I think I’ve spent quite a lot of my adult life trying to recreate something I didn’t even realise I was missing and that’s my childhood family holidays.
The kind where you knew you were going away, and somehow that was enough. The excitement of packing your case. Getting up early, plodding off in the car to the airport at some wildly early hour. The journey that felt like it took forever and I’d wind my dad up with “are we there yet?” Days spent in the sunshine, eating things you probably wouldn’t normally eat at home and staying up later than you should.
I remember those holidays so fondly.
And now, I’m the one packing the suitcases. I’m the one making sure everyone has their passports, swimming things, sun cream and approximately 47 snacks for the journey. It’s funny really, because family holidays now don’t always feel how I remember them.
There are days when they’re brilliant from start to finish.
And there are days when they really, really aren’t.
There might be a tired child who doesn’t want to walk any further. Someone who is hungry despite having eaten approximately five minutes ago. A disagreement over who gets to sit where or where you go for the day. A moment where you wonder whether going away was actually worth all the effort of getting there.
Because the truth is, holidays with children aren’t always relaxing and I think I’m learning that they don’t necessarily have to be. Which is a wild revelation I’m aware.
When I was a child, I didn’t see the stress that went into making those holidays happen.I didn’t see the packing, the planning, the money, the organisation or the tired parents trying to keep everything running smoothly.
I just remember the feeling… I remember being excited. I remember being somewhere different. I remember the sunshine and the swimming and the feeling that for a little while, normal life didn’t really exist and now I look at my own children and wonder what they’ll remember.
Will they remember the day we laughed until our stomachs hurt? Will they remember eating ice cream in the sunshine?Will they remember swimming until their fingers went wrinkly? Will they remember the little things that I don’t even think twice about?
I hope so.
Because perhaps that’s what family holidays are really about. Not necessarily coming home completely rested. Not having every day go perfectly. Not even enjoying every single moment (even though holidays are an immense privilege I’m aware). But creating those little pockets of childhood that stay with them.
The memories they’ll look back on years from now and think, I loved our family holidays.
And maybe one day, when they’re grown up and packing their own suitcases, they’ll remember us in the same way I remember my childhood holidays.
They probably won’t remember that Mum was exhausted.They won’t remember that someone had a meltdown over the wrong colour ice cream.They won’t remember that we were late leaving the hotel or that we’d forgotten something important.
They’ll remember the feeling… and that’s what I’m trying to hold onto.
Yes, family holidays can be chaotic.They can be exhausting.vSometimes they can feel like hard work disguised as relaxation.But underneath all of that, we’re creating something.
Childhood memories.
When I think about it like that, I don’t mind the chaos quite so much.
Because one day, I’ll probably miss it.
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