Suntan lotion? Check. Lilos? Check. First aid kit? Check. Waterwings tested for punctures? Check. Emergency numbers on speed-dial? Check.
Those wickedly indulgent four little summer S-words were almost within my grasp – Sun, Sea, Sand and S… Okay, I admit it. Much as I want to appear like a wild rock and roll chick who can still get raunchy with the best of them, all I could think about was the giddy joy that I wouldn’t be burning the midnight oil over my laptop for a fortnight, so I was sure to catch up on some SLEEP.
However, at 1.30 on the morning of the day we were due to set off on our last-minute break to Cyprus, I was drowning in the middle of a sea of rubber inflatables (of the non-pornographic variety, Gran), with the fraught demeanour of a mother who has less than twenty-four hours to get everything organised for two weeks away with two under-fives.
Other families seem to sail through it – all rosy cheeks, kiss-me-quick hats and jolly renditions of ‘We’re All Going on a Summer Holiday’ as they bound up the aeroplane steps. We, on the other hand, were working up to our holiday with all the serenity and tranquillity of the Tweenies on crack.
Although, while that didn’t diminish the fact that I was rapt with excitement about our first fortnight in the sun since 1999BC (before children), it did reinforce the sad reality that I was clearly out of practise. I used to be able to throw a few things in a suitcase and take off for a spontaneous break with ten minutes’ notice. Now I was pretty close to demanding a government consultation and strategy team to work out if fifteen cans of insect repellent was a tad excessive, if suntan cream for kids came in factor 650 and whether or not Glasgow Airport had Lambrusco in the Duty Free.
I was also discovering that travelling en masse requires the logistical planning of the invasion of a small country. I’d spent weeks (okay, a couple of hours on the Internet but I’m going for maximum exaggeration/sympathy points here) researching and planning the trip, all the kids’ new togs were piled up beside me and the Ambre Solaire was already leaking onto my beach towels.
The brown hyperventilation bag was on standby as I mentally ran through my to-do list. I still had to pack two cases (the summer equivalent of fitting nine elephants in a mini), do a few hours’ work, strip three beds, clean the house, find a bikini that fitted, and lose three stone. A doddle.
Still, at least my boys were fast asleep and would be well rested for their big day. All three of them. Yes, husband was having a wee early night while I aged ten years with the stress of organising two weeks’ supplies for a family of four. Bless him. I paused as I packed the Ladyshave. He’ll never know how close he came to spending two weeks on a Cyprus beach with a five o’clock shadow. On his legs.
A few hours later, after grabbing a brief forty winks, I packed the kids off to nursery and maniacally worked my way through the rest of my to-do list.
By mid-afternoon I was just about organised and all set for the final stage of Operation Beach Bum. It seemed like a foolproof plan. Pick up the kids from nursery and check in for our flight four hours early. Since we only live twenty minutes away from the airport, this would give us time to drive home, have a leisurely tea and shower, allow the boys to have a wee nap and we’d all arrive back at the airport fed, watered, refreshed and ready to belt out Cliff Richard’s greatest hits at the departure gate.
Ah, it sounded like a great plan. Unfortunately, it didn’t take into account a two-hour hold-up at the check-in desk. The result was a mad dash home to grab the carry-on luggage, with no time to eat, change or nap, and in the midst of it all I lost my make-up bag, hairbrush, composure and the factor 650.
So, if you were one of the unfortunate souls who was stuck next to an un-showered mother, a huffy husband and two hungry, hyperactive kids all the way to Paphos last week, I’d like to extend my sincere apologies for introducing you to the other four little summer S-words: Stress, Smells, Sulks and Strops.