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Apparently, you only get 18 summers with your kids. 18 cracks at curating holiday memories they'll one day tell their own children about.
The koala they held on that holiday; the belly-laughs on bikes during that camping trip; the awe on their faces when they realise magicians do exist, after seeing one on their first Carnival cruise.
Like my sisters and friends, we often share different versions of the same story. Let me paint you a picture.
You booked and paid off your ‘ocean view’ apartment months ago. The price made you wince, but you know you’ll keep costs low on holidays. Perfect.
The groceries ‘past you’ ordered arrive on schedule because ‘past you’ – much like ‘current you’ – is a bloody legend.
The kids hit the pool, followed by the beach, and the pool again. And for precisely one hour, everything is excellent; everyone is happy, and every part of you is smug.
But then… kids start innocuously enough, with a request for fish and chips on the beach. You have hundreds of dollars of groceries in the fridge buuuuuuut… Why not? It’s holidays after all. This is what we work hard for. Then you're chucking $54 worth of ice cream nobody finishes because they’re full from the $92 soggy calamari and chips with nowhere near enough chicken salt.
You realise the groceries you ordered won’t magic themselves into a meal... which is how you end up at the surf club the following dinner, two (three) wines deep doling cash to the kids for the bloody claw machine. And the thing is, none of it is all that magical or meaningful. All this incidental spending leaves you even more stressed than what you were before the holiday.