I love the idea of making fun memories with the kids. This includes mucking around home doing fun, everyday things, but it also includes rarer, and more special trips as a family.
Here’s the secret though – I’m absolutely rotten at doing them.
I’m good at getting the ideas. I love coming up with the ideas.
“Hey, I know! We’ll take all but the baby with us to Rotorua (3 hours away) for the day so we can do the luge! It can be hubby’s birthday present! Like a birthday party / experience!”
Of course, it never occurred to me that maybe the hubby didn’t want to be stuck in a car / motel / tourist destination with three hot, tired, grumpy, unappreciative kids. In my vision of a “great family mini-break” that never came up at all. Nor did the fact that with virtually any family trip, it ends up being me packing for myself, and all four kids (although Miss 7 and Miss 5 are starting to halfway help with theirs, although this needs heavy supervision as it often leads to situations of having 4 changes of undies – “a hundred” – as Miss 5 says – and no suitable socks, footwear, or shorts / pants. And bulky winter coats packed for hot summer days.) Meanwhile the husband leisurely showers and as I’m trying to herd children into the vehicle of choice, he thinks about throwing some clothes together to bring.
I’m quite frankly not good in times of high stress, and especially not good with multiple whiny / tired / hungry / hot / bored / past-it children trapped with me in a confined space, whether in the name of ‘fun’ or ‘creating family memories’ or not.
So. Rotorua, in slightly less than 24 hours round trip. Mainly, luging and a trip to the aquatic centre.
I think the kids had fun though. After a few days of being able to breathe, I might think I did as well. Right now I’m just plain tired. Oh, and sunburned.