Why we will never be the perfect family.

Easter Long weekend started off totally shit house.

Me and my 4 siblings were supposed to converge on Mum and (step) Dad’s place to indulge in some shits and giggles, wine and food, song and slanging matches. All your traditional holiday past-times.

Then the day before, we got some terrible news that sent us reeling. My younger sister Little Miss Lawyer suddenly lost her beloved Mother in Law due to complications following her latest round of chemotherapy. This woman was a wonderful, warm, family-centric lady with a fondness for whiskey and a laugh that drew people around her. Her family and ours are devastated and it has left me wondering how the family unit can unite and move forward without the matriarchal glue that she provided.

We all gathered together anyway to kick on with our own family Easter Festivus without Little Miss Lizzy, Geoff and their kids. It felt strange and I had them in my mind for the entire weekend.

On Saturday my sister Mrs Ryan and I decided to check out the sales at Penrith. Penrith is not my usual shopping destination of choice because, well, it is Penrith. And it took all my urges not to go and get a tattoo and eat Krispy Kreme donuts. Or have 4 more kids. And before you jump down my throat for extreme generalisations, go and spend the morning there. If you are feeling really bad about yourself, take a tour through the food court and you will come out of it feeling on top of the world. I have a westie pedigree so I can get away with saying shit like that. And coke is still in baby bottles there. No baby teeth means they cannot rot yet.

My sister is not known for her taste in shoes. Her clothes are getting better but I still tease her about wearing Double Denim to a Camilla Franks runway show I took her to last year. And not in the cool way magazines suggest.

So I was delighted when she found these and purchased them all on her own. On sale at Sportsgirl. (When did Sportsgirl get good again?)

They make a nice change from her usual shoe of choice……
And shit all over her weekend shoe selection.

I treated myself to a new scarf. Jag. Yum.

And a totally plain but practical cardi which I might lend to Mrs Ryan to wear with her Kumfs.

We celebrated by eating a Kebab and heading back to Mum’s place where a feast awaited.

Now my mum can cook. Man she can cook. Without a recipe. She is the type that can cook an incredible meal for 20 people while half drunk. On the menu was Figs stuffed with goats cheese, wrapped in prosciutto then baked, Oven roasted basil tomatoes, Roasted Beef with her famous horseradish gravy, 2 stuffed and roasted chickens that literally melted in your mouth, beans and a huge platter of roasted veggies. It was sublime. And I ate like it was my last meal. Mr Woog did not speak during the entire dinner as his mouth was too busy being stuffed with all the goodness. It felt weird not having Little Miss Lawyer and her crew there.

After dinner Jazz Hands Jack turned dinner into Dinner and A Show and did a poncy camp version of Bruno Mars I Think I Wanna Marry You, if that song could get any poncier…….

Then dessert came which was streamed caramel pudding. Oh. My. God.

I have failed to mention the ten thousand bottles of wine that we washed all the glorious food down with, because that seems to paint us in an unflattering light and I have already mentioned the trip to Penrith plus the kebab.

Oh who am I kidding! Those chooks were not the only thing that were roasted. We sat around the fire, drank wine and watched the rugby. At the end of the game we all had a nip of whisky in a toast to Little Miss Lawyers wonderful mother in law. The Reds won in case you are interested. I did not care last night and I care even less today.

Mrs Ryan was having problems trying to speak and focus at the same time. Mum then thought a few Cointreau on ices might help her hydrate. I opted for sleep.

This morning screamed around all too quickly and before I knew it the Catholic Ryans were back from church and ready for the Easter egg hunt. When one of her kids suggested he was hungry, Mrs Ryan was quick to quip “For god’s sake, you have already eaten the body of Christ today.” which was both appallingly inappropriate and highly amusing. The Easter egg hunt was an ungraceful frenzy of snatchy grabby behaviour and mum gave me a packet of Darrel Lea Caramel snows which went well with my slight hangover. But I needed a bit of grease.

My sister’s fauxmance Tim started up the BBQ while seedy Mrs Ryan and I sat and watched him with our coffees and yelled at him. “Dance motherfucker dance!” until mum came out of the kitchen and told us to stop swearing.

Cue the bacon and egg rolls.

The kids were not present during this time because they were having their way with their chocolate haul. A fact that came to light at the end of our hour long journey back to the city where on arrival Harry chundered chocolate chunks.

We will never be that perfect family. That perfectly dressed, appropriately behaved bunch who are considerate and polite. We struggle to keep our opinions to ourselves so there are wonderful and colourful exchanges at each gathering. Last nights was no exception.

We will never be that perfect family, but my family is perfect for me.