I especially love a long weekend that celebrates all things Australian.
In my case, that means #1Hubby doing a decent portion of the meal preparation over the course of the weekend - because what is more Aussie than a BBQ?
I love a sunburnt country snagga
Not to mention the associated expectation that BBQ meals be served on disposable plates, negating the need for dish washing.
Obviously organic, farm bred, corn fed, biodegradable, free range disposable plates,
It also means legitimate booze consumption in the afternoon hours, daily. Because it's totally Aussie to crack open a 'tinnie or a bottle of bubbles or a cask of
The kids have been let loose, running wild and free and fairly feral at the #1Grandparents' house all weekend. They've acquainted themselves with lawn. They graze much like you see cattle do. Feet aimlessly rubbing across the surface of the grass style grazing, not bend over and eat style grazing.
Although, to be honest, the lawn could do with a trim, and I'm counting grass as a green veg, so I wouldn't be totally against the notion of the other kind of grazing. It can't possibly be any worse for them than cocktail frankfurts and BBQ shapes - which they've been liberally consuming to fuel their frenzy over the past few days.
They'll completely crap themselves with delight tonight when I bust out the crumbed chicken on a stick, fashioned like a sausage.
Probably worth clarifying that their fascination with grass is down to the fact that we live in a townhouse in the city that is sans lawn. The #1Grandparents' place has a big fat rolling lawn, front and back. It is a foreign concept for them since I don't really go to parks when there's astro-turf covered, flat white producing, free wifi emitting Macca's playgrounds all over the place.
The best part about any long weekend - an extra day off work for #1Hubby.
That's a whole extra day of dual-parenting, my friends.
And we all know that by dual-parenting I mean me finding a quiet corner to sit and tool around on the internet with a big fat glass of wine by my side, while #1Hubby alternates between looking for me and yell-managing the kids with his stressed out girly-man squealy voice that occurs when he thinks he's been left alone with them for too long.
Happy 'Straya Day everyone, may it be fly-free, and full of festive beverages and unburnt sausages
'Straya BBQ pattie, maaaate
