Dear Delilah...

Dear Delilah,

There is something I want to tell you. I haven't told you this before, but given that today is the first day of 'grown up' Kinder for you, I thought the timing was right.

I want to tell you that you are the only one of you in the whole world. Your whole life there will never be another one of you. You Delilah are a miracle and you are unique. When you were in my tummy, your kicks were so very strong. You didn't rest for long. You wanted to get going on life and not wait around. Those kicks are still just as strong when you crawl into our bed at night and try to make more room.

You were born with piercing blue eyes already trying to make sense of this world from the second you saw it, you hardly blinked. You didn't cry when you were born, you just seemed pleased to finally be here, oblivious to the chaos that surrounded your birth. The newborn photo of you doesn't look like other newborn photos I have seen, you had a look and awareness beyond the 30 minutes you had been in the world.

So today you went off to 'big girl' Kinder. You were very excited. You are always excited and happy, you love to make people laugh and you love to love. It is hard for me to leave you at Kinder, as much as we do have our differences at times because our personalities are so similar, when you were born I never stopped to think that one day someone else would be teaching you things.

I am your Mum, you are my little girl and I miss you. I wonder what you are doing. I hope you are not telling too many jokes and trying your best to listen. And if you are telling jokes, I hope the other kids understand your Delilah-brand sense of humour. I hope you like your lunch you helped me pack this morning and there is lots to smile about today.

Your smile is one of the best around. Your smile, your bright eyes and those one and a half dimples you have are just part of what makes you our Delilah. You are so caring, you love your big brother with all your heart, lungs and liver and you just want everyone to be happy.

You are a spontaneous dancer, sometimes I catch you singing and dancing along to your own tunes. A tune only you can hear. I think the rest of us miss out not being able to hear that tune too. I love how the other morning you asked me to help you find some shoes for the day which would “help you dance to the beat because that day was a fun day”.

Delilah, you were born with your first teeth just about ready to pop through, you were attempting to crawl at three months and talked not long after that. At one you were not only walking, but climbing, you were a climber and saw everything as a challenge to be conquered. It seemed like you were never really a baby, but a tiny person with a mission and the rest of us were simply along for the ride.

You notice so many of the little details in life, the things the rest of us don't. Or perhaps the rest of us are “too busy” or perhaps we just don't look hard enough. Some might say you are easily distracted, I think you just need to find the beauty in everything. Flowers are among your favourite, you love appreciating every flower in a garden for their individual properties.

*

I have just picked you up from your first day, I asked you how it went. You told me how one friend got sad because he hurt his eye on a hat and another friend had a tummy ache. Then you told me how you drew a picture for another friend because she was missing her Mummy. You didn't tell me what you did or about any of the the games played, you only told me about your friends who felt sad. You called them all your friends. I wanted to hear you tell me how you built a tower or dug in the sandpit or painted a picture or listened to a story. But to you, that stuff wasn't important. Of course you would notice the details, I should have known better. You said you had a great day and the next morning you wanted to go again, and were disappointed to discover Kinder wasn't on again until next week so I guess you must have enjoyed it.

I am not sure why I was surprised that the only things you told me were about other children who were sad. You and Leo are so very different. It wouldn't have surprised me if he had told me that, I thought you were the more fun-loving one without too much of care. I was wrong. It seems you are both born with a compassionate heart and you really wanted the sad kids to be happy. When we left you even yelled to one of your friends (the one with the tummy ache) “hope you feel better soon”.

You loved Kinder, you loved the idea of starting your very own adventure in life and you can't wait to go back. I think it will take a while for me to stop missing you and wanting to know every detail of what happened at 2 p.m. every day. Now both my babies are on their own adventures without me, without Daddy or Grandma or Grandpa or Nan or Pa or any other special people like that.

Eventually I think I will get used to it, that I will remember you are an amazing little person and the most important thing to you is how others feel and that is a pretty incredible quality to have at four and a half. As a mother I should be proud of that and listen intently about the other children and how they felt when you tell me with a furrowed brow and sincere look with no sign of those dimples. I guess I'll just have to learn to assume that the towers that get built, the games that are played and the holes that are dug are fun but not as important to you as how the others felt while they were built, played or dug and if everyone got a turn.

For nearly seven years I have had a little person with only me, Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa, Nan or Pa to educate them about life. Now I don't. Now they are both off learning things by themselves and many of them I will never even hear about. They are with groups of other children and interacting socially without me to prompt them if they get stuck or help them pronounce names or remind them about manners. Those perfect little baby legs they were born with are now covered in bruises, scratches and paint and glue and I don't know what caused the injuries and they don't remember - they don't care - they probably didn't even cry. Now I sit and listen about their days rather than having shared them together or with someone just as special who would give me an individual report.

This is about me, not you. I have to learn to adjust to life as mum of a Grade One boy and a big Kinder girl, you have made the adjustment seamlessly. If there was a text book for this type of thing, I think you would make a good case study. It won't stop me telling you magical stories of when you were born and reminiscing about funny baby things. But I also understand that you are growing up. They warned me it would happen, I guess I just never believed it. And they also said the condition is permanent, you will keep growing up and I know I will have these feelings all over again when you start school, when you and Leo start high school, when you grow out of your next lot of clothes, when you get your licence...oh, that's enough of that!

In the meantime, I guess I'll just keep writing...it's all I can do. I hope you know how loved you are Delilah Rose. I hope you grow up being proud of the unique person you are. I hope you never stop caring about others as you do and I hope you continue in your quest to make the world a happier place. We could all take a leaf out of your book, starting with your Mummy.

Congratulations on your first day of Big Girl Kinder Delilah, bring on the next one! (Did that sound convincing?)

Love with all my heart,

Mummy.

That baby becomes a boy

Today I did the washing, the same way as many times before

But as I loaded the machine, something stirred, an emotion quite raw.

Because, you see, within the pile hid several extra-special pieces

A jumper, a shirt, socks and some shorts all still with brand-new creases.

Embroidered with a logo, blue, maroon and grey in colour,

They all made up the uniform for my son and my daughter's brother.

He would soon be wearing these with pride to his very first day of school,

A grin beaming from ear-to-ear has been worn every day leading up as a rule.

But as I poured the powder in and set that familiar setting,

I couldn't help but think of washing those tiny little leggings.

Five years ago, I was again in a laundry with a different job to be done

Tiny jumpsuits, singlets, and the leggings all piled up, waiting for Leo to come.

Drying on my mother-in-law's line in the fresh country air of expectation

It was hard to imagine the little person was almost here to end the gender speculation

That very moment I'll never forget, the first wash of my baby's tiny garments

The small reality as they blew in the breeze that we would soon be parents.

Today I stare in disbelief that that baby will pull on the jumper, brand new shoes and a hat

Head off through the gate, perhaps a smile and a wave, to his new adventure and, well, that's that.

With brains in his head and feet in his shoes, as Dr Seuss would say,

He can steer himself in any direction he might choose, today is his day, off and away.

Mothers would sometimes tell me about the first-day-of-school emotion.

“Not me” I always thought, I am not a mother to cause any commotion.

