School's Out for Summer

Bonjour! I have been reading lots of blog posts describing how the summer holidays have begun and the different ways that people are spending their time.  I am looking for someone to set the first writing challenge – but to join in with the summer theme, here’s how the first week has gone for me. 

We have just survived our now annual trip to the south of France. I used to think it was a terrible waste of the world to return to the same place year after year; now I find a reassuring comfort in the familiar. This was our third visit.

“Mummy, you look Hanson!” cried Albert in the morning, and all I could think was “Mmmbop…” Did I have floppy blond hair and look about twelve, suddenly? No, it was merely Alby’s rapidly expanding vocabulary getting the better of him as it often does. Well, he was going to be three whilst we were away, but we took the decision to ‘save’ the birthday celebrations until our return. I feel a need to justify this decision: his presents were big (like soccer goal nets) and I didn’t fancy spending time baking and icing a cake in the heat of the sun. All the adults agreed to the conspiracy; how would he ever know?

I finished the last day of school and Daddy was waiting in the car park, Alice Cooper blaring from the stereo: School’s out for summer… You see – even teachers, especially teachers, feel like this at the end of term.
The car was packed up with cases and kids, and a grandmother and a niece. Tremendously exciting, and by early evening we were in Lille.

The long trek down through France took the whole of the next day, and was relatively peaceful, aside from the moment when Alby complained that his crisps had 'gone quiet' and his bread was 'noisy', which are the best eupehmisms for 'stale' I have heard. A future writer, perhaps?


 Later, Nano calmly asked whether we had a change of skirt for Adelaide.
“Only in the roof box…”
“No problem, only she’s just sneezed Babybel all over herself,” Nano went on to explain cheerfully. We arrived mostly in one piece, if a little cheese-sneezed.

A glorious week consisted of fabulous weather, delicious food, lots of rose wine, daily water volleyball tournaments and plenty of other pool antics.

Grumps was at his best, or worst, depending on how you view it. We’d finished our main course of ‘chicken au Cabrieres’, and had just got to cheese. Excitedly, we planned our trip to kayak under the Pont du Gard the following morning. “They tried putting heaters in those, you know,” he began, conversationally. “But they all started to explode.” The rest of us looked at him, bemused. “Which just goes to show that you can’t have your kayak and heat it, really.”

Alby’s ‘birthday’ passed without incident. Sadly, the terrible twos didn’t end (there was a particularly bad tantrum in Uzes, but I'd rather forget about that one). I consoled myself with the thought that it was simply that he didn’t yet know he was three. And we’d have got away with the harmless deception, too, if only the passport control officer hadn’t wished on our way back through the tunnel with the parting words, “Where’s Albert? Happy birthday for yesterday, young man!”

But, to save the world from more boring stories about my family, who will set the first writing challenge, I wonder? Please comment below if you choose to set a challenge!