Surviving the Summer Holidays With Five Kids (Send Snacks. And Sanity.)

Ah, the great British summer: three minutes of sunshine, followed by light showers, followed by me yelling “WHO TOOK THE SUNCREAM?” while wrestling a hat onto a three-year-old who thinks clothing is a suggestion.

For the record, my squad: boys 14 & 13, girl 9, boy 7, boy 3. That’s a five-pack of chaos with opinions, appetites, and a sixth sense for the most expensive option in any gift shop.

The Game Plan (a.k.a. Keep Costs Down, Keep Spirits Up)

Park dates + sandwiches = victory. If there’s grass and a bench, we’re having a day out. We bring our own food because I once “popped” to a café and spent £28 on toast. Never again.

Our budget formula:

• Fuel or bus fare: manageable.

• Ice creams: occasional.

• Picnic from home: non-negotiable.

• Free entertainment: parks, splash pads, woods, library summer reading challenge, beach rock pools, local museum days (hello, free entry).

If it’s free and outdoors, we’re there—until it rains and we’re all in the car steaming like dumplings.

The Picnic That Could Feed a Small Army

• Sarnies (assembly line style): chicken, cheese, and one “mystery” sandwich for the brave (usually gluten free that the 13-year-old swears he hates but has to eat).

• Cut fruit in tubs: because whole apples will be “too apple-y.”

• Crisps: bought in multipacks; distributed like contraband.

• Water bottles: filled at home. We are not paying £2.20 a bottle at the kiosk.

• Flask of coffee for me, because if I queue for a latte with five children I may not return.

Optional upgrades for your sanity: picnic blanket that survives grass stains, wipeable lunch boxes, a tiny first-aid kit, and a power bank so the teens can pretend they don’t need me.

Actual Things That Happened (Please Laugh So I Don’t Cry)

• Seagull vs Sandwich (Blackpool Edition): The 9-year-old shrieked, the 7-year-old tried to befriend it, the 3-year-old applauded. RIP chicken and mayo.

• Suncream Tsunami: I said, “Rub it in, not on the car.” Now my dashboard has SPF 50 and I’m fairly sure it’s wrinkle-free.

• Scooter Diplomacy: The 7-year-old and 9-year-old negotiated turns like UN delegates until the 3-year-old declared martial law and rode off anyway.

• Teen Wi-Fi Incident: 14-year-old asked, “What’s the Wi-Fi at the park?” I said, “It’s called ‘Talk to Your Family.’ Password: ‘Go Outside.’” He did not laugh.

• The Great Loo Dash: Discovered the public toilets were “card only.” I have never moved so fast with a pram, three bags, and a child doing the wee dance.

Free (or Nearly Free) Wins

• Parks & splash pads: bring spare clothes and a towel; accept they will still go home wet.

• Libraries: air-con, free books, summer challenges, and the 3-year-old “reading” upside down.

• Nature trails/woodland walks: sticks collected: 47. Useful sticks: 0.

• Beach days: buckets, spades, strong opinions on who sat on whose sandcastle.

• Museum freebies: many UK museums have free entry—perfect for dodging a rain shower and learning one fact you’ll forget by tea time.

Money-Saving Rules We Actually Use

1. Leave fed, arrive fed. If we leave hungry, we return bankrupt.

2. Snack rations (labelled bags). Once it’s gone, it’s gone. Don’t ask me at 3pm where your Wotsits went.

3. Set a treat budget before you pass the ice-cream van. “Yes day” becomes “Yes to the £1.50 cones, no to the £6 slushies.”

4. Travel off-peak when possible; two buses still beat one café bill.

5. Bring the boring stuff: plasters, wipes, spare socks, and a carrier bag for mystery wet items. You’ll thank me later.

Sanity-Saving Micro-Activities (for when the park loses its charm)

• Timed challenges: “Ten-minute bug hunt. Go!”

• Quiet kit: colouring for the 9-year-old, fidget for the 7-year-old, tiny cars for the 3-year-old, headphones for the teens.

• Mum’s emergency game: “First one to spot a dog with a bandana wins.” Winner chooses the playlist (God help us all).

What I’m Not Doing

• Paying £18 for four lemonades because they came in jam jars.

• Buying five novelty buckets shaped like sharks. We own buckets. They multiply.

• Feeling guilty about saying “No” to the gift shop. I’m fun, not foolish.

The Debrief (a.k.a. How We Know We Won the Day)

• Everyone’s slightly sun-kissed (or rain-damp), slightly sticky, and weirdly cheerful.

• The 14-year-old admits “that was alright” in a voice so quiet you almost miss it.

• I sit down with a glass of something chilled and the leftover crisps they “didn’t like” at the park but will ask for in ten minutes.