Thursday, July 19, 2012

Once a child, always a child


My cousin was kind enough to remind me the other day that spending six weeks with my parents would be the longest time I have spent with them since uni holidays – and even then I was working most of the day, weeding tomato paddocks – wonderful work in the 37 ish degree heat of the northern Victorian summer.

And apparently, in just a few days back in the parental fold there is very little distance between teenager Annalea and today’s Annalea – it’s interesting how quickly we can regress to our former, less gracious or compassionate selves in such a short time.

First night after travelling three days and being very confused about who, where and what time it was:
Mum: Now we won’t make any plans cause we know you don’t like to make plans.
Me: Excellent.
The next morning I hear whispering from the lounge room:
Dad: I wonder what time she’ll get up.
Dad: Will she want breakfast before going to the market?
Mum: I don’t know, ask her.
Dad: Maybe we should go for breakfast after the market?
Mum: She might be hungry before that.
Dad: Which café should we go to after the market then?
Me: Morning! Anyone for a vodka?
Dad: Do you want to have breaky now or after the market? Do you want something small or a big eggs breakfast? What do you want to do after the market? Do you want to go to the pool or beach?
Me: I thought I’d just have a vodka and see where the day takes me…

And over the next 2 days:
Mum: What are you going to do with your hair?
Me: I don’t understand the question.
Mum: Aren’t you hot in those boots? Do you have some nice shoes?
Me: I don’t understand the question.
Dad: What are you eating? What are you doing? Where are you going?
Me: Vodka.
Mum: Are you wearing that?
Me: Due to a serious case of swimmer’s ear caused by you letting me run wild and spend every day swimming in freezing cold rivers with treacherous currents, and the nights hanging my head out of cars speeding down long country roads like a crazed border collie – also your fault for not putting locks on the bedroom windows – I can’t hear you.
Mum: Well, your brother didn’t need locks on the windows.
Me: That’s ‘cause he’s boring!!!
Dad: You look beautiful. Except for the boots.
Me :/
Mum: Do you want to go and put some lipstick on?
Me: I don’t understand the question.

Of course I understand the questions, they want to see me and know that I’m here with them. They enjoy their roles as parents and it is wonderful to be spoilt and fussed over – they are very excited to have me here and I have been excited to get here. They want to show me everything they love about the place and how much they’ve made it a bit of a home – the oldies they get their fruit and veg from at the market on Saturday mornings, the café with the best iced coffee, Louis’ Bar; the smoky local where dad hangs out with his mates, the local supermarkets and their favorite lunch spots. 

And it's the wonderful familiar of watching dad cut up his fruit for his cereal with such concentration and precision, then holding it up: Look at that! And mum telling me stories about their neighbours and keeping me up to date with the news - which I never bother to watch. And both of them swearing at the computer. And of course we don’t get to be spoilt often or children forever so for now I will visit and meet and greet and eat, I will pop on some lippy, put my hair up and find some non-boots. Because there was vodka, soda water, limes and gluten free food in the apartment when I arrived. And because the novelty will wear off and then I can run rampant. As they also expect me to do as their child.  


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