Eight

My Diva turned eight recently, so I took the lazy route and had her party at a favourite spot - the intersection of playground and beach, ordered some pizzas and got distracted and forgot to make party bags. (Thus our car is still full of little packs of bubbles, to the toddlers delight.)

While the temperature is hitting a balmy 26c on average - it is the middle of our winter and the kids haven't been swimming for a few months. However, with so many kids to show off in front off the first thing my Wild-Child did was dive in. (The water was amazingly clear, as was the sky.) Most of the kids followed his lead. Luckily, living close to the sea most mums' had towels and spare clothes.

And... they all looked so grown up. My toddler gazed up in adoration at the Big Kids who paid her so much attention. Already the teen years seem so so close. At eight they are already practicing. My Diva has a diary 'you're not allowed to read it mum, it's private, it might be about the boy I like.' Cheeky grin.

My Wolf Cub

With the sunset we head to the beach and the jetty - with the assurance that fish cluster around structures. Mhhm. Still waiting. The evening light however - that I am happy to catch.
The kids' nana has recently returned from Europe bearing the most fitting headgear for my little wild tribe - wolf hats.

Even before getting out of bed this morning my youngest cub had bit me, clocked me with a lego structure and firmly pushed her older sister away - and nearly off the bed. I have a suspicion that in the wild wolf cubs are more peaceable and less inclined to maim their pack members - but my assumptions are based upon The Jungle Books and Mowgli's many bite and scratch marks. (On which subject, yes, those marks on my face are scratch marks from my youngest cub.)

 And she looks so innocent...

She sees her kryptonite - a pelican. I am glad she has one weakness or I would be quite worried.

She-Pack - wolf-sisters.

A moment...

 The older pack - with squid as bait.

My intrepid one. 

Dolphin-Days

Fishing at the river-mouth, on a lazy wintry (huh! this is Queensland) afternoon. Despite the foreshore being on-lead-only, we brought our noble hound. I might be able to re-attach my arm sometime soon as there were soooo many things he needed to check out - pronto!

However, it was all worth it, as I'm convinced it was his presence that lured the dolphin (and, I believe, dolphin pup) into swimming close to check us out.

Obviously, we caught nothing, except photos, but I do like seeing the cast net being thrown and the Glasshouse Mountains looked stunning.

The Land-Dolphin.

Don't fall in little one! She skitters around at a run like a crazy drunk (buzz not jumping in after her, there's serious amounts of slime in there) but so far hasn't fallen in.

That triangle is one of the dolphins! - looking out to the opening to Pumicestone Passage and beyond to Bribe Island.

Self-Portrait. Enjoying the sun. And yes, heels are a bad choice when you're being yanked by a headstrong dog, but all my sensible shoes have gone on adventures and are in need of de-mudding, drying out or re-stitching!

Variations of Ephemeral

Variations on a theme - slightly closer to the Glasshouse Mountains, this is just before the inhabited part of Bribie Island becomes National Park.

We left home in a flurry of bait and jackets and arrived just as the sun was setting. This is my favourite beach along Pumicestone Passage - a little more remote, a little closer to the Glasshouse Mountains, backed only by trees and then a line of houses, rather than the walkways, shops, playgrounds that are common closer to the bridge over to the mainland. While I am the first to respect provisioning of loos and playgrounds, it's nice to be in a place less bound. We cross four bridges to reach it, a fact that brings me more joy than you would think.

My Diva does not approve. Without other children or a playground, she declines to leave the comfort of the car. "Don't you want to get in touch with your inner mer-girl? Commune with your nature-spirit? Experience the wild and wonder?"
"No, mother. I am staying here."

She's over fishing. I suspect she'll take it up again later, but the sudden change to a fishing family has been too much for her. I, myself, am finding the constant odour of bait in the car, getting my hair tangled in hooks from rods crammed in the car, a bit trying. But getting the kids easily to the beach. Begging to be outdoors. Completely worth it. And the little girls are still young enough to find delight in sand and water and the birds that pass by.

"Look, mama, bait!" In six months my Giggle-Bear has developed into a fishing-girl. That isn't a ribbon she's holding - it's a long, red, worm, about to be hooked.

Mostly, I don't get the kids to pose. I let them do their thing and take photos - but every so often I do say 'Could you dance for me' - or 'leap' - 'just there, no at that spot there.'

The play of shadow and light, the sheen of the water and the smudging of the clouds doubled over in silken reflection is a delight. I wade into the water and a sting ray raises itself from the sand and glides off. Later, I wade in again, deeper, and the same stingray fluffs up the sand around itself, then, in a huff, glides away into the deep.

Dark comes, my Wild-Boy doesn't want to leave. "We've only just arrived! This is just the start of my fishing trip!'
"School tomorrow."
The stars are brilliant as we make our way up the treed slope to the car, and head back over the bridge towards home.