My love-hate relationship with the great summer exodus

The time is nearly upon us, where I abandon my husband for the summer and head for the cooler climes of the UK.  The time of year where I get to catch up with everyone.

The time where I run myself ragged trying to see everybody, and inevitably end up failing then needing a holiday from my holiday.

Last year, after my husband joined us from Dubai, we had a manic fifteen day trip across the UK and Ireland.  Starting with a weekend away with friends in Ireland and ending with my sister-in-laws wedding in Brighton.  What we needed was a place that provided large group accommodation so that everyone could come and find us.  As it was we clocked up the miles and had six different beds to sleep in during the fifteen day race to see everyone.

Six beds.

Two countries.

Six cities.

Countless late nights, early mornings and the grand finale of a wedding.

mum and son in a field
All dressed up for a wedding

Now don’t get me wrong, the whole purpose behind our trip is to see people.

To meet and catch up.  Introduce the boys to the friends and family that they don’t yet know, or don’t know well enough.

It’s about family barbecues with cheesecakes, reminiscing about old family holidays.  A lifetime of memories.

childhood holiday memories
A thousand memories remembered with my dad

Meeting old friends, meeting new friends.  Travelling by train, plane and automobiles.

Days out with everyone, days in with everyone.

Late nights and early mornings.

Drinking wine, drinking coffee.

Play dates and grown up dates.

Green grass, muddy puddles and fresh air.

jump in puddles in dubai

What I always forget is that with a summer holiday, or the expat exodus, comes couch surfing.  Travelling across the UK.  It’s exhausting at 34 never mind dragging small people along.

From couch to couch, house to house, person to person.  Some of whom my little ones haven’t met, or don’t remember.

Overwhelming faces, noises, questions.  Unfamiliar houses, sights, sounds.

Fifteen days.

Two countries.

Six cities.

Six beds.

And definitely not enough hours sleep.

The boys not always sure about who they are seeing, not always getting the chance to warm up to them.  Not always having the time to fully settle in and show everyone what charming little men I have.

brothers holding hands

Picked up.  Moved on.

Next place.

New place, new people, new routines.

And so on, and so forth.

Each year, a myriad of places and people.  Sights and sounds.

Each year a question of whether we should just book a great big party house in the middle of everyone and have a party to rival our wedding.

To make our expat summer exodus a little bit easier for us, a little bit easier for the boys and an opportunity to see everybody still.

This year, after fifteen days, two countries, six cities, six beds, we have decided we aren’t travelling the length and breadth of the country to see everyone.

I am arranging, planning and scheming for as little disruption as possible.  To put the boys first, in things that they want.  Working around, working towards making a summer full of memories with fewer meltdowns.  Fewer tantrums.  More smiles.

A family barbecue.

Strawberry picking.

perfect holiday

A train ride to see old expat friends.

A cheeky holiday.

Peppa Pig World.

An actual holiday, during our expat exodus.

Because whilst we’re looking forward to it, we also need the time to recharge, recuperate and get ready for a new school year out in Qatar this September.


Expat Life - Migrating back home from the Middle East to the UK for the summer. The great summer exodus begins from Qatar with everyone searching to go home to cooler climes, though I have a love-hate relationship with this migration...


This post is part of the monthly travel link-up on the theme of Home. I’m linking up with Polly from Follow Your Sunshine, Angie from SilverSpoon London, Emma from Adventures of a London Kiwi and Ngaire from Kiwi Footprints


this is a collaborative post

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