Day 1.
Arrived at the motel and realised one puny room between the three of us would indeed be a challenge. That problem was yet a distant night terror though, as we tended to our first point of business – showing 1 y.o . James the beach. He’d last seen it at 6 weeks old when his hobbies included screaming and pooing, and as he now loved playing with water, we were excited to see his reaction. Hes been trialing facial expressions which don’t always fit the scene, so I shouldn’t have trusted his look of disgust. Excitement overtook him when we reached the water and he struggled in my arms to splash with hands and toes. We were fully dressed for a look-in, so Mum got sandy and soaked, but this was luckily of no concern to James.
Our day was quickly wrapped with a cuppa and grocery shopping and we returned to that little motel room with a mission to Get a Boy Down. As per the home routine, we fed James first then popped him in the cot where he was instructed to go to sleep happily while we ate our dinner. He misheard the plan, so we spent a speechless meal behind closed curtains pretending we didn’t notice his head popping up 2 feet away, yelling out to us. Ben and I exchanged one of those new-parent looks (which I’m starting to understand will recur for the next 40 years) of, “I have no idea how to stop this,” and after waiting it out another 15, allowed him to hop into bed with us for Operation: Watch Movie.. “Yeeeah,” we whispered. “He’ll just lay back and chill and when he passes out, we’ll watch undisturbed to our hearts’ content.” Or he’ll crawl on the bed and our faces, natter endlessly, push all the laptop buttons and try to unplug it. Riiight! Next plan! The kid went back in the cot while we left the room, as we would at home.. Except there were no other rooms to go to, so we walked up and down the motel driveway in view of the other guests, looking insane (especially since we hip-checked each other while we walked, to amuse ourselves). When the whining stopped, Ben decided, “We’re going out to dinner, tomorrow. I’m not spending another night of our holiday eating a microwaved meal silently in the dark.” On that apt, ridiculous image, we laughed the deranged laughter of tired, relieved, completely bat shit crazy parents.
Arrived at the motel and realised one puny room between the three of us would indeed be a challenge. That problem was yet a distant night terror though, as we tended to our first point of business – showing 1 y.o . James the beach. He’d last seen it at 6 weeks old when his hobbies included screaming and pooing, and as he now loved playing with water, we were excited to see his reaction. Hes been trialing facial expressions which don’t always fit the scene, so I shouldn’t have trusted his look of disgust. Excitement overtook him when we reached the water and he struggled in my arms to splash with hands and toes. We were fully dressed for a look-in, so Mum got sandy and soaked, but this was luckily of no concern to James.
Our day was quickly wrapped with a cuppa and grocery shopping and we returned to that little motel room with a mission to Get a Boy Down. As per the home routine, we fed James first then popped him in the cot where he was instructed to go to sleep happily while we ate our dinner. He misheard the plan, so we spent a speechless meal behind closed curtains pretending we didn’t notice his head popping up 2 feet away, yelling out to us. Ben and I exchanged one of those new-parent looks (which I’m starting to understand will recur for the next 40 years) of, “I have no idea how to stop this,” and after waiting it out another 15, allowed him to hop into bed with us for Operation: Watch Movie.. “Yeeeah,” we whispered. “He’ll just lay back and chill and when he passes out, we’ll watch undisturbed to our hearts’ content.” Or he’ll crawl on the bed and our faces, natter endlessly, push all the laptop buttons and try to unplug it. Riiight! Next plan! The kid went back in the cot while we left the room, as we would at home.. Except there were no other rooms to go to, so we walked up and down the motel driveway in view of the other guests, looking insane (especially since we hip-checked each other while we walked, to amuse ourselves). When the whining stopped, Ben decided, “We’re going out to dinner, tomorrow. I’m not spending another night of our holiday eating a microwaved meal silently in the dark.” On that apt, ridiculous image, we laughed the deranged laughter of tired, relieved, completely bat shit crazy parents.
Day 2.
Our little Water Boy did not know what was coming to him when we took him for a proper go at the beach. He thought the sand was as good as it gets – good for playing and good for eatin’. Ben gave him a spade as a distraction, which he accepted as a giant spoon and after a few scoops to sustain him, he set to work cleaning the beach. He passed me a twig, a feather and a stone which were really messing the place up (and were handed to me again when accidentally set aside). We earned ourselves a paddle in the shallows and James could not believe how much better the water was than that sand crap. He has taken to throwing himself on his back in excitement and got a bit of a shock with his mouthful of water when he tried this before I could stop him. I whooshed him over the surface like Superman, truly cementing his love for the sea. The classless kid was entranced by his first sight of seagulls which he chased with slow persistence, crawling head-first into the waves. I felt disoriented watching the little red suit and hat from above as he plodded in all directions. When little teeth started chattering, it was time to learn the hell of cleaning sand out of a baby’s butt with cold water. James screamed like I’d dragged someone else’s kid into the toilets and I held him down for a nappy while waiting to be arrested.
