Newsletter Subscription

Regular Updates on Parenting, Happy Children & Emotional Intelligence

  • Latest Articles - Raising Children with Emotional Intelligence
  • New Parenting Blogs
  • Parenting Tips for Happy Children
  • Free Online Seminars
  • Popular Parenting Books & Reviews

Subscribe!

Regular Updates on Parenting, Happy Children & Emotional Intelligence

  • Latest Articles - Raising Children with Emotional Intelligence
  • New Parenting Blogs
  • Parenting Tips for Happy Children
  • Free Online Seminars
  • Popular Parenting Books & Reviews

CAPTCHA
This question is for testing whether you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.
Image CAPTCHA
Enter the characters shown in the image.
Unsubscribe

Blog Archives

View full Archive

Proudly Supporting

Proudly Supporting

Experiences Matter, Not Things

By Carol Duncan - 22nd June 2010

A wise man I know often reminds me, "Experiences matter, not things."  This is, however, a wise man who has never seen the true devastation that is often wrought in our home by The Ninja aged seven, and his brother The Bird, aged 8.  Very smart and funny little boys who provide me with no end of entertainment, love, cuddles, kisses, fights and farts.  Not necessarily in that order.  The house is a mess, constantly, because we believe in Doing Things and Going Places.

My father lived in Canberra for about 25 years and it is a city that I have great affection for.  I love its bright sun, its frosty winters, its dry summers.  I love its lake and bushland and rivers.  I even love its roundabouts!  But after my father retired and migrated north we hadn't returned to Canberra although The Bird assures me he can remember his visit when he was about six months old.

So on a recent long weekend, we took off down the Hume Highway for a frantic visit to everything fabulous in the ACT: Questacon, Tidbinbilla, Mt Stromlo, Black Mountain Tower, the Australian War Memorial.  And I wish we hadn't put it off so long.  No-one threw up in the car, no-one had a tantrum (in the sense of no-one except their tired and emotional mother after 5 hours of 'I'm bored' in the car ... ), The Ninja was thrilled to find a frosty stick and a frosty leaf early one morning, The Bird amazed us all by dropping from the Free Fall thing in Questacon (if ever there was a non-risk-taker, it would be my Bird).

And we talked about things.  A lot of things.  About how Walter Burley Griffin designed the city so that Australia could have a federal capital somewhere other than Sydney or Melbourne - and about what a brilliant architect Walter's wife Marion was, too.  We talked about the Old Parliament House and how it became to small to hold all our politicians so the new Parliament House was built into a hill.  We talked about the terrible bushfires in 2003 and how 70% of the ACT burned, that over 500 homes were destroyed and four people died.  We drove up to Mt Stromlo where the burnt-out remains of some of the observatory domes still stand like ancient ruins.  We talked about how Pa (their grandfather) spent two nights on his roof with a hose and that after the fires he decided to leave Canberra.

We showed them the National Library, the High Court, the National Gallery and the Aboriginal Tent Embassy, we spent hours wandering through the Australian War Memorial, trying to explain to them the terrible facts of war, and death, and fear, and hope.  We looked at the dioramas, unchanged since my first visit as a child, stood in awe in front of the painting of the ghosts at Menin Gate at midnight, walked underneath G for George - the famous Lancaster bomber.  We held hands quietly at the Tomb of the Unknown Australian Soldier and we walked the two long cloisters of the Roll of Honour.  We placed a poppy for two ladies who were there to remember their loved one.  His name was up high on the wall, so The Bird climbed on his father's shoulders and reached up to place the poppy for them:  Amos, C.  25.4.1915  I looked him up when we got home.  His name was Carl Amos, 1st Battalion, and he was just 23 and he didn't last a day.  I think The Ninja and The Bird will see Anzac Day a little differently in the future.  They mentioned how sad his mum must have been.

But, there was still fun to be had.  Later that afternoon we went to sit by the lake and watch the 'spitter spout' - my family's pet name for the Captain Cook Memorial Jet.  And The Bird said to The Ninja, "Let's play Simpson and his donkey.  I'll be Simpson, you be the donkey."

I haven't had the heart yet to tell him that only the donkey survived the war.

Tags:

Comments (5)

CarolDuncan's picture

Domestic Godlessness

... I am an avoider of 'doing things' like housework. Today we have planted things in the garden, used up some old brown bananas to make banana bread for the boys to take to their grandparents house tomorrow, baskets of washing (it's the putting away that I baulk at) and I think later this afternoon we will have a bonfire in the backyard.

Later, I will survey the bombsite that is my house ... and avoid doing the housework again.

YvetteVignando's picture

Experiences versus Housework

I'd like to also vote for the importance of "doing things" with kids over doing more housework and chores (within reason). I can't remember who told me this but someone clever pointed out that as adults looking back on our childhood, we fondly remember (and we are inspired and grateful for) the things we did and the things that happened and not the state of the bathroom or loungeroom (except perhaps in extreme circumstances!)

MeganBlandford's picture

What a fantastic attitude,

What a fantastic attitude, Carol!

Jodie at Mummy Mayhem's picture

Loved this on your blog. We

Loved this on your blog. We had a great time in Canberra that weekend too. We often spend weekends doing more with the kids when we could really do with doing stuff at home. The stuff at home can wait. And wait. And wait.

xx

Thank you...

..for such a beautiful story. I'm a bit of an avoider of Doing Things and Going Places, but this has inspired me!

Member Login

Subscribe to our Blog