It’s been a crazy summer. Jam-packed with more than some koalas could bear.
Rain. Snow. Heat wave. More rain.
Thirty-eight Bonger-Dongers for a Beach Christmas, dwindling to a mere eleven for New Year. Followed by ten days in Japan, then home again, home again, jiggety-jig, for some quality time in bed with a nasty airline-induced flu.
There are still nine of us bunking together this week. Trying to figure out if the newest member of the clan will recognise us on skype when he goes home to the Can (my brother’s pithy codename for our national capital).
Builders are in my back yard, digging potholes in the rain. Builders are up the coast, waiting for a break in the weather to replace a leaking roof and water-damaged ceilings.
Our baby has started high school. Our almost-twenty-year-old has moved back in. Our fourteen-year-old is sleeping on whatever floor she can find.
It’s chaos, but I find myself oddly happy. Fortified and refreshed. Ready for the new year and all of its challenges.
I’m lucky, my family keeps me grounded. (But sending them all back to work and school gives me wings.)