I have a bone to pick with my husband.
It might, on the surface, seem like he should get the five-star-man-of-the-year-award for casually arranging a two day drive down the famous Great Ocean Road and sweeping us away for the weekend. It seems thoughtful, and generous, perhaps even romantic, if you gloss over the four kids who dog our every step asking asinine questions, laying in wait to scare the stuffing out of us around every corner, and eating the last piece of garlic naan bread that I was hoping to mop up the remainder of my curry with, but I digress. It might seem like he was wholly philanthropic in his planning. Don’t buy everything he’s selling:
We’re celebrating Father’s Day… again.
That’s right: Again.
We’re celebrating our fourth Father’s Day in the last year, to be precise. We celebrated on the King’s birthday in Thailand, we celebrated in New Zealand with the Alboms. We celebrated American Father’s Day, and now we’re celebrating Australian Father’s Day. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a fantastic Dad, but four times in one year? Really?
We are tucked in tonight at Warrnambool (say that three times fast) in a dive-ish sort of hotel; our favourite kind. It was a spectacular drive along the Great Ocean Road. We stopped and hiked to sea cliffs, picnicked in the sun, watched surfers catch the waves, saw black swans sitting on their nests and two road-kill-a-roos as the world whizzed by. We stopped at the famous Twelve Apostles and, while we enjoyed it, felt rather like we were on the movie set of the Vietnam War, what with all of the helicopters whizzing back and forth over head. The kids spent the hour before dusk whooping it up in the fantastic playground on the beach at Warrnambool, as our neighbours predicted they would.
I grumbled to Tony as we wandered back from the bollywood blaring Indian restaurant where I ran out of naan, that my plan had been to buy him a bottle of Sailor Jerry for Father’s Day, but he ruined that by buying a bottle of good rum on Wednesday, and that if we are forced to celebrate ONE MORE Father’s Day this year I’m going to go on strike and form a picket line.
Lucky for me, about 360 days a year are Mother’s Day with this guy, so I’ll quit griping and show you some pictures of the Great Ocean Road.