Are holidays with kids actually holidays?

CARRIE Bickmore reveals that her recent summer holidays were about as relaxing as doing an algebra exam.

This picture is a lie. (Pic: iStock)

HOLIDAYS with kids need to be called something else. Google the definition of “holiday” and your computer will spit back words at you like “relaxation”, “leisure” and “time-off”.

I don’t know about you, but our holidays are about as relaxing as doing an algebra exam. As for the time-off? Holidays are time-off from work, but still work of a whole different kind.

Google needs a new algorithm.

It all starts with the packing. It took me weeks to pack for our recent beach break as I tipped almost everything the kids owned into four different suitcases: Panadol in case they got a fever; Imodium in case they got the runs; board games to stop them playing on the iPad; the iPad; chargers; lots of chargers; a beach cricket set; swimming nappies (why can’t they just poo in the ocean or behind a bush like we did when we were kids?!); sunscreen; aloe vera; puzzles; a book for me that I’ll never get time to read; and enough “ruggies” for our two-year-old, Evie, that should a bush turkey storm our house and take one, there would be enough spares for her not to notice. You laugh, but it could happen.

I recall my childhood holidays being surrounded with friends and family so, in that same spirit of generosity, we now had family and friends stay with us. This meant for a week the adults were outnumbered by people aged under four.

“A beach trip needed almost military-level command... and why did we bring a pram?” (Pic: Christian Gilles)

The days started early — 4.15am early, as the desperate cries of an 18-month-old rang through the house. The dad, worried about waking the rest of us, popped him in the pram and took him for a two-hour walk in the dark! One kid got stung by a jellyfish, another (ours) got in an altercation with the aforementioned bush turkey. The same child was also learning to toilet train and took a wee in the lobby of a resort we weren’t even staying at. Everywhere we went, I had to carry a potty seat around should nature call.

Marshalling a trip to the beach required military-level command. Children needed to be dressed, sunscreened, hydrated and then transported by foot or pram. (Why take a pram to the beach?) Once there, a lookout was required to remain vigilant should any child decide to take a solo mission into the surf.

Shelter on the beach came from an “easy-to-put-together” beach tent. I’d rather assemble a machine-gun — which would be safer. When a strong wind picked up there was every chance of an innocent beachgoer receiving a tent pole to the back of their head. Plus, it always started an argument.

Carrie Bickmore is in Stellar magazine.

You hold the pole.

What pole?

The one in your hand. Now hold the canvas, before the wind gets it!

I don’t think it’s made of canv... it blew away.

Baaaaabe... where’s Evie?

Ah, bugger. Over there, near the water.

Then we both let go of the tent, and it collapsed in the sand. I’m sure going to the beach was simpler when we were kids.

Despite all this nonsense, our minds have a way of editing our memories to focus on the good bits. When I sit now at work and reflect on our holiday, I don’t think of the delayed flight, sandy crack, or early starts. I think of jumping in the waves, the kids laughing with delight, eating fish’n’chips, afternoon naps, sunsets and family time. Holidays with young children may be hard work, but spending endless days and nights with the kids, and nothing pulling us in different directions, creates moments that are the foundations of our lives together. Family holidays are not always holidays by any current English dictionary definition. But they are special in anyone’s language.

Carrie co-hosts The Project, 6.30pm weeknights, on Network Ten.

Originally published as Are holidays with kids actually holidays?