136 Australian Women’s Weekly | October 2017
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PAT
McDERMOTTFamily matters
W
e took
an old-
fashioned
family
holiday
a few weeks ago. Eleven of
us shared a seven-bedroom
beach house.
Daughter Courtenay and
son-in-law Nick found the house,
rounded up siblings, booked airline
tickets, worked out menus, bought
food, and planned “group activities”.
“We’ll pick strawberries, see
penguins and take long walks on
the beach. No complaining people.
Whine and you wash up!”
“It sounds like the school camp I went
to in 1962,” grumbled the MOTH
(man of the house).
“It will be just like our place before
everybody grew up and left home,” I
said happily. “Someone in every room!”
“Exactly,” he muttered.
The MOTH cheered up when he
saw the rambling old house. It wasperfect. There was
a rocky beach, a
tiny cafe and a
pub down the lane.
“Hear that?” he shouted to
our granddaughters as he
unloaded suitcases.
“The howling noise?”
“Yep! That’s not the wind
or the waves, it’s the ghosts of the last
family who stayed here!” The girls
raced up the front steps squealing in
blissful terror.
I know an authentic Aussie holiday
house when I see one. I followed them
in with my checklist.- Creaky loorboards (friendly ghosts).
- Dim bedside lamps (less reading,
lots of talking). - No lock on the toilet door (some
squealing but short waiting times). - Blunt knives (no designer food).
- Unused coffee machine with
200-page instruction manual
(takeaway coffee every morning!)
That night the MOTH and I sat on
a comfy sofa in front of the ire sipping
wine and listening to our children
wrestle their children into strange
new beds. Those without children
were in the kitchen setting out cheese
platters and popping corks.
“Having all these kids wasn’t such
a bad idea after all,” I mused.
“I see the chardonnay’s kicking in,”
he observed mildly.
I topped up my glass and thought
back to sunny days when the
nappies dried quickly and a “freshly
laundered” baby with a full tummy
dozed in my arms.
I was less fond of the “cake stall”
decade that followed. I had to buy
my own cake once because the
polling booths were closing and
magpies were circling. I could have
done with fewer school projects
requiring bottle caps, feathers and
glue, and I’m happy I don’t iron 25
long-sleeved white school shirts every
week anymore. But who wouldn’t
miss the noise a giant Lego creation
makes when it crashes into a million
pieces on the loor? Or the shouty
singsong of, “DID TOO! – DID
NOT!” on a rainy day.
I can almost hear it now.
“You really can,” said the MOTH.
“Somebody just broke a wine glass
in the kitchen.”
And I miss being able to solve
their problems. It’s easier to talk to a
16 year old about curfews and report
cards than to adults about house
prices and mortgages.
I closed my eyes for a moment and
woke up with a start. The kids stood
in a semi-circle looking at us.
“Wake up and go to bed,” they
chorused. “We’re meeting on the
beach at 6am!”
“I was just resting my eyes,” the
MOTH grumbled.
“The people we used to put to bed
are putting us to bed,” I huffed.
“If we go quietly maybe they’ll
give us a treat.”
We did. But they didn’t. They’re
meanies. AW W^Full house, again
An authentic holiday house with all the expected quirks
is just the thing to inspire a trip down memory lane.