Single Mums on Tour: Episode One

We had exchanged a few emails and met once in the park at a single mums meet up. At that one meet up, after chatting for about half an hour, she invited me to join her and her toddler son for a few days in a caravan by the beach. Although I ummed and arrhhed a bit, mainly to make sure she didn’t regret the invite as soon as it was out of her mouth, I felt like I’d won the jackpot. Getting invited on holiday with another single mum and her son was, for me, akin to a marriage proposal after an on-line date (well, sort of, it would actually be pretty weird if someone did that really). What could possibly go wrong with a single mums on tour holiday – two almost strangers caravanning with two toddlers on the windiest week of the year? Sounds like a dream holiday to me.

Over the next few days I started packing for the trip and told my son we would be going on holiday. His response was to repeatedly ask ‘where is holiday?’ whilst looking blankly around the room. He appeared to be waiting for some fun, energetic Disney like creature to come bounding through the door and give him the time of his life. On the morning we were due to leave he became especially confused when he noticed the backpack was no longer in his room. He seemed to think that packing a backpack was the holiday – I figured this was a good sign, if packing a bag constituted a holiday for him, then he should be happy with whatever the real thing entailed.

We met at the bus stop in the morning, only slightly later than originally planned and on we hopped, well as much as one can hop on to a bus as a group comprised of two buggys, two scooters, two oversized bags and all the bits and bobs required for such an adventure. Oh, and not forgetting the two toddlers and two single mums.

The journey progressed pretty smoothly. At one point we even had a toddler sleeping peacefully on the train – result! Four hours later and only slightly delayed due to the weather and train issues we arrived at our destination. This is the holiday I told my son pointing all around, much to his confusion.

After an introduction talk akin to something from a 1980s Butlins party* we were ready to settle in to our caravan. The caravan was great, as city dwellers it was pretty much the size of our own flats. My last single mums on tour experience involved two single mums and two baby-toddlers sleeping on mattresses on the floor of a small one bed flat with no real furniture to speak of, so this was a pretty good upgrade. Bedtime with our own room and a bed, this was going to be luxury.

After a quick safety check to remove all breakable objects from within toddler reach, and only one ‘oh my God they switched on the gas and we are all about to die’ scare, we were ready to rock and roll.

The boys had a blast running up and down the caravan and flinging themselves onto the sofa. There were some tears and screams along the way, but they were generally about as excited as us mums at having some evening company, and there were plenty of happy giggles and loving kisses too.

After dinner, once the wine came out, us mums got to talking about our stories. It felt so good to be with someone who understood. I was able to talk and not have to explain every little feeling, and never felt like my experiences were being judged or questioned which seems to happen so often. As the talking progressed it was reassuring to hear how much of our experiences were similar; it seems that my own experience of old friends not being there for me was a shared experience. It made me wonder why we put ourselves through all these challenging relationships, whether partners or friends.

Bedtime was relatively painless. Admittedly it seemed to take slightly longer in my bedroom, but still, one hour and 15 minutes was a record not seen in our home since circa 1973 (if you want to know more about that then read this). Perhaps it was because I wasn’t in any rush to get away and escape to write/watch telly. Instead I listened intently to my son repeatedly tell me that we were in a caravan, and the caravan had wheels, which led to numerous speedy recitals of the wheels on the bus.

I found it almost surreal how easy the holiday was, certainly a lot easier than backpacking solo with a toddler. Not because it was actually easy. We still had to contend with toddler tantrums and our sons’ pushing boundaries – our own and each others. It was not easy because we were able to physically relax, or gave each other a rest – we were on the go most of the time – walking, paddling, swimming, chasing toddlers scooting off down the road. No – it was easy and relaxing because we intrinsically understood each other. It was enjoyable because we were both able to spend quality time with our sons, whilst also getting to enjoy some adult company of an evening, which we both rarely have. And it was a joy to see how much our children got from the experience of another child around all night, as well as all day, rather than just being the two of us. Yes, I’m sure there was a level of luck involved that we seemed to have similar parenting approaches but it was more than that. There were no airs and graces, just bog standard, tired, good enough parenting with lots of love and cuddles thrown in for good measure. This meant that it was relaxing on an emotional level and I realised that is so much more relaxing than any physical rest could ever be.

Usually my life seems chaotic and stressful. Sometimes it feels like I veer from one bout of bad luck to the next. I’ve taken my son on lots of trips, weekends away, long travels, nights over at friends, but never before would the word relaxing come in to it. Fun, exhilarating and adventurous – yes, relaxing – no. This holiday it felt like a corner was turned. It was a genuine joy that this break was beautifully uneventful.

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Post script – the afternoon we returned home my little one locked himself in the house with me and my friend and her son out in the garden (a different friend that is). I had no idea my son could even reach the key, let alone turn it. Turns out that apparently he can, only unfortunately he can only turn the key one way – the wrong way. Cue the police and fire brigade arriving on my doorstep about fifteen minutes later. Perhaps I spoke too soon about turning the corner. Or perhaps I should just give up and go and live in a caravan by the sea everyday.

* I should point out, I spent most of my childhood unsuccessfully begging my parents to take us all to Butlins for a holiday, or even a day trip, so I felt pretty smug that I was breaking this cycle of a deprived childhood for my own son. Not only has my son experienced travelling around South East Asia, he has now also experienced a traditional British caravan park.

 

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