Summer holiday fail: our most expensive parenting mistake

The holiday that cured me of chasing the "perfect" family summer

If your summer is not quite living up to those visions you had for it on a cold, soggy day back in February, you are not alone.

Before I had kids, I’d read an article about a woman who travelled around Italy on mat leave. She made it sound so easy. A few quick hacks was all there was to it. This is what seeded my unhealthy travel expectation.

Next up all my husband’s colleagues went on exotic trips, like backpacking around South America, on paternity leave. He told me that the first question anyone would ask when he got back from paternity leave would be “Where did you go?” (which I though was a bit off - why not ask about the babies or fatherhood?)

We used to love travel. I was raised on super cheap flights to Europe and wanted to taste all of it I could. Both my husband and myself have lived and worked abroad. So, although daunted, I was keen to give it a go. So I asked around for advice from other mums.

“I’d rather stand in my kitchen and burn money,” was the advice I got from another mum in the twin and triplet WhatsApp.

Surely, it couldn’t be that bad.

It turns out, I needed to learn the hard way.

Last year, we went on an expensive, all-inclusive holiday at a resort with lots of sports activities. TBH big resort holiday are not my thing, and but I was persuaded by the kids’ club (free childcare) and the fact everyone else raved about them.

Here’s how it went down.

1. They would only let us book one travel cot per room so in order to get 3 travel cots we had to pay for 3 double rooms!

2. The rooms were not at all baby-proof so we ended up using aires and bits of furniture to block access to the balcony, which the triplets would have had no problem climbing off of!

3. Dinner was served after the then 3 year-old’s bedtime. Rafa fell asleep in his soup on the first night so we just had peanut butter sandwiches in the room after that. What a waste of going all inclusive.

4. The boys discovered they could turn the lights back on from the low bedside sockets. Our workaround? Remove the key card and sit in the dark in what James called “the prison cell” from 7pm.

5. We all got D&V - so bad I felt like I’d set up a make-shift field hospital. I vividly remember lifting Rafa over Jerry to be sick in the bathroom, not quite making it and a Jerry getting a sick shower. Word from the wise: do not eat the salad at the hotel buffet. Ever. There was no available doctor - we were told we could get a taxi to another town, but that didn’t seem fair on the taxi driver who would be cleaning up after us. The kids got excluded from the kids’ club and we just spent the week vomiting in our room.

(pic: Me trying to push a double buggy in one hand and a single in the other for a sunset stroll because we couldn’t fly with our oversize triple pram)

The whole sorry situation ended with Rafa being violently sick all over me and the poor lady in front on the coach back to the airport. After getting shouted at by the coach driver, I stripped in the airport toilet and tried to Wet Wipe myself clean. Nothing gets rid of the smell though. The sick had got in my hair, in my bra, in my socks.

If we needed one more message from the universe to stay home, this was it. Or so I thought.

Bleary-eyed, and weak, back at Gatwick we got a bus to the carpark. When it came to our stop, we were so worried about safely holding the triplets and getting them all down onto the road without running off we left a bag on the bus, with the car keys and James’ insulin in. I managed to flag down the bus, James retrieved the keys and we laughed the whole sorry business off. Vowing to give it time before we tried it.

We get sold the myth of the perfect family holiday.

Sunsets, good times, happy kids in matching outfits. But here’s the truth:

Kids get sick.
They scream on the plane.
They fight.
They lose their minds in buffets.
They throw up on the transfer coach.

That’s just reality. And if we go in expecting perfection, we set ourselves up for disappointment, and resentment. Then the mum guilt piles in too.

As I write this, I’m preparing to go camping with my kids. Of course I’m romanticising about singing songs and toasting marshmallows by the fire, but the reality is it’s bound to have challenging moments. Someone will want a wee in the middle of the night. I will forget to pack something vital. The kids stay up too late and be overtired and emotional the next day. But if we can tip the balance so those things stay in the minority, that will be a major success.

I write about real triplet motherhood, how to ditch mum guilt and how to enjoy this crazy ride. Subscribe for a weekly shot of mama empowerment.