One of my Wife's daughters has just returned home from a week's family holiday in Majorca. She always lets us have a brief outline of the holiday - but this time has excelled herself.
This is the cast :-
Karen : The mom
Andy : Her husband who is a keen biker chauvinist
Chloe : Their stroppy 18 year old daughter who has adopted me as her granddad
Ella : Their (sometimes) even more stroppy 11 year old daughter who has adopted me as her very favourite granddad
Greta ; An 18 year old friend of Chloe
Now for the story
The real story of a family holiday – a mother’s version!
You wait all year for the family holiday and can’t wait to spend some quality time together and relax. Only, you have forgotten how much hard work it can be, a bit like child birth, it’s agony but you still do it again.
You’re rushing around at work before you break up, making sure you have done what you can. You then clean the house from top to bottom, change all the beds to make sure it looks like a show home for when you get back. Then you rush around the shops several times as you are the only one in the house who knows what to take and how to get all the paper work, travel insurance and passports together.
Then there is the packing, which for some reason only the mom can do. You weigh the cases 10 times to make sure they are not over weight, opening and closing the cases, each time removing a shoe or beach towel that weighs nothing at all but reduces your case by one kilo!?
Oh and then there is the dog to sort out, you take him to the friends who are crazy enough to look after him. Yours is the last face he sees as you drive away and you know he will not forget you are the one who left him! You drive away in tears feeling bad.
So now it’s time to go on holiday and relax. There is me, my husband Andy, my daughters Ella (11 years old), Chloe and Chloe’s friend Greta (both 18 years old). So you’re off on your way to the airport. Just 10 minutes into the journey Chloe announces she has forgot her debit card. Chloe works now and has her own money. So now she will need to rely on me for cash as she won’t be able to get any out. You calmly respond it will be okay - trying not to mention that she has had an entire weekend to get ready while you have been running around like a lunatic.
We finally get on the plane. Chloe, Greta and Ella are on one side of the aisle with me and Andy on the other. An hour into the flight I have this overwhelming feeling of not wanting to go on this holiday that I have waited and saved all year for…what’s wrong with me? Maybe it’s the memories from last year’s holiday returning or maybe I’m sad because I have left the dog. Then I wonder, did I lock everything in the house. I have just been rushing about too much I tell myself.
Then I hear “mom mom” its Chloe and she has an angry look on her face. “I asked the girls nicely in the seats behind us stop to stop banging our seats because I am trying to go to sleep and they did it more” she shouts. Chloe said it loud enough for the girls parents to hear - as well as a few rows in front and behind. Have you ever seen the dirty looks girls can give each other? Oh god no I think, not on a plane. Chloe and Greta are now sat up like Meer cats and ready to pounce like a tiger upon eye contact with the girls behind them. I don’t care, remember I still want to go home and turn away.
As we land I realise this could become a problem as they stand up and eventually come face to face with the girls other girls. I am back in Mom role and try to diffuse the situation by stating through a fake grin “we are on holiday”.
We get to the hotel at 1.30am and find our apartment on the ground floor. Chloe and Greta being 18 years old drop off their bags and head straight off to the town. Ella is tired and moaning that she is not happy about being on the ground floor - she wants a balcony higher up. Then she appears again almost distraught that we have a wet room and not a bath. “why have we got a wet room with a seat under the shower mom”? I respond I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. “But we are not disabled so why have we got a wet room”. This whining continued for 10 minutes about the bathroom and balcony being on the ground floor and she even asked me to get the room changed, and she is an 11 year old!
The following morning I woke up much happier about being on holiday. We go for breakfast and Ella asks what we will be doing today. I said we will go around the pool and maybe the beach later. Ella asks again “after the pool and the beach then what”, I respond “I don’t know, let’s just have our breakfast, there is no rush”
“when are we going out then, what we doing tomorrow, are we going on a boat today or getting a pedelo? It starts…
Throughout the holiday I realise having an apartment meant I was available to everyone all the time. I couldn’t even go to the loo without hearing “mom mom” and they would talk to me through the door. I took my beach bag which became everyone’s; this meant every 5 minutes I was asked for something out of the bag. Every morning and throughout the day I would be putting cream on 5 people
I wanted the older girls to come on holiday with us and not go on their own to somewhere like Magaluf as I thought I wouldn’t be so worriedif I was there with them – I was wrong! You still can’t sleep until they are back in.
Ella finally made a friend, so this was a little easier. Greta broke up with her newly found boyfriend and got back together with him 3 times, Chloe was sulking because Greta didn’t want to go out every night, and naturally complained to me about this. Andy got sunburnt the first day, the bed was uncomfortable and he found sitting around the pool boring. We got into a row with some Germans after they threw ice cubes at our balcony and it hit the windows. Andy chased them across the pool area, cussing and shouting. The following morning more confrontation took place, which wasn’t easy as they couldn’t speak English and we couldn’t speak German. We eventually resolved this through sign language and sound effects as we described the bang bang noise as the ice hit the windows, they apologised and shook our hands, it must have looked really funny to anyone watching us act out what happened through sign language.
Every problem or complaint was brought to my attention and I would listen and try to be understanding. It’s interesting how nobody listens or cares about what you say when you are at home but when you’re on holiday you are apparently the source of all knowledge. On the last day we took the boat trip and it stopped off at different resort’s to pick up and drop off passengers and to allow people to swim. Suddenly everyone asks mom where the boat is going, and each time it stopped if this is where they can jump off and swim - how should I know - it’s my first time on the boat too and they even asked me how deep the water was - now I am required to be a nautical expert! After all this a woman had a go at Chloe for sitting in what was apparently her seat because she had reserved it with a towel (!) followed by Chloe giving her dirty looks. Andy settled things his way - he chucked the woman's towel overboard and told her to go forth and multiply. I looked over the side and it was tempting to just jump off and hope not to be seen.
As the holiday comes to an end, I was looking forward to coming home after suffering from sleep deprivation and feeling emotionally drained. I was just closing my eyes on the flight back when suddenly there is panic on the other side of the aisle. Greta feels sick and is sitting between Andy and Chloe, Chloe is pressed up against the window and Andy is leaning out into the aisle. Andy is in a panic asking me where the sick bag is. Now we are on a Ryan Air flight, there is no pouch in front of the seat with magazines or sick bags but being the ‘mom’ I am expected to know where they are! Of course I am the one who has to ask the air steward for a bag whilst Andy offers Greta a Pringles tube to be sick in…shortly after this I close my eyes again and then the seat belt lights come on. Greta leans forward and calls me to ask what’s going on, followed by Andy removing his headphones and asking the same question. Of course being an aviation expert my guess is that we are going to hit some turbulence…which we did in spades.
We finally arrive home after cramming 5 tired whining people and 6 cases into a small Hyundai Getz. I go and fetch the dog who has fallen out with me, even though I am the one who feeds and walks him every day - but he hasn’t forgotten I was the one who left him. I unpack all the cases and spend 3 days washing and ironing whilst everyone else gets on with their own thing.
I guess there will come a day when I will holiday without the kids and then I will moan I miss them and it’s not the same anymore. We did have some laughs; met some lovely families and most evenings I did relax thanks to the alcohol!
To all the moms out there - you’re not alone!
By Karen Davies – the ‘MOM’
