Why we love the beach.

We love the beach. I mean this collectively as a family, as a culture, as a species. 

It is always special, magical and deeply restorative. I remember going on all those great holidays as a child often from way out in Western Queensland. We'd be sleeping all over the Holden station wagon, distributed across the front bench seat to the boot beside the basket with the baby/ies in it. Then the car would come over the last rise and the first call would break the restless boredom. 

"I can see the sea!" Mine still say it. I make them. It is the first tick in the box of nostalgic balm.

There are other important elements in this perfect holiday.

The cousins. 

They mooch and roll and bury each other and argue and laugh and throw sand and play footy on the same beach my cousins and siblings played on.

The Dad. 

It used to take my Dad a good week to wind down till he could really relax. This one is the same. They can't garden, tinker, work, build or mow. They walk. They sleep. They cook. It is good.

The sea.

We live in a part of the world that some old dears that you meet at posh functions call God's own country. The water is glassy clear and perfectly flat on one beach and waves on the other. There are fish and critters and birds. There was a python in a tree for the whole two weeks we were there. There are noisy gangs of rainbow lorikeets. One year there were dolphins out the front.

The childerbeasts go swimming in mid-winter and bask on the sand sheltered from the wind to dry off. They only do this with cousins to egg them on. Cousins are good that way.

 Games.

We play games that only the girls play at home. It may be the relaxed atmosphere or the different team members. The absence of laptops and internet may have something to do with it. Bananagram, Bingo and cards played on a sheet or blanket. The glass table got the gong from all involved as it was too cold and hard to snatch cards up from.

Playing two pack cheaters' Hawaii

Bananagrams

 Sand.

We like to bury ourselves in it, get it in eyes and mouth and nostrils, make it squeak when we kick it and put in in our brothers' beds as not so hilarious prank. It is  throughout the house and gets brushed off the feet at bed time and out of the sheets before you snuggle down to listen to the surf through the open windows.

 Fishing.

This gets bigger every year as do the fish. The big fella and the uncle indulge the fishing needs. We throw every thing back but we draw the line at kissing fish. They can go on their own now, untangle snags, bait up hooks. One boy fished from 7 am till 10.30 pm the last day over several locations. Boys are nice when they fish. There is no u tube on a fishing line.

 Pictures.

Every thing is a picture. Every moment seems marvellous. 

Even the rocks are photogenic. 

Books.

I got through three of them up there but didn't quite finish this one which I have read snippets from over the last nine years. It is the beach house book of choice. This time I tried to read it cover to cover. That's a good sea faring name if I ever saw one.

Sunset, moon rise, tide change, sunrise.

These happen at home but we rarely see them. We are sleeping or ferrying people between orthodontists and soccer and last minute grocery runs. It's good to just sit and look at it and soak it up slowly.

Fish'n'chips.

They always taste better at the beach- on the beach. Always.

 Lying down. 

I don't do this enough at home. I certainly don't lie down in the middle of a walk through the shops or into work or over to the neighbours. For some reason it is acceptable on the beach to just stop, sit and then lie down to doze off if you wish. I like that.

 Rock pools.

Abundant, treasure troves of goodies, they never disappoint. The big boys were still as entranced by dead wobbygongs, sluggy things spurting purple ink, starfish, urchins and crabs as they were the first time they found a dead inflated puffer fish- every day for a week. It was quite whiffy by the end.

 Offspring.

They are happy, free, unburdened by homework and uniforms and getting up early. They run and roll and generally behave like joyful, exuberant kids are meant to. 

No wonder it never gets old. Sorry this was a long one if anyone is even still out there. These are the days worth recording and savouring- like old forgotten questionable wine from your brother's kitchen cupboard. We relive our memories and they make new ones with us in blues and sandy yellows and it is always good.

Things to Like about School Holidays- Part 2

Oh, yes! There are more and they are not the usual going to a theme park in California or relaxing at a local idyllic tropical resort type ones. Do you think we would bump into Angelina and her crew there? Would we be able to exchange anecdotes about having twins and large families and breastage issues? So much in common we have and yet, so very little!

Meanwhile back in the real world...

Things to Like about School Holidays- Part 2

12. Recruiting chillun to help with boring time consuming tasks like painting the boys' chest of drawers. Last time I stained and estapolled this beast, the twins were on the verge of being born and it was no mean feat. This time they can contribute more than a huge bump. Many hands and all that. Using spray cans made it infinitely more appealing to them!

13. Playing the family "bored" game of my childhood that I loved whether they like it or not!

14. Finishing the book that I read to myself for myself at 1 a.m. and sleeping in next day.

15. Getting to Ikea for what may only be an annual pilgrimage now. There may have been a few small purchases including a stool for $15 which I almost paid $30 for at Matt Blatt the day before. You have to love the big IK!
Even the dolls house was Ikea-ed. How cute is this stuff?

16. Having sons build flat pack furniture for me. This is the new Lego for our family - cheaper, more functional and less agonising to stand on. There is a lot to be said for breeding your own small sweat shop.

17. Going to the hospital for all those annoying visits and not having my pay docked for the pleasure. This is a grey zone as I find it highly stressful and not a happy place. Adrenalin starts pumping and my flight/ fright impulse soars to alarming levels. I usually get teary as I start to speak to the Doctor. It's all just a series of triggers and post traumatic shock they tell me. All I really need is a good haircut and a massage! Trigger that. They should be on this list too but I never got there.

18. Watching movies with my whole brood that they loved when they were very small and introducing the youngest to the same. They actually sat through the whole thing and loved it. One even said he loved that music when he was small. It had been thrown out with the video player so its all fresh again.

