Happy Days at Pennyroyal Farm

Uh, did I mention we were going away on holiday last week?

No.....???

Whoops. Sorry. It's not that I forgot about you...I just forgot to tell you. In case you were wondering why I had gone suddenly silent. (Or perhaps, you were thinking to yourself, oh thank god that woman has FINALLY shut up...!!!)

Anyway, last week we took a little family trip away. It's important, don't you think? To have some time away together, just enjoying each other's company. I'm not talking expensive, indulgent, extensive holidays at exotic locations - heavens, no. At this point, we'd have enough moolah to cover the cost of the long-term car park at Tullamarine. For a short time. I'm talking cheap, local, activities-like-walking-on-the-beach, budget family holidays.

Apart from one foray to Bali when we were engaged, Christian and I have always enjoyed relatively inexpensive holidays. Pre-children, we would pack our mountain bikes and a tent, and ride along a rail trail for a few days, camping as we went. Or we'd camp somewhere central and do day trips on our bikes around the local area. We tended to favour tents over caravans after two rather dodgy experiences....one involved my first experience of morning sickness, and the other had peanut brittle stuck to the mattress....instead of a mint on the pillow, perhaps?

We first holidayed at Lorne when I was nine weeks pregnant with Jack (hence the caravan instead of a tent). Lorne being Lorne, we loved every minute. I wanted to go back there when Jack was about six months old, so we searched for a little self-contained unit that would make holidaying with a baby a bit easier. After much teeth-gnashing and hand-wringing at the exhorbitant prices being charged for lodgings in Lorne proper, I found Pennyroyal Farm out at Deans Marsh, a 20 minute drive inland.

With the September holidays looming, I managed to score one of the houses at Pennyroyal Farm for my worn-out husband, my tired and cantankerous children, Daisy the long-suffering Cavalier, and myself. I even managed to persuade my mum to come too, because goodness knows she needed a break! It was only for three nights, but it was so worth it.

All I knew was, the house had three bedrooms and two toilets. When we arrived, we were greeted by a charming little cottage set in an orchard, with views of farmland and sweeping hills, a wood fire, and clean, warm beds. The kids had so much space to run, they did backflips. Daisy pottered around the garden, Mum and I had endless cups of tea on the verandah, and Christian...well....he relaxed. Finally.

Every family holiday that we have been on, I have remembered with clarity. I can give you details of the trip to Bright we took when Jack was 11 weeks old. I can tell you about being swooped by maggies in Myrtleford when we were engaged. I could paint you a picture of my three cherubs bouncing on the giant pillow at Merimbula, laughing fit to burst. And this holiday? What will I remember?

I will remember the sunshine, the breeze, the scent of jasmine on the wind. I will remember the freedom of allowing my children to run unfettered outside under blossoming fruit trees.

I will remember my kids having the times of their lives at the playground on the foreshore. How my big kids rolled down the hills again, and again. How Maisie went down the 'big' slide all by herself, and was astounded at her own cleverness. How Phoebe made up little ditties about the things going on around her. How Maisie had learned how to say "Bee Bee" for her big sister's name, instead of "Baba". How Jack just wanted to kick his footy, no matter where we were.

I will remember watching my mum play on the beach with Jack and Phoebe while they ran in and out of the waves, screaming with laughter. On the first day, they went in wearing their undies. That is, until Phoebe took hers off....and then stripped off her singlet, so that she was doing a magnificent nudie run on Lorne front beach. Jack wore Superman undies. A memory to treasure, for sure.

I will remember how the Mouse sat quietly in the sand, wearing a nappy and a skivvy, happily ladling sand into her bucket and tipping it out again.

I will remember cooking meals in our little cottage, and sitting around the table with my family enjoying a early dinner. I will remember sending my children off to bed early, warm and clean after a deep bath, ready for another day of running in the sand and the sea.

I will remember how my littlest baby cried most of the week and clung piteously to my leg. How she was only mollified when she was in my arms. How her head cold seemed to settle in her chest, and how she snuggled into me with her fists tucked in. How she was calmed by the 'Diddles' (the Wiggles) and the 'Uh-ohs" (the Teletubbies), which I willingly played over and over again, just to keep her happy.

I will remember how, on the last morning when we were packing and checking and packing, Maisie found the underside of the wooden mantelpiece and gouged a hole in her forehead. How we stemmed the blood, called the doctor, and made plans to leave quickly. How, in the five seconds I put her down to open the car door, she found some dog poo and fell straight into it. And then proceeded to wipe it all over herself and anything she touched.

I will remember how Mum, Christian and I managed to somehow clean the Mouse up without retching, got two cars, three kids and a dog packed up, and somehow tore ourselves away from paradise.

Our trip was home was fairly uneventful. The kids slept quite a lot. Mum and I watched Maisie anxiously as she snored and coughed. We arrived at our lovely local GP early in the afternoon, and got some antibiotics. The poor baby - here's me thinking she's got a head cold, and administering cuddles and Nurofen, and the child had a chest infection. Mother of the Year? I think not.

Thankfully the doctor decided Maisie had suffered enough, and even though she should have had stitches, he decided to let her heal under a Dora bandaid. So the last memory I shall have of our holiday will be of the Mouse pointing to her bumpy little head and saying proudly, "Rora. Dore." (Translation: I've got a Dora bandaid on my head, which is uber-cool and confirms my status as a big kid. And it's sore. I really, really like strawberry Nurofen, Mum. I'll happily drink as much as you want to give me...)