Memories are made of this. And this, and this, and this...
Oh how I wish I wasn't soooo exhausted and could summon the energy to capture the past few days in as much detail as they deserve. Instead, here are the highlights
Friday - arrivals from the airport, hugs of the long-lost friendship kind. Chats in the kitchen, wineglasses in hand (it might be telling that I nearly typed wine bowls instead, hee hee) soothing bowls of pasta. Eastenders, for the comedy value, giggling like teenagers.
Saturday - Home-made blueberry pancakes. The beach in the coldest wind I've known, our guest assimilating herself into the eye of the family storm like an absolute pro. A trail of four following behind an intrepid blonde-haired adventurer, whose inate knowledge of the most interesting path was inspired; a privilege to follow in his wise and tiny footsteps. The papers and sweet, golden silence. Juno. I love that film beyond words.
Sunday - an abundance of cake, spontaneous invitations to tea and talk of imminent twins. Grownups descending down slides altogether out of control, sudden cries of alarm having to be swiftly adapted to embarrassed talk of SHIPS! on the horizon. The joyous return of Dada from another working weekend. Mine and my friend's sweet release to the sauna, which was closed. An impromptu detour to the pub. Guinness and then THE BEST FISH AND CHIPS I HAVE EVER KNOWN, eaten from boxes, walking uphill towards home in the freezing evening air, talking ten to the dozen. Gavin & Stacey, sharing the kind of knowing laughter that makes you feel at ease, understood, accepted.
Monday - the great church Easter egg hunt. Memories are made of this. We followed the orienteering instructions and the shouts of children further on, learning our left from our right by looking for the 'L' shape made by the index finger and thumb on the corresponding hand. Doughnuts and coffee in the open air. Laughing that doughnuts are as much part of the theology of this church as anything more central to faith. Feeling part of something without weirdness, welcomed, comfortable. The Boy and I took part in the egg-rolling competition and won, with more than a little cheating involved. He was quietly proud of the prize; the enormous Easter egg that had to be carried by a grown up so as not to impede his searching for little eggs hidden along the hunt trail. We found more than we could carry and ended up giving away more than we kept. I don't know what was more fun; those magical seconds between spotting a cluster of eggs and waiting to watch The Boy's eyes light up as he spied them too and claimed them as his, or deliberately dropping eggs discreetly in the path of kids with downhearted expressions at their lack of booty.
Lunch was insane: I watched kids at other tables tucking in happily to their food, not thinking to fight the restraint of high chairs or the conventions of sitting still at the table. At these moments I cringe, feeling the evil eye of other parents as my kids buck and squawk and struggle with what's unfairly expected of them. And our guest was incredible, filling the gaps, smoothing down ruffled feathes, making it all seem normal and fun. The Boy couldn't remember her name and in the end afforded her the ultimate accolade: Nanny, which has clearly come to signify the exhilarating presence of a certain kind of female in our house, who generally comes bearing gifts and is content to be imprisoned in the playroom for most of the length of their stay.
We practically broke into Ikea at closing time, and were ushered through Secret Doors straight to the market place with 5 minutes to go until the tills closed. We came out victorious, having only purchased the one small thing we went to get, and nothing in excess. We made up for it by gorging ourself on hot dogs and ice creams for mere pennies. Having Ikea next to the airport is genius.
I'm saving myself to tell you about the pirate conversation that took place on the way home because it was PRICELESS and deserves a full, unabridged re-telling. Suffice it to say The Boy's car seat was unusually positioned in the front passenger seat and Dada talked all the way home from the airport in a convincing pirate tone, as they sailed their pirate ship along the ocean, looking out for other ships and sharks:
A road-gritter passed by, showering our car in tiny crystals of salt.
Boy: !Gasp! What was that, Pirate?
Pirate Captain: Ha-haarrr me lad, that there was salt. It was assaulting us.
Boy: Salt? I didn't like it.
PC: No lad, t'is never nice to be assaulted.
Boy: Nooo, me hearties, arrr!
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