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Enter the grandkids (cue the sitcom laugh track)

Spain woke up moody today. Cloudy skies, cool breeze, and a general vibe of “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.” We powered through with a quick breakfast and a mission to the shop for essentials—which, let’s be honest, means things we absolutely needed plus one or two items we emotionally needed.

Late morning, I transformed from Relaxed Holiday Person into Airport Dad. Off to Alicante Airport I went to collect our youngest son, his wife, and—let’s be real—the real VIPs: the two grandkids, aged 5 and 3.

Their flight from Bremen was on time (a small miracle), and within 30 minutes of touchdown, they were through. Another 30 minutes later, we were home, doing the scenic tour of Alicante like proud locals who have mastered all the traffic lights.

Meanwhile, Grandma—tragically benched due to “insufficient car seats” (the great logistical villain of family life)—was waiting at home like a contestant on a reality show finale. Today, of all days, was Grandmother’s Day. The timing was so perfect it felt staged. Tears were narrowly avoided. Hugs were not.

From this moment forward, the household officially entered Child Rule Mode™. Our previous routine? Gone. Our new schedule? Dictated by snack times, mysterious negotiations about shoes, and sudden sprinting for no reason.

After a late lunch (by our standards; by Spanish standards it was practically breakfast), we braved the cool wind and went for a long walk along the beach. The kids made a beeline for the climbing frames we’d clocked earlier in the week—apparently these are the real landmarks of Spain. The fresh air did wonders: it tired the kids (mission objective #1) and made the adults thirsty (mission objective #2).

Which meant… aperitif time. And somehow the gin & tonics tasted exceptionally good. Was it the sea air? The joy of family reunion? Or the fact that I had bought some suspiciously fresh, juicy limes? Science demanded a second gin & tonic to confirm the hypothesis. Peer-reviewed by me. Conclusion: yes, it was the limes. Definitely the limes.

Dinner was simple, picnic-style, which is code for “easy, cheerful, and nobody complained loudly enough to cause concern.” The afternoon walk worked its magic: the kids went to bed without staging a protest, and—according to next day intelligence—slept all night. A parenting unicorn.

I celebrated this rare alignment of the stars with an early nightcap (whisky, obviously) and followed the children’s example by heading to bed at the wildly rebellious hour of 9pm. I, too, slept all night.

An unusual day indeed.
Spain, with kids involved, is a whole new season. And I’m here for the chaos 🍹

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