So, you’re thinking of taking a break with your tot. You’re dreaming of a much-needed break and a shot of vitamin D before the winter takes hold but you want some top tips on how to make the best of a holiday with children….
I could make this post exceptionally short and simply write DON’T BOTHER in massive letters and end this whole sorry story right there but, I feel that, without an appropriate explanation you might think I’m jesting or that I’m exaggerating for comic effect.
Let me be clear. I’m not.
But dear reader, take heart. It seems that it’s only family Leary that feel this way. We, it seems, are shit at holidays.
Every time our very well-travelled friends get back from a ‘kids came too’ holiday they are full of superlatives about how amazing it was.
We on the other hand are full of expletives.
Remember the holidays prior to children?
They went a little bit like this;
Wake up, have a little bit of lazy sex.
Head to the pool.
Read in blissful silence only acknowledging the other party to offer a drink or humorous anecdote from your book.
Have a dip to earn your lunch.
Lunch will be long and will likely include a glass of something cold.
Have a nap. Possibly even have sex again.
Have a sundowner as you get ready to go out for the night.
Go out for the night. With one, tiny clutch bag.
Come back, have a bit of tipsy sex before going to sleep knowing you will wake when your body wants and not a moment before.
Repeat x 7 or, because you have disposable income, maybe even 14 nights!!
Well friends, put away your childish imaginings that nothing too much needs to change.
You’re on an all inclusive package holiday with a shed load of Germans and a massive blue duck mascot for a start.
This holiday we’ve had the following ‘situations’
An elderly lady nearly having a heart attack thanks to a face staring at her from under the toilet door.
A hand trapped in a sanitary bin.
A poo in a bidet
A piss of such epic proportions it seeped through a nappy onto my silk top during a post wedding lunch with a host of child free individuals with a respectably low tolerance for the stench of urine drying in the Ibizan sun.
And lets not forget the 15 minute super tantrum in the pouring rain outside the Caves of Ibiza; it seems that pitying looks and judgmental tuts are a universal language!
I’m sure that in years to come the scars of this first holiday will fade. We’ll look at the snaps and reminisce about how wonderful it was when the girls frolicked in the pool as we watched from our sun lounger vantage point and we’ll pretend it lasted more than 19 seconds.
We’ll laugh at the night when we were so in need of a drink we used the first aid scissors to open the bottles.
We’ll talk fondly of the afternoon neither offspring would sleep so we strapped them into the car, drove around the block and then dropped me off so at least one of us had some down time.
But mainly we’ll roll our eyes and laugh like drains recalling how we both packed actual books- for ourselves!!
NB- Obviously this isn’t the whole story- there were periods of pleasantness which I may even report on in the coming days but this draft was written in a sand storm on a freezing balcony whilst waiting for the kids to go to sleep. It was my worst parenting day to date and shall be referred to henceforth in the Leary domain as Black Monday.