the best holiday for a mum
I’ve always loved the idea of travelling far and wide, leaving home with a backpack and only a whisper of a plan. But the reality? It’s just not me.
There’s so many wonderfully inspiring travel blogs out there, posts on what to pack and the best tips for flying with kids. But I’m going to be frank: a holiday with children isn’t always such a holiday. And as Babs commented on my facebook page last night: “I think your parents’ house is the only real holiday when you have small kids.”
My parents still live in the house I grew up in*. There’s a rambling vegie patch, a gaggle of hens and their babies and shady areas perfect for afternoon ice-block eating. The house is home; comfy chairs, spare beds made with hospital corners and the luxury of air-con. But perhaps most importantly are the open arms that welcome us and take such good care of little ones.
A night at my parent’s house really does feel like a holiday and I’m always grateful for the open door, the beautiful homemade meals and the cups of tea that magically appear beside me while I’m breastfeeding.
In this season of my life, travel and holidays don’t really appeal. No doubt there will be a time sometime soon when we feel like escaping the norm for a while, venturing to new places and exploring with packed lunches but until then, there’s sweet reprieve in sharing the load.
It’s the simplest of family holidays and it should never be underrated.
*fancy a getaway? Mum and Dad’s house is on Airbnb