I thought we would manage. We did, technically. But surviving three kids alone in a summer cottage with no running water and a toddler who climbed into a fireplace is a story I need to tell honestly.
The place and the plan
Every summer I spend time at my childhood home. It is an uninsulated summer cottage – no running water, buckets from the well, rotting floors in places. Objectively not ideal. But it is my childhood home and I love it, and I have been coming back here every summer for as long as I can remember.
This year we came as a family of five. Ms, who is four. Mr, who is two and has Down syndrome and is currently at peak energy and zero impulse control. And B, three months old, nursing around the clock. My partner drove us there, stayed a couple of days, then returned home to work and look after our beef cattle who needed hay. He came back for a few days in the middle and then again at the end to collect us.
I told myself we would manage. Technically, we did – everyone is alive. But surviving three kids alone in those conditions was one of the hardest stretches I have had since B was born, and I want to write it down honestly because the polished version of this summer is not the true one.
The fireplace incident and other Mr moments
Mr is two years and a half and he is fast, determined, and absolutely fearless. At home this is manageable because I know every corner of the space. At the cottage, the hazards were different and he found all of them immediately.
He removed a safety barrier on his own and climbed into the fireplace. By the time I got to him he was covered head to toe in ash. He ate paint and debris off the old walls and floors – the kind of ancient, flaking surfaces that exist in old summer houses and that no sane person would consider edible. He put his hand in the dog’s mouth at my friend’s house, pressed his face against the dog’s nose for kisses, and generally treated every animal and object as something to be investigated orally.
The hardest morning was the one when he had an accident in the bed. He, everything around him, and the bedding were all thoroughly covered. I had no running water. I fetched bucket after bucket from the well, washing Mr and everything else while making sure B was fed and that something warm was on the table. My childhood friend arrived, assessed the situation, took the laundry, washed it, dried it, folded it, and brought it back. I do not have adequate words for that kind of friendship.
The water problem
Fetching water from the well sounds manageable until you are doing it with three children, one of whom is nursing and two of whom require constant supervision. One morning it took me a full hour to bring two buckets inside. B cried – I stopped to nurse. B cried again before he was satisfied – I stopped again. Ms needed the potty cleaned. Then rain came suddenly and I had to wait it out. After that I started bringing water at five in the morning, during the narrow window when all three children were still asleep. It was the only reliable way to get it done.
The friend who saved the summer
My childhood friend was staying nearby with her five-year-old daughter, her husband, and her mother. Without them, I genuinely do not know what the summer would have looked like.
They took Ms everywhere I could not take her – to the zoo to see and feed the animals, to a fire festival where she ate candyfloss and jumped on a trampoline and rode a carousel and watched a fancy dress horse parade and competed in a hobby horse race. She cleared every obstacle in that race without hesitation. I was not there to see it and I am still proud.
When we were all together, my friend’s mother watched Mr. That simple fact – one extra adult whose only job in those moments was to keep an eye on a fast-moving two-year-old – changed everything. At their house there were five children between two families and four adults, and the ratio made life feel almost normal. We grilled together. The children played. Ms and my friend’s daughter disappeared into elaborate imaginary games involving five horses that needed feeding. Mr was watched. B was nursed. I could breathe.
I managed to get to a local market once with Mr and B – to buy a cutting board for my partner’s mother’s birthday – and that was the sum total of my independent outings. Everything else required the car I did not have, or the help I could not guarantee, or simply more hands than I possess.
The moments that made it worth it
I had planned to be out and about every morning. I did not make it anywhere before five in the afternoon on most days. But at five, with the double pram loaded and both boys settled, I would walk to the lake. I swam quickly – just a few minutes in the water – and then we walked. Those evening walks were the thing that kept me going.
I ordered fresh tomatoes, peas, honey, and blueberries from locals, which meant I could avoid the shop entirely for stretches. When my partner came, he went to the supermarket and filled the cupboards. He also brought water, made fires, and handled the older children so I could cook properly and sit with B without the constant background noise of crisis management.
Those days when my partner was there felt like a completely different summer. He took the older two and I had B and the kitchen and something approaching calm. It was a clear illustration of something I already knew but felt more sharply than ever: this particular combination of children, ages, and needs requires two adults to function properly. One adult surviving three kids alone is exactly that – surviving, not living.
What I am taking into next summer
Next year B will be crawling, possibly walking. Taking that on alone in a cottage with a well and rotten floors is not something I am going to do to myself again. Next summer, if we go, my partner stays the whole time. No packing the car every few days, no driving back and forth. Either that, or we arrange a childminder to come with us. One or the other.
I keep asking myself why I struggled so much when looking after my children is simply my job. But I think the honest answer is that it was not the children that made it hard – it was the conditions. No running water, no car, an ash-covered toddler with Down syndrome who needs eyes on him every waking second, and a three-month-old who needs to nurse constantly. Any one of those things alone would be manageable. All of them together, without backup, is something else.
I know better now. Next summer I will be smarter about it. And in the meantime, I am very glad we went – for the lake, for the childhood home, for my friend and her family, and for the memories that the harder moments will eventually soften into.
You are not alone.
If this story resonated with you and you’d like to go deeper, you can explore my e-book Our Journey – A Different Path. It offers honest reflections and lived experience beyond this post.
If you’re looking for practical support, I’ve created Routine Templates to help parents and children navigate daily life with more clarity, structure, and understanding.
You can also read my previous posts or follow along on Instagram @parentguidancehub, where I share everyday reflections on parenting, family life, and finding balance.
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