19. The beach- rocks, kids and dog, perfect weather and a tiny bay. That's always a winner.

20. Catching up with some precious old friends and family. Lingering over tea with them and not having to rush to the next place.

21. Culling and tidying drawers of chillun wear. Minimise, minimise, minimise...
There was even time for a little wanton vignetting!

22. Watch other half finishing off the front deck with some painting, guttering and Japanese style rain drains instead of downpipes. I'm looking forward to the next big storm to watch them weave their magic.

23. Making it up as we go day by day without a set routine. Love it!

There are about twenty things left to do and one day of holidays left to do them in. We'll see how it goes.

Reach for the sky

*Sorry for being so sporadic in commenting and visiting lately. I have been unable to access lots of your sites due to technical difficulties but hope to be over that soon. 

Things to Like about School Holidays- Part 1

Finally we have crawled over the finish line to school holidays and it is good!

There are the obvious pleasures of not getting up an mustering a reluctant crew to various schools and activities before arriving at work at (ahem) 8 o'clock. 

I shall make a list over the holidays and see if it is as long as I imagine.

1. Sleep ins and wake up cuddles with small people. 

2. A cup of tea in bed still in pajamas and reading a book- my own book, not Olivia the Pig etc.

3. Finally delivering the contents of the back of the car to the op shop before it was discovered and reabsorbed into our house.

4. Going to the op shop at all!

5. Being rewarded with op shop kharma by finding this bored game (their spelling not mine) which is usually about $70 in toy shops and was one of our family favourites growing up. 

6. Finding Tupperware in the most delicious tomato red as well as a huge cake tin all bashed and dented and nannafied. I have been looking for one of these for the giant chocolate cake recipe.

7. Being able to act on the impulse stimulated by the Tupperware and giant tin and BAKE.

(Old cake tins are a bit like old knitting needles. You know they have transmitted a lot of love through the cakes they have moulded over their lives.)

8. Having time to make proper pizza dough because the oven was on and there is time enough for it to rise to big puffy doughy heights. 

9. NO LUNCHBOXES! Rejoice and be happy for there will be no line up of orders at 7 a.m. for two whole weeks!

 10. The discovery of a new appliance in the fruit bowl, made by idle hands for my viewing pleasure and entertainment it seems. 

11. A late addition to the list would be the arrival of a double ear infection and a fever/ vomitty bug. What holiday would be complete without them? The good part is that I can be here to look after them and wash the sheets, administer the drugs and pat fevered brows. At the risk of sounding all Munchausenesque- I like that. Juggling sick kiddos with work is not an easy gig. Being obliged to stay in and chill with the patients is really quite pleasant.

Return of the Rhythm

Every year we go to a special place. We only go there once a year but we all look forward to it as a touchstone, a yardstick by which we are can measure our lives as this little family grows up.

One year I felt very queazy while I was there. The next year we had a small pink bundle who was carried in a pouch to all the special places we have accumulated in out joint family memory. One of these was always the thong fence out the front which has been commemorated in the house with this wonderful photo. The thong fence was washed away this year but the picture is still there.

The rock pools have been explored in great detail for years, since this one was younger than Shorty. Every year we revisit the pools where they carved their names the first year they could all write and build towers out of rocks and we reminisce about the year we found the huge (dead) inflated puffer fish that drifted in the pools all week.

                 

I repeatedly take photos of the rocks, the patterns carved by the water and sand and give the bare feet a good work out in the sand. The patterns barely change but every year our family is profoundly different in some way, be it small or enormous. 

We make castles, they swim, we stare at the ocean...we stop. Stopping is the most important part, the part that makes it so sublime.
We stop all play dates, school, work, kindy, soccer training, rugby training, music lessons, rehearsals, homework and, best of all, packed lunches.

Last year it was hard to stop. I had to come back at the start of our special week for chemo. There was a  beanie on instead of the sea breeze combing my hair. A lot of the favourite haunts were inaccessible to me so none of us went there. It was rainy, I was sick and we were all very fragile.

We stopped, as always, but in a different way to regroup and feel there was some constant in life.

This year was for me the best year there ever. 
We spent time with the dearest of friends and family, got to retouch all the old favourite haunts I was too sick to get to last year and felt rested and calm and happy. Everything was back to "normal". We all felt it. Even the weather was ridiculously beautiful for Winter. Last year it sympathetically rained almost the whole week. This year we basked in the gentle sun and the light of the Supermoon. If there was ever a sign that life goes on, there it was.

Me photographed by Boy 2. Nice one, son.

Winter Wonderland

So we had a day of rain this week.

There may have been a few days last week.

In the big picture though we have to be very content with this version of Winter.

A little snow would be nice from time to time but there are always planes for that.

What I love about a winter holiday at the beach in Queensland:

1. Children sleep in with the late morning light and go straight to the beach.

2. Children stay on the beach all day where they can swim and sunbathe and play without frying like pork crackling under a tropical sun.

3. Yes, they can swim- even longer with a spring wet suit which is half price because it is pretend Winter.

4. Long, golden afternoon shadows on almost empty beaches.

4. Easy dinners of stew and fish curry and, that family stalwart, spag bog, because it is cold and they are ravenous and there are beaten up old pots in the holiday house which are nice to cook in.

5. Children go to bed early as they have been on the beach ALL day and it gets dark early. Blissful quiet nights for parents.

The song we danced to at our wedding was Moon River- Andy Williams, of course.

Give me a warm winter night at the beach any day over a sweltering sweaty summer one with mozzies and humidity and sunburn. It must be the Danish blood in me acting up.

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!