I can probably sum up the holiday in the following conversations:
Location: My kitchen every morning.
Scene: Crazed looking toddler running up and down with a very cross face.
Toddler: I want butt! I WANT BUTT BUTT!
Me: Sigh (long and drawn out).
Toddler: I WANT BUUUUUUUUTTTTT.
Me: No. There is no more butt.
Toddler: BUTT BUTT BUTT. I WANT TO EAT BUTT.
Me: Read my lips. NO MORE BUTT BUTT.
Toddler: BUTTTTT BUTTTTT.
HWASF (Husband With A Sad Face - probably hoping for a cup of tea): What is he on about now?
Me: Butt butt (obviously!).
HWASF: Yes but what is that?
Me: He wants peanut butter. Out of the jar. On a knife. Only a knife. The sharper the better. He doesn't just like butt, he like dangerous butt. But anyway he can't have it - on anything - as it's run out. And it doesn't get more dangerous than that. The butt butt barrel is empty.
(HWASF retreats to the toilet).
Toddler: I WAAAAANNNNNNNT BUUUUUTTTTTTTTTTTT.
Me (to myself): How many minutes til bedtime?
Location: Steam Train to the Seaside.
Scene: Sat at a table on the train in a crowded carriage full of very nice holidaying families and enthusiastic pensioners with sparkles in their eyes.
Original Son: Mummy, what is this station?
Original Son: What?
Me: Watchet. That's not a threat. It's actually the name.
Original Son: Ratchet? Why is it called Ratchet?
Toddler: Rat shit. Rat shit. Rat shit!!!!!
Me: (emit huge guffaw of laughter, because if you didn't laugh you'd cry).
Original Son: Mummy, why are you laughing?
Toddler: RAT SHIT, RAT SHIT, RAT SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!
Me: I'm not.
Location: Living room (which is also our bedroom and replete with mattress, pillows, cushions, duvet, bedspread and circa 18 blankets required to keep us warm at night)
Scene: Small children appear to have mistaken living room/bedroom for a soft play centre and are leaping from sofa to chair, via half-pike triple-salko on the mattress......).
Me: (looking up from the seed catalogue I am trying to absorb myself in. The world of Hybrid Sweetcorn has never looked so tempting......) Can you BE CAREFUL.
Original Son: Awwwwwwww (in that whine only possessed by children aged approximately 4 and upwards), but we are only PLAYING.
Me: Yeeeeeees but be CAREFUL. I don't want anyone's head splitting open.
Original Son: But it's our favourite game!
Me: What game?
Original Son: You know, the game 'I-Run-At-You-As-Fast-As-I-Can-And-If-I-Get-You-I-Will-Bash-You'.
Me: As I was saying.......
(40 seconds later - toddler meets cushion, toddler flies through air roaring with laughter, toddler clears mattress....toddler clears bedding pile....toddler clears carpeted area......toddler's head lands on strip of wood which divides living room/bedroom from dining room.......).
Me: Once again, AS I WAS SAYING....
Oh, it's just another Manic Monday.
Good luck one and all.