When you work in a campground, you have to take your holidays in the winter. It’s fun, because you get to take your nearly-three-year-old to see snow for the first time.
And because you get to be with family when that nearly-three-year-old becomes a three-year-old (Happy Birthday, Campground Kid!)
And because you get to stay in a big ol’ farm house and see all the animals and stay cosy around the fire playing card games, and chatting. And you get to go for walks in your gumboots and jump in muddy puddles.
And New Zealand still looks pretty beautiful in the winter.
But then you go and lose your voice halfway through the trip, and spend a week of your holiday being sick and miserable.
(No pictures allowed of me moping around in my PJs)
And then you get rained on allll the time, even at the three-year-old’s special and planned-in-advance outing.
But at least you can still balance bike along a wet beach.
And at least you can still say that, all things considered, it was a very rad holiday.
(And also, I’m glad to be home again and well again!)