London Holiday? (aka Parenting in a Different Postcode)
Did I mention we took a “holiday” trip to London? Oh no, sorry! What I meant to say was that the kids went on holiday. Me? I simply relocated my full-time parenting duties to another postcode. Same job, different kettle of chaos.
Honestly, it felt like taking the children out of their natural habitat somehow unlocked a bonus level of parental struggle. I was still brushing tiny teeth, refereeing arguments with no whistle, and doing laundry like I was on some sort of domestic gameshow challenge.
You’d think a holiday might mean a break from the mundane. But no. You can’t exactly pack the entire wardrobe when travelling, which meant I was on laundry duty like I owed the house something. I’d been bouncing between my sister-in-law’s and my parents’ houses, and doing laundry at my mom and dad’s felt weirdly nostalgic…until I remembered I was now responsible for three little humans instead of just moody teenage me.
Back then, laundry was just that annoying thing I was always reminded to do. Now? With twins who can stain two outfits before lunchtime, laundry felt more like a light punishment doled out by the universe for thinking I could handle this. The only perk? Hanging clothes outside gave me a solid excuse to chat with the neighbours and pretend I was getting fresh air voluntarily.
As the final week of our “trip” approached, I decided to make it count with playdates galore and the remarkable highlight: LEGOLAND.
Read: The Summer Holiday Takeover Week 1
The holy grail of kiddie excitement.
It was two hours of “Are we there yet?” but the squeals of joy from the backseat were contagious. I’d been using Legoland all week as a behavioural bargaining chip: “Do that again and we’re not going to Legoland.” Let’s just say it was highly effective.
We pulled into the car park and heard all the “Oooohs” and “This is going to be the best day everrrrrr!” And I can’t lie, I felt like Supermum. Sure, this trip wasn’t about me. It never is. But watching them buzz with anticipation for something I organised? I did a little victory dance (in my head, of course—my knees can’t take public enthusiasm like they used to).
And let me tell you—they had the absolute time of their lives. From dizzying rides and learning patience in long queues to convincing me (in the rain!) that swimsuits were still acceptable for the water play area—I was outnumbered, so I waved the white flag. Ice cream, chips, nuggets, snacks galore, wild running, LEGO sculptures that made my knees weak… it was the ultimate sensory overload, and they. were. thriving.
The real workout came when it was time to leave. Basically, what started was the Olympic-level resistance: tears, flailing, and dramatic “Mummy, I want to live here forever!” speeches as we made our way back to the car. I did my best with the whole “We’ll come back again someday” pep talk. Not tomorrow, obviously. But someday.
Also read: The Summer Holiday Takeover Week 2
The Summer Holiday Takeover Week 3
The rest of the week was a beautiful blur of meeting “Mummy’s old friends from school,” new kid friendships, and the inevitable mid-M25 cries of “I need to go pee pee!”
If nothing else, this holiday has confirmed one thing: my old Girl Guides training was actually prepping me for parenthood. Navigating public toilets like a ninja, foraging for food when hangry children strike, and doing constant headcounts like I’m running a very loud, slightly sticky summer camp. This summer has felt less like a vacation and more like a safari. In Crocs.
But even with the chaos and the mountain of laundry, it’s been strangely satisfying watching them run wild by day and crash into sleep at night. That right there? That’s a win.
