The summer school holidays in Scotland start a month before those everywhere in the British Isles. It seems to be tradition, or habit, for families to go on holiday the day after the schools break up.
I, however, needed a week to acclimatise to the change of routine before I packed my boys in the car and drove overnight, the almost five hundred miles, to stay with my parents. My grand plan to occupy the children over the seven (!) week holiday.
My family lives too far away. I want them to be a big part of my children’s life. They teach them good habits (my mother got both boys to try cauliflower… nuf said), they love each other to pieces.
On arrival everyone was tired, the temperature differential from home not assisting grumpy moods. Though the quantity of caffeine I had imbibed over night, having not drunk any for weeks, kept me going all day.
A wee scoot before lunch to pick up the paper, a soon to be daily activity as my Father still reads his news on paper.
Toasted cheese sandwich to refuel, then it was time to put our cossies on and feel the sun on our skin.
I read my book (on my phone) and lay in the sunshine in my new, apparently truly indecent, swimming costume; before soon getting bored before challenging the boys to play in the sprinkler.
Wow my boys are wooses. The game quickly became “how wet can we make Mama!” as the water was “too cold”.
Memories of childhood engulfed the senses. Making mud pies, playing games with friends, squeals of delight; life repeated with a new generation.
On one level it made me feel old, a reminder that apparently I am a grown up, as I now have children to take the mantle of craziness forward. Yet it also made me feel young, that my silliness is not forgotten, and even though my sister would have been mortified by my behaviour, she would have approved of the fizz that was sipped whilst reminiscing later that evening.