Back to school. We Will Survive

FACEBOOK is awash with all things first.  First day in Big School.  First day at Secondary School.  First day at Play School.

Makes a change from the deluge of Ice Bucket Challenges I suppose.

It was a First Day in this house too.  Lovely Liam is shucking off Montessori ties and joining thousands of his contemporaries.  The ones he will be in competition with for college points and gainful employment in the future. 

No, I didn’t say that to him.  I will let him settle in first.

Another first, well, first in two months anyway, was waking them this morning.  True to form, 7.30am was approaching, school bags were packed, pancakes made, uniforms in neat piles but no sign of the gentlemen folk.

Lovely Liam opened his eyes at the sound of the curtains being opened and said “yay!”

So far so good.

The others joined the queue for the bathroom and pancakes before getting dressed, lining up against the wall for the obligatory Back to School Photo TM  and then we were off.

The one who always has something to say kept that up for the 5 kilometre trip.  The one I knew would stare out the window and say nothing did just that.

Lovely Liam remarked, “I hope I learn something new in this place today.”

At the school gate he announced,” I have waited so long for this day.  It’s finally here.”

Yes, it’s finally here.  For me too.  It brings forth many emotions, all of them intent on being the first one to break through.

Will I be able to contain myself and not let out great, big random roars of delight that another child has entered the jungle that is education?

Will I be able to contain myself and not let out great, big random roars of “are you sure you’re okay?” to the child who is stressed at having re-entered the jungle that is education.

Going back to and starting school. It’s both great and shit for the same reasons. 

The uniform makes them all uniform.  Last year people were asking me why my tall four year old wasn’t in school.  This year the uniform makes him blend in nicely with everyone else.  Only one person thought he was the big brother coming in to check on his little one!

There will be something missing on The Big Morning.  A pen, a lunch box, a coat, a shoe, a child.  Don’t wait an hour before school to try on the uniform.   Shirt, tie, jumper, underwear, trousers, shoes and socks.  Put the whole lot on the child at least a week beforehand.  That way no-one will be going to school wearing last year’s trousers because the new one is too long/big/too scratchy.

There may very well be more mammies with wobbly lower lips than kids with wobbly lower lips. 

The first words out of your mouth when you get them all home from the 17 different school runs will be, “stop fighting!”

Your child may have a major meltdown two weeks before the Big Day.  Two days before it or even on the Big Day itself.  This is normal.  This is very normal.  Don’t be surprised if it all starts over the way their bag is packed, the way their trousers sits on their hips or the fact that it is a particular colour.  The trousers, bag or hips are not the problem.  It is an indication that they are struggling internally with the new transition.

When they get home and you ask how their day went, “fine” could mean anything.  On a scale of one to ten it could mean “I hate it and am never going back” to “fine.”  You will just have to do a bit of sly interrogation.

If they turned their nose up at a roast chicken dinner during the holidays, they will lick the plate clean and ask for more on the first day back.  Nothing like a bit of learning to make them hungry.

In other stuff, making school lunches just might be your undoing.  Who doesn’t like butter on their bread?  Which one likes the crusts cut off?  Which one doesn’t like bread?  What about grapes and apples?  Someone can’t eat apples because their teeth are loose and one of them has a thing against yogurts. 

School.  It’s a great invention but you pay for those few hours of peace and quiet when they come home so you do.

What I Learned From The Ice Bucket Challenge

THE  Ice Bucket Challenge has taken all of the countries by storm.  Everyone wants a bit of the action and why not?  It's for a very good cause.  A very good cause indeed.  I am not even going to provide a link because absolutely everyone knows about it.  

Even the celebrities are at it. But don't mind them; anything for a bit of attention and they're all over it.

I heard on the wireless this morning the sales of ice cubes have increased by 200%.  All thanks to the ice bucket challenge.

It's all good.

And there's a few gentle laughs thrown in for good measure.  Like these two.  The first one is the Irish Mammy and Her Son.  

And then The Irish Mammy By Herself.

  
I like these because they are typical of the Irish sense of humour. Not so fond of the people running into washing lines and almost decapitating themselves.

And yes, I accepted my Ice Bucket challenge. 

I admit, at first I was all:  

and then the boys got wind of it and they were all, "Yay!  Let's do it!  I'm pouring the water all over her!"

"No!  I am!"

"I said it first."  etc. etc.  You get the picture.

