Family memories are slippery little suckers.
Creating them reminds me of that little kid in the TV advert for tinned spaghetti who spent his whole time chasing pasta around his plate with a plastic fork.
The harder you try for one particular one, the less likely you are to get it.
I learned that the hard way recently when I asked my 12 year old to tell me his favourite childhood memory.
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To my knowledge, he’d never even pondered it before and yet he answered without even a pause.
His answer?
It wasn’t the outrageously expensive weekend to Melbourne with his Dad to see his favourite footy team play.
Nor was it any memories from our wild (and I have to say usually wet) camping trips to beautiful beaches and crystal rock pools.
It wasn’t even the trip we took to France and Abu Dhabi.
Nope .
The happy memory that had stuck in his brain was a weekend several years ago when he and his Dad got stranded at a house on the NSW coast when a big cyclone hit. The rain pelted down for the entire time and apparently the 2 of them worked their way through the whole of Lord of the Rings series.
See? Spaghetti…..
My kids are getting older now and I’m suddenly aware that family holidays won’t last forever.