Our little Water Boy did not know what was coming to him when we took him for a proper go at the beach. He thought the sand was as good as it gets – good for playing and good for eatin’. Ben gave him a spade as a distraction, which he accepted as a giant spoon and after a few scoops to sustain him, he set to work cleaning the beach. He passed me a twig, a feather and a stone which were really messing the place up (and were handed to me again when accidentally set aside). We earned ourselves a paddle in the shallows and James could not believe how much better the water was than that sand crap. He has taken to throwing himself on his back in excitement and got a bit of a shock with his mouthful of water when he tried this before I could stop him. I whooshed him over the surface like Superman, truly cementing his love for the sea. The classless kid was entranced by his first sight of seagulls which he chased with slow persistence, crawling head-first into the waves. I felt disoriented watching the little red suit and hat from above as he plodded in all directions. When little teeth started chattering, it was time to learn the hell of cleaning sand out of a baby’s butt with cold water. James screamed like I’d dragged someone else’s kid into the toilets and I held him down for a nappy while waiting to be arrested.
Day 3.
They say to eat breakfast like a king, which is something I don’t take lightly. Literally... We stopped at the lovely looking D.O.C. on morning of Day 3 for the explicit purpose of inhaling some bacon, eggs and other sludgy delights. “I’m having poached eggs for once,” I declared (while inspecting manicured nails), “cos I’m tiiiired of sharing scambled with James.” When the menu came, however, we read from an anticlimactic list of paninis and lacklustrely chose the pancetta with fried eggs. Well, son. I am not ashamed to tell ya that that little sanga was one of the best damn breakfasts I’ve ever had. The sunny side eggs were cooked to perfection and the pancetta was quality, salty goodness. I also like how the bread didn’t cut my mouth (like some ‘artisan’ types). I accidentally ordered James the fruitiest fruit toast on the market which sated his little sweet tooth, so everyone was happy.
They say to eat breakfast like a king, which is something I don’t take lightly. Literally... We stopped at the lovely looking D.O.C. on morning of Day 3 for the explicit purpose of inhaling some bacon, eggs and other sludgy delights. “I’m having poached eggs for once,” I declared (while inspecting manicured nails), “cos I’m tiiiired of sharing scambled with James.” When the menu came, however, we read from an anticlimactic list of paninis and lacklustrely chose the pancetta with fried eggs. Well, son. I am not ashamed to tell ya that that little sanga was one of the best damn breakfasts I’ve ever had. The sunny side eggs were cooked to perfection and the pancetta was quality, salty goodness. I also like how the bread didn’t cut my mouth (like some ‘artisan’ types). I accidentally ordered James the fruitiest fruit toast on the market which sated his little sweet tooth, so everyone was happy.
We perused a mid-week market on Main St after breaky and I
stopped for a squiz at a crystal stall. I was tickled to overhear an unabashed
request “for something to heal a broken heart and to treat a sleeping disorder,
which is a result of that broken heart?” Equally amusing was the stall-keeper’s
prompt and confident answer, “Yes, I have this Sleeping Kit, here, which will
also help with the broken heart.” Sold! (Her next sale was of a clear quartz
leather necklace to me. I love that shit. Not sure if it’ll help my heart but the
weight of it hurt my neck, so it did have some effect.)
We visited friends who live nearby in the arvy, enjoying a
drink on their spacious deck while James stormed their sandpit and ravaged
their toys. He was happily pushing a ride-on along when the slightly older boy,
Reeve, tried handing him a truck. He dismissed the toy with a flick of the hand
and a grunt, but Reeve missed the signal and tried again. Well, I have never
seen such silent contempt from a one-year old as when I witnessed James’s
response! He stopped, took the truck from Reeve and, with deliberate,
soul-destroying eye-contact, placed it down firmly before continuing on his way.
Good god, kid. Make a friend. We were ready to leave and I had James in my arms
when sweet little Reeve also gave him a blackberry, which he did accept.. And squish in his hand before rubbing it all
over my hand and across my beige bra.
Ugh… I saw that coming a mile away and still allowed him to take it. Almost
made it out alive. It was interesting to see how far a single blackberry could
go, though, I must admit.
Day 4.
There was a time when Ben and I frolicked on the Peninsula as young and free romantics. On our final day, we took James to the place where we were married 5 years ago, the Briars in Mt Martha. We stood in the spot where we exchanged vows and clicked our heels together 3 times, but when we opened our eyes, we were still parents. Nnnnooo, parenthood's alright.. S’pose. It was very lovely sitting in our reception venue, which also functions as a restaurant, and enjoying a cuppa while we reminisced. From there, we were homebound, ready to bask in the memories of family-time from separate rooms of the house.
There was a time when Ben and I frolicked on the Peninsula as young and free romantics. On our final day, we took James to the place where we were married 5 years ago, the Briars in Mt Martha. We stood in the spot where we exchanged vows and clicked our heels together 3 times, but when we opened our eyes, we were still parents. Nnnnooo, parenthood's alright.. S’pose. It was very lovely sitting in our reception venue, which also functions as a restaurant, and enjoying a cuppa while we reminisced. From there, we were homebound, ready to bask in the memories of family-time from separate rooms of the house.
 | ||||||||
| Ben and our spy kid outside Josephine's, the Briars. |
No comments:
Post a Comment