Some days are better than others

This is where I spent my day. Well, the best part of it. It was one of Those Days in the Fibro today. Mr6 woke up at 5.45am, on the wrong side of the bed. By 7.30am he was the grumpiest child on the planet and by 10am I was the Worst Mother in The World. To give you an idea, I was hoarse from shrieking, his beloved bear was in the highest cupboard I could find, and I was trying to work out if he needed to go or I did. As it turned out, we both did.

We were saved by friends visiting from The Big Smoke. “Come see us,” they said. “We’re camping down the coast.” I admit, I ummed and ahhed. It was a 30-minute drive. I had things to do. Mr6 didn’t want to go (and I didn’t want to take him anywhere). It seemed like a lot of trouble on a crisp autumn day, when I knew the water temperature would be set to ‘chill’ and the boys would want to swim anyway.

I realised, however, that it was either go or end up a shrill, screaming mess. So I packed my shrill, screaming child in the car, along with his cherubic brother and we headed off. To this beach. Where we paddled about in rock pools, discovered secret passages and smuggler’s trails in the rocks (Mr6 is heavily into Famous Five of late and there are ‘secret passages’ everywhere we go… I think he’s also tapping the walls in the Fibro when I’m not looking, searching for secret, sliding panels…of which there are none), and built what Mr3 described as ‘The World’s Biggest Sandcastle. His world is small.

It’s a beautiful world, though. The beaches here, in all their white-sanded, aquamarine glory, are the reasons that people flock to this area. They’re one of the reasons we came back here. They are uncrowded and unspoilt.

While I was sitting on the beach this morning, sand between my toes, tiny waves rolling in, with the warm autumn sun warming my scalp, I realised that I need to get out more. I would not have been on that beach had a visitor not invited me. I would have been in my Fibro, going about my boring day-to-day business, shrieking at my children.

When you live somewhere, it’s easy to walk only well-trodden paths from point A to point B. But view your area as a tourist does, and it’s like going on holidays. Only better – because our friends are sleeping in a tent tonight, while we’re all at home in warm, comfy beds. My kind of camping.

{image: Beachmaster}