We brought along William and Emma for our wander around Halswell quarry park one fine morning.  Occupied by roaring and stabbing at trees with sticks, the boys made it up and around the hill in no time, with Naomi doggedly tagging on their heels.  She can’t quite keep up, despite her best efforts.  Going downhill her own feet can’t even keep up with her body.

The gremlins charged up a slope under a low-hung pine tree, Naomi puffing in the rear.  Charging back down again she lost her footing and did an impressive commando roll in the soft needles, coming to rest just shy of a boulder.  A pick-up, a brush off, and she was good to go.  “Wow!” Milo exclaimed, “she looked like a dead tahr rolling down that hill!”

“You don’t hear that every day!” laughed Emma.

Diagnosis:  too many you-tube hunting videos with daddy.

Milo and William, roaring and brandishing their weapon-sticks, made sure no dinosaurs would take us by surprise.

Naomi has her stick too, of course! Framed in an ornamented bridge in the Korean garden, she’s ready to scare away her own herd of dinosaurs, or fall into the stream beneath, whichever happens to come first.

Who knew sheep poop was a collectible?
I suppose to a baby it makes sense. It’s alluringly round, it comes in neat little piles, and God knows it’s plentiful enough in New Zealand.
“Come on Naomi, here’s another clump.” Emma thought Naomi’s fetish with dried poo was pretty funny, and I made a mental note to empty her pockets before I washed her pretty little denim jumper.