The other day, Son sidled up to me, "er, Mum, I'm not being funny or anything.." I inwardly sighed, as he often begins conversations in this slightly abstract fashion. Mistaking my silence for rapt attention he continued, "...or trying to be nice on purpose" (eh??), "but this summer has been the best, BEST summer holiday ever. In the world." That nugget safely off his 9 year old chest, he hugged me and wandered off to annoy his sister.
Reader, for once I had to agree, and I was surprised because being stuck at home with the children for six long weeks doesn't always fill me with unbridled joy. In fact in previous years I've looked forward to September with the enthusiasm of a starving person presented with a groaning buffet table; a sort of 'let me at it' mentality. On the first day of term while other mums stand around the playground dabbing their eyes and waving, I can normally be spotted half a mile down the road kicking up my heels and yelling "FREEEEDOM!" at the top of my voice. Because let's face it, six hours of free childcare, five days a week is not to be sniffed at.
This year was different. Sure the amazingly hot, sunny UK weather undoubtedly helped by ensuring that the garden was a go-er every day. But the really big change was that for once, the children's bodyclocks shifted so that when we let them stay up 'til nine or ten o'clock, they actually managed to sleep in until eight or nine the next morning. This has never happened before and I was always left foaming enviously at the mouth at friends who took their kids out to dinner and had to WAKE THEM UP the next morning for breakfast. Ha! Husband and I decided years ago that there was absolutely no upside to keeping two, tired, crotchety kids up for a nice supper en famille because a) they'd give us indigestion and b) stubbornly wake us up at the crack of sparrows for no good reason and then be miserable again all day because they hadn't had enough sleep.
But what a result; halfway through our two weeks in Spain, Husband and I realised that that unfamiliar, wide-eyed feeling we were experiencing each morning was a direct result of having had enough sleep! So for that we were grateful in the extreme and gazed upon our offspring with newly affectionate and appreciative eyes.
Another reason it was a good holiday is that Husband didn't disappoint in his quest to provide at least one, hilarious, never-to-be-forgotten moment for each foreign trip we take. The kids (with my encouragement) have wised up to this and are alert, spaniel-like, for when daddy does something strange/dangerous/plain daft which will provide us with many hours of glee.
A few holidays ago in Spain, Husband took it upon himself to save the life of a little boy in the local swimming pool. It was magnificent. He leaped off the sun lounger with surprising athleticism, peeled off his t-shirt and shouted "don't worry Charlie" (for that was the victim's name) "I'm coming!" thus ensuring that everyone around the pool turned to look. He executed a racing dive of which Ellie Simmonds would be proud, and determinedly front-crawled to the little chap in the middle of the deep end and heroically dragged him to the side. Oh bravo, I hear you say. The only trouble was, the little boy wasn't drowning at all, simply playing a drowning 'game', of which everyone, apart from Husband, had been aware. Husband became known as The Hoff after that.
The next year, while holidaying in the same part of Spain, we took our visiting friends to the local bull running as it was fiesta week in the village. It's not quite on the scale of Pamplona but the premise is still the same. Barriers are erected either side of the main street and the hapless bulls are let out of their trailer to run up and down while 'brave' men leap out in front of them and scurry back behind the barriers for safety. I always feel sorry for the bulls because while they're not actually harmed in any way, only poked and prodded, it still makes me incredulous that this passes for entertainment in modern-day Spain.
Anyway, Husband decided to slip through the railings while the bulls were safely at the far end of the street (or so he thought) to take a photo of the whole spectacle. Sadly while he was fiddling around with the camera, one of the smaller and more nimble bulls (still sporting a massive pair of horns mind you) made a sudden dash for our end which made all the 'brave men' leap as if one, in the direction of safety. Husband was caught unawares and came crashing backwards through the barriers and landed, on his back, on top of the camera, our kids and our friends' kids. It provided much amusement for the rest of the holiday as the kids took turns to act out the scene, one playing the part of the bull, one being Husband, or El Matador, as we were now calling him.
This year, just to add variety, all the drama took place out at sea. "We'll go sailing!" decided Husband, "the kids are both strong swimmers now and I used to love my sailing!". So this being Spain, we were able to rock up to a marina and hire a Hobie cat (for the uninitiated that's a small twin catamaran with sails) just like that. No proof was required of address, damage deposit, ability to sail... we just grabbed a few life jackets and off we went. How refreshing I thought as we bobbed through the harbour. In the UK you'd be made to go on a course, sign a waiver and watch a 45 minute safety DVD before even being allowed to THINK about renting a boat!
Hanging over the side looking at the pretty fish, my reverie was interrupted by Husband suddenly yelling "Senor! Senor! Can you help us!!" Yes, we were still in the harbour and heading merrily towards the rocks. Turns out there wasn't quite enough wind and Husband hadn't sailed one of these for, oooooh, about 17 years so the finer points of steering the thing had momentarily escaped him. Thankfully the nice Spanish man paddled over and climbed aboard and somehow got us heading out to sea.
Of course by this time, Daughter, who was a bit nervous about the whole venture anyway, was sobbing uncontrollably and pleading with Daddy to please take us back. "Well!" I said brightly "this is FUN!" Contrary to all expectations we didn't die a watery death and once Husband's memory had returned we had quite a jolly little sail. Daughter eventually stopped crying enough to open her eyes and Son had a fine time operating the front sail. Husband's name after that one was El Capitan.
So now the holiday is over and we're back to the old routine which is both a comfort and a chore. It's been a revelation to me that being with the kids for so long can actually be a fairly pleasant experience. I'm now quite looking forward to the October half term.....!
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