Dig mends one of the dollies.
These identical dollies were kindly given to Shark, Squirrel and Tiger on their first overseas trip, which was to a characterless commuter town
Ede, in the Netherlands.
Ede has a railway station. It has a pizza house. And it has a hotel which looks like an undistinguished rectangular box next to a motorway, suitable for conference proceedings. I know it doesn't sound much, and you would wonder why we went there. Dig was attending a conference, and we were there for the experiment.
Now this was the first time we had been brave enough to take Shark, Squirrel and Tiger on any overseas travel involving
airports,
walking this way, and being
on time. I was scared of how I would manage with three toddlers. Dig would be working, and this was a quiet business hotel where the staff would expect so much more.
I learned a good deal from that experience. The first was to conquer fear, and remember that anything is possible. Then, how useful is string. And, finally, that my goal must be to learn two words in all languages for use anywhere in the world. These words are
connecting door.
Because of course we need two rooms, one for the children, and one for us. And when we arrived at the Edesfoortesprinzengastenacken Hotel (or something quick and simple to say like that, which also requires you to pronounce correctly by sticking two fingers down your throat), we have two rooms booked
but, says the hotel receptionist in surprise, of course the hotel has no rooms with
connecting door.
I stare, open mouthed and, stricken with panic, consider how I might do this, with bedtime at seven, Dig at business until midnight, and three children in two separate rooms on two floors, one which will be unattended while I am firefighting with soft furnishings elsewhere in the Edesfoortesprinzengastenacken.
Triplets, unattended in a stylish hotel lobby for twenty seconds, simultaneously depart to the street, up the stairs and into the conference hall. Dig taps his hand on the desk to indicate he, unlike the triplets, isn't going anywhere. Grit runs off, making sheep dog sounds. The receptionist's face contorts into an expression which says
I am out of my depth but I will keep smiling. She hacks Dutch noises into a telephone like she has something caught in her throat. Hotel staff appear. The triplets run off again. I round them up again. I try jumping over the elegant stone tiles of the lobby, hoping they'll follow. They do, giggling. We jump round and round in circles, up and down, while Dig repeats over and over again the words
connecting door like it might be a strange English prayer.
Then the magic breaks when the hotel doors swish open and a group of businessmen appear. Tiger runs off to snatch leaflets and scatter them over the floor. Shark pursues her, falls over and screams. Someone is sent to catch Squirrel and shepherd her into the bar where she cannot escape. Four staff are now involved. We are invited to wait while a hotel manager scuttles about looking alarmed. Part of me feels we're crazy to try travelling with triplets, and in business hotels, with stone floors, chandeliers and flowers in glass vases. Part of me feels this is probably the best way to start.
Intriguingly, after a twenty minute wait while the little Grits are plied with finest hotel Edesfoortesprinzengastenacken apple juice, two rooms with
connecting door are found. We are amazed they have managed to knock down a wall and install a door in so short a time.
Now the conference proceeded quite well for Shark, Squirrel and Tiger. They joined in on only one session, and this was to say, very charmingly and publicly,
alstublieft and
dank u wel, which they had learned on pain of death in the privacy of the hotel room.
And because they delivered the
alstublieft and
dank u wel so winningly,
and the conference organiser was kind and generous, she gave the girls a dolly each. And the dollies, when they are poked and prodded, say things, like
Mama! and
Papa! and make electronic sucking noises and crying noises. One of these dollies would send an ordinary woman insane. I had to listen to three going off like exploding cannon for the next four months.
And then of course, like all electronic dollies, they wore out, got tired, were discarded, stopped whining
Papa! Put away in some place or other, I forgot about them, and how they'd come about, and that they ever cried
Mama! or made electronic sucking sounds.
Until yesterday. When Squirrel emerged, clutching the Netherlands reward, saying
Will you mend my dolly?
So here is dolly, dutifully repaired. And when I hear her cry
Mama! again, I want to feel nostalgic about that trip, and delight in the memory of three little giggling girls jumping around the Hotel Edesfoortesprinzengastenacken, and part of me will do that. But part of me will be so, so, glad that we braved that start, and it is gone. Because of course, it leads the way to better.