But as the pegs peg the uniform on the first day of thirteen years of uniform washing,

I understand the feeling of five-and-a-half years of a life now in need of blossoming.

That feeling of handing over, saying goodbye, the unknown between nine and three,

I now understand how that might bring a tear, even if I was always certain not to me.

Because, at school, there will be sad times without me and happy ones too

I worry, will my little man, born so tiny only five years ago really know what to do?

Will he make friends? Will others understand his unique take on life?

Will be the class's top scholar, the clown, or get into some strife?

So many questions to ponder and wonder about, worries, as well as some 'what ifs' to toy.

But all I can hope for as I pick up the empty basket is that that baby, I mean grown-up boy

Will take what we have taught him, be good to others and follow his heart.

Find what drives him, practice, and always listen to those with wisdom to impart.

Be patient and gentle, remember what is sown you reap,

To question things, be curious and never be afraid to leap.

To be his own person, not lose his incredible way

To imagine, be compassionate and, of course, have fun and play.

To live a life without a ceiling so the limits are never there

To challenge and explore and do his best but of course be fair

I know he is not leaving the country, I have not been quite that fooled

I know only between nine and half three it is that he is schooled

But it is hard to imagine all the things we have shared, done together and discovered

That now I won't be there for them all as he learns, socialises and new things are uncovered.

That washing is done now, all dry and inside, folded and ready for an inaugural wear

I guess now we just wait, let you go on as I put those new socks in a pair.

Just as we awaited your arrival into the world to fit those tiny baby outfits

We now await the person you will become as you grow through the school portraits

But enough now of the lamenting a small boy's education

I'll hand back over to Dr. Seuss to finish with this small abbreviation:

So...be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray

or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,

you're off to Great Places!

Today is your day!

Your mountain is waiting.

So...get on your way!

My heart fills with pride

It is funny, you know, I read over what I have previously written and sometimes I think, wow, did I really write that? And then sometimes I think, gee, could I have fitted in any more cliches if I tried?
It has been a long time since I have stayed up late writing. But tonight I needed to, I don't know what it is, but I often feel the "need" to write. Like I couldn't concentrate on another thing until I got what was in my head, out. And, again the funny thing is, I often don't even know what is in that head of mine, I just start typing and the rest follows. Maybe it's the heat, too hot to sleep anyway, or maybe it's the fact the Rupert McCall (the very man who summed up my passion for Australia and inspired me to write for a living) just tweeted this to me:




This week I was awarded an Australia Day award, for the Buloke Shire. Pretty incredible. At first I try to pretend like it isn't happening, I worry that I have had so much already and things should really be shared around, and in fact, and in all honesty I haven't done much at all to deserve it. I am already lucky enough - I have a wonderful family and a job that I love - isn't that what everyone strives for? The rest I guess I wish I could do better at, but time is always poor. I wish I could give Donald a childcare centre and decent Kindergarten, then life takes over and I don't have seven days a week to dedicate to the campaign. Then I get the Young Citizen of the Year Award, not for Donald, but for the whole Shire and I think, well, these people reckon I am capable of something, so get stuck into it woman!

Every day (and that is no exaggeration) I come across people who deserve a medal for their dedication to the community, to a cause, to their families or to their work. And then I get the award, it really doesn't seem fair.

Despite all this, the pride is unmistakable. I mean, I accepted that award in front of such a large crowd of smiling faces, faces which all looked proud, I didn't see any with the look of "she doesn't deserve that", but admittedly, I was a bit taken aback.

I have always been a passionate person. To the point of annoyance. Sometimes I wished I didn't care, that winning a test match meant nothing and that Anzac Day didn't stir emotions I didn't even knew I had. But I never lost it, so there came a time where I had to embrace it. I guess, you could say, I beamed it. I mean, I love this country, it is amazing. I have never wanted to go overseas. I am sure there will come a time that I do, but for now all I want to do is take in every inch of this country and have my children experience it too. I want my children to realise how lucky they are. To take nothing for granted and appreciate that fresh air, the space, the freedom, the food on their table, the clothes on their backs, because so many around the world would give anything for these things, the things we might describe as "simple pleasures".

Growing up I lived and breathed cricket (I first encountered Rupert McCall on one of the first Allan Border Medal broadcasts, it wasn't long before the VCR tape was worn out and I could recite the cricket version of Green and Gold Malaria off-by-heart). I knew little about the game, but something drew me to it. I had my room decked out in every newspaper article about Steve Waugh's unbeatable team, 16 test wins on-the-trot. I knew their favourite songs, their birth dates and I would bore my classmates with statistics. One Christmas my Mum and Dad got me a cricket bat, I guess they were at a loss at what else to do, a pretty dress or make-up kit would have been a waste of money. I love it, I treasured it, I knocked it in. I even found a wooden stump, a golf ball and our old tank stand and set my mind on becoming the female version of Don Bradman. Turns out there isn't much call for female cricket players in the country (and if I was to be brutally honest - I really had no idea). But for some reason it didn't dampen my enthusiasm, even when I rang to book a spot on the cricket camps advertised during the ad breaks of the test match and I was greeted with "is this for you son?" (needless to say I didn't make it to the camp).

I still loved the game. I drove my family and friends insane and even earned the nickname "Clarkey" in late high school (because I would go on so much about Michael Clarke being the next Australian captain). During Year 12 exams I would get migraines. Then I would watch Gilchrist or Bevan smash a heap of sixes in a one dayer and....well....what migraine? I even convinced my poor Mum and Dad to take me to a live cricket match. You know, a couple who wouldn't drive in the city which we lived a good three hours from. They found a way, a bus from Ballarat to a one-dayer against Zimbabwe. I'll never forget, they even took my best mate Jess. We were on the third level of the MCG and the players resembled ants, but my gosh, the atmosphere is etched in my memory forever.

I called my first cat Bevanleemacgillypont (the Mac after MacGill with a little McGrath). Then my Dad and my brothers took me to the first match at Colonial Stadium. I was beside myself. Then there was the incredible cricket writer at The Age who agreed to take me on work experience. He somehow put up with the odd family connection request to take me on. I arrived at Jolimont Street to get my "press pass". My parents had allowed me to travel by train from Ballarat to the Boxing Day Test, 2001. It was Brian Mergatroyd who gave it to me, the press pass that is. I wore my ACB One-Day shirt (extremely professional, I know). I was gobsmacked I arrived on ball three of a Funky Miller hat-trick (my timing always impeccable). I saw a Steve Waugh and Matthew Hayden press conference. It was incredible. I knew I wanted to do this for a living - write about cricket.

I was again taken on another bout of work experience for a Pura Cup match at Punt Rd Oval between NSW and Vic (that angelic cricket writer for The Age).

It is only now that I realise that engrained passion, the love for this country that I have is what drew me to cricket. You'd go a long way to find another game so bathed in patriotic glory on an international field. I love it. I love it because of the Baggy Green, the green and gold and the national pride.

I went onto to secure a cadet ship as a sports writer. I did my days at square-leg with a camera trying to get "the " shot and writing match reports from half filled out score sheets. But what it really taught me is I love two things - Australia and writing - and somehow I had to make those two things combine.

