It was a well planned day. For once I had made sandwiches which consisted of something better than a smearing of peanut butter/marmite/honey/cheese with a few dabs of margarine. The saamies where in their neat little bags. Two bottles of bubble filled drinks per person (excluding small children who were being encouraged to do what their elders never do - drink water and only water). There was even an offering of fruit. Wipes ready, camera charged, GPS ready ... car ready and we left in a timely fashion without any real fussing from any of the four adults (the little people were well behaved) apart from a few sarcastic comments about my driving skills.
We managed to buy coffees without getting into too much trouble (okay the drive through window was a puzzle for two of us but with words of gentle encouragement (sic) from the other two all went reasonably well). The open road beckoned and like Toad I found myself infatuated with the idea of a day abroad.
The drive to Newport R.I. was accomplished with no detours. We cruised down the road to the mansion we were going to visit and I sighed with relief. All was well.
Tickets in hand we strode up to the front door. The guardian of the entrance informed us that push-chairs/strollers were not permitted in the house. Sighs. Son-in-law kindly took them down to the ticket office to be left there for anyone to remove at will. A sign at the entrance to the property informing visitors of the rule would help. Anyway - we waltzed into the house feeling as if we had come home. Oh the pretensions one can have when visiting the homes of the unbelievably, fabulously, disgusting, wonderfully wealth of a by-gone era. (I do hope that the Gates realise that their home could well become a tourist mecca in sixty years and are duly maintaining it in a manner that will please the plebs).
At this point a lady offered us an audio guide. The eldest Grand shook his head with a determination that was admirable after being caged in a car for almost two hours. His mother gently encouraged him to at least listen to the family version of the tour but he was adamant that he did not wish to do so. She sighed. His aunt raised her eyes. His mother glared at his aunt. His aunt muttered and turned to their mother who pretended that all was well and the entire party was invisible. With her headset firmly in place the wise woman began to edge away from the younger members of the party.
Six minuted later the eldest Grand was seen having his hand clutched in a grip that would be a life saver if one was dangling from a cliff. Mother and child walked with grim expressions on their faces. Father brought up the rear with a gurgling toddler safely trapped in his arms. Aunt brought up the rear.
Five minutes later mother and Grand appear to be engaged in a meaningful conversation about history and the purpose of visiting large house filled with antiques that can not be touched/sat upon. Grand appears to be somewhat alarmed by his mother's repeated phrase "Don't touch!". His face reflects his deep dissatisfaction with the manner in which the day is being spent.
Aunt takes a deep breath (which to a mother could be considered a sigh) and strolls away. Father and daughter appear to be doing a sort of shuffling-jog through the rooms. Mother and son disappear.
Two rooms later mother and son reappear. The almost four year old casts a glare of great meaning and depth towards his aunt and grandmother. An attempt to sit on the floor as a form of nonviolent disobedience is met with a swift sweeping up off the floor and into his mother's suddenly extremely strong arms! It would appear that the promise of treats for good behaviour are rapidly disappearing as two hazel eyes peer over mother's shoulder as he attempts an escape. Father and daughter are now to far ahead to heed the desperate noises of the mother.
At least six small Jewish children saunter through the room where mother, child, aunt and grandmother suddenly all find each other. The Jewish children are so well behaved that I am tempted to request drug tests on all of them. Their parents talk among themselves without any obvious concern about their children nose diving under the ropes and heading across the room.
Aunt and grandmother decide to linger and allow parents and Grands to do a whirlwind tour of the house in order to get the youngest ones out into the garden. This sensible plan is approved by all members of the party (and I think a few people who were beginning to wonder if they had chosen a bad day to visit the mansion).
By the time the house is 'done' the family of four have regrouped and all appears to be going well. Deceived by the apparent calm grandmother and aunt rejoin the family.
There are some things in life that one must never, ever do. One of these (actually it is right after upstage your sister at her wedding) is: do NOT, EVER give advice to a sibling if you are not a parent! Your words will be misconstrued as criticism and your tone will be heard as disparaging regardless of what is actually said or how it is uttered.
Let me just say that a tired and irritated small boy wanted his mother. His mother was tired and equally irritated. His aunt was ... well unwise. The father of the boy offered a few suggestions on how to end the tears and screaming. If anger, tears, yelling, screaming and frustration, impatience and sheer tiredness could power a car we could have driven to Patagonia without visiting a gas station! People were yanking children out of the road and throwing them into hedges as we approached. Old people found the strength to run. Even with our windows up the noise outside the vehicle was so great that I began to wonder if we would create some sort of cosmic event. If aliens had landed they would have launched themselves back into space and, yes Douglas Adams, built a super inter-galactic highway through the planet!
I felt strangely at home as the car rocked down the road ... and back down the same road ... and did a u-turn as the driver threatened to cast her sibling out into the street and leave her there ... and there was the mansion - again - and down the road ... to the left (dead end where the parents where hiding their children in the hedgerow) ... and round again ... wait is that the mansion we went by three minutes ago ... and no I never said - you said - I meant ... how can you ... you never ... if you could hear yourself ... I saw you roll your eyes .... I love you BUT ....
We eventually found the right road so that at the very least we did not have to drive past the same people we had terrified eight times in the last eleven minutes! Son-in-law had taken command of the ship. Sisters were sitting quietly sobbing, murmuring words of sorrow and the Grands were discussing their collective gene pool while Grandmother started texting apologies to the town council for scaring away tourists whilst at the same drafting apologies for anything she may have uttered in the heat of the moment.
Twenty minutes later Aunt and Father had left the vehicle to find refreshments. My sandwiches had been rated as dry and boring. My liquid refreshment as warm and unappealing. One child slept. The other held Mama's hand as if he had suddenly realised that in a crisis it was the hand he most wanted to be able to reach. Mama stared out the window and contemplated the parking lot.
The return of the hunters with coffee and sugar laden goodies brought back a large degree of peace. Before the afternoon was over we were laughing about the chaos and the yelling. Not all of it was forgotten. Not all of it was yet forgiven. Before the visit of my eldest daughter was over there would be more arguments. More disagreements. More advice given. More unasked for opinions. More laughter. More stories to tell.
I wouldn't travel any other way.
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