks, a stroller and handbags, as well as three children to get on board in the (approximately) thirty seconds that the doors were open. Magically, we managed to get everything and everyone on board and found our seats. Aaah – now all I had to do was gaze out of the window at the Christmas card scenery outside….
Not so fast, Michelle.
As if.
Ten minutes into the journey (long enough for me to decide to get out my big camera, select and connect a lens and focus – note: I said focus, not click) Baby G began to complain that her tummy was sore. She began to complain that she felt sweaty. I packed away my camera, leaned over to cuddle her and found myself staring into two huge, alarmed eyes and an expression of abject fear. Then, my darling Baby G proceeded to projectile vomit e v e r y w h e r e.
Let me be clear: by everywhere, I mean into her bucket seat, on her lap, on my lap, on the floor, on the laptop screen of the man behind us, on the camera bag, on her sister’s hat, on her sister’s jacket, in her boots. Gotta hand it to her, she doesn’t do things by halves.
All credit to the Swiss. Nobody blinked, nobody reacted (okay, the laptop guy grimaced ever so slightly as I apologised and smeared vomit across his screen in a lame but valiant attempt to make it unhappen). Nobody stared as we frantically tried to clean up the lake of vomit which, to this day, was so huge that I can’t comprehend how it came out of such a small child. If the sight wasn’t Nightmare On Elm Street enough to mortify us, the smell was. Oh my…the smell. Just be thankful that I have no words to describe the stench that assaulted every passenger in the cabin.
So, there I was, on hands and knees, scooping up vomit into shopping bags, food bags, any bags we could find. Baby G was crying. The big kids were panicking. Darren was running around the train trying to find cleaning supplies (heads up: trains have no staff when vomit appears. It’s like fairy dust – poof…), my mother-in-law was in the toilet cubicle attempting to wash and blow-dry Miss M’s jacket, hat and scarf. Let’s not forget that I was covered in vomit, cleaning vomit and dry-heaving as I tried to calm my stinking, loud family down and pretend this really wasn’t that bad.
Finally, after using up every possible tissue, baby wipe and plastic bag, I got up, changed my clothes, washed up in the matchbox-sized bathroom and patted myself on the back for remaining calm and actually managing to clean up after the devastation of the Puke Tsunami.
That was bad, but it was over! Which meant I could enjoy the scenery! Yay!
Not so fast, Michelle.
“I want to lie on your lap, Mama!”
Still optimistic about this train trip, I bundled Baby G (now wearing only thermal longjohns and a vest since all her other clothes are destroyed) on to my lap. She rested her head on my chest, I stroked her head and she fell asleep. What could be better? Cozy and snuggly and happy that that was now over, I happily cuddled my little girl, smiled serenely as I watched the snow-capped mountains and chocolate-box villages roll by.
Then it hit me.
Like a slap in the face with a rotten fish, a Toxic Cloud, carrying the most fetid odour I have ever smelled, surrounded me. Surely this fart from the depths of Hell hasn’t originated from my beautiful chubby-cheeked princess. Surely?
I wondered if I could hold my breath for the remainder of the trip. I decided that passing out would be preferable to breathing. Before I had to test my breath-holding abilities, the Cloud moved on. Phew.
I looked up, across the aisle at Darren – happily reading his book.
Until it hit him.
The Toxic Cloud hit him so hard he flinched. He looked up at me, eyes filled with horror and I nodded, knowingly. I pointed at my sleeping cherub and claimed ownership. He physically fought the cloud by flapping his hands in a particularly manly manner but it hung over him just long enough to instil fear. Then it moved on.
It hit the man behind Darren, who was eating a sandwich. His eyes watered a little.
It hit the man of vomity laptop fame. He looked at Sandwich Dude accusingly.
It proceeded to visit and sit on every person in that cabin.
Then the waitress came in with a tray of tea and – I swear on all I hold dear – the Toxic Cloud tripped her. Her reaction was so violent that she abandoned her duties in our cabin for the remainder of the journey. (She may have quit her job.)
Long story short (too late?): the Toxic Cloud gave a few encore performances, much to my mortification and then abandoned us altogether. Oh, hallelujah! I settled down, stared out of the window and in a particularly admirable Pollyanna-esque manner, delighted in how happy I was and how lucky I was to be able to have this experience. Positive thinking or deluded idiocy? Yeah.
Finally, Baby G was soundly sleeping. The man behind me peeled open a mandarin and the passengers in the cabin all but cheered – the smell of mandarin was like an air-freshener in the bio-hazard we were all immersed in. Now, I could relax.
Not so fast, Michelle.
