'I don't ever want to go out with you again... so don't ask me.' - serious teenage rant after day trip to Barcelona'.
When do you stop forcing your teenage children to go on family excursions with you?
They would say 'now.'
We want them to come, but more than that, we want them to enjoy being together. Part of me knows that the reality of a family trip will not live up to my aspirations of being like the Waltons but without the gingham.
I blame the car.
Things really are stacked against us from the off regarding a happy day out. Having a moody teenage son who is built like Hagrid doesn't help, combine that fact with our car, which is probably the smallest family car you can get without going to a car dealer in Oompa Loompa land and which is only a 3-door hatchback. The main reason for buying a tiny car with no access for the passengers at the back was to discourage them from opening the doors at high speed and throwing themselves out, shouting 'Nooooooo! We're not with them...'.
Normally the kids have to endure their parents' singing as we drive along. We make sure it's loud and raucous so they can't drown us out with their MP3s.
After half an hour of precision packing to get them in the back of the car, (A tricky procedure as we have to strategically position our car-sickness prone teenage daughter and our anxiety ridden 9 yr-old, who really does not want to be vomited on, which results in our clinically depressed Hagrid having to sit in the middle with his feet propped up and his knees up by his ears, bemoaning the fact that he doesn't suffer from an ailment which would ensure his place in a 'window seat'.) and 2 minutes of being 'on the road', they are forced to endure our latest rendition of a Lady Gaga song but with made-up words - normally about happy families or sulky teenagers. It's at this point, 'Hagrid' is made aware of the advantage of having your knees either side of your ears - muffling quality.
What a happy sight we make on the highways of Spain - in the front - parents oblivious, singing and swaying, happy and carefree. Pan to the back, where the squashed, deformed faces and desperate, open hands of bemused children are pressed against the windows with only enough room for them to write in the condensation from their breath on the glass - 'PLEASE ADOPT ME'...
