Hubby and I are currently
negotiating discussing our next family holiday.
We’ve had a few good ones in the past. There was the trip to Vanuatu last year: we stayed at a pretty nice resort somewhere in the depths of the jungle. It was my kinda holiday, actually. No cooking, cleaning or clothes washing. Yes – I still had to parent (darn it), but that was nothing compared to my usual workload.
The only downside was the constant fear of contracting malaria. We were armed with long sleeved clothes for evening dinners and had citronella…everything. Getting back in to our villa after dinner was nothing short of a highly planned tactical maneuver. Hubby would stand at the front door, with everyone lined up and then he would open the door and shout, “Go, go, GO!” waving everyone in before throwing himself through the door and slamming it shut. Yep. If you want anyone in the trenches with you, it’s Hubby.
Back in late 2003, whilst pregnant with the 6yo, Hubby and I flew with the 8yo to Coolum in Queensland. We spent our days frolicking in the sun and eating out. Then when the 8yo (then 18mths old) took his daily afternoon nap, so did we. The only downside to that trip was that daylight saving hadn’t started yet, and the 8yo used to wake up at the crack of dawn. Like, 5am. He used to eat breakfast at 8am back in those days, so finding 3 hours to entertain him before his daily Wheetbix was quite the challenge. But all in all – the holiday was fantastic.
Two years later, we even ventured to Italy with the 6yo and 8yo (then 18 months and 3yrs old, respectively). I thought we were really clever catching a 10pm flight out of Sydney. I reasoned that as soon as we got on the plane, the boys would be SO tired after a full day and late night, that during take-off they’d more than likely collapse in exhaustion, and sleep the whole way to Japan. Um, no. They were so excited being on a big, new adventure, the 6yo fell asleep only just after midnight, and the 8yo was up watching the on-demand movies until at least 1.30am.
Of course, the best was yet to come with the looooong flight from Japan to London and then the connecting flight to Milan. Why is it that the deepest sleep kids fall in to during a flight somewhere – wherever it may be – always occurs just minutes before landing? Huh? How do kids know how to time that stuff?
However, once there it was all pretty relaxed. And let’s just say a daily gelato was good for my sanity. It kept the boys quiet for at least 20 minutes – and the clean up afterwards was more than worth it. Although, there is a bit of a trade-off if they choose chocolate. (Just sayin’.)
My holiday wish list includes somewhere warm. Maybe with a kids’ club or at the very least, some activities they can indulge in (ie tire them out). However, as the weather starts to warm up, I live in constant fear that Hubby will suggest another sort of holiday that I have been successfully avoiding up until now.
The camping trip. (Brrrrrrr. Is it just me, or did it suddenly get chilly in here?)
As you’ve no doubt guessed, I haven’t completely warmed up to the prospect of living in “the great outdoors” for a few days at some stage. It’s my own fault really. When Hubby took the big boys for a one-nighter early last year, I was all for getting the Taj Mahal of tents, in light of the fact it seemed only logical that the 3yo and I would join in the fun later, and why waste money on something that wouldn’t go the distance? Hubby was dubious at the time. “You won’t want to go camping,” he accused. “Yes I will!” I protested, probably sounding a little more convinced of the fact than what I actually was. I started ticking off my fingers, “Firstly, there was the time I camped at Margaret River and…well, I camped there for a WHOLE week!” Hubby just shook his head in dismay.
You can understand my hesitation, can’t you? I liken it to looking back on what I thought parenthood would be like before I actually had my children. (Need I say more?) And hence, my concern about the camping thing. I’m quite sure it’s not going to be how I like to imagine it: lazing in my camping chair, reading a good book whilst my children frolic and play around me; picking flowers to place in my hair, my husband close by catching our dinner from the nearby waters that he’ll cook over the flames he built from scratch earlier; and singing songs together around the campfire that night, our bellies full with the fruits of the glistening waters of the nearby lake.
No. Give me a trip to some sunny, warm destination any day - with a bed, bathroom and four walls made out of anything other than an artificial fibre - and then I’m one happy camper.
This post is my submission for Kidspot's Top 50 Blog Your Way to Dunk Island competition. If you haven’t already, and you quite like my little old bloggy, you can vote for me HERE (pretty please!) or by using the button on my homepage, and help me win a family holiday which will almost certainly save me from that camping trip (pretty please with sugar on TOP).
And whilst you're here - why not tell me about the best holidays you had as a kid, or you've had as a parent?