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View as: GRID LIST

SAME STUFF, DIFFERENT PLACE

1
“Ooh you must really be looking forward to your holiday!”

I smile thinly.

Because as any parent knows, a trip away; a foreign visit; anything which involves a change of clothes and journey over 70 miles, is not a holiday.

As defined by the Oxford English dictionary, a holiday is, ‘An extended period of leisure and recreation, especially one spent away from home.’

Leisure?! What’s that? The nearest I get to leisure time these days is pegging out the washing while my son rearranges the kitchen.

Now, any trip lasting longer than

SelfishMother.com
2
a day is preceded by The Big Pack: a week of flinging items ranging from spare sleeping bags to swim nappies at the biggest suitcase we own. If we’re lucky, my husband and I will squeeze in our toothbrushes, a couple of t-shirts and clean undies. I’ve stopped packing a paperback for myself. What’s the point? If I can scroll through the news headlines on my phone without interruption then I consider myself well informed.

I so wanted to be the relaxed parent who would wander on to a plane, holding a sleepy newborn and serenely travel to some long

SelfishMother.com
3
haul destination. Pre-children, I used to be that smug person who’d travel around Europe with hand luggage only and would leap off the plane, guide book in hand, and be exploring a brand new capital of culture within minutes. However, given the amount of stuff we as a family now require, we are always the last passengers to leave the plane; load up the buggy like a freight train and still manage to leave something vital on board.

Once we are actually at our intended destination and after the nappies have been unearthed, 14 packets of wipes unpacked

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4
and a bedtime coerced, you realise a change of scenery is all very well but this, the expensive trip you have forked out for and – stupidly – got excited about, is far, far harder than entertaining a boisterous child in the confines of your own home. There, you don’t mind the sticky finger marks; toys strewn all over the place; wilful tantrums and repeating ‘no’ so many times it becomes a negative loop in your mind sending you slowly, quietly mad.

Here, on holiday, the morning sunlight only serves to show up the tiny handprints all over the

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5
glass coffee table and pristine windows. And without his plastic garage, bruise-your-shin walker and hoard of Duplo the lad is so much harder to entertain. So much harder. You’re aware that your constant reprimands probably make you sound like a grumpy killjoy to other holidaymakers but the 400 potential hazards you spy every time you leave the confines of your room or apartment make it impossible to relax.

Our first foreign trip with our son saw we parents adjust our holiday expectations dramatically. We both – laughably – had expected a ‘bit

SelfishMother.com
6
of time to ourselves.’ Instead, we both developed colds and the trip was a crash course in outsmarting our toddler. Helpfully, he’d just learned to walk and was not interested in sitting, reading or any stationary pursuits. We became a tag team adept at distraction and tantrum management.

Staycations have soared in popularity in recent years. Economists put this down to the UK’s dire financial straits but I actually think mums have wised up and instead of risking their own mental health, they’d rather forego the packing and travelling headache

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7
in favour of a few day trips to the safari park or farm. After a few hours tiring out the kids at an adventure playground, it’s home to everyone’s usual beds, some Sky-Plussed TV for mum and dad and a familiar fridge of white wine. Now that’s relaxation.

Motherhood is different for all of us… if you’d like to share your thoughts, why not join our Network & start posting?

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- 20 Apr 15

“Ooh you must really be looking forward to your holiday!”

I smile thinly.

Because as any parent knows, a trip away; a foreign visit; anything which involves a change of clothes and journey over 70 miles, is not a holiday.

As defined by the Oxford English dictionary, a holiday is, ‘An extended period of leisure and recreation, especially one spent away from home.’

Leisure?! What’s that? The nearest I get to leisure time these days is pegging out the washing while my son rearranges the kitchen.

Now, any trip lasting longer than a day is preceded by The Big Pack: a week of flinging items ranging from spare sleeping bags to swim nappies at the biggest suitcase we own. If we’re lucky, my husband and I will squeeze in our toothbrushes, a couple of t-shirts and clean undies. I’ve stopped packing a paperback for myself. What’s the point? If I can scroll through the news headlines on my phone without interruption then I consider myself well informed.

I so wanted to be the relaxed parent who would wander on to a plane, holding a sleepy newborn and serenely travel to some long haul destination. Pre-children, I used to be that smug person who’d travel around Europe with hand luggage only and would leap off the plane, guide book in hand, and be exploring a brand new capital of culture within minutes. However, given the amount of stuff we as a family now require, we are always the last passengers to leave the plane; load up the buggy like a freight train and still manage to leave something vital on board.

Once we are actually at our intended destination and after the nappies have been unearthed, 14 packets of wipes unpacked and a bedtime coerced, you realise a change of scenery is all very well but this, the expensive trip you have forked out for and – stupidly – got excited about, is far, far harder than entertaining a boisterous child in the confines of your own home. There, you don’t mind the sticky finger marks; toys strewn all over the place; wilful tantrums and repeating ‘no’ so many times it becomes a negative loop in your mind sending you slowly, quietly mad.

Here, on holiday, the morning sunlight only serves to show up the tiny handprints all over the glass coffee table and pristine windows. And without his plastic garage, bruise-your-shin walker and hoard of Duplo the lad is so much harder to entertain. So much harder. You’re aware that your constant reprimands probably make you sound like a grumpy killjoy to other holidaymakers but the 400 potential hazards you spy every time you leave the confines of your room or apartment make it impossible to relax.

Our first foreign trip with our son saw we parents adjust our holiday expectations dramatically. We both – laughably – had expected a ‘bit of time to ourselves.’ Instead, we both developed colds and the trip was a crash course in outsmarting our toddler. Helpfully, he’d just learned to walk and was not interested in sitting, reading or any stationary pursuits. We became a tag team adept at distraction and tantrum management.

Staycations have soared in popularity in recent years. Economists put this down to the UK’s dire financial straits but I actually think mums have wised up and instead of risking their own mental health, they’d rather forego the packing and travelling headache in favour of a few day trips to the safari park or farm. After a few hours tiring out the kids at an adventure playground, it’s home to everyone’s usual beds, some Sky-Plussed TV for mum and dad and a familiar fridge of white wine. Now that’s relaxation.

Motherhood is different for all of us… if you’d like to share your thoughts, why not join our Network & start posting?

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Jo Dunbar is a freelance writer and has worked as a journalist at various magazines and newspapers for over 10 years. No longer in London, Jo is bringing up her son William (with husband Chris) in Newcastle upon Tyne. Between soft play and sensory classes Jo can be found at her laptop or underneath a mountain of laundry.

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