Last week Hayden flew up to Newcastle to meet his grandmother and great-grandmother for the first time. In the home where I had spent many of my holidays as a child, we relaxed to the sounds of kookaburras, tawny frogmouths, and chirping frogs. He was the first baby in the house for ten years, so he was showered with attention, spending the whole day moving from one lap to another.

Every morning, mum and I would take a walk to the beach, strolling along the boulevard and watching the fierce waves crash against the shore. With oil tankers dotted across the horizon, the surf lifesavers would scout the tides every morning to determine the safest place to swim – “always swim between the flags” was one of the anthems of my childhood.

We were also able to spend some time with my Nana, Hayden’s great-grandmother. Hayden loved to watch her clap her hands, and I was able to hear her stories of raising five children while working as a journalist. With a single wriggling baby in my hands, I have no idea how she managed to balance it all, especially back in the day of cloth nappies and no dishwashers. It was so fantastic to be able to spend a week relaxing with mum Nana and Hayden playing together, and to show them our adorable baby boy.

We drove up to Newcastle for several days so that I would have a chance to see my extended family before we escaped overseas again. It was lovely to see Nana, still sprightly and vivacious and so happy to have everyone home for the holidays. I was saddened by Pop’s absence – his memory is still very much alive in our thoughts and stories, and his mischievous smile still peeked out from the photos on the mantelpiece, but he was no longer at his proper place at the head of the table.

We exchanged gifts, and food was also major theme for the day. We started the day with egg and salmon filled croissants, made mini pizzas for lunch, and capped it off with roast turkey and tofurkey. Adrian and I decorated gingerbread people in festive and delicious costumes, but I am afraid to say, they didn’t even make it 24 hours before being devoured.

Adrian and I were so pleased with our decorative abilities that we proceeded to decorated my cousin’s hair in a manner fitting the occasion, which promptly fell out after several energetic games of Tag.

My Nana mentioned to Adrian that she had always dreamt of having dinner out on the lawn in the backyard, underneath the trees. I sympathised with her that such an impossible dream would never be realised, as we had always had dinner on the verandah. Adrian, however, told her that if her dream was that easy, he would make it happen. He simply rummaged through the garage for a spare table, picked it up, washed it off, and brought everything down to the lawn. In no time at all, a festive table was decked out under the afternoon sky, and we all sat around it, listening to the clinks of wine glasses and laughs of kookaburras as the day wound to a close.