And now I do, well at least I hope I do. I love what I do now, writing real stories about real people. I just love listening to an account of a life or event and then putting it in words for the rest of the community to appreciate. I love it.

I just hope, one day, I can master it as well as Rupert McCall. I dream of delivering a piece I have written in front of a crowd who can't breathe for fear of missing word, who will live forever with those words etched on their brains and who will have tears in their eyes, tears they don't know the origin of, but it will be because the words they just heard were exactly what their heart might say if it spoke directly and hearing those words left them with an out-of-breath feeling of disbelief that someone could incite such a deep emotion through words. Who might, just maybe, be inspired to follow their own dream, who may, just like I did after hearing "Green and Gold Malaria", who may, say to themselves, 'you know, maybe I'm not crazy after all, maybe I'm just passionate and maybe this is a good thing and maybe I could do something with this.' That would be grand. Actually, that would be bloody awesome.

I just wanted to say...

I just wanted to say....

by Rose Harris on Tuesday, February 10, 2009 at 12:11am

Today the peak hour commute consisted of the usually stern business types in their executive cars crying tears into their laps as they listened to stories of heartbreak and pain broadcast over the airways, it somehow felt wrong to be driving my husband to work as per usual with two happy kids in the back seat as thousands of people mourned loved ones, property and pets and others wondered if the lack of contact meant good news or bad.

Triple 0 operators spoke of the dying words now forever etched into their minds of vulnerable victims on the end of the line as the fire came rushing in, others told stories of how they escaped the terror any way they could and surgeons recounted the cost of the devastation as their ICU rooms filled up. The country's leaders fought back tears and everyone seemed to know someone who had been involved.

The enormity of Saturday's bushfires hasn't hit home with me yet, I still find myself in a state of disbelief and awe of the fury of the inferno. I can't imagine what it must be like for those directly involved.

It seemed everywhere I looked today, everyone had the same thing on their mind, or at least were trying to somehow process the news of the devastating death toll as it climbed by the tens as each hourly news passed. The usual bustling nature of the city was on slow motion.

What do we do? How can we help? Just how will the state recover? And it still isn't over, fresh alerts continued to be issued as the fires continued to rage and previously contained ones flared back up. People begged Mother Nature to bring an end to it all and give some relief to those many volunteers, CFA personnel and those protecting their property who must surely be near breaking point, if not already there.

Last night as I walked to my clothesline with a heavy basket of wet washing, I looked to the eerie red/orange sunset, one I had never witnessed before and couldn't help but crumble in tears as I thought of those many people who don't even have a basket of clothes to wear, let alone a line to hang them on, and my mind dared wander to those sitting under that same fiery sky with tears of grief for relatives, friends, neighbours who couldn't escape the fireball of terror as it ripped trough their usually peaceful, friendly communities.

Reports of hospitals running out of drugs, morgues running out of room and buses going to collect survivors and returning empty made it feel like I had somehow woken up in the middle of a movie and it was all just too surreal and horrific to comprehend, or maybe it was just that my mind wouldn't let me believe it was real.

It was a day when I held my husband and babies tighter than I ever had and thanked God we were together and not in the path of the destruction. But the guilt of being thankful we were not affected had me wandering around in circles all day, packing bags of clothes, finding blankets, items needed by those devastated, then looking at the pile of things and realising that they were just that - things - no one could ever erase the memory of such a hellish experience for these people, no one can bring back their most treasured possessions, no one can breathe life back into those who have perished in such godawful circumstances.

It was a day when comedians stopped being funny, everyone went about their usual duties in a daze, nothing else mattered, everything seemed nominal in comparison. I grew up hearing about the Ash Wednesday fires like they were yesterday and here I am living out a disaster which is many times worse. Even my kids who should be too young to understand seemed uneasy, irritable, as if they were reflecting the mood shown by the rest of the state, the rest of the nation.

In a rushing swirl of confused emotions, I also felt that patriotic sense of pride as I heard relief centres were being inundated with donations, people were being turned away from blood donation centres due to the influx of those wanting to help, telephone lines taking donations were engaged and businesses started offering support in any way they knew how. There is never any doubt that Australians will rally around a cause and see the downtrodden rise back to the top, and I am certain this will be no exception, it will be a challenge for our grit and determination, but if there is one thing I am most certain of, it is the true Aussie spirit will shine through and see our country recover, if it means selling lamingtons on the corner of the street or donating funds from a cricket match, we'll get there, with the glue that has held this unique nation together through so much, we'll get there, just hold on you brave people, we'll get there.Even the usually emotionless newsreaders couldn't hide the bloodshot eyes and wavering voices as they described the horror.That eerie, horrible sunset.

Incredible Kids

Incredible kids.

by Rose Harris on Tuesday, October 26, 2010 at 12:23am

My kids are incredible. Yeah, yeah…here we go, another parent proclaiming they have spawned the returned Messiah. Truly though, my kids are quite amazing and it isn’t until the house is quiet and I am sitting here listening to the gentle snores of the littlest one tucked up in between myself tapping away on the laptop and my husband trying to block out said tapping to attempt sleep, that I really reflect on how lucky we are and how fabulous the children are.

They are so different, I know I have said it before, but every day I am amazed at just how different they are. And somehow it works. Take today for instance. Delilah, the queen of the universe, who can simply not understand or accept why everything in existence doesn’t revolve around her two-year-old being, and Leo, the over-anxious, caring, quiet, thinking four-year-old and myself decide to go down the street.

Delilah has a bike. It is pink, it has three wheels and it has two seats. But Delilah’s legs are as yet too short to reach and push the pedals the full circle they require to move forward. So, as a result, Leo rides it for her and she takes a load off in the back seat. So, we saddle up:

Me: “Ok guys, let’s ride down the street.”

Leo puts on his hat, his boots and goes to get the bike. Delilah is already out the door, one sock, no shoes, no hat, door left wide open behind her. Leo has a small coronary and insists Delilah rectifies all of the above. She says no with a well-perfected death stare and Leo politely and patiently explains that we simply cannot go any further in our planned adventure until she has appropriate footwear, protection from the sun and closes that door so the flies don’t get in because Daddy hates flies. Again, Delilah replies with a very short, but very loud and insistent “NO”.

We do this for a bit, Delilah practices some more stubborn traits until, eventually, she gives in. For this reason, we need to leave at least half an hour early for any engagement to allow for Delilah’s independence speech before we board the vehicle of choice for that day.

Ok, so here we are ready to go.

Delilah (holding on in the back seat): “It is scarwy Eo.”

Leo: “It is ok Lilah, I will go slow for you.”

Delilah: “Hanks for dat Eo, hanks for going slow.”

Leo: “My pleasure Delilah.”

And off we go!

After a relatively uneventful ride the two blocks to the main street, we arrive at the Post Office.

Me: “Ok, off the bike, park it there out of the road. Inside, you may look at all the pretty things but please do not touch them.”

Delilah: “Why?”

Me: “Because I have asked you not to, now you show me how good you are at listening.”

Inside the Post Office we go.

