Beach Daze

We've got the sticky, tight, lazy feeling that comes from a morning in the sun by the sea.*
As we sit on the verandah my Poppet is drawing with her aunty ('Headphones go there! My dolly!') and the sky is rapidly darkening into storm. The chimes ring out and the pigeons coo while the banana leaves are beginning to wave in the wind.
You've picked up we may no longer be in temperate Victoria? Too true. Refusing to be parted from Aunty Becky, the kids and I hopped on the plane up to Queensland with her** and are presently enjoying balmy days and lush green.
Not that I mean to make anyone jealous, but it is very pleasant here.

*I have just discovered my Sprocket has brought his 'sea-babies' (washed up jellyfish chunks - sorry, egg sacks from the conical sand snail, thanks Bec!) home from the beach. I am hoping he doesn't put them into my bed, as he did his other  'baby', the slater.

*It was an 11 hour trip from our home in Gippsland up to our home-from-home in Queensland. The children were angels on the flight and many car trips. But all up it was a long day of travel and the kids and I fell into bed in a weary heap of unwashed, un-teeth brushed peoples at its close. 

That Earthquake needs Quiet Time!

Last night after the great-white-wolf* chased us home from our evening walk, we were sitting in our living room enjoying being slightly warmer than when we were walking outside, when the light began to swing and the floors to shake.
My first thought, as this is mining country, was that there was an abandoned mine under us that was collapsing.
Then my beloved said 'earthquake' and I relaxed.
I've looked at the map. Australia is miles and miles from any techtonic plate edges. Earthquakes aren't really an issue. Or shouldn't be according to my basic geography-for-dummies.
The world kept shaking.
"Outside!" my Beloved ordered.
I looked at my Beloved.
Hello. It's only an earthquake. When we lived in the Pacific earthquakes weren't that uncommon, and never having experienced a big one, I've become blase.
But the light kept swinging and it struck me that our house is flimsy to the extreme so I grabbed up the Sprocket.
"Go get Poppet!" I told my Beloved.
My Beloved ran into our bedroom and got the pusher where our Poppet was sleeping and we all dashed into the front garden. And I noticed that the camellias were all moving as if there was an extremely strong wind.
Dogs were wailing their displeasure and we could hear and see neighbours up and down the street. The next door neighbour, knowing the extreme rickety-ness of our house, came to check on us.
"This is an earthquake, darling. Earthquake," I told the Sprocket.
"Call Fireman Sam!" he told me.
"If there's a fire, we will," I assured him.
"Naughty earthquake. Give it Quiet Time," he said.
"Good idea."
Then he wanted down and we had to keep stopping him from running into the still shaking house.
Eventually the world stopped moving and we deemed it safe to go inside. The Poppet did not wake up.
Inside we inspected all the cracks in the house, which we believed to be bigger, but weren't quite sure. A few things had fallen off shelves but we seemed otherwise whole.
My Beloved went online, but the geoscience site was down. Checking out twitter, he found that the quake had only been about 5.3 on the richter scale, but that we were about 19 k from the epicentre.
Now I wonder if my Sprocket will remember the night-of-the-earthquake-which-needed-quiet-time. Will it reach the memory vault, or not?


*The great white wolf is a neighbouring dog who I think is a cross between a samoyed and a wolf-hound, but I suspect is an oversized marema. He likes to go for solitary night walks. We often see him striding out of the mist towards us and I appreciate his fairy-tale aspect. He appears to be friendly, but we worry Issy will get a sudden misguided idea she needs to protect us. Once he finds us, he tends to follow us home.

To Ghee or not To Ghee? - what's in a name?

The Sprocket decided quite awhile ago that his name is actually 'Ghee'. 
I don't know why. 
Obviously, we did not Christen him The Sprocket, but we didn't Christen him 'Ghee' either. 
For a start his surname begins with a G and that would make his initials G-G like the sweetly creepy or creepily sweet old black and white film Gigi. 
And for a second it makes me think of the clarified butter from India. 
Neither of which are the associations I wanted for my beloved first-borns name.
I like the name we chose for the Sprocket. I like its meaning. I like its history. I like the way it sounds with his other names. I like the way it rolls off the tongue. 
Unfortunately, it appears that the Sprocket does not like it. 
Sure he'll answer to his given name, but he always refers to himself as 'Ghee' and if you ask him his name he tells you 'Ghee'. 
I've spent quite a bit of time puzzling over why The Sprocket decided on this name change and I can find no answers. People have suggested that it's his version of 'me', but I don't quite come at that. He says 'my' and 'mine' readily, often and with enthusiasm. 
The big question though, is should we go along with it? 
At the moment we call The Sprocket 'Ghee' about half the time, because hey, that's obviously how he thinks of himself. 
Should toddlers have self-determination over their name? It doesn't really matter. I don't think. Does it? 
Does anyone know any other toddlers who decided to re-name themselves? 
What they chose? Why they did it? If it was permanent? Does it mean anything? 
I am puzzled, perplexed and curious!