It is about this time of the year, when I am frequently asked, “What are you doing in the Summer Holidays?” In the middle of April, this question immediately stresses me out. I have just about coped with 17 days of Easter holidays, but the thought of 42 days of Summer holidays fills me with total panic. In fact, put like that, Easter is just a warm up – a rehearsal for the long stretch that will hit us all at the end of July.
As usual, we have left it to the last minute, despite saying to ourselves year after year that we will get our acts together earlier. Finally, as I stood shoulder to shoulder with other mothers discussing holidays in the playground last week, I felt compelled to set my mind to the task. As always, the difficulty is finding one that bridges the gap between what parents would call a holiday, versus what a six, four and two year-old would call a holiday.
I gave up on the idea of sitting in the local travel agent leafing through brochures, after The Toddler decided to join in, resulting in a whole row of Safari holiday brochures toppling down from the shelves around him. It was now all down to The Internet with The Toddler parked in front of an extended episode of Balamory.
My husband and the children’s fist choice is camping, one that fills me with dread. However, last year I made the fatal mistake of saying to my husband (and printing in a Family Ties article) that I would not consider a camping holiday, “on the grounds that camping and nappy changing do not go hand in hand.” Now that The Toddler is fully ‘potted’, I have no excuse so camping is back on the agenda. I made a feeble attempt to ‘google’ a few campsites, but promptly gave up when I stumbled upon a website containing a whole blog of unhappy campers’ feedback, from talk of rats to dangerous caterpillars! This prompted me to switch to my ideal family holiday, involving sun, sea, pool, beach and some very nice friendly kids clubs nearby.
Meanwhile, my husband persisted with his investigation of the perfect camping holiday, refusing to believe any of the negative feedback, swiftly labelling them all as, “amateur campers.” It soon turned into a race. We sat in bed with our laptops on our laps, surfing like mad into the early hours, utterly determined to find the perfect option. Unfortunately, my perfect holiday stumbled at the first hurdle when we realised that camping was a fifth of the price. I had lost and had to submit to the idea of joining the merry camping fraternity, water slides, kids entertainers and the rest. Thankfully, my husband did compromise on sleeping under canvas and has booked us into a static mobile home. “It will be great,” he says and then adds, excitedly, “It’s even got decking!”
