Caravan of Courage

Just returned home from THE BEST weekend.

This was the equation:

Caravan + kids + beach + pals + fire pit + meat + mud + bikes + hikes + swimming + beers + dirty feet = THE BEST weekend.

We hired a rad caravan down at Skenes Creek. If you've never been to this hideaway caravan park near Apollo Bay, it's time to try it. This sensational area is like a time warp to 1986, in the best possible way.

The on site caravans with their chocked up wheels and dusty annexes are like holidays from my childhood, the beige exteriors bringing an instant feeling of calm.  The smell of charcoal and sausages bringing back memories of fortnight-long vacations in Mallacoota, Nelsons Bay, Port Stephens, Caloundra.

The sight of packs of kids racing their pushies along the track, taking a risk and smashing out metre long burn outs wearing only thongs and a pair of faded boardies. Filthy children with sand stuck between their toes, their parents sitting by the caravan stoking the fire pit, iceburg lettuce ready to fill a rissole sandwich.

No money is spent on these holidays. No TV is watched. No bedtime routine is followed. Sometimes there isn't even a shower before bed coz 'I had a shower on the beach and I've wiped my feet with a towel, mum'.

It's the best.

I love waking in the morning and watching the zombie-like parents in their checkered ill-fitting pj's (some dads just wearing their jocks) heading towards the shared toilet block, still glaring out its 1980s sunshine pine coloured rendered brick, with concrete planters filled with succulents and cigarette butts standing like two soldiers at the entrance. Sometimes the parents look nervous, knowing they need to shit but aware of the queue.

At night, you might bump into the same person, no longer a stranger because you had to tell their kid off for licking the communal bin, and you chat in front of the mirror with your mouth full of toothpaste.

It's the best.

Our pals, with their sons in tow, would run around with our boys at the beach, on their bikes, up the track. Jumping, wrestling, smashing the sand. Kids being kids. No adults in sight.

At night, we would nestle in after the kids had gone to sleep for tea out the front of our caravan, watch the fire burn and discuss the difference between Aldi and Coles, favourite pizza toppings and holidays of our youth.  Adults being adults until someone would let off a fart then we'd all cack ourselves with laughter.

Caravaning. Camping. This is the way forward with our holidays now. Long ago are the days of five star resorts and stunning hotel rooms. But by golly, it's so much fun to be disgustingly grotty for a few days, acting like a kid, just like it was 1986 all over again. I can't wait to return next year.

Festival of the West

Summer is the best, especially in the West. This year, I spent the majority of summer at home and I found our days were filled with all the west has to offer. We are so close to all the action. Day trips to Indented Head, Queenscliff and Barwon Heads; boat watching down at Williamstown; food trucks and ace picnics in Yarraville Gardens; bike rides along the beach or through new parks; and two awesome festivals: So Frenchy So Chic at Werribee Park and Portarlington Mussel Festival, both within a short drive from our suburb.

And it’s festival season in the inner west with Lunar New Year on our doorstep and my favourite local event, the Yarraville Festival, is happening this month.

Celebrating its 35^th year, Yarraville Festival on Sunday 7 February is certainly an event to make the journey to (highly recommend by bike, train or walking). The Village shuts off its streets to cars, making way for stall vendors selling everything from puppets to terrariums, paella to choc ripple donuts.

For the kids, Fels Park off Simpson Street is filled with storytime shows, petting zoos and performers all ready to put a smile on your kid’s face.

But I can’t get past the scents coming from the street. As a local, I can smell the aromas of the street stalls from my house from early morning, chargrilling their goodies, toasting up some kind of yummy seed to put into some kind of yummy bread.

Alongside the sweet smell of delicious food you can hear the super sound of bands warming up ready to play to the crowds. This year there are seven stages showcasing the best of the community including my favourite, the Yarraville Mouth Organ Band (you need to see these guys and Instagram the hell out of this gig) and Middle Aged Weirdo. There’s some fresh talent to discover as well including local school bands and rad up and comers on the Freeza stage (my pick is Shewolf – awesome new talent featuring 17 year old triplet sisters and their best buddy).

