The art of total ungraciousness
So excuse me for being a little self indulgent. If self indulgence annoys you as much as it annoys me, then read no further and wait until I change it up for the next post. Also stop is you don’t like mild swearing. Or whinging. This is going to be a whinge of true middle class style….sorry about that.
I’ve decided I suck at holidays. I’m not sure if it’s always been this way, but as yet another holiday draws to a close and I feel less relaxed and happy that had I spent the week at home, I’m really starting to wonder.
This could have been the suckiest holiday ever.
We broke the au pair on the second morning (she fell over jogging and broke her elbow), the nearly three year old was a bit sick and behaved somewhat like a monster more than half the time, the holiday house is too small for our family (sorry that’s REALLY lame and I apologise once again for sounding like a spoilt middle class bogan), and I seem to have lost all graciousness about missing out on all the fun because two of the kids are too little/too tired/too naughty to go on all the outings.
I may have loaded the holiday with expectation – holidaying with an au pair who could manage the kids while my guy and I had a morning bike ride together, or who could tag out for some of the outings while I went with the bigger girls or who could do some of the cooking/cleaning/washing beach towels. But she has a broken right wing, and had enough trouble having a shower herself, so she won’ be hanging out any washing for a while.
I may have imagined my guy and I could hang out a bit. Talk even. Crazy shit like that. The truth is my lack of graciousness meant for the most of the time I behaved like an asshole, which brought out the asshole in my guy (NOT that he admits this, so no-one tell him) so two assholes together didn’t really enjoy each other’s company much. Or talk much.
I may have pictured reading and doing some study on my NLP course and sitting in the sun reading trashy magazines while the kids did their thing. The kids did their thing alright, and I did damage control with an asshole-ish frown on my face and a burning desire to go home. Alone.
I may have thought it wouldn’t be like being at home. But it was like being at home, just with less convenience (like enough rooms, enough beds, a bath, wifi to write when you think it will help) and more assholes.
I have so much to be grateful for. The place we stayed is soo beautiful – beach, river, sunshine, sunsets, pelicans, quiet evenings. We had lots of lovely friends and their kids to hang out with. Our kids are healthy and vivacious, and although I didn’t love it, they did. We ate like kings. The dog swam and ran and slept in doggy heaven. But I just mastered the art of total ungraciousness.
So how did I turn into the miserable Mumma who complains about holidays “lacking the conveniences of home” and not having any fun? When did I become so selfish that I couldn’t find graciousness or gratitude or relaxation when I needed it?
Do I not know how to have a good holiday? Or did I just forget to bring what I needed?