I remember my first holiday without my parents as if it was yesterday. Aged 16¾ , I ventured around Israel with a rebellious youth group. The memories, friendships and a few of those piercings from that momentous adventure still remain. But it is the feeling of that thrilling freedom that reminds me most of the trip.

Thirty odd years later, more accurately since Smalls entered our lives, and I now have no issue with the odd parental supervised holiday. Not only do I enjoy their (sometimes quirky) company, I am endless indebted to anyone who can lend me a child-rearing hand whilst feeding me with home cooked (as well as restaurant) treats, washing all of our clothes and allowing me limitless sleep.

So, at the start of each summer I put 'real life' on hold and three generations escape to an undiscovered (by us) part of the UK. For one week, I properly reset my on/off button. Catching up with their news, aches/pains and political thoughts, I also really relish observing the Smalls enjoying their company too. The whole trip feels properly precious.

This week we pressed flowers, walked in the rain, read books and ate a certain number of roast chickens. Story telling always features high at Yablon mealtimes. Tales of my youth, our ancestors and some amusing recounting (from all age groups) of 'what happened when' regularly reduce us all into full flow giggles.

Last year Camber Sands, this year Lake Windermere. Who knows where next year – let's just hope we're all still together and laughing.

“You want me to join you in the Caribbean for Christmas?”

I am awake, so it’s not a dream. But I am a nanny, so it’s no picnic.

It all sounds deliciously exciting, traveling with a family. I imagined days lounging around the pool with the little ones, and wading through warm seas at sunset once they were safely tucked in bed, escaping winter climes that make it impossible for those house-bound back home to even crack a smile when the front door opens as the frosty wind whistles in.

But reality has a cruel way of shattering this picture. The family is on holiday, not me.

Expect to work longer hours and be prepared to spend most of the day with the juniors in kid’s club or restricted to the hotel room/nursery, an observer of others having fun tasting exotic delights. Routines pretty much are immediately disrupted by long flights or drives, healthy diets are ditched for holiday treats and parents seem to enjoy their freedom from said routine, and sometimes even forget there is a Mimi-Me, or two.

My first experience on such a jaunt I was relegated to economy but grateful for my lowly status as the distant squeals from business class diluted toward the back of the plane.

Lesson 1. Just because your employer doesn’t need a holiday budget, don’t assume you will enjoy the perks they do.

And engaging a child on holiday to do homework is always a challenge and every nanny trick in the manual needs to be employed to ensure studies are completed before fun is to be had.

So a change of perspective is what I suggest for both a happy child and nanny. Revel in your foreign surroundings through a child’s sense of adventure and savour any opportunity to be a tourist when you are not paying the bill. When you get time off, run. Of course, punctual and energised for your next shift.

You may not always fulfil your fantasy but at the very least you can tick off a new destination … unless you have been to all FOUR Disneys, repeatedly.

Oh, and you might want to think twice about taking a job in Las Vegas with a six-year-old in winter. It’s an adult playground and all the pools are outdoors. BRRRRRR

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I have always had a strong inner voice of doom. No holiday, party or weekend plan has ever been able to escape my critical logistical eye – and with a baby it has raged out of control. “We can’t do that,” I will say gravely when my husband suggests grabbing a morning coffee with the buggy. “It’ll be a nightmare.”

Some people don’t mind “nightmares”. Some people think they are, in fact, quite fun. War stories. Battle scars. Not me. I think “nightmares” are just that and I avoid them at all costs. My instinctive urge when invited to do anything is to say “no,” because I basically just want to stay at home and change Kitty’s nappy in peace.

 

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