Beach Holidays and Exorcisms

JaneThat's Life0 Comments

We’ve just returned from a relaxing week at the beach. I need that week to relax because it takes that long to recover from organisation to get us there then while I’m there I need to conserve as much energy as I can for the chaotic day we pack up and go home.

I like to take most of the food and refreshments we’ll need.  Call me crazy but if I have readymade meals then it leaves less for me to do. I also like to make sure we eat reasonable healthily. With the girls routine being completely out of whack eating well can mean the difference between a full blown, call in the priest to perform an exorcism, meltdown and a small blimp in the road. Of course you have to have treats; it is a holiday after all.  So for weeks beforehand I am making extra meals, baking bread, biscuits, making extra muesli and anything else we may need.  When the morning of departure arrives it takes hours to pack the food, lock windows and doors, pack the car and so on. My brain went missing, this time, somewhere between packing the food and locking up!

It didn’t help that before we left for the beach this time, Molly had to be picked up from a Scout camp where she had been wallowing around in mud for four days. Everything she had needed to be hosed down and washed. She was so tired she stood around with a dazed look on her face while we ran around her sorting out her camping gear, which did nothing to help my holiday demeanor.

Eventually, with me now looking like some god forsaken wild eyed witch straight out of the pages of Macbeth,  at 2.00pm an hour after we had planned to leave we were ready to go. We are finally going on holiday and everybody WILL HAVE A GOOD TIME OR ELSE!

Once in the car I am fine and can start getting into holiday mode.  The week stretches ahead of you and the stress starts to fall away.

Starting to recover from the time spent eating only nutella sandwiches and four hours sleep a night. If your a parent you know what sort of effect that can have on a child. We are still reeling from the McEnroe, ‘you cannot be serious’, tantrums.


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