Hurry, Hurry... Wait!

Look at these two gorgeous people. I love this photo. It's timeless!

Last week there was a loud rumbling in Brisbane as the clan gathered to celebrate fifty years of these two being married. It was a memorable and perfect few days of rambunctious, affectionate family gatherings, meals and sleepovers for the twenty five grand children and nine beloved siblings. This is the cover of the card that my clever sister whipped up to go with the huge coffee table book containing fifty years of history. It really was magical!
A couple of us did have to ad lib speeches. Mine began with the "Mawwidge, what is mawwidge?"quote from the Princess Bride, a family classic, and ended with DMC's metaphor about Mum and Dad being book ends to our eclectic and ever growing library of a family. Mum, being a bibliophile, seemed to like the reference. They did both get teary a few times over the week-end. It may have been a case of true love or perhaps of having twenty five grandchildren over simultaneously.
The out of towners all flew back Monday and life has returned to its steady thrum of getting through the holidays. There will be no more sleeepovers. Take your toothbrushes home, my little friends.
We may throw the odd birthday party in between if the weather allows. Eleven is almost as important as a Golden Anniversary.
There is always the chance you may be taken out if you have fancy socks on.
There has been some healthy old fashioned music and sing-along time.
There has been a lot of this 'orribleness. It was worse when they were all younger. That was two full days of contact and covering. This year I have been told that covering books after year 5 is uncool. Glory Be!!! If you hear otherwise do not tell me about it. They have all done their own labelling this year too.

The purchase of the high school uniforms was exciting, sad, proud, nerve wracking, and bloody expensive! They looked so handsome and grown up but their innocence was revealed by their inability to put on a pair of knee high socks or tuck in a button up shirt BEFORE you do up the fly of your non-elasticised shorts. Long socks, flies, tucking??? What manner of horror is this? AND I do believe these shirts may require- 'ironing'.
Play me a song, Shorty. The one about the boogy man is recurring at the moment.
Then there is the less memorable side of the holidays where bickering siblings are made to perform acts of appallingly anger fuelled bad spelling! ..."for no reasond!!!"
These bits of i-techo-void are going on a long holiday in the big high cupboard on Sunday night. They have all but stolen my boys' childhoods in the last two weeks although it did allow the Big Fella to finish roofing the 'ark' out the front. Even Shorty is asking to use the pie pod.

There has been feverish culling as I attempt to sublimate my anxiety about high school. The crocheted doll, made by my friend's blind granny, will soon be out on the street, cast asunder by this harsh landlady. I need room for uniforms, love! If any Brisbanians desire a bit of crochet perfection, feel free to ask before she is banished to Ron and Brian's retirement shelf.
Meanwhile this part of my life hasn't had a look in and, in fact, may have to be deconstructed to make a study nook for the boys and their Dad. I really don't want them to go back to school but probably will enjoy the next chapter as much as the last. Another part of me can't wait to kiss them all good-bye and go sit with Shorty on a bench and breathe deeply for about an hour next Monday. 'Tis a paradox!
P.S. Murphy has been around here with his law again. I was looking for something under-the-house and found a box of uniform shirts of the same size that I bought yesterday for the boys' new school. These have been handed down by a friend. There are EIGHT of them!