Holiday Business

But alas, beneath the facade of a content, laid back, chilled out, well groomed holiday maker is a woman on the edge of launching her 4 year old daughter into the sea.

 

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See the calm and relaxed lady waiting for a ferry to take her from one idyllic holiday spot to the next. See how carefree and happy she looks with her shiny hair, cool shades and bright as a button summer’s day jacket? See how cute her son is sitting in front of her obediently wearing his sun hat and waiting patiently for the next boat. But alas, beneath the facade of a content,  chilled out, well groomed holiday maker, is a woman on the edge of launching her 4 year old daughter into the sea. For lying by her feet is a child who just spent the last 20 minutes crawling along the floor, hanging on to Mummy’s ankle and screaming for “a carry”. Even when the family reach the queue for the boat the child refused to stand up and spent another 20 minutes lying on the floor in protest. Every now and then she would look up at her mother and fill her with hope that the stand-off was over but instead she spat out the immortal words “I hate you Mummy” before giving her brother a good kick.

It was all his fault you see. If he hadn’t been sick several times, needing lots of love and attention from Mummy who was taking him home to rest and drink water and watch films, then she wouldn’t have felt so neglected and then refused to walk anywhere. Unfortunately stupid Mummy only has one pair of hands so with Daddy carrying Archie and Mummy carrying two scooters, helmets and a beach bag there was simply no way Georgie was going to be lifted up. And that was quite simply unacceptable, especially as Archie had been carried for ages and he was 7.

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“I don’t care if you are carrying the Olympic fucking torch. Put it down because I want a carry RIGHT NOW.”

Fortunately the sickness didn’t last long and it didn’t spread so the holiday was not a disaster. We spent a lovely week in Mudeford, Dorset renting a fabulous house called Lazy Days, the name of which just about sums up our week. It was within walking distance of the beach and the weather was lush. We spent our days catching crabs, surfing (on our bellies!), swimming, walking and obviously eating A LOT. We visited Moors Valley National Park which was amazing and FREE (£9 to park) and spent a morning at Quomps  Splash Park in Christchurch which the kids totally loved as it involved water fountains, sprinklers and lots of screaming (also FREE). We went body boarding on Boscombe Beach (again FREE). We took a tour of Highcliffe Castle which overlooks the Solent and had afternoon tea and tried on the traditional clothes (Norm loved it), as well as a lovely day out in Lymington with some of our family who live there.

Norm and I even had the chance to abandon the kids and sneak off for a date one night. Christchurch Harbour Hotel is walking distance from the house and we demolished the six course tasting menu at the Upper Deck restaurant.

So despite the vomit and tantrums we had a lovely time. Next stop France where the blog will mainly be about wine and falling off my bike. Conveniently Norm’s bike doesn’t fit the child seat on the back so I have to pedal Georgie around. I predict trouble…….

 

Car talk

“My farty face looks good”

Driving home from a friend’s house tonight and the kids decided to make history by not having a massive fight in the back of the car. Instead they began a conversation that you could not ever imagine.  Unless you are under 7…..

Georgie (4) “I am ready to do my name changing now Archie.”

Archie  (7) “Paaaaa haaaa haaaa. Your name is Georgie.”

Georgie “My name is Rainbow Dash Rainbow, because of all the beautiful colours” 

Archie “Paaaaa haaaa haaaa. Look at my two nipples Rainbow Dash. They look good.”

Georgie “My farty face looks good”

Archie “Baddy punch farty face is coming” (Baddy punch face is the “baddy” in all of our made up stories)

Georgie “His underpants are too tight”

And they both become hysterical. And so do I. 

Bedtime……

“Mum get me a sick bucket”

It’s been a peaceful few weeks in the Ballantyne house with both children going to bed beautifully. Yet as I write this my 4 year old daughter is wailing from her bed that she needs a wee (she already had one) and she needs Mummy.

I should have realised we were in for it when she chose the longest and most complex of her books for her bedtime story. The collectors edition of “Wizard of Oz” which has pop up pictures and about 14382990 pages. Thankfully she can’t yet read anything with more than  one syllable so I edited it down. A lot.

After giving me kisses and cuddles then demanding I give her kisses and cuddles then asking for me to blow her a kiss to catch, and then blowing me a kiss, and then sending me a cuddle, then demanding I cuddle myself before sensing it to her…. she said goodnight. 

Five minutes later:

“Mum I need a drink”

I sigh and get some water. Now that she mentions it I don’t know when she last had a drink and immediately feel like a crap parent. I trudge back upstairs and hand her the bottle. 

“It needs to be colder,” she says thrusting it back at me.

“No that is all that you are having”

“Is it from yesterday?”

“No its from the tap,”

“But it’s isgustin,” she protested dropping the first consonant as she tends to do with big words. “It’s making me sick,” she says and then starts pretending to vomit.

I ignore her and go downstairs.

“Mum I need a sick bucket. Get me a sick bucket,” she moans.

I continue to ignore her. So she changes the demand and yells “I need a wee”

She is still shouting……