The boys tickets are booked, and while their suitcases aren't quite packed yet I think we can say it's certain that they're holidaying without us in May. My parents are doing their yearly take-the-grandchildren-on-holiday lark, so the boys are headed off to their villa in Spain for a few nights. A mixture of excitement for both them and us fills me when I think about it, but also a little pang of nerves, I'll miss them, I've never been without both of them for a period of time at home like this. The house will be deathly quiet, with their toys going untouched for four whole days. I'll be able to leave home and know I'll return to it in the same state it was left, and those little pieces of relief are what will carry me through. It's no joke that raising children is hard, so is it so wrong that I'm jumping for joy at the prospect of a few nights peace?


Sleep is such a huge topic for me, for our household actually and the reason being is that we're not getting all that much of it. Noah is, he always slept well, a complete diamond and a textbook child. Patrick however, not so much. It's no secret he's our wild child, we love him for it, he's fierce and feisty, I wouldn't want him any other way. But if I could have one magic wish, rub the lamp and have a genie grant me something, it would be that he'd sleep through the night. I've lost the courage to even think of a full nights sleep anymore, but just one when I didn't need to wake up six times would be great. There's this false sense of your child will be sleeping through when they're a toddler, but I don't know all that many parents who fall into this category, why this illusion of sleeping children? I feel like I was tricked into believing that sleep was a given, not a privilege. Boy, oh boy, how wrong was I?


If you look at a map of the UK we're pretty much slap bang in the middle, give or take a little, which  sounds great but let me tell you for a girl that grew up with Blackpool around the corner, being equally as far in any direction from a coastline, hurts my heart. Living in the north west as a child meant that holidays to the British seaside were a regular occurrence, I don't think it would have been a good year if we'd not visited the illuminations, or sucked on a stick of rock long enough for a dentist to cringe. As a ten year old me, Blackpool was the be all and end all, hearing the words 'We're going to the pleasure beach' would be the adult equivalent of hearing 'I've just booked a holiday to the Maldives'. Nothing could top it. And though you may think that in becoming an adult I'd grow out of the lust for candy floss and hot sugar donuts, I can promise you it's quite the contrary, for me visiting the cheesy seaside towns are a right of passage and still it's something my boys have yet to experience.