So I did it with the four boys lined up behind me each holding their little seaside buckets filled with water.  Four boys.  Four buckets of cold water.  That's plenty.

I am sure you don't want to see yet another clip of yet another Ice Bucket Challenge so I won't subject you to one mine.

But I will subject you to the things I have learned since completing the ice bucket challenge.

• It's good fun.

• Some people just don't want to do it.  And that's okay.  There should be no pressure.  Nor should they feel the need to explain their reasons for not participating.
• It is impossible not to scream when that icy cold water hits your head.

• It is also impossible not to sit still.  You will be catapulted out of your sitting, shrieking and waving your arms around like a mad thing.  
• Everyone, without exception, shouts, "is it off?  IS IT OFF?  TURN IT OFF!"

• People will do something mad and donate money towards the cause if there is a bit of fun behind it.
• You get to hear what people sound like in Real Life.
• That water is shocking cold.  You're not listening to me.  SHOCKING cold.  Piss on yourself cold.  Really, it is!  But you should so do it.    

Go on.  Give it a lash.  But only if you want to!

Back to School Bloopers

SO some of the schools have already gone back.  Facebook is awash with first year secondary students starting the next leg of their education.

In our house there are 6 sleeps left before the school gates crank open and this year I will have three children attending school.  Three down and one to go.  Not that I’m counting or anything.

Now, having been there before you would think I’d be familiar with all the do’s and don’ts.

Nah. 

I keep screwing up and making a few new ones for good measure.

First major screw up was a couple of weeks ago.  I responded to yet another bathroom summons by asking, “Who do you think is going to wipe your tush for you in school?  Múinteoir certainly won’t.”

I never saw panic or upset like it before.  “But who will then?  Now I can’t go!  How can I go to the bathroom if my teacher won’t help me?”

He refuses to be shown how to do it or to even try it himself. 

This boy is completely without guile and it wouldn’t cost him a thought to sit there and roar out like he does at home for someone to “wipe my bum.”

I felt mean for bringing up the fact that wiping arses is not part of a teacher’s job but I would be doing him an untold social injustice if he went thinking it was.  In the event of no-one coming to his aid he wouldn’t think twice about leaving the vicinity of the bathroom with everything down around his ankles and waddling up to Muinteoir’s desk.

We are still working on it and when he is upset about something, he will combine his concerns over this with a new fear of being made leave home before he is ready and Jesus Christ, who thought it was a good idea to let five year olds think anyway?  

Then I made another blooper. 

You know I have four boys, right? 

Bear in mind I have been buying the same type of school trouser in the same shop at the same time of year four years in a row now.

Three weeks ago I purchased a girls trousers for Oldest Boy.  I suppose these things happen when there are 275 identical trousers ranging in ages from 4 yrs to 18 yrs all mixed up together and 3 of the boys are crawling underneath the clothes rails with the other one sampling the cosmetics.

I was this close to going ahead and getting the hem turned up anyway rather than face the torture of another trip back to the shop with the four of them in tow.  In the end it was the image of Oldest Boy looking like a 70’s throwback in flares that swung it for me. 

And the award for biggest blooper goes to the boys themselves.

They thought it would be mighty helpful or just damn funny to tell Lovely Liam he would be getting an injection.  In his arm. But it doesn’t hurt.

Too late.  Way too late.  You had him at injection.  He couldn’t hear anything else after “injection” and “arm” due to all that blood rushing through his ears.

It also didn’t help matters that an episode of horrible Horrid Henry was doing the rounds.  The one where he was getting his own injection at school. 

Complete with totally exaggerated syringe and twelve inch bore.  Plus the horrible Horrid Henry himself announcing in his completely annoying voice how painful it is.

Jesus wept!

So what’s ahead of me?

Probably just a scratchy jumper.  One he will most likely refuse to wear.  Complaints about tight shoes.  A heavy school bag.

Oh and he also thinks he will be sharing a classroom with his older two brothers.

You think Back to School is hard on the kids?  It knocks ten bells out of the mothers.

 

Sick as a Dog and a Child

Conversation when your child is sick.

“Does he look sick to you?”

“No. He’s grand. Leave him. He’s just cranky.

“But there’s water coming out of his ears.”

“He’s just had a bath.” 

“He’s pulling at his ears.  He’s whingey.  He’s just not himself.  Don’t ask me to explain it.  I just know.  He’s off form.”