Leo asks if he can help me at all by carrying something, Delilah runs straight to the trinkets and starts lovingly handling them all and feeling each and every one to experience all the shop has to offer, afterall, it would be a shame to miss out.

Me: “Delilah, please only look.” I say in the hope she may suddenly become a different person just for the five minutes I have to be in the Post Office with many inviting things at two-year-old level. But just for that five minutes, no longer. It doesn’t happen. Probably a good thing because Delilah just wouldn’t be Lilah without having to experience absolutely everything on offer in the world without fear or judgement. Leo walks behind her quietly telling her how to at least handle the things properly so there are no damages.

Job done, time to go. I open the door. Delilah begins a very loud protest about her wanting to open the door. We give her this one and close the door allowing her to open it herself. She does, but then takes up residence on the Post Office floor holding the door wide open. I diplomatically discuss this for some time while apologising to everyone stepping over the small child and the concerned brother at 4.30pm in the Post Office doorway.

Then I give up. It had been a long day, in fact our third trip down the street.

Me: “Ok, well you can stay there Delilah, but we are going over to the supermarket. Bye”

Leo: “But Mummy, we can’t leave her here, I do like her, she is Lilah. What if she gets locked in, then she will have to sleep here and I am sure she will miss us.”

Me: “It’s ok Leo, I wasn’t really going to leave her, I was just pretending.”

Delilah, of course hears all this and renders my threat useless.

After quite sometime, a lot of convincing and possibly a bribe, we are eventually back on the bike.

Don’t even ask about the supermarket! All I’ll say is the protest reached fever pitch when we had to have a large conversation in the meat section about why we need to wear shoes in the supermarket.

Total opposites, but two peas in a pod. Leo goes to kinder for two hours on a Wednesday morning and Delilah spends the entire two hours asking where he is and if he is ok. Delilah is completely uninhibited, willing to give everything a go and take in all on offer. Leo is cautious but has a hilarious sense of humour. He is so very caring and responsible and always there to catch Delilah when her grand plan doesn’t quite work out. Delilah encourages Leo to push his boundaries and let some of the worry go. She looks up to him and wants to learn everything he has to teach. Together they make up the best games and have great fun, and mostly, not always, but mostly enjoy each others company.

Two amazing kids in their own separate ways. How lucky are we that we get to watch them grow together and discover new parts of their personality each day. A tantrum here and an over-anxious worry there pale to insignificance in the wonder of two incredible children.

Just another day in the depths of imagination (written Jan 6, 2011)

Just another day in the depths of imagination

by Rose Harris on Thursday, January 6, 2011 at 12:00pm

Leo is contemplating what vintage caravan to buy and Delilah will only answer to "penguin". Just another day in the world of Leo and Delilah.

It is hard to tell what Delilah will be next. On the surface, one might assume she is doing that ignoring skill that females do so well or is simply not listening. I'll give you an example.

Me: "Delilah, could you please get dressed?"

Delilah continues doing what she is doing or begins to roll over the floor.

Me: "Delilah, could you please get dressed, I am waiting." (times at least four or five)

Delilah: "I not Lilah, I'm a penguin."

Me: "Penguin, could you please get dressed?"

Delilah gets dressed immediately.

Delilah: "Say hank-you penguin."

Sometimes it strikes at 3am.

Delilah: "Daddy! Daddy!"

Daddy: "Yes Delilah, it's night time, what's the matter? Hop back into bed please"

Delilah: "I not Lilah, I'm a balloon. The balloon needs cuddles."

Daddy: "Ok balloon, have a cuddle and now go back to sleep."

Delilah: "Ok. Say hank you balloon."

Other times it is a dog, often a baby and sometimes Miss Polly. She has also been known to only answer to Grandma or elephant.

She surely has a future as an actress. Surely.

Leo on the other hand has a very logical imagination. He spends his time imagining what his life will be like when he grows up, becomes a vet in Donald and drives a blue car with a TV that tells you where to go (I assume he means GPS).

Leo: "Mummy, when I'm a vet and your cat gets run over, you can bring it to me."

Me: "I would have hoped that if I did have a cat it didn't get run over."

Leo: "Well you can come to my vet house and I will cook you tea."

The other thing Leo is currently obsessed with is getting a caravan. Not sure where this sprouted from.

Leo: "So mummy, we need a caravan. It's ok, I'll sleep on the top bed and there will be room for Stig. Then we won't have to worry about the tent breaking in half."

Me: "That is a very good idea Leo, but caravans cost a lot of money, maybe we can look around and try and save up."

Leo: "So can we go get that money for the caravan today?"

Here's another one:

Leo: "Mummy, I had very good dreams last night."

Me: "Did you Leo, what were they about?"

Leo: "Well everything was upside down. You and Daddy and Lilah were upside down and I was walking around and the house was upside down too. And do you know what you said to me Mummy?"

Me: "What's that Leo?"

Leo: "You said, why are you walking around upside down Leo?"

Often, they combine forces. Usually one of them is the superhero and the other in need of saving from various quagmires of mud and crocodiles.

I just love listening to them, some of the best quotes I have ever heard have come from these two. Would rival Ghandi I'm sure.

My favourite? There are two, both from Leo. The first has to be, "Mummy, why doesn't Grandma get old?". And the second, when we were talking about birthdays and how they work, Leo brings up a dear old friend of his who passed away and says "She just used up all her birthdays didn't she Mummy?"

The side effects of photography

I love taking photos. I just adore capturing candid, natural moments in a still image. A memory caught in print forever. Really, nothing beats that. So, I tend to take photos often. In fact, my camera has become known as the "third baby" as it comes with us where ever we go and my husband has joked about it needing its own special seat in the car.

My kids don't find it unusual if we are going for a drive and I suddenly pull off the road. They wait patiently while I grab the camera to capture that image which has just caught my eye.

It is only recently that I have noticed a certain side effect of this photography habit emerging in my children. They are learning to appreciate the beauty in everything. Things they may not have ordinarily thought about twice they now ask "Do you need to take a photo of that Mummy?"

Driving home from a long day, Leo will look into the gorgeous pink sunset and ask if I need to photograph it. When Leo and Delilah water their garden of a morning, they will often come running in excitedly, "Mummy, Mummy, we have some new flowers, get the camera!"

And in turn, I am learning to see the world from their perspective. What is important to them and what they want captured forever.

In fact just today, a day of absolute perfection, beautiful sun with a light breeze and occasional overcast moments, Leo came inside to suggest I bring the camera out with the "stick thing" (tripod) as is was such a lovely day that I needed to be in the photos he was about to direct.

We love self timer. The tripod is a bit fiddly for my liking, despite Leo's insistence, and I tend to use random objects of acceptable height to prop the camera up on and then run into position to beat the 10 second timer. Today those 'tripods' came in the from of an esky and the top of the slide.

There was of course lots of photos of the kids and I, under Leo's artistic direction of course. But then I love when they decide what should be photographed. "Mummy, look at these eggs, take a photo, the black chook laid this one."

"Mummy, the clouds, take a photo of the clouds. Mummy, the grass, look it is so green and there are bugs."

"Mummy, look here on my arm, take a photo of this spot." Leo had discovered his first freckle.

