Age shall not weary, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.

Lest we forget.

A small selection of images from ANZAC Day.

Yesterday was one hundred days into the project, and while it’s not consuming me like my first attempt, I am addicted. The moment the shutter snaps, and I know I’ve caught the perfect story of our day. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment, I truly appreciate every visit. Thank you to those who mention my project to me in real-life, you have no idea how much it means to me that you are interested in what I am doing outside of the 2 seconds it takes to click a “like” button on Facebook.

One hundred down. Two hundred and sixty six to go.

I turn around, she’s there. I leave the room, she cries hysterically. I walk back, she demands “cuggles” and refuses to be put down. Daddy comes home, she squeals, runs to him for a cuddle, and then straight back to me. She’s a mama’s girl, and frustrating as it can be when I’m trying to do something one handed, when I really need three, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Snuggle on, sweet girl.

The drop off done, we slowly wander home. Baby in pram, toddler chatting away beside me. “Wook, mother, a puddle!!”, he squealed in delight, pointing to a slick of water on the path ahead. And yes, he truly did call me ‘mother’. It’s his “thing” at the minute. “I wuvs you, mother”, “mother, where are you?”, “excuse me please, mother”.

The day shorter than one would expect, and I load the small people into the bike trailer, and off we pedal towards school. Boy collected, helmeted and off he scoots ahead of me. He stops at the intersection. I pull up behind him as he looks left, right, left, right, extreme left, right, leftrightleftright, and we declare it safe, and off he scoots as I spin the pedals around, and follow him across. I’m halfway across as he kicks off strongly as he head back up onto the path, and watch in horror as the handles twist and wrench out of his hands, falling to one side, as his arms fling out in an attempt to break his fall, and he hits the concrete with a sickening thud. I quickly, but frustratingly slowly, find a spot to prop the bike where the weight of the two small people in the trailer won’t tip it, or cause it to roll, as he picks himself up, and screams in pain. I scoop him up and hold him close to me as he sobs, the slowly pull him back to assess the damage. A cut lip pools with blood, at first making me think he’s knocked out a tooth, his nose adding to the mess. I feel ill at the pain my little boy must be feeling. Grazed knees, elbows, forehead. I hold him and pull out my phone, and get daddy to come collect us. He’s much calmer by the time we return home, but still quite sore and sorry for himself. The grazes will heal. His confidence, knocked for a bit, will return. And mummy will remain grateful for helmets and the kindness of strangers offering to help.

The school drop off done, we turn for home, the pram loaded with both toddler and scooter. Ahead, Master Three pedals along, occasionally asking for a push to get his speed up again. Our turn comes up, and he pauses, looking back at me. “We go dis way, mama?”, pointing hopefull straight ahead, instead of the side street we normally take. I start to shake my head, and then stop, realising the morning ahead holds no specific plans, and the distance isn’t that much different. I smile at him, “sure, why not?”, and help him across the road. He chats away as we slowly make our way along the path – with Master Five at school, it seems little brother has taken it upon himself to step up and provide the constant commentary for our day. Little Miss is not to be left out, and I hear her join in the commentary. “MAH-meee. MAH-mee. MAH-mee” her little voice wafts up from the pram. “BAY-bee. BAY-bee. BAY-bee” I sing-song back, as Master Three comes to a sudden halt. “Stop mummy” he demands, and then leans into the pram, and strokes her face. “You k, my dah-wing girl? I wuv oo, you ok dah-wing? We keep going, k?”

I watch, enchanted. She stills. Then gently she begins to coo at him, a smile filling her face as he clambers aboard the bike, and with a gentle push from mummy, starts off once more. Reminding me once again, why I started this project again. Little moments, priceless beyond measure, captured for when the memory fades.

I lowered Little Miss into her cot, and returned to tidy up the mess that lunch had left strewn over the kitchen bench. Walking through the loungeroom, two small heads ducked down on the lounge as I passed, their attempts at hiding somewhat sabotaged by the half-smothered giggles. I pop my head over the back of the lounge, and drop a kiss on each forehead as they grin back at me, tucked up together under a quilt.

“Ok Joey, now this is just for pretend naps, ok? We’re not really having a nap. It’s JUST PRETEND, ok?”

“Ok Okkar. ‘tend naps, not sweeping naps, a-tend naps”

“But tonight we could sleep in my bed. Do you think that might be a good idea?”

“Yes, pwease!”

*melt*

(dress by tillytom)