“Leave him for a day or two.”

Twelve hours later we’re in the doctors. 

“What can I do for you?”

“You’re probably going to tell me I am imagining things but………….…”

“I’ll stop you right there.  You are his mother.  If you think there is something wrong, you are most likely right.  Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Fifty euros, a prescription and a very, very smug “I told you so” confirmed ear infection later I never doubted myself again.  I still miss that GP.

Conversation when your dog is sick.

“Does she look off to you?”

“She’s grand.  She’s probably tired.”

“I think she’s depressed.”

“Depressed?  She’s a dog.  Dogs don’t get depressed.”

“Well, she’s definitely not well.  Look how miserable she looks.”

“Bloody dog gets better treatment than I do.”

24 hours later we’re in the vets.  Seventy odd euros, a bag of drugs and a very, very smug “I knew it” later following a confirmed kidney infection.

Your child is sick.

You are worried.  It is not nice.  You feel for them in their miserableness.  You are on toast and tepid 7Up duty.   You are tired having been up and down all night changing bed linen and pyjamas.  Nothing is too much bother.  Too tired to walk up the stairs?  You carry them.  A little accident before they make it to the bathroom?  Annoying but not the end of the world.  Getting your child to take an anti-biotic might be a bit trickier.  All sorts of deviousness is employed.  You are confined to the house because no-one wants to go anywhere with the one who has a dodgy plumbing system.

Your dog is sick.

You are worried.  It is not nice.  You feel for them in their miserableness.  You are on water bowl and chopped boiled chicken duty, trying to get them to drink something.  You are tired having spent the night listening to the restless movements of the dog downstairs and worrying about the inevitable mess that will await you in the morning. 

Everything is very physical.  Feel like going for a run?  Grand job until she lies down on the road and refuses to move.  Any idea how hard it is to lift a two year old lab collie cross?  A little accident before they make it outside?  Bigger ‘n that.  The contents of her stomach (and bowels) deposited all over one of the boys’ bed and the carpet on the landing without anyone hearing a thing.  Antibiotics the size of horse tablets pose a real problem.  Resort to crushing them between two dessert spoons and sprinkling the dust onto a pancake thinly lined with chocolate spread.  You are confined to the house because she is so miserable and you can’t bear to leave her.

Your child is sick.

Lots of TLC and endless tutorials of Minecraft on YouTube.  You go to the kitchen for a much needed coffee but only get as far as flicking the switch on the kettle before patient shouts out an enquiry as to your whereabouts.  Watching for dodgy bowel movements courtesy of the anti-biotic.  Making sure they are kept hydrated and getting decent sleep.  Still housebound because it is only day two.  Child feeling somewhat better and beginning to milk the situation.

Your dog is sick.

Lots of TLC.  You can’t go to the bathroom or kitchen without being shadowed by an animal.  The kids are told to get outside and stop bothering the dog who keeps sneaking upstairs for some peace and quiet. 

Your child is better.

Appetite returns with a vengeance after a marathon 14 hour sleep.  All bed linen is freshly laundered and back on the beds.  The bottle of 7Up is empty.  There is a dribble of anti-biotic left in the bottle.  Squabbles begin again and cabin fever is well and truly rabid.  You can’t enjoy a coffee and a biscuit without a face appearing around the corner begging for some.     Toilet habits return to normal and once again your bathroom resembles a public latrine after a good night out.  You can’t go upstairs for some peace and quiet without them following you and jumping up on you, almost knocking you over.  You roar at them. 

Your dog is better.

Appetite returns with a vengeance and you can’t open a packet of biscuits without a cold, wet nose being shoved in your face begging for some.  There is one large horse tablet left and you debate leaving it but the thoughts of another astronomical vet’s bill if the infection returns has you crushing it between the two spoons.  The dog ceases to squat and strain to eliminate and once again the grass is covered in shit.  You can’t go under the stairs for the sweeping brush without her thinking she is going for a run and she jumps up on you, almost knocking you over.  You roar at her.

Looks like things are back to abnormal again.

Mother Guilt

YOU are not prepared for a lot of things when it comes to motherhood. Things like your hips never being quite the same again, what true sleep deprivation is like, how you want to cry with happiness the first time your child utters “mama” and then cry with a completely different emotion when they won’t stop roaring it. 

Lots of stuff like that.  And no-one ever warns you about the “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” trap that is guilt.

