Packing for One
Mr Grouch has recently taken up extreme (as in ‘extremely’ expensive) mountain biking in a nod to his dwindling fitness and youth. A 40 year old man dressed in fluoro clothing doing wheelies in the bush can only mean one thing – the male mid life crisis.
This week our little family went up to Avalon Beach to celebrate Grandmummy’s 70th birthday. On the morning we headed up, Mr Grouch was busy for hours attaching his various sporting paraphernalia, surfboards and bikes, to the roof of our car with some new overpriced portable roof rack he added to his ‘tab’ while Mrs Island Grouch packed for and organised the family’s entire trip (you know, that thing we were actually going away to do). Finally we were ready to depart. From afar Mr Grouch might have looked a cool, free spirit off on a solo week of sport and adventure, but up close he was at the helm of car containing two children, one grandparent in the back seat, popcorn flying and the Moana Disney soundtrack on interminable rotation.
I remember our first overseas holiday as a family, when our son was nearly 2. As I frantically packed and cross checked the supplies for the three of us, Mr Grouch spent the week spray painting one of his many surfboards. When the taxi arrived to take us to the airport, I carted out the car capsule, pram, baby carrier, backpack with milk and supplies, suitcases and the purple-faced kicking baby, and felt triumphant. Mr Grouch then joined us, in a sweat, strung out, from… the effort of packing his little duffel bag FOR HIMSELF and bringing out HIS surfboard.
Happy Holidays to you too precious reader. XOXO