I really do love photos.

Incredible Kids.

My kids are incredible. Yeah, yeah…here we go, another parent proclaiming they have spawned the returned Messiah. Truly though, my kids are quite amazing and it isn’t until the house is quiet and I am sitting here listening to the gentle snores of the littlest one tucked up in between myself tapping away on the laptop and my husband trying to block out said tapping to attempt sleep, that I really reflect on how lucky we are and how fabulous the children are.

They are so different, I know I have said it before, but every day I am amazed at just how different they are. And somehow it works. Take today for instance. Delilah, the queen of the universe, who can simply not understand or accept why everything in existence doesn’t revolve around her two-year-old being, and Leo, the over-anxious, caring, quiet, thinking four-year-old and myself decide to go down the street.

Delilah has a bike. It is pink, it has three wheels and it has two seats. But Delilah’s legs are as yet too short to reach and push the pedals the full circle they require to move forward. So, as a result, Leo rides it for her and she takes a load off in the back seat. So, we saddle up:

Me: “Ok guys, let’s ride down the street.”

Leo puts on his hat, his boots and goes to get the bike. Delilah is already out the door, one sock, no shoes, no hat, door left wide open behind her. Leo has a small coronary and insists Delilah rectifies all of the above. She says no with a well-perfected death stare and Leo politely and patiently explains that we simply cannot go any further in our planned adventure until she has appropriate footwear, protection from the sun and closes that door so the flies don’t get in because Daddy hates flies. Again, Delilah replies with a very short, but very loud and insistent “NO”.

We do this for a bit, Delilah practices some more stubborn traits until, eventually, she gives in. For this reason, we need to leave at least half an hour early for any engagement to allow for Delilah’s independence speech before we board the vehicle of choice for that day.

Ok, so here we are ready to go.

Delilah (holding on in the back seat): “It is scarwy Eo.”

Leo: “It is ok Lilah, I will go slow for you.”

Delilah: “Hanks for dat Eo, hanks for going slow.”

Leo: “My pleasure Delilah.”

And off we go!

After a relatively uneventful ride the two blocks to the main street, we arrive at the Post Office.

Me: “Ok, off the bike, park it there out of the road. Inside, you may look at all the pretty things but please do not touch them.”

Delilah: “Why?”

Me: “Because I have asked you not to, now you show me how good you are at listening.”

Inside the Post Office we go.

Leo asks if he can help me at all by carrying something, Delilah runs straight to the trinkets and starts lovingly handling them all and feeling each and every one to experience all the shop has to offer, afterall, it would be a shame to miss out.

Me: “Delilah, please only look.” I say in the hope she may suddenly become a different person just for the five minutes I have to be in the Post Office with many inviting things at two-year-old level. But just for that five minutes, no longer. It doesn’t happen. Probably a good thing because Delilah just wouldn’t be Lilah without having to experience absolutely everything on offer in the world without fear or judgement. Leo walks behind her quietly telling her how to at least handle the things properly so there are no damages.

Job done, time to go. I open the door. Delilah begins a very loud protest about her wanting to open the door. We give her this one and close the door allowing her to open it herself. She does, but then takes up residence on the Post Office floor holding the door wide open. I diplomatically discuss this for some time while apologising to everyone stepping over the small child and the concerned brother at 4.30pm in the Post Office doorway.

Then I give up. It had been a long day, in fact our third trip down the street.

Me: “Ok, well you can stay there Delilah, but we are going over to the supermarket. Bye”

Leo: “But Mummy, we can’t leave her here, I do like her, she is Lilah. What if she gets locked in, then she will have to sleep here and I am sure she will miss us.”

Me: “It’s ok Leo, I wasn’t really going to leave her, I was just pretending.”

Delilah, of course hears all this and renders my threat useless.

After quite sometime, a lot of convincing and possibly a bribe, we are eventually back on the bike.

Don’t even ask about the supermarket! All I’ll say is the protest reached fever pitch when we had to have a large conversation in the meat section about why we need to wear shoes in the supermarket.

Total opposites, but two peas in a pod. Leo goes to kinder for two hours on a Wednesday morning and Delilah spends the entire two hours asking where he is and if he is ok. Delilah is completely uninhibited, willing to give everything a go and take in all on offer. Leo is cautious but has a hilarious sense of humour. He is so very caring and responsible and always there to catch Delilah when her grand plan doesn’t quite work out. Delilah encourages Leo to push his boundaries and let some of the worry go. She looks up to him and wants to learn everything he has to teach. Together they make up the best games and have great fun, and mostly, not always, but mostly enjoy each others company.

Two amazing kids in their own separate ways. How lucky are we that we get to watch them grow together and discover new parts of their personality each day. A tantrum here and an over-anxious worry there pale to insignificance in the wonder of two incredible children.

The Meaning of Life

Despite the worn-out cliche, it really is incredible where life takes you. In a moment where despair is everything and there seems to be no way out it feels like there might not even be a tomorrow. Then, when time passes, as it does, I look back and, for one, realise there was a tomorrow and I made it there and secondly, that despairing event or moment steered me in a direction I would have not otherwise travelled, and I am always the more thankful for it.

I would not be where I am today if we hadn't weathered all the storms we have, re-thought decisions, made new plans, gone back to the old ones and then been thrown in the complete opposite direction...

Two years of Delilah Harris.

Delilah will be two on Sunday. In a way, it has crept up on us and I really can't believe where the years have gone, as cliched as that sounds. But in another way, it is hard to believe she is only just now turning two as since she was born she has been under the impression she is at least 25 and has gone some of the way to convincing the rest of us.

Delilah, or Lady Delilah as she has become known is independent, resilient, a drama queen, clever, cheeky, spirited, stubborn and somehow overwhelmingly cute and charming. Leo was and has always been a thinker, taking in everything, pondering and internalising it and then coming up with a reaction all in a very calculated and logical manner. Delilah isn't like that.

Delilah dives in before wasting any time thinking about whether it is a good idea. She speaks extremely well and therefore talks a lot. She has an opinion, and a very strong one, on almost everything. She refuses to accept, as she always has, that she is little and may require assistance with some tasks. She doesn't have time for getting dressed, getting clean and certainly not for having her hair done. She does have time for dirt, cuddles, food, her brother and her Grandma and Grandpa (not necessarily in that order). And really, what else does a girl need in life? Ok, so clothes would be preferable.

When you have a second child, of course you wonder whether they will be like their sibling, will they be different? Will they get along together? Will they suffer from never knowing the experience of being an only child with undivided parental attention?

Delilah answered all those questions in her first few months of life and has held true to them all. In a nutshell, she is as different from Leo as possible, but loves him to bits and idolises the ground he walks on and tries her hardest every day to be just like him. So, mostly, they get along so very well together and when they run around giggling at each other's jokes and worry over the welfare of the other and ask for two biscuits so they can share, it all seems a bit silly that we had those earlier worries.

Delilah is a girl of course, and in her two years has perfected the art of using that fact to her advantage. She is a rough-and-tumble sort of kid, but when she has had enough, she suddenly becomes a princess with looks that could kill and in desperate need of a cuddle before she expires in the next five minutes.