I’ve been feeling a lot of it lately.  This week for example, two boys were at a Holiday Camp and Smallest Boy started a few hours of work experience with his daddy.  Child labour, free child-care; call it what you will, it meant I had just one child to contend with for three hours that particular day.

As we were going our separate ways following a cup of coffee, Lovely Liam and Smallest Boy stopped on the street to thump the living daylights out of each other, complete with sound effects for good measure.

What were they fighting over?  Me.  They were fighting over me.

“I don’t want Liam touching you!  Get him away from you. You are not his mammy, too!”

On the way home with the one remaining child, what did he say to me when he had me all to himself?

“I like it when the others are not here.  It’s quieter.”

Wham!  Right in the solar plexus – guilt.

There is just not enough of me to go around nor are there enough hours in the day.

Even the dog is contributing to the guilt trip lately.  Unless I smarten up pronto and take her for regular runs, I wouldn’t blame her at all if she puts me up on donedeal.ie

I am a member of a Facebook group whose directive is to assist and support parents everywhere in getting them through the tougher moments of the day gently. Their mission statement ends with the words;

 “Go forth and be lovely and gentle....deep breaths....count to 10!!!”

I am more of a lurker than a participant these days but I love the ethos and the group is bursting at the seams with good advice. 

There is much love.  

But when there are more than two children it becomes harder.  They fight over everything, couch space, TV rights, biscuits, the air they breathe and their mother.

When I was pregnant for the second and third time I was absolutely demented through lack of sleep.  I knew I was in trouble and floundering but I waited it out.  However, when I was 5 months along with our fourth son, I felt the symptoms knocking and scratching at the door once more and this time I was not putting up with it.

After a fashion I found myself sitting in front of a counsellor and to make a long story short, I was okay and did not go on to experience Post Natal Depression when Smallest Boy was born.

I contribute this partly to him being a good sleeper.  It certainly helped as I do not function well on broken sleep.  Even two nights of messing can take its angry, festery toll on me.

I’m great fun at parties, I promise.

I suppose what I am trying to say is even though I am getting lots and lots of lovely sleep again, Lovely Liam could still wake up during the night.

It might be just once but for ten minutes there’s crying (I almost did the other night!) and some nonsensical talking out of him.  Lately I am finding it really hard to deal with.

It reminds me too much of the dark days.

I decided it had to stop.

I clamped down hard.

More guilt.  And I will most likely get kicked out of my gentle parenting group if they get wind of this but I threatened my midnight sleepwalker and talker.

I told him if he got out of his bed he would have to sleep on a blanket in the car.  He would not go to the pool anymore because it could be the pool that wakes him up at night time.  Then I loaded him with Zirtek in an effort to abolish his new most annoying sniffing habit and some Nurofen for good luck.

I know. I know.  But I was desperate.

And guess what?  It bloody well worked. 

The guilt. 

But at least I’m not tired any more. 

Ah Bollix!

Ah bollix.  There’s the evenings gone. 

It’s pretty bad folks.  Pretty bad indeed.  The stress levels are through the roof again.  I was forced into the scratcher at a pretty indecent hour over the weekend.  And there I stayed for 12 hours.  I was lured back into it on Sunday afternoon for a two hour nap.  That night I was asleep by 11pm and up for 8am Monday morning.

I’m in bits, I tell you.  Teeny tiny bits.

And it’s all because of school.  The school that hasn’t started back yet. 

See, the problem was getting settled.  Actually daring to relax during the holidays in the first place.  Nice lazy 9.30am breakfasts of pancakes and orange juice.  Then, if they felt like it, the boys got dressed.

I would make a casual suggestion regarding a trip to the pool.  It was always taken up and if we put our backs into it, we got there an hour later. 

Dinner may or may not have happened on any given day.  Settling instead for pizza, more pancakes, sandwiches or a late lunch in town. 

Long afternoons in the garden and bedtime at 10pm to recharge batteries in order to do it all over again the next day.

Then Cúl Camp happened.  Oldest Boy was playing football every day from 10am till 3pm and the stress of having everyone ready for that time.  The nice, relaxed, chilled out mammy of the last 5 weeks had disappeared and the screechy, sweaty one had taken her place. 

Bad.  So very baaaad.  Makes me think of the 8.45am school start.  Our lives will be dictated by the clock once again and I will have to dig out the sleeping bag, travel mug and order a massive box of bananas from the supermarket because we will be spending all of our time in the car.

