One of the things I’ve found most exhausting about motherhood is keeping my kids entertained with outings that appeal to all three of them.

With every one of them having a different personality and vastly varied interests, it’s been a challenge.

The beauty of them getting older is that I no longer need to do that.

For starters, none of them have that FOMO anymore; wanting to go somewhere purely because they’re afraid of missing out on something, even if they knew, realistically, they were not going to enjoy the planned activities.

They only ever ended up bored, bothered or browbeaten about it and begged the rest of us to leave earlier than the rest of us wanted to.

Now, they just happily stay home, hang out with friends, go to work or to my parents’ place.

It means I can tailor activities to each of them if there’s something happening that piques their individual interests.

And, after so many years of sharing the attention of a single parent between them, they’re now finally each getting really good quality one-on-one time.

My eldest (who’s now an adult and driving himself around!) and I have tickets to two concerts together in November.

Apparently, the trick to making sure he still wanted to hang out with his Mumma at 18 was training him into good music taste.

My middle child and I also have tickets to a gig together in March.

And he just got his L-plates, so we’ve been hanging out in the car a bit, too — although that feels more like bonding through trauma in these early stages.

I’m not sure if I forgot how terrifying those first few drives were with my first or if my nerves will just be worn further with each child I have to teach to drive.

My ‘baby’ (who’s 14 and actually not a baby at all) is (still) into aviation, as regular readers might remember, so we had a whole day in Tocumwal together, just he and I, on Sunday at its biennial air show.

I love air shows, too. Not quite as much as he does, but they are exhilarating.

I’m not into planes and aviation in general, but formation flying is fascinating, rolling RAAF Roulettes are riveting, and speeding stunts are spectacularly satisfying.

The roar of a gleaming Spitfire, an intimidating Avenger, a trio of Mustangs; they’re not things you get to experience every day.

In fact, if you saw any of them on one day, it would be an extraordinary day, so when you whack ’em all on the same calendar square, you’re ticking several boxes and tickling several fancies.

We missed seeing Paul Bennet and his Sky Aces team perform at the Avalon Airshow earlier this year, after a pilot was sadly injured in a crash on the Friday afternoon before we arrived for the weekend.

The team, understandably, had packed up and gone home.

So, to see their world-class skills on display over a backdrop of golden canola at Tocumwal’s humble little regional airport was a treat.

At one point, the commentators crossed live to Paul Bennet’s cockpit as he was travelling at speeds up to 420km/h, climbing to 1800 feet, and manoeuvring his tricky little yellow biplane in quick flips, smooth rolls and heart-stopping drops and tumbles.

In a masterful display of multitasking, Paul talked the crowd through his complex operations while performing them.

Anyone who says it’s not exciting can’t possibly have witnessed it.

Flying another little teal-coloured stunt plane — please don’t ask me makes and models, my son’s not here to answer the technical questions — was pilot Glenn Graham.

Apparently he was reaching a force of 10G — or, in layman’s terms, acceleration that is 10 times the force of Earth’s gravity.

Google says at that force, a person would feel 10 times their normal body weight and have an increased risk of tunnel vision and loss of consciousness.

Yet here Paul and Glenn were flying directly at each other before they both quickly rolled their aircrafts sideways to pass each other.

At one point in the day, Paul even ‘raced’ a 1934 Coupe hotrod.

There was never a doubt which would win, but the spectacle, especially with the radiant yellow backdrop, was crowd-pleasing.

I even bought myself a Paul Bennet Airshows hoodie.

Sure, I’ll admit it’s mostly because I’d underdressed for the windy open airport plains of a cloudy spring, and very Victorian weather-wise, day (even though we were in NSW), but now I don’t have to think about what to wear when I chaperone my son to all the airports he insists we visit.

He came home with a new T-shirt, too, which is another reason this new era of one-on-ones with my now older kids might be a better time for them.

Their souvenirs used to consist of the cheapest thing on the rack, otherwise I’d be spending the equivalent of a week’s worth of groceries by the time I bought three quality items.

Then I’d lament with buyer’s regret and borderline resentment when two out of three of them didn’t even wear the damn things before they outgrew them.

So, while I mourn the loss of cheaper children’s entry fees, kids’ menus and smaller clothing sizes, the money I spend now is a much better investment.

Quality over quantity, so they say.

And everything about the Tocumwal Airshow was quantifiable quality.

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Saturday, 30th January 2027

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