Sunday 27 November 2011

Summer Holidays

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. 

1 comment:

  1. Hilarious!
    Why 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 :)