I am thinking too much about something that happens every year and every year I get on with it.

But this year it’s doing my head in.  Big time.  I like the easy goingness of summer holidays.  I rather enjoy the not having to be anywhere unless we feel like it.  I bloody well love the sheer laziness of it all.

I do not miss the frantic mornings and the different pick-up times and the homework and the uniforms and the lunches and the bath times and the bedtimes.

So I’ve come up with a solution. 

No.  Not home-schooling as was suggested to me already.  As much as I love my kids being home, I don’t love being around them all the time and actually need a break up and down.

The secret to my easier life is simple.  Let them all finish up at the same time.  Put an end to the 1.30 and 2.30 collection times.  And abolish homework.  It’s done in 10 minutes (junior classes) and half an hour (senior classes) anyway.    

So I suggest they all end their school day at the compromised time of 2pm.  I am not particularly interested in the Croke Park Agreement 

This one is mine.  We can call it the Ah Bollix Agreement if you like. 

Vote for Me.

You lovely people have nominated In Conversation with Lovely Liam for The Blog Awards Ireland 2014.  

Pubic vote is now open and you can vote for me and Lovely Liam  by clicking here here.  You can vote just once a week and only the top ten posts, the ones with most votes, will go through to the final. 

I'd love it if you could help nudge me along a little by voting again.   

Cola Cake

LOOK away.  Look away now.  If you liked my Rachel Allen brownie recipe you will love this.

This is my version of a sublime cake our boys fell on in a gorgeous, family friendly, inside outside restaurant in Wexford town called The Yard Restaurant.  It also has a crooked bathroom.  And this is before the wine arrives.

I can’t say enough about this place.  Really and truly except I am kind of glad we live an hour and forty minutes away as we would be eating out in The Yard a whole helluva lot. Of course, on a gloriously sunny day if we felt like going back to the beach, we could do exactly that and visit this haven of gastro delights afterwards.

We were watered and fed as a family of two adults and 4 kids, including 5 main courses, four desserts, two glasses of wine and two coffees for €65.  In comparison to a gastro pub we also visited costing €63 for 5 main courses and two coffees. 

Did I mention dessert?  I tried but my eyes kept skittering back to one item on the menu and that was cola cake.

Cola cake.  Four pairs of blue and brown eyes glittered at me from across the table as I whispered those words in reverence.

It arrived, a slice each, warmed on the plate and served with a scoop of butterscotch or toffee ice-cream.  Sprinkled with honeycomb and a toffee sauce drizzled all over.

The silence was broken only by the “hhmmmmm’s” as spoons were scraped on empty plates before fingers rubbed them clean.

I began my quest to source a cola cake recipe immediately on arriving back home and this was the least complicated one I could find.  

You’re very welcome, so you are.

Stuff you will need to make Cola Cake

250g (9oz) self-raising flour

3 tbsp. cocoa powder

1 tsp. bicarbonate of soda (aka bread soda)

150g (5 ½ oz) soft brown sugar

150g (5 ½ oz) butter

200ml diet cola

150ml buttermilk

2 eggs

1 tsp. vanilla extract

Frosting

*100g (3 ½ oz) good dark chocolate

3 tbsp. diet cola

3 tbsp. buttermilk

Stuff you will have to do to take to make Cola Cake

Preheat oven to 180 degrees.  Grease and line spring form tin.  (Large cheesecake tin)

Sift flour, cocoa powder and bread soda into a bowl.  Add sugar.

Melt butter over low heat.  Add cola to butter and remove from heat.

Beat buttermilk, eggs and vanilla extract. 

Whisk cola mix into dry mix. Then whisk buttermilk mix gently but thoroughly.

Bake for 35-40 mins or until skewer comes clean.

Cool for 15 mins.  Then turn out.

For the frosting, combine chocolate and cola over a low heat.  A thick ganache type paste will form.  Add the buttermilk and spread over the cake.  *I think I will try milk chocolate the next time.  Dark is fine but the kids weren’t keen.  

It goes without saying a helping of vanilla ice-cream brings this absolute treat to life and forces you back for another slice.

To clear up the crooked toilet issue.  It’s so cool and I regret not taking pictures.  The walls are tiled in black and red.  All set at an angle which creates the illusion of tilting walls.  Pretty cool and funky stuff.  I would like to see if they straighten up after sinking a bottle of their gorgeous house white. 

