THE GOOD ENOUGH Parent AN EASTER TRIP… TO THE LOUNGE ROOM

Miss Eight and Miss 14 got a metric tonne of chocolate for Easter, while hubby got COVID for the first time, testing positive on the second last day of term one.

While I initially suspected him of faking it (he conveniently got out of attending Easter parades AND being involved in the traditional make-the-teacher-presents session — a bunny out of a large Cadbury egg, cardboard, googly eyes, pipe cleaners and toxic glue for them to…..eat?), he got pretty sick.

And so, like how I caught COVID last year on Christmas Eve, our April holiday turned from a camping trip with family into a week at home…

Thursday:

Miss 14: “I’ve got a sore throat”. I instruct her to do a RAT, which is negative. Her story evolves into a headache, then a cough that’s reminiscent of Zoolander’s “I’ve got the black lung, Pops”, then finally ends on anxiety about Dad and the last day of term as her bestie won’t be there.

“I’ll help you clean the kitchen if you let me stay home,” she pleads. I had already decided to give her the day o , but agree to these conditions happily.

Miss Eight: “I don’t NEED to go to school, because I know everything already, but I love my friends and I think it would be a sad day for everyone in my class if I wasn’t there. But I know heaps of two timeses.”

Me: “What’s two times seven?”

Miss Eight: “No. I mean like two times two, two times five, two times ten…”

Me: “What’s two times ten?”

Miss Eight “Ten!” she replies confidently. I send her to school and attempt to care for Hubby, help Miss 14’s anxiety and somehow fit eight hours of work into five.

Good Friday:

Miss Eight asks “Why is it called Good

Friday if Jesus died?” I let her know that’s an excellent question for her scripture teacher when school goes back.

Miss 14 inquires about what our plans are for today. “Decompressing after a long term, taking care of Dad, emptying out school bags and washing uniforms,” I reply.

Miss Eight’s school bag contains 127 rocks, 35 seed pods, 4 sticks, 2 drink bottles but zero hats or jumpers. “Maybe I left them on my chair?” she wonders out loud.

Easter Saturday, 4.37am: “MUM! WAKE UP! THE EASTER BUNNY FORGOT US!” Miss Eight shouts in my face in a panic. I guide her back to bed and let her know she’s 27 hours too early.

However, now I can’t get back to sleep and so as the time the heroes at Bill’s Beans are opening up, I’m waiting outside. We pop next door to the incredible “producer’s garage sale” and buy local tomatoes, strawberries, garlic and apples.

Inspired by such beautiful produce I slip into my pre-child role of domestic goddess and bake a loaf of bread and slow-roast tomatoes with garlic for lunch. Miss Eight, who adores tomatoes and is completely unused to homemade bread fresh from the oven declares it the best lunch she’s ever eaten. I decide to go back each week and embrace slow cooking.

Easter Sunday, 6.07am: “MUM! WAKE UP! THE EASTER BUNNY REMEMBERED US!” Miss Eight shouts in my face in a pre-sugar high.

We do an egg hunt outside and Hubby manages to join us with a mask on. Miss Eight’s delight is contagious and leads to a beautiful day filled with chocolate and craft. Miss 14 and I set up a Barbie “camp” in the dining room and I play with Miss 8 all afternoon.

It’s not the Easter we planned, but it’s been beautiful regardless.