We made a decision to take our family holiday in April. At the time, I thought this was a brilliant idea; Heidi would celebrate her first birthday in the Lanzarote sun, we’d be getting tan lines whilst everyone else would be hiding under umbrellas, and I’d get to frolic around on the beach outside of peak season (with a decreased risk of being reported as a harpooned whale).

So why do I regret it?

My eldest was uncontrollable

First up, we lost him in Gatwick whilst changing up money. He was later found (with the help of airport security no less) liberating the free toys from the front covers of CBeebies Magazine in WHSmiths. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, this thieving continued all holiday as the temptation of beachside souvenir shops took hold. These shopkeepers line their store entrances with tat featuring Olaf, Spider-Man, Dora the Explorer and Minions, and poor Dex, at almost 3, would come over all giddy like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep. Light fingers would see him emerge brandishing plastic bucket & spade, water pistol or soft toy and any attempt to prise such goodies away would see him lob them over sea walls.

Food poisoning

It’s one thing having dodgy stomachs when you have the physical skills needed to acknowledge you’re in trouble and dance to the toilet. It’s another entirely when you’re a baby and are used to defecating with willful abandon. I recall one occasion at a posh restaurant by the sea where we changed nappy after explosive nappy that we’d have appreciated a hazmat suit for. We ended up skipping desert, running to the nearby beach and holding one bare-bummed kid each at arms length on the waters edge - in what we lovingly refer to the least likely postcard image ever.

(That sounded far more Michael Jackson-esque than it was. Don’t worry, they weren’t dangled over the harbor wall).

Hellish flights

I knew the prospect of traveling at 30,000ft with my tearaways was a risk, but I couldn’t have anticipated I’d spend the entire return flight in tears. It was so traumatic, I must be the only mum in the UK that nodded along with Katie Hopkins when she tweeted her views on kids-on-planes. Not only did they both tear up the aisles and prompt personal addresses by the pilot, the audacity of us to expect they would sit quietly on our laps for take-off left us bloody-nosed from headbutts.

So having been asked to describe my dream Bank Holiday staycation by the folks at Thinkmoney, it’s fair to say this would be a radically different proposition from April’s trip. I’ve thought about this very carefully & have chosen something with my dysfunctional family in mind.

That’s why, first up, I’d leave the little terrors at home. Not on their own of course (I like my home too much), I’d rope in some other poor sod to do the honors and deal with the night-time tantrums, inevitable potty-training disasters and flat-out refusals to eat anything but bananas and fish fingers.

Cruel? Yes. But inspired? Most definitely.

Instead, I’d take the Bloke. I somehow still love this guy as much as the day I first met him (despite him 50% responsible for the making of our two mini terrorists) and would seriously love just a day or two to gaze into his eyes along the seafront without worrying a child will mount a suicide bid and go careering over a sea wall.

And where would we go?

Well to be honest, the novelty of spending a whole two nights away from the kids is treat enough. You could give me a leaky tent in the woods outside my house and I’d drape my arms around you like a war widow who discovers her lover’s fate was an admin error. But if you really wanted to spoil us, the seclusion of this luxury cabin in Whitsand Bay, Cornwall could work.

The thought of a hottub, crisp white linen, champagne on ice… It’s blissful in its simplicity and so far away from our toy-strewn semi in Reading we’d probably cry on arrival.

The Edge: Unique Home Stays, Whitsand Bay

I’d love to wax lyrical about the local restaurant scene and amenities, but Craig and I are unlikely to make it beyond the door to our room. I have in mind leisurely lie-ins, plenty of wine, and the sort of quality time usually reserved for honeymooners. These guys usually have such memories to look back on when their babies come kicking, screaming and smashing their way into their worlds - yet Craig and I were together just a month before I was eating for two, hormonal and throwing up every morning.

We do still love each other madly, but the closest we get to romance now is the occasional brush of each others hands whilst we’re tag-teaming a bum-change. Any stolen moments in bed are quickly interrupted by a child brandishing a Spiderman pillow squeezing in beside us. Trust me, some quality ‘adult’ time is much needed.

If we’re selected as winners of this exclusive Staycation comp, Thinkmoney will give us a whopping £300 towards making this a reality. So please take pity on us guys, and help this tired mummy and daddy become Gemma & Craig again.