If you get an opportunity at all, I highly recommend visiting The Yard Restaurant in Wexford town.  You won’t be disappointed.  I promise. 

Rosslare Beach Villas Review

Your home away from home.

THIS July, for the second year in a row, we stayed in a self-catering three bed villa in Rosslare with the beach as our back garden.  Accessed via a private walkway.

Situated.  Rosslare Beach Villas, Strand Road, Rosslare Strand, Rosslare, Co. Wexford   are in the centre of Rosslare.  Rosslare itself is 8k from Rosslare Europort, 15k from Wexford town and 150k from Dublin City Centre.

What you need to know:  the Villas come in three different styles.  Style A sleeps four adults.  (6 if you include a sofa bed) comprising of I double room and 1 twin room.  Style B sleeps 5 adults, featuring 3 separate bedrooms.  1A & 1B are the largest and most spacious villas boasting 1 of 2 bedrooms with 1 double and 2 single beds plus en suite bathroom.  Bedroom 2 contains 1 double, 1 single bed with adjacent shower room and toilet.

All of the villas share fully equipped kitchen facilities with washing machine, dishwasher, micro wave, kettle and toaster.  Towels and crockery are included with everything else you would already have in your own kitchen.  This means you don’t need to bring anything with you.  An ironing board and iron are stored under the stairs.  Stair gates for smaller members of the family and cots are provided free of charge. 

 

A pint of milk in the fridge, in the event you forget to bring your own, makes for a lovely touch.  Coffee and sugar sachets are also provided.

Each villa also has its own designated parking space.

We stayed in style B and as a family of 6 had ample space for the week.

Anything else?

Rosslare Beach Villas is a family run operation with Johnny living on site to help out with any queries or solve any problems you may have.  He is never further than a phone call away.

Guests can also make full and excellent use of a communal BBQ to the rear of the villas.  This area is enclosed and includes a sand pit area for the kids, a beautiful landscaped sea-front patio plus a very handy and necessary outdoor shower.

Herb garden 

There is also a picnic table at the sand pit for whoever is on watchful eye duty as the BBQ is heating up.  The view across the bay from this point is stunning.

Across the road from the villa’s you will find the very tempting and delicious Bread Shop serving fresh breads, croissants and pastries each day.  Very naughty breakfasts on tap.

Claudia’s is a gorgeous café specialising in homemade treats and breads to go with that sit down coffee. 

Cois Farraige is the place to visit if you cannot be without your cooked breakfast and they are also just one of the local chippers open till 10pm.

Centra is less than a 5 minute walk away, even with kids and is incredibly well stocked.

Next door to Centra you will find Tides, a wonderful gastro pub which serves lunch from 12.30 daily.  This can be enjoyed inside or outside in the gorgeous beer garden.  A lovely place to visit when you have had enough of picnic food and take-outs.  Their price range is a little high but I would recommend one visit for a treat at least.

These are the areas we frequented most during our 7 days at Rosslare Beach Villas.  

Unfortunately I took my eye off the ball (my child) one day and he got a little sunburned.  The lovely lady in Rosslare Pharmacy sorted us out quickly and discreetly, managing to make me feel better about my negligence.    

The renowned and acclaimed Kelly’s Hotel and Spa is nearby also with The Cedars Hotel providing nightly family entertainment.  There is also an impressive enclosed playground a short walk away from the villas.  There is something in it for all age groups.  If you can drag them away from the beach, that is!

Best Bits

The beach.  The beach.  The beach.  With small kids who wanted nothing else, they were in their element.  As adults and parents, it was lovely to sit on a blanket on the warm sand on a beach that was safe, clean and not too busy.   Our villa was just behind us so letting the kids run back up for buckets and shovels, drinks, fruit and bathroom visits by themselves made the whole experience even nicer.

I even got in a couple of early morning runs.

The villas are ideal for families who like to holiday together as they are all next door to each other.  We spent lovely evenings at the BBQ and when the kids were in bed, having a relaxing drink of wine in the patio area outside. 

Quite frankly, we love it there.  The boys love it.  We go in peak season and are a family of 6 but after that with the boys playing the world’s best playground every day, the beach, it works out as a relatively cheap holiday. 

These are my own views. I have not been paid to give them.  We stayed in Rosslare Beach Villas at our own expense.