‘I think I’ve discovered the secret to family holidays,‘ I say wryly to Dave, looking over to see my weariness mirrored in his expression, the back seat a cacophony of jibes and taunts.
‘Yes?’
‘Always bring grandparents along.’
…
Why is it that family holidays can be so hard?
All the essential ingredients are there for enjoyment – a new location, the temporary absence of responsibility (except for the kids, of course), the chance to discover life afresh, soak in the beauty of another corner of the world… sounds idyllic, right?
Perhaps it would have been different if Hudson didn’t start spewing just before we pull away from the homestead in Newrybar. ‘It’s the mucus’, we tell ourselves hopefully, ‘just a complication of that awful cold he has going on.’
But the violent eruptions continue and we scrounge around for zip lock bags, barking firm instructions for him to ‘not touch anyone!’ The poor boy fades into sleep in the back seat, the rest of the car a strange silence as everyone contemplates whether they too are beginning to feel the tugs of queasiness.
As we climb the steep descent, leaving behind us the golden sands and looping roller coasters, we cross everything we have and wonder what the next few days will bring.
Tamborine Mountain is a quirky mix of the kitsch (‘Australia’s Best Fudge, as seen on TV!‘), the panoramic (views unlike any you have witnessed before), and the natural (rockpools, treetop walks, hikes and waterfalls). After our epic family reunion we thought it might be time for some recalibration, so we settle down in the lovely Grace Cottage for four nights.
The place is charming – cosy blankets scattered everywhere, a Venetian mask dangling from the corner of the dressing table mirror. There are tea towels emblazoned with phrases from Europe and beyond, stacks of books and magazines to curl up with, and an enclosed front patio scattered with cushions and candles. We lovingly refer to it as ‘Bluey’s house’.
Holidays are a time for adventure – for exploration and outings. We eye our expanding ideas list, then glance over at the recovering figure of Hudson. It seems plans might have to change. We stock up on supplies and bunker down in the cottage for the first night. Perhaps it might be more rosy in the morning.
The next day dawns cautiously, Hudson having survived the night without any further episodes and no further casualties to be seen.
‘Rock pools!’ Dave looks up, a gleam in his eye, reading out the description of the Cedar Creek Falls in Tamborine National Park which makes the outing sound blissful. We pack a lunch and climb into the car, hoping that a jaunt in nature will give us new perspective. We relinquish our stroller at the sign, hauling bags and children down the kilometre descent to the pools. Half way through the precarious climb down the sheer rock face to the second pool, I feel a jolt of panic. What on earth are we thinking? I look up. How are we ever going to get out of here?
Eli eagerly enters the water then flails, declaring it too slippery. Hudson perches nervously on a nearby rock as an eel winds its way towards him. Harvey screams for Dave when he goes to help the boys. Ivy alone is immune to it all, making up a song in the shallows. We last ten minutes before calling it. Scrambling messily up the cliff, hauling an unimpressed Harvey between us.
‘Well,’ we tell ourselves, ‘at least we made it?’
That afternoon offers a parallel when we head out on the last session of the Skywalk. We stroll above the tops of trees, peering to the dense tangle down below, feeling the safety of the metal structure beneath our feet. Our biggest problem is taming the running feet of the eldest two, and convincing Harvey that Dave is the one pushing the stroller because he has zero tolerance for anyone else. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
We eat pizza in the park in the twilight, breakfast in the patio the next morning. Then it’s off to Thunderbird Park for mini golf. Eating out with kids can be difficult, but we risk it at the Green Lane Coffee Cafe, almost giving up before some charming older ladies clue us in to the toy corner. With distractions in hand, the food arrives remarkably quickly and we are finally able to relax and actually enjoy the experience.
That afternoon, Dave takes Eli to conquer his fears with another tree top experience – a high ropes course. They return exhilarated and exhausted, brimming with tales of bravery.
With Hudson back to his cheery ways, we head down the coast for our final day. Stopping by chance at Broadwater Parklands, we discover an oasis complete with playground, inflatable trampoline pillow and flagged beach. The water beckons and we spend hours there, Harvey insistently launching himself out into deep water whenever he thinks no one is looking. Ivy makes a friend and they make a game of racing and splashing, while Hudson and Eli are content to repeatedly dunk one another. It is a small window of bliss and we treasure it.
When we arrive back at the cottage, the front yard is repurposed as a theatre, with dancing performances for the passing traffic. It is both ordinary and magical, the echoing chirp of crickets providing a weighted backdrop for the occasion.
The photos don’t capture the exhaustion, the anxiety or frustration. They don’t reveal how many irritated commands were issued to Eli to ‘just stop provoking everyone!‘ Falls, spills, tantrums and mood swings, they all happened and felt overwhelming – threatening to overturn the equilibrium on many occasions.
And yet….as the days move forward, those moments become harder to access. The enduring memories are cementing themselves with a remarkable golden glow. We know this. We remind ourselves that it is all worth it, but at the time the words run the risk of sounding hollow.
Changing location has great power. Even if the same tasks are performed, or the same conversations repeated, the shift in space renders the experience completely different. We question what sustains us, come closer to our edges and bounce off one another. Inspiration strikes with the fresh stimulation and relationships grow and are tested. The mess spills out, our usual mechanisms not sufficient to contain it anymore.
As we slide back into the routines that accompany these familiar walls, we look back to the photos and memories to remind ourselves of something important.
Life is meaningful because of the messiness, not in spite of it.
