I HAVE been mentally preparing myself for the insane annual madness that is Easter at my house.
When my girls inevitably turn into hyperactive monkeys after gorging themselves with as much chocolate as they can fit into their mouths.
Hopefully, my 10-year-old Ayla has learnt from the past.
She may reconsider having chocolate eggs for breakfast, lunch and dinner after spewing up pure chocolate last Easter Sunday.
I don’t think it tasted as good on the way up.
Ayla is certainly her mother’s daughter.
When I was young, most of my chocolate was gone by lunchtime.
My sister, on the other hand, would savour hers — taking tiny bites out of it before putting it back in the fridge.
And I would have to look at that damn never-ending chocolate egg every time I opened the
fridge. For what seemed like forever.
My youngest Maya likes to savour her chocolate too (because she knows it may be a long time before she gets another one).
It infuriates Ayla though, because she has to watch her little sister indulge in her favourite sweet when hers are all gone.
I'm looking forward to that and the pleasant exchanges that are sure to follow.
This year I have also planned a weekend trip for the three of us.
We’re heading to the Mornington Peninsula, a first for us all, so I’m pretty excited.
Probably more about the destination than the journey though.
Road trips an be fun, as long as everyone is kept entertained.
When I was young, our family road trips consisted of reading books and looking out the
My girls thought ‘looking out the window’ was particularly hilarious.
For them, they cannot get in the car — even if it’s a five-minute drive to the shops — without
They both have iPods and headphones so at least there are no fights about what music they (we) have to hear.
However, it means I have to listen to two girls singing (or rather trying to) at once — Maya
belting out Adele’s Hello at the top of her lungs and Ayla’s version of the Bob Dylan classic Hurricane (for the 400th time).
Considering it’s a four-hour drive, I may need to invest in some noise-cancelling headphones.
guess I can’t really talk.
Every Good Friday, I play Jesus Christ Superstar (the 1970 rock opera) as loud as I can.
And considering I know the songs off by heart, I also sing as loud as I can.
And the girls are not to disrupt me during my 90-minute reprise.
Then they have to console me at the end of the musical when Jesus dies on the cross.
It’s my Easter tradition and I’m sticking to it.