When we were growing up, there was no such thing as a foreign holiday. My sister and I went to Red Strand with one aunt and Owenahincha with the other, and it was the best two weeks of the year.

My mam never really had a holiday until we were all grown up. I think she might have moved the washing line from one side of the garden to the other for a bit of a change one year.

But times, and parenting, and expectation, have changed, friends. My young fellas have been on most types of holidays at this stage.

A plane miraculously defying gravity and slipping the surly bonds of Earth doesn’t even get a glance out the window.

I remember being 18, on my first flight, nearly sick with excitement, taking pictures of the clouds with my disposable camera.

“I’m in the freaking clouds!” I remember thinking. “The actual clouds!!”

Meanwhile, the boyos are pre-booking their hot panini to the seat, rocking on with neck pillows, and downloaded curated playlists.

We’ve had our share of different types of holiday. For anyone with smaller kids, here are a few nuggets of wisdom I’ve picked up along the way.

Maybe they might help you survive your long-awaited vacation.

Location, location, location

I had to laugh on our last flight as I was checking in online. What’s this? Ryanair trying to guilt me into buying seats next to my child? Hahaha! Joke’s on you, Michael O’Leary. We’d pay to be as far away from them as possible. Especially on the flight home. You’re missing a trick there.

If you have a child prone to earaches, irritable in small spaces, or wearing any form of disposable clothing that allows it to defecate itself, make sure your partner is sitting beside that one. Or failing that, a kindly stranger.

If you do end up stuck with your own offspring, pro tip: Make eye contact with an older lady. They tend to be suckers for small babies and will happily hold the little cherub while you go for a restorative “bathroom break” that lasts 40 minutes.

It’s all about the money, money

You often hear people say it’s not the big expensive outings or flashy experiences that kids remember.

Oh, it’s not how many stars a hotel has, or how many pools a resort boasts, it’s the quality time you spend together as a family.

This is lies.

Well, when they’re small, yes, fair enough. Fluffy towels or all you can eat are wasted on them.

A bucket and spade and a swing in the evening will do grand.

But let me tell you this from experience: Once they pass the age where you can get them to order off the cheap kids’ menu, they will absolutely remember the time they went parasailing. And the unlimited soft drinks. And the water park that cost more than the flights.

So lean into it. Bribe them for all you’re worth (literally) on holidays.

Just wait until you’re back home to reveal you’ve actually emptied their credit union accounts to pay for it all.

Club classics

Very early on, my little darlings decided kids’ clubs and other facilities you’re paying through the nose for in some campsite or resort or hotel were not for them.

“They’re for people who don’t like their children,” one son — barely up to my knee at the time — told me firmly.

He had my number.

So if you haven’t failed dismally like I did, and your children are still malleable little morons, I suggest planting the idea early that only very special boys and girls get to go to kids’ clubs.

Only the best of the best get to learn the Baby Shark dance and accompanying dance moves. Whisper it to them as they drift off to sleep:

“Arts and crafts in a darkened room — gooooooood. Disturbing Mammy’s mojito time — baaaaaaaad.”

Be careful what you wish for

Before you know it, the kids will be organising their own holidays, and you’ll no longer have to worry about whether they’ve missed a bit of suncream on their backs. You’ll be too busy hiding STD pamphlets in their carry-on bags.

But you’ll also have no one to play cards with in the restaurant. No one to bask in the pure joy of getting a whole ice cream cone to themselves.

No one to collapse in hiccups of laughter when you pretend to lose your mind because they’ve knocked over your sandcastle.

Sob!!

I take it back, O’Leary. Goddammit, I’ll pay whatever you want.

Just give me a little bit more time with my babies.