Why was my leg suddenly wet?
Oh, no.
Toxic Cloud.
Wet Toxic Cloud.
I found myself so desperate for this moment not to be that I didn’t say a word. Yes, folks, I pretended that the diarrhoea that had found its way through her undies and long johns and my jeans and my long johns on to my leg wasn’t there. I so badly wanted it to not be so that I sat in the Toxic Cloud, with a Toxic Puddle on my lap and contemplated not telling anyone.
Who was I kidding.
Poo covered legs don’t lie.
In my most charming voice, I called to Darren. I pointed down, then lifted Baby G up, pointing her bottom at him. I didn’t have to ask how bad. I got up and carried my sleeping, stinking mess of a child – bum first – through the whole cabin and through the next cabin to the smallest bathroom ever built. I stripped the two of us, bathed us both in a teaspoon of water and changed into the random, unsuitable-for-freezing-climates clothes that Darren somehow managed to get from the luggage.
Baby G and I did the walk of shame, stinking and in danger of being arrested by the Fashion Police, back to our seats. My inner-Pollyanna enjoyed the scenery and I even took a picture or two.
When the train finally reached St. Anton, our cabin was the first to empty. Laptop Man lead the stampede, followed closely by Sandwich Dude. That Austrian air… Heaven. It was only then that I really understood how badly my family had destroyed that train.
Our long-time friend met us at the station and we greeted him in chorus (not unlike the Von Trapp Family) with “Don’t touch us! We stink!’
Yep, pure class.
I’m happy to announce that we managed, despite all this, to have an incredible snow holiday and we didn’t destroy any other modes of public transport on that trip.
Except, of course, the Airbus A-380, seat that got saturated with urine. But that’s another story.
Click here to read more.
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I just about wet my pants laughing at this story. Something about farts and poo just… make me snicker.
It’s lucky I’m sick, I can pass off the tears in my eyes as illness.
Wetting your pants would be a fitting sequel ;p
Oh, wow. You deserve a medal and a tiara and a margarita the size of a swimming pool for going through all of that and not completely losing it. You have to love the Austrians for their reserve. As we say in the southern U.S., bless your heart. I hope you’re able to laugh at it a little now that it’s over, or at least in a few years.
I remember at the time saying to Darren that this would become one of THOSE stories that you laugh about one day. He was not interested in that line of conversation at the time, I can assure you!
I certainly hope Princess G has recovered and you, too! Susan
Thank you, Susan – she was horribly sick (visualise the above story repeated in different locations over two days and you’ve got the gist…) but was a trooper. And being the sharing, caring sister she is, she handed it to her brother at the tail end of the trip. Somehow, we all (including the sick kiddies) had a fabulous week, regardless.
Couldn’t stop laughing by time I got to the toxic poo on your legs part. I am so impressed with your indomitable spirit and Polly Anna attitude. Well done!
Not sure if I’m optimistic or naive or just plain dumb…but heck, it works. Thanks!
Mish, You have such a way of telling a story! Hated to love to read it, really I did…
Oh. My. Holy. Whoa! That was Awesome! ” smeared vomit across his screen in a lame but valiant attempt to make it unhappen” The tears began there… so as you can imagine I nearly peed my pants, called for the hubs to come and started over. FUUUUUUNNNNNY!!!
Oh…er…um…. Sorry. Gosh. What an awful, dreadful experience for you and the fam. Poor baby G… Did you think at the time you would laugh about it? or at least let the world have a laugh.
I to dream of the same train ride… well minus a few details… but just know, if they were to happen, I would know I was in good company and the Swiss would not be shocked.
SO glad you are back!!
The Swiss ROCK. Those poor people sat there and pretended that a bunch of uncivilised, foul-smelling, loud, filthy Australians were not completely KILLING the picturesque train ride through the Alps. Never been so happy to be invisible!
I would have hugged laptop guy but for not having a tantrum (he had full rights to one, I can assure you!) except that…well…I was covered in poo and vomit. Rwarrr!
Nice to BE back and thanks for the warm welcome!
Oh my word Mish, I nearly pee’d my pants! You really have a way with story telling! I’m sorry you had to go through all that!!! Don’t know what I would have done in the same situation but you handled it like a pro!
I have no words ……
Although we missed your blogs, so welcome back!!!
None necessary.
Oh Michelle – I think that is every mother’s nightmare! Glad you survived the journey!!!
That sounds like a mess… I hope you are laughing about it now… Unfortunately I have been there, in an ER waiting room. The nurses were about as obsolete as the stewardesses. Anyway you OWNED that train!
