We’re all going on a 3G HOLIDAY
*That’s a three-generation escape where grandparents come too. A recipe for chaos? No, insists KATE MULVEY, the most joyous break of all
TResisting the urge to scream, I gave him a hug and he climbed on to the bed. soon, we were joined by his nine-year-old brother George.
‘All oK?’ called my sister louise, sleepily, from the next room.
I knew just how exhausted she was and had joined the trip to spain to help her. so I took the boys into the garden and we were soon racing around playing catch.
This was my first inter-generational family holiday and I was in auntie heaven. so much so that, eight years on, we still go away together each summer. Now our father comes too, making three generations in one villa.
little did we know that the 3G holiday, as it’s known, would become such a hot new trend. once destinations used to cater to the nuclear family, now it’s all about sprawling holiday cottages for big groups — from grandchild up to granny.
According to Virgin Holidays, as many as seven in ten families have tried it.
even the rich and famous are catching on to the benefits. last year Jade Jagger bought a ten-bedroom manor house in the Cotswolds so the whole Jagger clan could stay in summer. Her half- sister Georgia May will be dropping in, and there is even a granny flat for Mick.
After all, it’s win-win: there are spare adults to help look after any children, you get to build precious memories with those you love and you know each other well enough to be able to go off and do your own thing. And, just as important for regular families, costs are shared.
Plus, if, like me, you don’t have children, you get the joy of a bustling family break. Considering the number of people living alone has risen by 16 per cent in the past decade, it could be what we’ve all been looking for.
SosuCCessful have our getaways been, that we spend a whole month together each year without fail.
It started by accident eight years ago. My sister had just split from her husband and didn’t want to disappoint her sons by cancelling their spanish holiday, so she begged me to come along.
I was working on a book but was so excited about being with the children, I jumped on a plane. It was the best holiday ever.
Carrying children on my back in 90- degree heat, being divebombed in the swimming pool, and huddling on the sofa watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, ice cream wrappers, popcorn and jelly snakes strewn across the floor: it was wonderful.
so wonderful, we immediately booked for the next summer.
Two years later, after our mother died of dementia, Dad decided to join us and two generations became three. He swapped leisurely trips to london galleries for making sandcastles in baking heat. We
got an extra hand on deck, free babysitting — and our accommodation went up a notch.
shelling out for a luxurious villa in the hills behind estepona in southern spain was Dad’s best decision yet. With its own swimming pool, five large airy bedrooms and two terraces, it was ideal for our big family group.
My father loved being fussed over and cooked for (especially after losing Mum) and he took on morning swimming pool duty.
I fondly remember one evening, when oskar and George returned from the beach with painful jellyfish stings. Dad calmly applied calamine lotion, gave them a light dinner and put them to bed. It felt reassuring to have our wise dad on hand, and he enjoyed being useful again.
one evening, as we all sat eating frozen yoghurt on a wall and staring at the ocean, George said to my sister: ‘I love it here, Mummy!’ That’s when Dad suggested we come back every year. Returning to the same villa is less stressful and solves the ‘who sleeps in which room’ dilemma. And we’ve got a good routine going. My father arrives a few days later when we’re all in chilled holiday mode, while I arrive a few days early. shopping done and villa ready, I wait for the boys to burst in, fling down their bags and head to the pool.
A few hours later, the garden strewn with colourful inflatables and boogie boards, dinner scoffed, my sister flops on her bed with a glass of wine and a pile of magazines.
one of the great advantages of being family is that you can get on with your own thing, without bothering with the niceties.
And we divvy up the chores. on our first holiday, I was on beach duty. But being child-free I had no idea what it meant to look after two hyperactive kids. Terrified of losing one I thought of tying them to the sun lounger.
Now we have settled into familiar roles. louise makes breakfast, I am chief cook the rest of the time, and everyone cleans up.
of course it’s not all plain sailing. It takes time to adapt to the chaos — and the tensions, whether it’s Dad telling me how to chop carrots, or me trying to ‘ he l p’ louise with parenting.
But quibbles aside, 3G holidays are sometimes the only way to spend a decent amount of time together in our busy, modern lives.
And there are benefits for us all. for solo parent louise, this is her one chance to step away from her responsibilities, and kick back. Dad has his family there when his grief for Mum overwhelms him.
The boys love having their grandad with them. As an artist he is more fun than fuddy- duddy. Three years ago he showed them how to make bows and arrows.
‘Don’t worry,’ they chimed, as they catapulted blunt spears into the neighbour’s garden.
‘let them to it,’ I said, as louise and I sloped off to the local bar for a well-deserved mojito. Bliss.
AsfoR me, I have got to know the boys in a way only possible on our long holidays. My wacky bedtime stories years ago, the camp we made in the villa garden, and just having fun, are lovely moments of togetherness.
These days a stream of extras add to the merriment. one time, a son of louise’s friend introduced us to poker. And last year George’s girlfriend, Molly, popped over. We sat on the beach chatting for hours. George loved that we had welcomed her so warmly.
As oskar said one evening, while looking up at the night sky and telling his grandad about the planets, ‘ These holidays are all about love.’ I couldn’t have put it better myself.