It’s nearly holiday time and my mind’s already drifted off to a beach, a rich rum cocktail – not too much ice, thank you – a pile of books, some factor 30, sun, sea and sand.
I can dare to dream of relaxing again now that my boys are young adults.
When they were babies, then toddlers, then primary school age, my husband and I had this awful dawning that we wouldn’t have a lazy holiday again just sunbathing, reading, sipping a sunlounger cocktail or two, until our kids were at least 12.
Until then, holidays are just like everyday life, only in a different country and with the added worry that the kids may drown or suffer acute sunburn, or that you may not get a chance to read one chapter, never mind finish the book.
You sort of resent it. And then feel guilty. Now, though, I can imagine myself lying on a lounger reading ALL day and know it’s not just a pipe dream (what IS a pipe dream, BTW?).
I can wander off to the bar without anyone in tow if I want to. Damn, I can neck a bottle of tequila if the spirit takes me.
The point is, these days a holiday IS a holiday; a series of blissful sunny days rolling into each other with nothing to do at all if I choose.
No deadlines, no appointments, no trying to read a book while simultaneously keeping an eye on tiny children, answering to their “look at me, mum” every 10 seconds, or having to meet regular mealtimes and bedtimes and bath times, and trying to ensure they behave in cafes and restaurants.
And now that’s all behind me. Childhood is fleeting. You only have the little people you love most in the world – while they still love you most in the world – for such a short time.
I thought of this when I read about Janet Alexander who’s suing Thomas Cook after her daughter was “abducted” from a holiday kids’ club.
<iframe class="converse-re cre-bottom" width="100%" height="0" frameborder="0" src="https://get.convrse.media/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mirror.co.uk%2Fnews%2Fuk-news%2Ffiona-phillips-remember-madeleine-mccann-12820716&cre=bottom&cip=15" style="background: transparent; border-width: 0px; border-style: initial; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; float: left;"></iframe>She left five-year-old Rose at a supervised play area at their hotel in Turkey while she took her other daughter scuba diving.
When she returned an hour later there was no sign of Rose. Janet thought her daughter was dead or faced being abused.
Thankfully, another guest spotted Rose near a main road with a strange woman wearing a hijab.
But, knowing Kate and Gerry McCann and the deep hurt and heartache they carry around with them everyday, I’d forgo all of the adult holiday pleasures all over again to make sure our kids were safe.
It’s surely worth forgoing the odd cocktail, a proper swim or an unputdownable novel, to make sure your story doesn’t become the one everyone else is reading as they lie on their sunloungers.
