I was awake before the alarm went off at 6am. Excitement tingled in my belly and I felt like a small child eagerly awaiting our trip to the airport
Finally, half term was here, our bags were packed and we were off to France.
The house was silent around me and as eager as I was to rouse all the children with cries of ‘holiday, holiday,’ I instead, chose wisely and pulled on my shorts and headed out for a run.
We had stayed at my parents in Yorkshire the night before as our flight was out of Manchester. Running around the streets I grew up was oddly comforting. I jogged past my old school, ran down a snicket where I remembered an old flame holding my hand for the first time. I cruised past a field where we would take my beautiful old Labrador Retriever for her evening stroll.
Plus I passed houses of friends who I recalled ‘calling for’ as a child, people I have not see for decades but still remember with fondness.
Then I ran home, calmer, still excited, but in a more pleasant way.
My parents chuckled from the kitchen as I did press-ups on the grass. My father still puts up a mock pretense of not recognising me, since I am 50lbs lighter than Christmas. The children ignored me with a flippant wave of the hand, ‘she’s always doing that now Nanny’ they commented, bemused.
Then workout complete, I was ready to crowbar he who helped create them out of bed, and rally my children out of my old family home.
The drive to Manchester airport was an unexpected treat. We avoided the misery of the motorway and instead drove over the hills on roads that Postman Pat would be proud to navigate. The sun shone high in the sky, casting beauty across the northern field. Heather grew wild and rampant, sheep roamed on the side of the street. Even the kids put down their tablets to look out on the splendor of the view outside.
Then suddenly concrete replaced sprawling farms and aircrafts came into view.
“We are here, we are here” bounced my overenthused son. Then the girls became infected by his glee and joined in the mantra. I grinned whilst covering my ears and he who helped create them turned a shade of pale as he imagined thoughts of the plane and hyper kids.
I squeezed his hand, ‘it will be fine,’ I said in what was intended to be a reassuring tone.
I don’t think he believed me.
Check in and security was a breeze. Ironic since we arrived three and a half hours before our flight time. It was a tad embarrassing when twin boy asked if guns were allowed on board the plane whilst pretending to shoot the security chap.
We grabbed him and bundled him into WH Smith to gawp at football cards whilst apologising profusely with reddened cheeks.
As always we panicked unnecessarily about traveling through security armed with enough insulin for a month, over 100 needles, glucagel, sugar, and ten cannulas. They didn’t bat an eyelid, ask to see our letter of proof of diabetes, or swab the insulin pump.
Twin girl passed through like any normal eight year old, and her relief was evident as she sighed loudly.
Then we waited for our time to board. I checked the weather in Beziers Vias for the hundredth time, searching through the different sites until I found one forecast that agreed with me. We ordered pizza for the kids, a salad for me, and bought treats for the plane.
We may have lost our cool a couple of times when the kids started a toss the teddy competition at the lunch table.
But the glass of Prosecco helped calm the mood down.
A second would have made it all seem fuzzily perfect.
But time was up and the screen was flashing with the message that we were needed on the plane. Our holiday was waiting to begin and that surge of excitement thundered back through me.
Without looking back we scampered into line, checked our passports and walked onto the plane.
Our destination is France. We have a complimentary weeks stay with Al Fresco holidays, and the Yelloh! Village Beach Club Farret, in Vias Plage.
And we are almost there….