After my last holiday post, ‘Watching my holiday go down the toilet,’ I got a tweet from lovely Twitter friend thanking me for making her feel less glum about not having a holiday. Well, this post will make you never want to go on holiday again then.
I’m writing this on the flight home. After two weeks in Tenerife.
We are seated in a three and a one. Which is better than the outbound flight where we were split up in a two and a two, several rows apart. And, yes, Daddy Pig and I did consider sitting together and leaving Beaver and Godivy at the mercy of another passenger. Probably a little too seriously.
I have played the Pregnancy Card so Daddy Pig is sandwiched between Beaver and Godivy. I am sitting on my own. This is not as relaxing as I’d hoped as Godivy keeps throwing things into the aisle, which I keep having to retrieve. Daddy Pig, on the other hand, is listening to his iPhone and drinking Bombay Sapphire. I wonder how he can still achieve oblivion with a two and a four year old either side of him. I am jealous. If this holiday has shown me anything, it’s that I crave oblivion.
The in-flight movie is Gravity. I honestly cannot see Sandra Bullock’s problem. Floating around peacefully in space on my own would be absolute bliss. After two weeks with The Munsters.
Usually I feel sad on the way home. By day 10 I’m starting to mourn the end of the holiday and on the day we leave I have a tear in my eye before the coach has left the resort. Not this year. I leapt onto the bus and now, sitting here on the plane, I feel more relaxed than I’ve felt in 14 days. We are going home and I can’t wait.
It feels sad to admit to this. Because mostly we are not safe people who crave the routine and stability of home. Our holidays are important to us, where usually we are at our best as a family. If you can’t be the best version of yourselves on holiday where can you be?
But this year something was amiss. And I can’t quite work out what. Whether it is holidaying out of the summer season. Or going to a place less scenic than we are used to with less quiet spots to escape to. Or maybe it’s simply because I’m pregnant and feeling more loopy and knackered than I’ve given myself credit for.
Daddy Pig says it is because Godivy is bigger and starting to assert herself as a terrible two year old. Yes, sadly she is now less of a blonde cherub and more of a blonde bombshell. In that she leaves a trail of devastation in her wake. He says you can’t expect a holiday with young kids to be relaxing. But it always has been. And shouldn’t it always be? In part at least. No one books a holiday hoping to come back more frazzled, do they?
And I am suddenly conscious that we have reset the clock again by having a third child. That we will have another four years from July until all three children will go to kids’ club and we can enjoy some time. Alone.
By then we will have been holidaying like this for almost nine years. It might take another nine years to de-frazzle. By which time I will be 102. And they will probably be offering holidays in space.
Actually, a holiday in ‘Oblivion?’ Now you’re talking. Where do I book?
How do your family holidays roll? Do you mourn the end or feel a wave of relief when you get home? Leave a lovely comment below. If you please.
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