Summer holidays are looming and as little E starts school in September we have decided to go on one last “out of season” blow out.

“Is your body bikini ready?” That hideous much discussed ad asks. Well no I’m definitely “pre-retouch”, but luckily I’m a fan of the 1950s so I can count on my high-waisted cover all sins, bright red, bikini pants to do their job this Summer. And anyway this body carried and delivered two babies safely into this world so as far as I am concerned I won’t have a bad word said against it. Wibble, wobble or whatever the stoopid fashion mags chuck at us girls (and boys) on a daily basis.

Our last holiday did not go well.

Elsa was two and Tom about 8 months when we decided in our sleep deprived state to drive to the South of France, where I had secured us a “beautiful”, “unique” and “remote” farmhouse. The two words from that sentence that came true when we got there were “remote” and “unique”. Oh yes, our little cabin of joy was in the middle of NOWHERE and very UNIQUE in the sense that it resembled nothing like the internet shots and had “uniquely” not been refurbished in 20 years. Our host who lived in her own lovely (really lovely) house down the track was also “unique” in that she was blind to the fact that her holiday rental resembled something from DIY SOS and “uniquely” chose not to switch the pool heating on every day.

Forget the pool heating though, it wasn’t needed because on day two of our much planned, much needed 2 week break, freak weather conditions hit the south of France and excuse my own French here but it “pis*ed” it down for the duration. On Day 3 they closed the entire road system around our “unique” little place so that every trip to the supermarket was like our own re-enactment of “Crystal Maze”. I vividly remember my very laid back, non argumentative husband losing his “merde” at a very laid back non argumentative French road builder “you, you have ruined my holiday” he screamed as I sat in the car with Elsa asking me “Mummy, what is Daddy saying to that man?” and Tom staring wide eyed at his gesticulating Father.

The problem with holidays when you have kids is that they are full of expectation and laced with need “We really need this break as a family”, “Just wait until the holiday, it’s going to be a great break in the sun” we whispered to each other in the weeks preceding. I actually packed four books and a bottle of champagne; I mean what the hell was I thinking, had I actually forgotten we had children????

One day in a bid to get out of the dark hole of a holiday house we were living in, we decided to take the kids to “The valley of the Monkeys”. After navigating the spaghetti road system and finding it we decided to eat our packed lunch watching the Bonobos and listen to the guided talk. This will be lovely for the kids I thought, it doesn’t matter that it’s raining. Errrrr no the rain definitely wasn’t what caught the kids attention, more the very vocal and very animated group sex that the Bonobos decided to exhibit that particular morning. Try explaining that to a very shocked 2 year old, I was left speechless myself.

We cut the holiday short.

I phoned the plumber who was replacing the heating system in our house whilst we were away and the desperation in my voice must have been clear even from that distance. He worked through the night to finish it so that we could drive home again, with me climbing between the front and back seats stuffing the babies full of “baguette” as the husband and I decided perhaps that holiday hadn’t been the best holiday ever and perhaps driving for 10 hours with two children under 2 was a tad “fou” as the French might say.

But here we find ourselves again, almost 2 years later Googling “June Sun”. However, this time it’s going to be different, because this time, I will be packing my suitcase full of sun cream, swimming nappies and sarongs (do people actually still wear them?) but leaving the heavily laced expectations at home.

I won’t be packing books, or champagne, or “evening beachwear” I won’t be expecting time off or time out I will just be packing my trusty red bikini, my husband and my babies and seeing where that takes us. Because I have learnt that when it comes to holidays and for that matter motherhood, what screws things up most and is bound to lead to disappointment is the picture we had in our heads of how it’s “supposed” to be. Holidays and Motherhood aren’t “supposed” to be anything; they are what they are. So I’m learning (with crossed fingers behind my back) to go with the flow, this blog post will be concluded …..