I have an 11 yr old and a 16 mth old daughter.. After reading some of your stories I think the safer option and definitely more sane option would be to give it a miss for another few years..All the palava of the airport alone sounds like a nightmare for a little girl that loves to do nosedives out of your arms and run for the hills at any given opportunity. Also she is very accident prone at the minute and dread to think what she could do to herself in a foreign country..Scary thought..

Think we’ll stick with our initial idea of a hotel break down the country and not too far away..Our 11 yr old son could stay in the room in the evening when she is asleep with his mobile phone in case of emergency while we could have an hour of us time downstairs..And we’d all have great craic in the pool during the day…

Yeah think that sounds like a plan..Tks for all your stories

Great peice,

As someone who recently fell into this deathtrap of a mistake, I can totally relate. I live in drogheda and also felt compelled to drag my 2yr old to the algarve in search of the perfect bliss filled holiday described, dissing the perfectly good alternatives like termonfeckin, clogherhead, and bettystown. Remember, a 2 yr old doesnt feel the cold like me, a mere mortal. He is happy jumping in a pool of shite, down the east coast. However, upon entry to dublin airport I knew nothing would ever be the same again. Half way towards the bay of biscay, I knew i had made a horrible mistake. Between scanners, waiting lounges and asking him to sit in the same vacinity for 3 hour I must of needed my head examined. Then asking him to change his polar bear physology to that of a camel, must have took its toal, as he slept for 10 hours that night. Upon early morning, the sun raised my spirits to the dawning of a new day and a new start. No chance, upon immediate inspection of the apartment, my son found no familiarity and went to task at finding anything to break, weaving dangerously in between anything to fall over and crack his head on the mosaic floor. The only respite was the beach. Our son loved the sand and the water but the tantrums began, as we wouldnt understand that it was perfectly fine to leave him in 24+ degree sunshine for more than 30 mins. Hats were a no go. Sunsceen was applied and the minute he got loose he was rolling in sand, ending up looking like a baby brunch. An inevitable fall in the apartment, a day in a&e in portimao, and a bucket of guilt and saddness building up in my gut for putting my youngest through this hell, i had enough. A&E in portugal was fantastic conincedentally. My abiding memory of this endevour was one positive realisation. My lil fella sleeps like a log in hot weather. Have often thought about installing heatlamps in his bedroom. Anyways, instead of chastising sarah, which some have done, I recommmend all who criticise, to take a foreign trip with a 2 yr old. It is a life changing trip both for you and them, but one thing you wont do at the end of it, i gaurantee, is ever again criticise or judge those who have had to go through it, or people you see go through it. Moreover, you think back to the time you use to have sanity and sympathise with those you see about to loose the plot.

I had read your piece in print a while back and just came across the online bit today.

Good grief! you guys had 3 adults to 2 children? What’s this “bad mother” nonsense doing in your post? -surely not- and what about Dad? Surely you guys did the “share” thing so that you both could have some holiday time too?

I agree that taking kids under 3 anywhere on holiday is hard on them and hard on you. Having been through this several times now we find that the only option is to make sure the journey is short ie drive or flight no more than 2hours and that we plan our days so there is me time, you time and kid time.

So the folks who had their kids at the club had it right I’m afraid. Whereas you may have been horrified at the scene at Quinta I am almost certain that the kids had a ball, sans parents!

Ian.

Reading this piece brought back all the [fond?!?] memories of going anywhere with my lot when they were really small. Fortunately my youngest is now 5 and loves going places, but I remember well even just so-called simple flights to the UK where babies screamed and parents sweated, and that was just getting ready for take-off!

Never-Again was a comment used frequently in those days.

I’ve never managed the foreign parts holiday – with six it’s not really an option.

We prefer to torture ourselves driving horrendously long journeys (are we there yet?) to Kerry and other places like that, get ripped off in small supermarkets and generally spend the weeks wishing we were back home, in between bringing said children to beaches in car convoys, and watching them ducking between the showers, the jellyfish and the seaweed.

What’s a holiday for, if not to appreciate the solidity of your own front door and the comfort of your own bed :¬)

Hmm, I wonder if I should start sitting next to the fridge alot. Or walk around the house carrying a couple of Tescos bags.

The gories:
1. Somone was desperate and drunk enough to have sex with me. Although she did chat to a friend on her mobile during the act itself.
2. At about 9:30pm on 3rd July she got stomach cramps and indigestion. We assumed that this was due to baking a months worth of cakes and eating them between us in an hour, while watching RTE.
3. Switching to BBC didn’t help, so called hospital, who advised that they had The Discovery Channel. Rushed to hospital.
4. I looked at the ultrasound scanner screen and saw nothing indentifyable. Worrying, so did the doctor.
5. 12 hours, 4 doctors, 2 ultrasound machines and much headscrathing later, half of the doctors reckon that the baby is just a disembodied (but very strong) heartbeat, and that her distended tummy is just full of cake. The other half have some theory about alien impregnation with Stealth babies that don’t show up on ultrasound.
6. Having bet a case of wine on this difference of professional opinion, they cut her open to check the result. I am present at this, and instead of fainting I find it facinating, in a dismantling-a-car-engine kind of way. Hope they know how to put it back together.
7. Unexpectedly, out pops a minature version of Winston Churchill. He looks at me disapprovingly before being sent for an NCT test, which he passes.
8. I text everyone I know. Apparently the entire USA celebrated.
9. Since then his only activities have been sleeping, eating and looking at me disapprovingly. I think he’s a teenager.

Otherwise there would be something wrong..