Over 18? Ace. Collect a beer from Dawsons Cellars and enjoy the main stage with your cold amber liquid. You might even see me busting out some moves in my Mom Jeans with my two-year-old.

Have a two year old? Get a front row seat at the hottest fashion parade in the west. The Dog Parade is a highlight every year with pooches dressed in their finest gear from diamante collars to Buzz Lightyear ensembles. It’s fun – with or without a two year old. Just make sure you share the love on social media to make sure your eastern suburbs buddies come over for the action next year.

The 2016 Yarraville Festival is set to be the biggest yet. Set yourself up for a day of awesomeness. Pack some sunscreen and water and text your pals. Find out more at www.yarravillefestival.com.au

Need to pump yourself up for Yarraville Festival? Here’s my top five songs for this summer.

1.       April Sun in  Cuba – Dragon

2.       Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now – Starship

3.       Daniel – Elton John

4.       Friday on my Mind – Easy Beats

5.       Lazing on a Sunny Afternoon – The Kinks

Would love to know yours. See you at the Festival!

xx

All of these fabulous photos are by the super talented Paul Large, fellow local Yarravillian.
This article first appeared in my column Spun Webb in the February issue of The Westsider. 

Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina

It’s a famous line in the Kindergarten Cop flick

You know the one, where the little boy’s so slick

When he states to Arnie, in the classic one liner

That ‘boys have a penis, and girls a vagina’.

It’s stuck with me for all of these years

A line that’s shouted with peers and beers

But now with my two-year-old boy in tow

He thinks it’s something that everyone must know.

While standing in a very long bank queue

My son (who is also fascinated with poo)

Went up to a stranger, and pointed at his dacks

And shouted ‘doodle?’followed by sniggers and cracks.

The man looked at me, unsure what to do

I explained that my son had just turned two

That he was curious about the thing in his nappy

But talking about it seemed to make him happy.

The tantrums themselves are awkward enough

But how in the hell are you meant to handle this stuff?

There’s a time and a place for this chat, to be frank

But it’s not the time, nor the place when we are in a bank.

It’s no different at all when we go to the zoo

Where there are plenty of doodles and a whole lot of poo

We explore all the gardens and eat picnic feasts

But it all gets exciting when we check out the beasts.

Just last week, we watched the elephants play

My son glued to the fence on this rainy day

Then a male elephant weed and boy it was a hit

And on top of that he took a massive shit.

Oh the squeals of delights, from my son and other boys

Who were all lined up, attracted by the noise

The other parents and I all rolled our eyes

I was thankful that the excitement was no surprise.

In my household filled with blokey gents

Where it’s rare if anyone is wearing pants

I feel left out because I’m ‘missing a tail’

But at the end of the day, I’m proud to be female.

This ode first appeared on BubbaWest.

Mother's Day sucks pom poms

It sucks balls.  I dread it every year because it’s yet another reminder that our family is not a normal nine-to-five family where everyone sits around the table at the same time telling tales about bigfoot sightings and camping adventures. We’re a tag-team family who work hours unbeknownst to many, and sometimes our hours clash and we panic.

Mother’s Day is a day that I avoid all family locations – zoos, lunch spots, picnic areas, day spas (ha) – because I want to cry my face off when I see parents together with their kids celebrating all things mum.

Summer Dreams and Ice Creams

There’s something in the air and it smells. It’s not just the smell of teen spirit. It’s the smell of summer. But it’s different this year and it smells so good.

The smell is popping up everywhere I go. At a recent dumpling showdown with friends, an argument broke out about whether it is ‘Creaming’ or ‘Creamy’ soda and then it reached new heights on the difference between brown or red soda, then it went even further as to who made it better: Kirks or Tarax? (In my opinion it’s Creamy, it’s brown and Tarax did a ripper version in a black can with a gold stripe).

As a kid, my brothers and I were only ever allowed soft drink at special occasions. We would have Creamy Soda or Pasito at Christmas and it was such a treat.