A Moment Amongst The Chaos

I remember Mum telling me that when my brothers and I were little, an older relative said to make the most of having small children because it'll be over before you know it. Mum said that at the time she thought 'Really?' as it seemed to be going on forever.

I know what she means. When you're knee deep in small kids it's hard to see the end of the week let alone any of them eventually being able to wipe their own bottoms. It does feel like it'll go on forever. But it doesn't.

We caught up with some neighbours for a drink last Sunday afternoon. "Bring whoever is at your place" I texted. "Sadly, just us" came the reply. They have four kids, their youngest one of George's friends, so almost 20. In years gone by, we've seen a variety of them and their current boyfriends and girlfriends at various drinks, street parties and get togethers. But last Sunday, it was just the two of them.

One Christmas I was telling a work colleague that I was in the throws of organising a sit-down lunch for 24 relatives for the big day. 'Lucky you', she almost chastised me. 'This year there's just four of us so we've booked in to a restaurant'. I understood what she meant but at the time, her plans sounded highly appealing!

So do you think like many things in life, that we look back with nostalgia? A kind of romantic view of the past? It's easy to do when you no longer have the smell of dirty nappies scorching your nostrils and you've had more than 4 hours of unbroken sleep.

Just after Sass was born we decided to go to Opera In The Park. We couldn't get a car park within a coo-ee so had to hatch a plan of military ingenuity to get everyone and everything to the venue in one go. We had George, Elle, Sass in her capsule, Jaz in her stroller with the Saturday paper on her lap so the four boxes of fish and chips weren't too hot, a basket with a picnic blanket, jumpers for when it cooled down, cups, serviettes and miscellaneous snacks, an esky with wine, bottle opener, soft drink, and water and two camping chairs for Geoff and me. I remember saying to Geoff as we staggered over the road towards the park, 'Can you imagine, in twenty years time it'll be you, me, the paper and a bottle of red.' He had perspective of the moment 'Yes, and how boring.'