She loves dirt, and has been known to even taste quite a bit. She doesn't see the need to constantly have her face wiped or clean hands and always protests the process. She does however adore a bath in all its bubbly glory. Delilah is fast, she never stops, in her world everything needs to be inspected and handled and discovered and there is simply no time to waste. A slide is never to high and a playground never too challenging. She has a habit of never looking where she is walking, always looking around and behind her, making sure she isn't missing anything. Therefore she quite frequently walks into things and falls over and always has a war wound or two gain some sympathy points when required.

Delilah hates being still, detests the pram, the carseat, sleep, nappy changes, getting dressed or anything else that requires one to be still. She has devised a way of getting out of five point harnesses and has been known to push her brother back from the shops in her pram. She hates shoes and anything designed to keep her hair out of her eyes.

Delilah is yet to sleep through the night since she became mobile. She will wander into our bedroom sometime in the depths of the night with a "Daddy? Cuddles?" and the most gorgeously heart-warming smile ever on her face in the dull light of the alarm clock and snuggle down, tell Daddy off once or twice for his cuddle skills and then fall blissfully back to sleep in his arms. She is a cute one and makes it very hard for anyone to be upset with her. The charm on this girl has oozed since day one. A walk down to the shops takes ever so long by the time she stops to have a conversation with every single person who inevitably stops.

She also also perfected "the look", slamming doors, batting eyelids, whipping out the killer dimples, "NO!", cuddles, getting her brother into trouble and pointing out anything "pretty". All that I am told, are trademark signs of a girl.

She prefers to do everything herself. For instance, a trip in the car means Delilah putting on her own coat and hat, gathering up several inanimate friends, opening the front door herself, closing the front door herself, holding the car keys, checking the mail herself on the way to the car, opening her own car door, getting in her own carseat and doing up her own harness and then somehow closing her own door and then telling me which way we need to go and what we need at the shops. Any attempt to intervene and assist with any of the above will result in yells of "HEEEEELLLLP, OOOOOOUCH" all the way down the street and have concerned neighbours coming to see what abuse Delilah is being subjected to.

We reckon, from what we have seen in these first two years, Delilah is a girl who is going to hold her own, she'll be a match for anyone who bothers to challenge her and will be a hard one to pin down. She will have few cares in life and always look for the fun element in everything to make it worthwhile doing. She will be unruly by appearance but her stunning blue eyes, long eyelashes, dimples and blonde hair will render that unruly appearance invisible. She will have the world at her feet and choose to explore most of it for her own enjoyment, she will go after what she wants and while sometimes might fail, she'll get up, dust herself off and try again with a lesson learnt.

We fear there may be a B&S ute in her future also, and combined with that insatiable thirst for fun and adventure, that is where we choose to finish speculating.

Who knows, she is a clever one and knows how to work the system but also has a large dash of compassion and empathy for others and sooooooo much love to give. I can't wait to hand this to her in twenty years and see where my predictions came through, if at all. But in the meantime, we'll just sit back and enjoy the Delilah ride because one thing is for sure, its an unpredictable but incredibly entertaining one.

Happy second birthday Delilah Rose xxxxxx

Got Milk?

We looked for the milk this morning. As you would, we looked in the fridge. But to our surprise that shelf where the milk usually stood was empty. How peculiar. How were we to have our morning coffee in the absence of milk?

Maybe we had run out, it happens from time to time. Only neither myself or my husband could recall using the last drop and on inspection of the recycling bin, there was no empty bottle to be found.

Best to have a good think and retrace the last known whereabouts of the milk. Last night we all had hot chocolate and Milos before bed. Maybe forgetful old Mummy left the milk beside the kettle. Nope, no milk there.

I know! Mummy is a bit of a forgetful old sausage sometimes, maybe she was sooo tired when making the aforementioned Milos, she mistakenly put the milk away in the cupboard, thinking it was the fridge in her muddled-up way. It has been known to happen from time to time. But no, no milk in the cupboard. What about the freezer? Now that would be funny. But, alas, no milk in their either.

Oh dear this was becoming a worry. Aha! That Daddy has been known for night wandering, maybe he got up in the night and milk-napped that bottle of cow juice. He swore however that he never left his bed last night and a secret investigation revealed no traces of milk-napping.

Don't tell me someone broke into our house in the night to steal our one-third-full bottle of milk? It was beginning to look that way. How very concerning. And we thought this here was a nice town with nice folk.

Well, I guess all that is left to do is saddle up the pram, rug up the family and walk to the shop to buy more milk, and perhaps call into the cafe to fill that morning coffee void. What a puzzling mystery.

Where is the pram? Ah there it is, in the loungeroom parked and ready to go. Oh, but hang on, what's that in the basket underneath? The milk? The milk and the cereal container. Hmmmm. Interesting.

It seems the smallest one was prepared to take matters into her own hands when it comes to early morning breakfast and leave home with a bottle of milk and Sultana Bran!

"It is too early for breakfast Delilah, go back to sleep." is obviously no match for this young woman.

Good thing she can't reach the door handle.

Beyond the feathers

Leo has chooks. He loves his chooks, spends quite a bit of time trying to understand them. So much time in fact that I have come to believe that the rest of world has misunderstood chooks for their whole existence and Leo has been put on Earth to be their saviour and help the rest of the universe realise their ignorant chook ways.

He sits beside the chooks while they lay their eggs, then once a perfectly brown, oval and warm egg has been placed in the nest and the chook takes off for another peck around, Leo takes the egg carefully in his four-year-old hand and goes and thanks the chook for providing his breakfast and wishes the hen a good day. He then comes running inside to tell me the glorious news of a fresh egg, pulls a chair to the fridge and places it in the egg holder.

He can tell which chooks have laid which eggs and is not afraid to provide some constructive criticism, especially if one of his three beloved chooks has been off the lay. He encourages them to give each other cuddles and spent quite a bit of time counselling them over their archaic "pecking order" system when the third chook was introduced to the other two, constantly explaining the sharing concept at feed times.

Leo's chook giftedness (I am pretty sure that is an offical term) was discovered very early. His grandmother (a chook wrangler from way back) accidentally stumbled upon him having a quiet chat with one of her hens atop a 44 gallon drum when Leo had still to turn two. He was looking the chook in the eye having a serious conversation and somehow, the chook actually looked interested. It was then that mum told me he had the way with chooks like she had never seen before.

Funny really given that I am quite afraid of the things myself despite being a farm girl. I can clearly and wholly pin the blame of my broken leg when I was four on chooks, they broke my leg. And don't get me started on clucky chooks, talk about strike the fear of God into you.

In a Douglas Adams-type way I think Leo reckons chooks actually rule the world and we are just here to service them. That one day, they'll just say "thanks for all the scraps" in a bok-bok kind of way and that will be it.

He has instilled an excitement for his feathered friends in his little sister to the point where first thing in the morning, frost or no frost, I have my work cut out restraining the little sister before she is standing in the chook yard in nothing else but a nappy. They do have disagreements over whether the chooks should be let out of their very sizeable yard to roam the entire backyard or not. Delilah is a "free the whales at all costs" type whereas Leo is more concerned at what is best for the welfare of the animals concerned. In the chooks' case, he doesn't trust the visiting cats.

