Holiday Bound

We’re off on holiday after a week of goodbyes, the last one being an adios to only son’s nursery. This was kind of sadder [for me at least] than daughter two’s Titanic departure from primary school. That is mainly because I will not be back at nursery again barring a miracle birth whereas I have another six years to do of the path to the primary school. On the other hand, daughter two was fully sentient, perhaps over sentient, of the meaning of the Big Goodbye, whereas only son had no idea what was happening. “You’re going to big school after the holidays,” I told him. He’s been to big school for the settling-in day and quite enjoyed it. “Again?” he said. He thought it was a one-off.

Still, you can’t stop the clock and only son must inevitably get bigger and learn multiplication and stuff. Biff and Chip is just around the corner. It’s not that I’m wishing time away, but I have this illusion that things will get somehow easier when smaller poeple are just concentrated in two locations with two sets of newsletters and rules and no fining policy for being late. Having said this, over the last four years I have only momentarily become so engrossed in my work that I forgot only son and arrived 10 minutes late, incurring said fine. This is despite the endless days I have just about got there in the nick of time because work people have called at the last minute or a farming vehicle has clogged up the route to the nursery. My stress levels should fall.

There’s just the small point of getting through the summer holidays, particularly the bit when we’re back when all favours are being called in. So far daughters two and three are getting on relatively well. Daughter two has told daughter three that she is “selfish” to go out riding her bike because “we all worry about you”. Daughter two has absorbed all my worries and multiplied them by a factor of 100. This, of course, drives daughter three insane. She has been found looking up “annoying sisters” on Youtube alongside “how to pack your suitcase”. Apparently there is a whole load of tutorials devoted to this. I know this because they are on the history section of the computer alongside the great Disney Collector whose mere voice is enough to calm a whole roomful of small people.

Fortunately, I have honed packing to a 20-minute activity. Usually I miss something vital, but there are four kids so I figure, in an emergency, we can improvise. On the plus side, daughters one and two have the same sized feet as me so shoe emergencies are unlikely.

As usual we have opted for a dawn start to the holiday journey. The kids love this, even daughter one, but that’s because they get to sleep en route whereas the adults have to stay awake to negotiate the inevitable misadventure on the orbital road around Rouen. Let’s just hope that we don’t come up against the norovirus en route like last year. Hasta la vista.

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• Mum On The Run