“Been away anywhere?”
That’s the question everyone asks come August.
One response to my answer this year was: “Wow, that’s some distance to go for a couple of nights.”
“No,” I corrected, “not Crete.”
People have made this mistake before.
“Crieff,” I said.
“I took the boys for a treat.”
And as I was sitting there at breakfast at the famous Hydro hotel, all of 40 minutes drive away, a memory came flooding back of being in that very spot – possibly the same table – six years ago.
Monty had just turned four, Chester was three and Guthrie one.
Suddenly, Jamie who was sitting opposite me looked in a state of shock; the colour drained from his face.
I asked what was wrong and he muttered something under his breath about telling me later.
It transpired that the older two had wandered to the next table and started a chat.
Before I tell you what they said, I think (hope) this might be a mitigating factor.
Their favourite book at the time was Mr Greedy in the Mr Men series – in which there’s a line which probably wouldn’t be published today.
Over and over we read it.
“The greedier he was, the fatter he became – and the fatter he became, the greedier he got.”
It may have stuck in their impressionable young minds.
After we’d got back to our room, Jamie told me he had overheard Chester, three, say to a man tucking into his full Scottish: “Oh, look at you. You’re very fat aren’t you?”
In a rare show of agreement with his brother, Monty chirped “Oh yes, you really are. Very fat. Fat, fat, fat.”
They obviously had no idea how rude this was. They were using an adjective and it might have been strong or tall but it wasn’t and it was awful.
They were being what we always tell children to be – honest.
The man, Jamie said, smiled and said “Yes, I am.”
We were both mortified and left the boys in no doubt they would never use the word again.
They grow and learn fast and, this year, they’re suddenly playing table tennis at Crieff while I got through three pages of my book over a glass of wine.
Holidays with young children are anxiety-filled but gone in a flash
As I looked around this year, at the parents of younger kids, I considered there should be another name for ‘holiday’ if you’ve got really wee ones.
For sipping a Pina Colada in an infinity pool it ain’t.
That night six years ago, after the breakfast incident, we ate – as families often do with wee ones in a hunger clock – at 5.30pm and by 7.30pm we were in our beds in one room when the youngest, still in nappies, started a 24-hour spell of chronic diarrhoea.
I’ll spare you the details except that somewhere around 3am Jamie said: “This is about as much fun as a punch in the puss.’”
Low level anxiety is the constant accompaniment to having youngsters.
And if you’re not going to an all-inclusive in Turkey like everyone else seems to be – and instead planning day trips close to home, you’ve got to remember to pack for four seasons in a day, which I never do.
If you’re still in the anxiety zone, the Riverside Inn is great for kids’ meals and pub fare with a renovated soft play area that gives you the occasional 20 minutes to talk to a pal – or take deep breaths.
You’ll have your own saviours – on which note RIP the Fun Factory, hero of many a rainy afternoon – where the kids are happy for a while.
At Magdalen Park in Dundee this week, I watched a mum try to placate her pre-school son as he screamed at a boy for being on the baby swing he wanted.
And that mum said the words we all have said in such situations but rarely see through.
“That’s it, if you don’t behave we are going home right now.”
Meanwhile, his toddler sister had covered herself in their picnic and was screaming about something unintelligible.
The mum looked close to the edge, muttering things through gritted teeth then looking up, seeing people and pretending to be the wholesome, happy mum we see on the Instagram posts that don’t reflect daily reality – laughing “ok darling, just a minute, mummy’s coming.” I was that mum – and occasionally still am.
I wanted to tell her it would change and in the flash of an eye. Before she knew it, her son would be talking about his first deodorant and a low skin taper fade (hair), telling you their new ‘sigma, skibidee’ language.
And you’d get nostalgic and hanker after those chubby-thighed babies who were such good wee things – and forget the reality of the mayhem.
It’s a madness pals but it’s a grand one. To anyone with young kids – you’re almost there, another school holiday done.
And for anyone with no young kids, those holiday prices will half after the school holidays.
You know what you need to do.
Sip that pina colada in an infinity pool – and have one for us all.
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