I was living my dream life. As our little family grew, our free time was spent at the beach or play parks. And although we lived near the beach and lovely play parks, we took day trips regularly. On weekends, we loved exploring our beautiful Manning Valley in Bren’s old VW beetle and taking yearly trips to Queensland’s Gold Coast.

“Mum, Muuum.” Trya yelled from the pool. I could see them swimming and jumping off their father’s shoulders from where I was sitting in the lounge area of our poolside apartment.
“What’s up?” I called back, walking to the balcony.
“Dad said do you want to come to Piccolo for a coffee?” Dad was standing waist-deep in the pool beside her, grinning.
“Yes, I do,” I said. “I’ll grab my hat.”
“Can you grab our towels?” Baden yelled.
“Why didn’t you take them with you?”
“Never mind,” I said as I walked back into the apartment to get three towels out of the dryer. Why did they never take their towels with them?
This was our last Gold Coast Holiday together, the four of us. It’s funny that we always know when we are doing something for the first time but rarely when it’s the last – I’m in two minds about whether that is a good or bad thing.
We had so much fun on that trip. If the kids weren’t in the pool jumping off their dad’s shoulders — he was teaching them how to surf at the beach. And when we weren’t doing either of those two things, we were planning what to do next at our favourite little coffee shop.
We might not have been so carefree if we had known it would be our last Gold Coast holiday together.

I had the coffee machine ready to go when I heard Bren’s beetle pull into the driveway. Our afternoons usually went like clockwork. The kids got off the bus, snacked, and then played with their friends. Bren got home from work about an hour later, and we had a cuppa to check in with each other before we trained.
“Hey,” he said. Kicking off his boots as he leaned against the front door jam. The kids never shut the front door.
I walked over and kissed him. “Cuppa?” I asked
“Pope catholic,” he laughed.
As I made a cappuccino each, he jotted down our afternoon training session in his journal on the kitchen bench.
“We were all offered redundancy packages today,” he said.
We knew this was coming. Lots of the casual workers were let go over the last few months.
“What are you going to do?” I said.
“Talk to you first,” he laughed.
“I’ll back whatever you want to do.”
“I’ve been talking to Nigel at Edsteins, and there’s some work there. The redundancy will keep the mortgage paid and give us some backup while I do that personal training course and build the CrossFit at-home business. Money could get tight.”
“We can do tight. Look where we live. Old Bar is a holiday destination. We can cut out our Gold Coast holidays, weekends away, take away. Rump steak,” I said, laughing.
“I’m serious,” he said.
“So am I, Babe; rump steak will have to go!” I said, still joking. “Seriously, you have supported everything I’ve ever wanted to do — without question. Now it’s your turn. Maybe this offer is a sign to follow your dream.”
“Maybe. We might have to downsize. Would you consider putting the house on the market if we have to?”
“Yep, I’d live in a tent with you if I had to. I don’t know how the kids will feel about a tent — or where we’d put their toys, but I’m in 100%.”

“So we’re doing it?”
“Yep, go for it. And we’ll have heaps more time to spend together because we’ll both be working from home now.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said, laughing.
“You’re such a shit,” I laughed as he ducked from the tea towel I threw at him.



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