Eastering

Easter can often find us down by the seaside at our other home-away-from-home, or perhaps camping in the high country with every other Tom Dick and Harry, but this year called for a home-stay – another last hurrah at Grandi’s before The Big Move. My sisters came home from the big smoke, we sat around the open fire, watched the return of footy, drank wine (ok some did), planted Easter eggs in the garden and shoved hot cross buns in our faces with abandon.

The bunny bloke found us for the very last time in our childhood home, we had five little bunnies tucked up in assorted beds upstairs at Grandi’s with their baskets ready at the foot of their beds. I slept for what will most likely be the last time in my childhood bedroom, with my husband next to me, my wedding dress in my wardrobe, my baby girl softly asking ‘Mama? Mama?’ at 1am from her great-grandmother’s cot in the corner and our other baby wriggling in me.

After a hunt around Grandi’s garden for eggs, we trundled down to the creek, an Easter tradition from our childhood we’re trying to keep alive for our own children. Grandad had the fire lit, Uncle Matt/Dadda had the baked spuds under control and Aunty Louise roasted us chestnuts. Our 93 year old Nanna was in attendance, four generations by the Narracan Creek for Easter Sunday is a bit special in my books. More eggs were hunted, gumboots stomped and random sticks collected.

How lucky are we to live here? And have all these girls?! Goodness, no pressure to produce a grandson…but the poor little bloke will be so henpecked by all these girls! We just won’t know what to do with a baby boy – how novel! Bets of course are on another girl…named ‘Rosetta’ according to Ava. Or Stacey.

Back at Grandi’s a lamb was slowly turning on the spit, spuds leftover from the fire were thrown in the oven to crisp up. Oh my, those potatoes! We should definitely do that more, so good. The chocolate eggs seemed to be raining down though, never ending, and inevitably the chocolate highs and lows were very real for a certain little 21 month old who never eats chocolate (or ever has to share with anyone!) Oh dear. Emotions run high late on an Easter Sunday evening! To bed with our Blossom, to the dinner table for everyone else, to enjoy Grandi’s roast and one last plum pudding at home with extra brandy cream, and my white chocolate mud Easter cake.

Another milestone and Easter and ‘last time’ at Grandi’s. Now begins The Big Pack Up, one of epic 40 year proportions as you could imagine. That house holds big love, big memories, and big amounts of stuff.

Hope your Easter was spent like ours – with family, chocolate, big emotions, small people and some form of meat on a spit. Always.