I’ve been on many. And some good ones at that. A trip around the West of Ireland springs to
mind immediately. It was glorious. Fungi the dolphin, gorgeous seafood, nights
in pubs where the locals conversed in rapid as gaeilge, late breakfasts in the B&B’s. Those were halcyon days.
Another time we chanced Turkey. Fabulous weather, the kind of heat that
literally jumps off the tarmac at you when you disembark the plane. Great craic with the locals at the all night
hotel bar. An overnight stay in
Kusadasi, trips to the markets in Bodram, and the breathtaking white mountains of
Pamukkale. I didn’t want to go
home.
Just last year we went on our
first family holiday. I was newly
pregnant with our fourth son and despite the early first trimester tiredness
and our then youngest refusing to sleep properly at night time, I was very much
looking forward to it. The hotel proved
to be a huge success. The lads were
entranced by the bunk beds and the pool was an even bigger hit. The weather behaved itself and all in all, we
returned home four days later nicely refreshed and for months afterwards, the
boys still spoke about “Bird,” Co. Offaly, frequently asking when could they go
back to their bedroom with the bunk beds.
Such was its success that we
naturally wanted to relive the experience this year. Clonakilty, Co. Cork, or Clon, as it is known locally, was an
experience. The jury is still out on
whether it was a good one. Holidaying
with four kids under six is not a good idea.
In the infamous words of Julia Roberts; big mistake. Huge.
There were spitting competitions with Cheerios, demands for
the pool and the beach, two major melt downs from an overtired and frustrated
three and a half year old. No-one was asleep before 10pm and all were
awake at about 6.30am. Our
two year old woke two nights in a row roaring like a bull caught in a
trap. Puked his ring up on the last night. All over our bed. I
slept on the floor! Let's see. Will I go on? Too many Coco
Pops and not enough Weetabix thus leading to a severe bout of constipation in
the aforementioned two year old.
Can I have my money back pulll-ease?
Basically, it was so stressful and frustrating that we
decided to stay an extra night, determined to knock some sort of craic and/or
relaxation out of the whole sorry affair.
And who’d a thunk it? The
last night was lovely. We booked into a guest house in town that had a
room the size of my mammy's entire attic, unlike the tiny, roasting hot and
cramped room at the hotel. We even enjoyed
a family meal at a pub down the road.
There wasn’t a chicken nugget or chip in sight. The lads read their new books, bought
beforehand in a charming little book shop on the main street.
Mister Husband enjoyed a pint or two and I shocked our sons
by drinking a glass of Guinness. “But
Mammy, ladies don’t drink. Only daddies
drink dirty beer.”
We finished up with a trip to Extravision where we purchased
a DVD for the boys and they watched it before bedtime.
We are, in spite of our vows never to repeat a family holiday
for at least another 5 years, in discussions about next year and doing it
en-masse with the view to maybe getting a fekin cup of coffee or even an
alcoholic drink in peace!!!!
But we're home now and the lads did have a good time even if there was more shouting and roaring at them on holidays than at home.
But we're home now and the lads did have a good time even if there was more shouting and roaring at them on holidays than at home.
Hilarious!
ReplyDeleteWhy don't you send each child for a holiday to a different aunty G each then you & hubby go to the sun for a week :)