There are sports days and birthdays and summer exams for the teenagers. May, that chaotic month when inevitably some child or other is making a Communion or Confirmation. It was a fabulous week, in fabulous sunshine, that went far too fast, because of the whole time-flying-when-you’re-having-fun thing.Īnd then we came home. What’s not to love? Well, besides the question from a stranger who, struck by the number of children with me, veered from the usual lines of curiosity that typically centre around what I drive and whether I’ve a job, and inquired instead as to how many fathers they had. Sun, swimming pools, meals you didn’t have to cook for yourself, and a week off work and school. Just us, without the distraction of home life, mostly enjoying each other’s company – except for the squabbles, of course, because this is not the movies. And the strapping teenagers carried the cases with ease, rendering me surplus to requirements in that regard. There were no baby changing facilities to identify and no buggy to consider. Which seems a small thing, but was another reminder of how much had changed in a few years. But above all there was excitement of Christmas Eve-levels as we got ready to leave the country.Īnd everyone could manage their own backpack. He couldn’t remember being on a plane before. The curly-haired dude was nervous about the flight. We walked through the airport and appreciated the ease with which we navigated security and check-in compared with the last time we’d travelled several years previously, toddler and baby in tow.
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