Long weekends - nothing can beat one. Except two long weekends in a row!
With the Easter weekend and then ANZAC Day following close behind, I have had a fab couple of short working weeks. And returning to work for a full five days is going to be a challenge.
Oh how quickly I adapt to being away from the office....
The best part about the double whammy long weekend, is that Mr M has been off work. It's been such a help having him at home; mornings have been easier, as have the evenings!, and we created a new bedtime routine - me reading two books to the boys, with Warrie snuggling on my lap whilst Mr M cuddles up to Mac in his bed.
The one thing that really stuck out for me this second long weekend, is how much the ANZAC day has come to mean something to me. Maybe its because I have two boys, and I can identify with the mothers that lost their sons in Gallipoli? Whatever the reason, I spent much of the Friday morning explaining (or trying to!) the importance of ANZAC day to Mac... without using the words "died" or "war", which I thought might be a little confronting for a 4.5 year old! I'm not sure how much he understood, or indeed if he was even listening to me!, but I felt like I solidified a little more in my own heart and mind as to why it is an important day for me.
When I first moved back to Australia, nearly 13 years ago, I had no real concept of ANZAC Day. I knew what it represented, and I understood the gravitas that surrounded it. But I just thought of it as a day off work and that whatever I got up to, I would be "doing it for the Diggers" - usually with a drink in my hand.
But as the years went by, and especially once I had Mac and Warrie, the value of the day shifted for me. All those men who perished in the Great War, in order that the world would be a better place, that we would have our freedom. The selflessness of those who were (are!) willing to go to war, those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country, just blows my mind.
But I think the importance of the day
really became apparent to me three years ago, when we were in Canberra kick-starting our honeymoon. We dragged Mac around the
Australian War Memorial, (not sure what we were thinking, he was 18-months old!) and stayed for the Last Post ceremony. We had been reading the Roll of Honour, and I had just found my maiden name and was wondering if the names listed had been distant relatives of mine. Then the bugle started.
I am not ashamed to admit that I sobbed.
Standing next to the names of possible relatives, my first born son in my arms, my new husband standing protectively behind us, on a cold, crisp and beautiful Canberra afternoon. The sun was setting, the crowd of visitors in the Memorial was silent, and the haunting sound of the bugle was echoing through the air... How can you not be touched by that?
I cried for the men whose names were on the Roll of Honour.
I cried for the men and women currently serving.
I cried with thanks that I live in such an amazing country, where everyday I take for granted my freedom to live my life the way I see fit.
I cried with fear for the world that my child would inherit, and hoped that the horrors of war will never be something that he has to experience - a hope that I am sure every single parent in the world shares for their children.
Things I have been grateful for this long weekend:
1. I think it's pretty obvious that I'm forever grateful to the men and women who put their lives on the line for their country.
2. Bedtime snuggles with my boys
3. Family time - we had a lot of it, and we all thrived!
This wasn't what I thought this post was going to be about, my intent had been "light and breezy". But I guess it was something that my soul felt needed to be told.
Do you have a particular public holiday that holds importance or special meaning for you? I'd love to hear about it!