Leo came to me yesterday and said "Look what I can do Mummy!" and promptly bootscooted his way across the loungeroom in perfect steps, thumbs in belt keepers and all. Of course in a surprised and impressed response I said "Where did you learn that Leo?" His response? "The chooks taught me."

Another day when Grandma was here for one of her many exciting visits she asked Leo what book he would like to read. In his usual hilarious manner he brought her the atlas. In trying to outdo Leo's smartness, Grandma opened to a map of the world and said "Ok, where's Australia?" And Leo pointed straight to the correct country. So turned to a different map and asked the same question. And of course he again got it right.

So in amazement I of course ask "Where did you learn that, Leo." His response? "In the chookhouse!"

Hmmmm, so these chooks of Leo's are quite incredible, they have taught him so many things, including some naughty words which I told Leo to let the chooks know aren't acceptable. I hope he passed the message on.

So now that I've caught up...

You will probably notice the posts up until this point were all written before their posting date. Well, after starting this blog in 2007, getting distracted by Facebook for a few years and always having this little corner of the web in the back of my mind, I have decided to return to the dark side and give this blogging thing a red-hot go.

Many people have nagged me to do it, so here I am (see, it is all your fault!) and clearly has nothing to do with the many written pieces that keep me awake at night burning holes in my brain wanting a tangible home.

To catch you up, I have copied over all the below from my Facebook page. This is where my writing will live from now on, it will relieve my Facebook friends from being force-fed nonsensical stuff and allow my brain time to heal from those burning holes. So, here goes nothing....

The real Masterchef (written Sunday May 9, 2010)

“It will be the biggest challenge of their lives” booms the voiceover for the MasterChef promo. As convincing as he sounds, I somehow have to doubt that claim.

I watch MasterChef, I love reality television. It is such a lovely escape into someone else's chaotic world. Occasionally I draw similarities; cooking for a fussy panel of judges with ingredients which can only be found in the cupboard in a limited timeframe. I do that on a daily basis, but that is where the similarities stop.

You know what would make that show a real challenge? Have the judges chew up the food and when they don't like it, spit it out on the floor. Make that food weetbix and have it solidify while the contestants have to deal with the judges' tantrum over the food being unacceptable because we all know dried weetbix doubles as cement when it comes to clean-up.

Contestants should have to come up with a delectable dish according to the whinge of that night. “Noooooooodles”, “I'm hungryyyyy”, “Is tea readyyyyy? But I'm hungryyyyyy” will all be yelled while the cooking takes place. And if it is the day before pay day, that delectable meal has to be made using only potatoes and a congealed lump of sausages from the back of the freezer.

Then (it gets better), the contestants must cook in a kitchen which harbours mysterious wet patches on the floor and lots of pointy, wheel-based toys. Now that would make things exciting. While dodging the obstacles, the contestants will also have the added challenge of a too-clever-for-his-own-good three-year-old overseeing proceedings commenting on how the carrots have been cut wrong and how he would much prefer his vegetables uncooked ALL while a small, hungry but awfully strong girl stands between the contestant and the bench where food preparation is taking place and pushes the contestant's knee caps in the opposite direction to their natural bend, crying hysterically at the lack of attention.

In between all the cooking, preparing and attempting not to burning, the contestant must sort out at least two fights over toys and who gets to put the place-mats on the table, hang out a load of washing and begin the pick up of those pointy and wheely toys.

The real challenge is to get the said meal prepared, cooked, served and eaten before tiredness kicks in and what is referred to as “arsenic hour” in our house commences. The contestants will have to stand in front of the judges convincing them the food is yummy and good to eat and saying things like “just have one more spoonful” and “no, you can't have ice-cream” and “it will make you grow big muscles”.

Now that would be the challenge of a lifetime. Only, I probably wouldn't watch as I have a feeling it wouldn't provide the same mental escape I am looking for!

Please sponsor this poor starving child. (Written Wednesday, February 10, 2010)

Quite obviously, the poor girl was starving, despite the two rounds of breakfast half an hour before. And of course the mother, aka 'the lady who get me things' was, God forbid, on the phone. So what does a poor, neglected, starving and awfully self sufficient girl do?

Goes to the pantry, removes a box of weet-bix and empties the entire contents. But don't despair, she emptied them on a plate of course...a dinner plate, which was still in the cupboard on top of the pile of other clean dinner plates, beside the pile of equally clean bowls. She had of course crushed the weet-bix up first to aid in the eating process. Such a clever girl.

The mother on the phone could hear the rustling in the kitchen and had one of those 'do I finish this conversation in the small hope that those sounds are good ones, or abort the conversation and go and investigate a matter I am sure I will not like the ending of'.

The mother finished the conversation...but only after the starving girl waddled into the newly vacuumed lounge room with a bread and butter plate in one hand and a bag of the very expensive muesli in the other, plonked the plate down on the floor and, you guessed it, upended that whole back of very yummy and expensive muesli on the small plate and as you would inevitably expect, all over the newly vacuumed floor.

It was then the mother hung up the phone and remembered why she usually saved phone calls for nap times and regretted putting the cordless phone back on the charger. She also went to look for a child lock for the pantry and looked to the positives - at least the starving girl didn't get as far as the milk.

If a photo is worth 1000 words... ( Written Thursday, November 5, 2009)

Well what are the 1000 words this picture would hypothetically be replaced with?
I'm the first to admit there is a good chance those words wouldn't begin with "The 2009 Mother of the Year Award goes to Rosemary Harris."

To me, however, it says what a responsible young girl slapping on the sunscreen before heading out in the harsh Australian sun. Clearly, she has a very responsible mother to have taught the girl that with the mercury rising in the thermometers, it is essential to apply the 30+. She has applied it so very liberally and covered near to the entire area of the face which risks the most potential sun exposure. Again, only an extremely responsible mother would have taught her this.

To others, they may question why the child was a) in the bathroom or b) left alone long enough to apply the 'sunscreen' so carefully all over her face. To answer "a", I place the blame fair and squarely upon the shoulders of the three-and-a-half-year-old making a hasty trip to the "loo" after insisting on three bowls of All-Bran for breakfast in the attempt to grow strong....and in his haste leaving the door, which is usually shut specifically to prevent and mischievous sister mishaps, wide open. I choose not to waste too many more of my 1000 words dwelling on such trivial matters starting with "why".

Sure, the sunscreen was actually toothpaste. But is was children's toothpaste and she did get a tiny bit on her teeth. This picture also says "I am Delilah. I am independent. I require no assistance. What is your issue? I am Delilah. I will do what I want and what clearly makes a lot of sense in my world. Your concern or horror is severely misplaced.”

With the obvious “Chhhhhhesssse” coming from her mouth through her profound lisp, this photo may also suggest the young lady, exactly a week off 16 months, may actually be quite proud of her effort in applying toothpaste to the face and is not shy about being photographed in the act, so much so that she will quite willingly, without any prompting, yell “chhhhheeeeese” to ensure you get her best side.

