Why I hate the school holidays...

Oh I could wrap this one up in one sentence...

The kids are off school. All of them. 

I know what you're thinking 'she has kids, and a few of them at that.' And you're right. I do. 

But that doesn't mean that I like kids. It doesn't mean I want to do a Michael Jackson and save them all and introduce them to my monkey. 

No, my own I struggle to tolerate some days, so you've got next to no chance with other people's. In bulk.

Basically the school holidays means lots of queuing to get in places. Over inflated prices. All the picnic tables taken with giant families. Lots of virus tainted snot bags trying to stand in front of me while I'm trying to get a good view of whatever it is we've come to do. 

The trouble is, because it's the holidays and they're kids, they seem to think they deserve the spot at the front of the barriers (think monkeys at the zoo). 

There you are in front of the enclosure enjoying the monkeys doing monkey business when a ginger kid (usually ginger) runs up shouting 'arghh monkeys, get in, ooooh oooooh ahhhh Ahhh, oh daddy I can't see, I can't see the monkeys, that lady is in the way.' 

'Oh it's ok, ginger Barry' dad says 'that nice lady will probably move soon so you'll get a better view'

First of all ginger daddy, I know all about this psychology of getting me to move and I can see right through you. (Mainly because your flesh is so pale it's translucent but I also mean figuratively) and secondly ginger man, I am pretty much the opposite of nice in situations like this, and quite frankly I want to punch ginger Barry and feed him to the lions. 

But what do I do. I turn my head slightly to the side, acknowledge the shitty ginger kid and shuffle slightly across to allow his pale skinned body to muscle into the front of the enclosure where I spend the rest of the time looking down on him wishing he was monkey bait. 

The 'nice lady' then pisses off to the elephants where it all happens again, but this time with piggy tailed Jemima. 

Kids aren't really that nice to be fair.

It's like every day of the school holidays goes a little something like this. 

Rudely awakened at an even earlier time than on a school day (so much for those longed for lay ins) (on another note what happens to them to cause this early rising to occur?  I've forced them awake late at night more than once to encourage extreme tiredness to get me a lay in- yet they still wake up early and spend the day being tired moody tantruming gits instead)

Anyway, the offspring look all cute first thing in the morning and have an air of adorability about them. Happy thoughts of being blessed creep into my morning mind (which isn't yet switched on) and I think I really should do something with them, bless the little cotton buds, off school. They need some fun. I must do an activity with them. Who cares what it costs, they're young and deserve it, awwww look at them hugging one another... Oh it's so worth it. 

Then..... Arghhhhhhhhhhh get off get off, mum he's hitting me, he's trying to pull my hair, omg will you just get off me, mum tell him' 

Breakfast. Get them fed, it's too early for arguments. 

So all descend downstairs.

I pop the baby on the kitchen floor because I'm good like that. And she actually makes an excellent Hoover because not only does she spot crumbs at 3 miles away, she eats them. Brilliant. 

Being the great mum I am, I fail to notice that she's already opened the cereal cupboard and has found the fricking coco pops... Again! 

She delights in emptying them all over the floor. I'm ever so slightly ashamed to admit that I just leave her now. She empties them and starts eating them, and I let her. 3 children ago, this would never have happened! I'd have probably been googling "will my baby get sick if she eats coco pop after 5 second rule has passed". These days I google "why did I even bother buying a highchair, floor feeding rocks". 

The other 2 just grab the boxes of cereal and eat out of the box. Again, I allow this, on the basis it saves milk, so no spills, and saves on dishes so it's a win win, far from the lovely sit around the table affair chatting about our plans for the day, they disband to the living room to watch Scooby Doo solve the mystery of the man who is always the caretaker of the local college in the ghost mask. And I'm ok with this, because I get to eat my cereal and drink my coffee in some sort of semblance of normality. This is the only time in the day this will happen, so they could start eating the actual cereal box for all I cared. 

Getting ready is no simple affair either. 2 out of 3 kids I still have to physically dress. The third child I have to scream at roughly 18 times to get dressed, brush teeth and do her hair before she even registers any movement. I should add, she's still only 8.. Not 13. There's no hope is there!

Eventually, and I literally mean, eventually, we get shoes and coats on and we actually leave the house. I don't even want to go through the pain of getting 3 kids in the car with you. It's just plain mental, and that's before I even karate chop any of them down the middle to bend them into a seat belt. 

We drive. Usually to the lights at the end of the road before someone asks for a snack! Omg! Do these kids have worms or something. 

And so we arrive. To wherever it is we arrive to. Generally to a queue of cars to get in. Usually waved at by about 3 men, paid to show you a little parking spot that governing by the manpower involved, would assume you would never ever have managed to park your car otherwise. My particular favourite is the final parking man, who beckons at you to drive just a little bit more forward - literally a whole inch then stop. Without him in my life - My car would be sticking out an inch so thank god he's paid to stop that crazy shit from happening. 

Once the wares of the day are all piled onto the pushchair leaving no actual room for the baby to sit down we go off to enjoy another queue for entrance tickets. I tend to get quite nervous at this point because I like to avoid paying for the boy. He's 3. Most places charge by this age, so I like to pass him off for less. 2 yrs 11 months so I don't get too confused over dates and calculations. I'm shit at maths. Trouble is, last time I lied- he blew me right up in front of the kiosk man. "No mummy, no mummy I is 3. You silly narna."

Yes check me out kiosk man, I'm a silly narna- not a fraudulent criminal minded fee dodging woman...  No let's have the silly narna thing. Please kiosk man. No police...please. 

Those aren't the only queues of the day either. Hell no, it's the school holidays. We have additional queues for toilets, food, drinks, a seat to actually eat, the attractions, the ad hoc shows put on, ice cream. Basically everything. I feel like I've paid for the right to queue- so I just embrace the queue and shuffle along like a true Brit and don't say a word. Well I don't say a word as such, but I sure as hell scream a few.

The 2 worm infested older kids cannot sit still or stand still at all. Nor are they quiet. They also have no consistency or levels of what's appropriate when people are looking and what's not. 

They don't care we are locked into a confined line of judging twats who's kids behave like the Virgin Mary at this point. Hell no, my little shits decide this is totally the right time to look like reprobates. If I'm really lucky, they might use it as an opportunity to share a swear word they've learnt. Not from me of course, from the naughty man in town. I'm positive it was the whole 3 seconds he crossed our paths saying "shitty shit heads" to the pigeons, as you do, that firmly implanted the word shit into their heads. 

Nothing to do with my potty mouth at all. Least that's what they have to tell my mum. 

These sort of sagas are just the tip of the school holiday iceberg. Each day you have to think of something to do and even on the days you plan to entertain them indoors you realise how little imagination you have to fill all those hours. And then there's the mess. 

Nope if you ask me, it's easier to join the queues of queuey up land and waste valuable money seeing those sticky grubby faces light up and enjoy one of the worlds quietest journeys home because you've knackered them out good and proper. Bear in mind though, the transfer of car to bed doesn't happen so prepare for the little darlings being up far too late... Stock the wine rack before you go!