When did enjoying yourself with those you're closest to become such hard work? The main trouble with family holidays is that if you are travelling with anyone under the age of 25 or over 55, it's not a "holiday" as such, merely a change of scenery.
Then there is the mind warp that starts as soon as it's booked. An idea gets lodged in your psyche: this year, you're going to make sure that everyone has a Really Fabulous Time.
![In short, your family will behave against type for two weeks.](/web/20161219072422im_/http://www.smh.com.au/content/dam/images/g/t/a/v/u/a/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gtavr9.png/1482092924281.jpg)
Except, except. There can be a hefty gap between expectation and reality. Many of us have some kind of softfocus, fuzzy notion that once we are abroad with our family, we will frolic about like the Waltons. But it's an idea that has to survive getting up at 4am for a budget flight with unreserved seating, or staying in a mosquito-infested hotbox without decent Wi-Fi or Netflix.
But still there is the hope the teenagers won't kick off about the lack of mobile phone reception; that your sister/mother won't disgrace herself on the local vino; that toddlers will thrive despite a totally different bedtime, diet and environment.
In short, that your family will behave against type for two weeks.
Little wonder, then, that when it comes to summer holidays, research suggests that only one in five parents looks forward to it. Frankly, I'm surprised the figure is this high. (When asked to pick words to describe holidays, some 30 per cent went for "hard work", "tiring" or "exhausting".)
Or maybe you fall into the other camp: the ones who deny reality and – despite whatever personal hell they are enduring – pop off Boastagram shots of their feet/lunch/tan or post smug Facebook pics of their photogenic children and brag about the view from their ocean penthouse.
As families become more "blended" (i.e. complicated) or "vertical" (i.e. they include grandparents), many more of us are taking our extended families along on what clever marketing types call a "3G" (three-generational) holiday. This means more scope for free babysitting, sure, but also more potential for tricky moments that will make us want to give up and flounce home on the earliest flight. And there are actually some parents who do just that. Really.
We have insanely high expectations of what Virginia Woolf called the "choreography of chaos that is family life". Who put about this idea that we should all get on? Even the Kardashians can't manage it and they're paid to do it.
My summer holidays can be measured in tantrums: mine, when babies' sleep routines sent me psychotic from lack of rest; the children's (I can still hear my young son's meltdown when refused a third ice-cream), which then morphed into pouty teen tantrums about what time they had to be home at night (in a country where the local disco serves cocktails to under-age children). Let's not even mention the male tantrums, which, says one friend, start every year on the way to the airport.
Always remember the maxim that those people who are most likely to make you happy are also the ones who will make you cry. When families are used to spending just a few hours a day in each other's company, it can be a massive shock to be under house arrest for a full 14-day stretch, however lush and tropical the vegetation.
If you want to dodge the pitfalls – and, of course, you do – here's what you need to come to terms with before snapping the suitcases shut.
Lower your expectations. This is the first rule of family holidays. As one mother I spoke to put it, you go straight from browsing Trip Advisor to some kind of Utopian dreamland in your head. Don't. Expect a few moderately pleasant experiences and you might be in for a nice surprise. One friend recalled her happiest family holiday afternoon ever, during a trip to Jersey in the UK, when the adults and three children hired bikes to cycle the island, which was, she said, unexpectedly blissful. It was only weeks later that she realised that it was because they were all together but apart – and couldn't argue.
Not every moment has to be magical. Thinking it can be is setting yourself up to cry copious tears. It doesn't have to be bells and whistles all the time; there is a wonderful poem by Seamus Heaney about how close he felt to his mother when they were peeling potatoes. You don't have to go that far, but often simple domestic tasks – like shopping at the local market – can make for a pleasant few hours in the sunshine.
Don't give in to the fear of being bored. This is the greatest modern holiday terror: that children – or, scariest of all, teens – will be bored (teens tend to be most vocal about your shortcomings as a holiday provider and have a sense of entitlement on par with Kanye West). But boredom hothouses creativity and what better place for it than somewhere hot with no mobile phone reception? Granted, the under-30s won't run with this idea but it's something to work on in small doses. It's either that or be run ragged trying to be a combination of life coach/mixologist/Uber driver – all while cramming in this year's essential beach read.
Remember that families regress when they're all together. On holiday, adults will behave like kids and revert to type, meaning your annoying baby brother who's now a successful human rights lawyer will mutate back into a toddler. And offspring in their 20s (who are actually adults, remember) will start to act like nine-year-olds, asking Mummy to buy them an ice-cream.
Teenagers don't care whether you have a good time or not. You are only as happy as your least happy child, goes the old saying, and nothing can dampen a mood faster than a hormonal teen with a set of unrealistic expectations. They are also not cheap to run on holiday: older teens will want alcohol but will only settle for something with an umbrella on top. Expect teens to be reasonable at your peril – in their minds, you are there simply to provide and the holiday is All About Them.
Comparing is despairing. Your teen's BFF and her entire family are off to Tahiti with their glamorous friends. Worse, they get on well together and regularly post on Instagram to prove it. You can't measure up, so let it go or let it ruin your camping fortnight. Your call.
Accept disasters. I once worked with someone whose mantra was to enjoy the times when it all went wrong, as well as when it all went right, and I've applied that to pretty much everything since. It works especially well for holidays – perfection can be dull, after all. What families often remember with fondness are the holiday fails. In our house it's the time I confidently ordered in Spanish and we got the worst meal of our lives. And the time my husband's one and only job was to secure the luggage to the car roof so it didn't fall off on the freeway – and it fell off on the freeway. If you can raise a collective laugh during these situations, you've got the family summer holiday nailed.
How to prepare for your 'fraughtnight' away
• Discuss the tricky stuff before you get to the airport. Tiffs and tears can often be avoided by holding a meeting beforehand, especially if you're holidaying with another family with children. Five minutes spent discussing potential war zones, like bedtimes and attitudes towards treats, could avert all-out conflict when you get there.
• Plan what you can – then let the rest go. Pre-book airport parking, make sure your mum has her pills … then allow the holiday to follow its natural course. • Let a little bit of bad behaviour go, too. This applies as much to adults as children. Possibly more. The local brew can be heady, especially when mixed with an evening full of possibilities. Following the old music industry adage that "what happens on tour, stays on tour" can be helpful.
• Don't do for others what they can do for themselves. Please wise up to this one. Anyone over the age of, say, eight can pack their own bag, charger and entertainment.
• Be aware of the things that press your buttons. Make a conscious decision that this year your partner will take over when the in-laws get squiffy, or you take it in turns when the middle teen goes into meltdown.
• Consider taking an outsider. If your family quarrel a lot, someone who is not a blood relation can help everyone stay on their best behaviour. Even a boyfriend/girlfriend can do the trick.
• Factor in time alone. Going for a run or walk, booking separate accommodation for the in-laws … whatever. Banish any thoughts of selfishness: this is vastly preferable to murder.