I also hope that a prominent part of the 1000 words hypothetically replacing this photograph would include a very detailed description of how healthy, clean and strong her teeth actually are, something only seen in children of very responsible mothers I am sure.

Look closely and you may also take note that getting toothpaste out of your eyelashes probably seemed like an easier task during the exhilarating and hasty application of the toothpaste than it did after the fact when your very responsible mother was attacking you with a face washer in the bath.

What this picture also screams is here is a young girl - and heaven knows what young girls have to deal with in today's world, even if you are only a week off 16 months – who has her priorities straight. Obviously she doesn't care excessively (or at all) for perfect dainty hair all done up in bows and ribbons or designer outfits for that matter, but she does care a lot about healthy teeth and being sunsmart or something along those lines, possibly blurred with the thrill of being caught and being downright naughty, but we won't delve too far into that. She was, after all, simply trying to save her very busy and responsible mother the bother one of the many jobs she has to do in her day.

Now I am not seriously going to bore you with the full 1000 words. I have made it to 500, I'll let you add the other half as clearly I think we have all come to the conclusion that this picture simply says “responsible parenting”. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if the Government put this on the front of their next lot of helpful brochures on how to bring up children the right way.

Yep, responsible parenting. Let's just say I can laugh about it now and I am somewhat glad it was toothpaste mistaken as sunscreen and not suncreen mistaken as toothpaste.

Her (Written Tuesday, October 27, 2009)

From the moment she was born she had her eyes wide open ready to drink in everything the world had on offer. Forget this newborn baby sleep-all-the-time business, Delilah had far to much to learn and do, now that she had finally hit earth.

Delilah, 30 minutes old.

Delilah goes. She never stops. Ever. Even in her sleep she moves around constantly. She has no time for lying still to have a nappy changed or standing still to get dressed and will absolutely under no circumstance waste her time standing still to have her hair done.

Having said that, there is one time and one time only when she does stop, that is when she is sitting with her Grandpa in his chair. That is the only time she stops. Ever.

Even more than sitting still, she hates being forced to sit still. So much so that she has devised a way of getting out of the high chair harness, the pram seat belt and the carseat restraint. Yep. All three. Like I said, there is no keeping her still. Luckily, for her safety, we discovered an extra attachment for such harnesses which she is yet to figure out, but we are sure it will only be a matter of time.

She goes fast. Sometimes too fast her her own legs. I am surprised we have made it this far without a trip to the Emergency Room. She climbs. Nothing is a challenge and won't give up until she has inevitably fallen off/on/onto something and sustained an injury. She will cry for a few minutes and then be ready to do it all again.

She is attracted to danger like a bug to light. Heights, powerpoints, breakable items, non-edible garden treasures, jumping in the bath, toilet cleaner. Yep, danger and Delilah go together like peas and carrots as Forrest would say.

She yells. It's what she does best, so she does it a lot - yells. On first assumption, one might think she is a disobedient child, always yelling and never, ever sitting still. And, traditionally, that would make up the basis of a child misbehaving. But lucky for her, her parents and older brother know differently.

For, you see, yelling is simply part of who she is. She is a loud individual and from the minute she was born, it was clear she had arrived to be someone. No fading into the background for this one, no following the leader. She was here to stamp her mark on the world and make no mistake about it, she will be in the foreground and be leading the leaders.

She dances, a total groover. Can pick up the rhythm in any song and bop away. She adores music and even sings. And (in case you hadn't already noticed) she LOVES having her picture taken. Her second word was "Cheese". Her first word? Drink. Yep, drink. Closely followed by "Gumpa". Now she can say just about every word ending in "K". Drink, duck, stuck, clock, look, milk, pink, chook. Really, when you think about it, a lot of the words you need to begin like with end in K.

She likes to get involved and find out how things work, taste, smell, how far they spread, how flexible they are, if they are edible, how far they roll, how many you can stack on top of each other, if they bite or sting and who gets annoyed by her doing all of the above.

She doesn't mind getting messy, if fact she quite enjoys it and loves the fact that getting caked in dirt/mud/food or whatever else she can find will always and eventually lead to one of her top ten favourite pastimes - a bath.

She doesn't like to stop although she likes cuddles and "up". But at any given moment she will decide she has had enough and flip backwards out of the cuddler's arms, usually succeeding in giving the cuddler a heart attack at the shock of almost dropping the small girl. After such an event - that is one which involves scare tactics or shock to any present adult, a regular occurrence in Delilah's life - she will invariably follow up with her trademark laugh. Some might say it is decidedly evil, the laugh is cross between Woody Woodpecker and Mr Bean. It comes from the back of her throat and also slighty through the nose and has that deep "heh heh" sound and always leaves you feeling as if you missed the real joke and she is finding something far more hilarious at your expense.

She enjoys being upside down and has already taught herself to do somersaults. I believe this is part of the reasoning behind her unexpected cuddle bungee jumps...its all a ploy to hang upside down for the pure enjoyment of it.

The centre of her world is her amazing big brother. She loves being near him, following him, playing with him and sleeping in the same room as him. She loves it when he reads her stories and shows her interesting things about life that only three-and-a-half year olds know.

She laughs at him a lot and of course he enjoys entertaining her to bring on more and more giggles. Whenever Delilah is with her big brother she knows everything is ok, she goes about life with an air of confidence as if she knows he brother will always be there to fall back on, sometimes literally. She is discovering the many, many advantages to being a little sister each and every day, just as he mother has known and enjoyed for so many years.

Everyday Leo and Delilah go about making more memories and I wonder which ones will be those they laugh about over Christmases as their own children play about starting the cycle all over again. But, for the moment, they aren't concerned about the future. They live for every day in its glory. Every day is a brand new opportunity to play, go on adventures, make mistakes, learn, teach other things and simply enjoy each others company. What a glorious way to be.

Delilah loves horses. She will flick through a newspaper to find an article on the spring carnival, point excitedly to the equine animal and say "Look!" "Giddyup". She has a small plastic horse she takes everywhere, usually transported in the pocket of her overalls.

Lilah with her pet horse

Yes, overalls. Delilah isn't a massive fan of dresses. Or skirts. Or anything disguised as a dress or skirt. She ties to pull them off, that's if you can get it on her in the first place. She has so many pretty dresses, being the only granddaughter after among her six boy cousins. But I'm afraid she is going to be just as tough as the rest of them, no special concessions for being a girl. I got creative one day and sewed her a "field days" dress. I made it from an old neck tie of her Pa's, a tea towel and a cot sheet. That she will wear, the daggiest, cheapest dress she will wear. That'd be right.

Despite not wanting to be put up on the shelf like the precious dainty girl, Delilah does know how to use her big blue eyes, long dark eyelashes, cheeky grin and one dimple to her advantage. Trips to the shops always take three times as long with Delilah as she waves and grins and bats the eyelids at each person and waves like the Queen, invariably drawing in the "Oh isn't she gorgeous" and "Oh, look at those eyes" "You have a beautiful smile" from just about every person she passes. We are already measuring the door and windows for deadlocks. If can charm like this at 15 months....I shudder to think about 15 years. Oh dear.