If, by “owned it”, you mean christening it all over with our scent then, yeah – we owned that train.
I think I love you a little bit for being able to find the humor in this situation. I would totally do the same thing… as it was going on I would be like “Ooooh, this will make an awesome blog post!” even while cleaning up yuck. Lemonade from lemons, I always say.
The things we do for blog posts, eh…
;p
OMG!! Poor Baby G! I hope she was alright after that and that it wasn’t a case of food poisoning. That was quite a train ride! 😀
This is one area of fatherhood in which I fall down. Just the sound of someone vomiting makes me gag, and forget about it if the smell hits me. Our oldest is prone to car sickness, and pretty much every time he’s hurled in the car I get out and puke my guts out while my poor wife cleans up the mess. And with our oldest, I had to change his diaper next to the toilet – so I could be sick. Pretty pathetic. I’m better with the poo now, but sick…
Puts me in mind of lots of our trips, but particularly one night in Slovenia. http://fieldnotesfromfatherhood.com/2012/08/27/daily-photo-from-slovenia-day-10/
So, dear lady, are you going to write something for FNFF or what? I’d love to have share your stuff!
This is the first read of your blog (well the airplane trip was because you mentioned it and I went to it first real quick). I think as a mom it’s so sadly hilarious! I couldn’t help but nod my head through it all while streaming tears of laughter. Sympathy of course, laughter because I know…oh I know. lol
OH. MAH. GAH. I feel like I’m somewhat of a kid-related biohazard expert, and I was not prepared for this, even after your warning. I feel like you should be presented with some kind of Purple Heart award or badge of honor or Mother of the Year for surviving that! God bless all those poor passengers too. This post is TOTALLY worthy of making my infamous “POOP” Pinterest Board. Congrats?
I’ll consider the “POOP” Pinterest Board inclusion my Purple Heart. Booyah! And might I say that I love you even more than I did before, based entirely on the fact that you have a “POOP” Pinterest Board.
As for the question mark on the Congrats…hell no! I demand it gets changed to an exclamation mark or seven.
This is so well written. I was with you the whole time. I relaxed when you relaxed and flinched when you describes the assaults on your being. I’m so happy you made it and had a fantastic time!
Oh wow. I thought MY family had vacation disasters! You win. Hands down. It takes a REAL Mum to handle that kind of bodilly fluid adversity and exit the train with your head high! lol. Glad you enjoyed your holiday. It looks gorgeous!
Oh you poor thing. I have been there, but not quite to that extent! XO! Anyone who can write about vomit and diarrhea with that much class is my hero! Thank you for sharing!
I loved it before and I love it still. I feel like writing a poem about my love of your post… While I compose poetry, thank you so much for hooking up with us peeps at the Humor Me Blog Hop!
Thanks, Sarah and you KNOW I feel the same. Maybe we should start a Mutual Admiration Blog – call it egostroke.com – where we can post poems of adoration to one another.
Or not.
;p
Omigosh — I was laughing so hard at your story! And feeling bad for you. But mostly laughing. What a horrible and hilarious experience! Glad you and your cherub survived! Poor Laptop Dude though.
Oh, I agree. Laptop dude deserves a lottery win AT THE LEAST if Karma exists.
Oh wow. I have to say, at least the people around weren’t rude and didn’t make the situation any worse than it already was. In a really bad time like that, how other people respond can make a huge difference!
Oh my! You shoudl be awarded another vacation for surviving that – seriously! Here from Humor Me.
I thought some of my own embarrassing moments that I blog about were toe-curling, but yours is in another league! Great post
Thanks Bryan – sharing my pain for the entertainment of others makes it somewhat less horrendous ;D
The fact that you could make THAT story hilarious speaks volumes for your writing. OMG, I laughed, I cried, I threw up in my mouth a little. I really want you to write stories entitled “the man of vomity laptop fame.” Please?
Michelle, I just now read the post you directed me to read when we met at BlogHer. What a clever little thing on your business card – a notes section! That is quite brilliant, my dear.
I had a little boy projectile vomit in the back of my newly purchased car this summer. The smell still lingers. I feel your pain. I’ve had a kid vomit in the car on vacation, too. Not the most fun memories of life, are they? But they sure are funny!
Was this the freshly pressed one? If it wasn’t it should’ve been. I nearly wet myself… well I say nearly… NOT SO FAST, MICHELLE. 😉
Disgustingly hilarious and revoltingly brilliant! …You had me at Toxic Cloud.
Ha! Michelle, it wasn’t the freshly pressed one. THAT one was even more mortifying. If you can believe it… The Masturbation Conversation was the one that WordPress loved.