We have survived the Scooby Doo party! In just over two hours, sixteen excited children consumed a whole lot of sugar, hunted for clues in the muddy garden (there was a good reason that the invitation strongly recommended gumboots), seriously smashed our beloved pinata, made a dent in the birthday cake, squeezed in some party games, and helped make Grace's party a huge success. At the end of the day, all that remained of the cake was the van from the top, which Grace still won't let anyone touch.

As for poor old Scooby Doo, at least all those hours of work took quite a bit of bashing before breaking.

Grace and I were both a bit sad to see him destroyed, but at least someone is still getting mileage from Scooby's remains....

Grace has never forgotten how she didn't get to have a proper party for her 5th birthday, which fell in the middle of moving from Taieri Mouth to Wingatui. Apparently a family party doesn't count. And she never failed to remind us that 'EVERYONE has a party for their Number 5 birthday'. So for the past year, Grace has been planning her 6th birthday party. The theme? Scooby Doo. I must admit, when she told me, I didn't feel like this -  

But it is her party. And all she wants is a Scooby Doo pinata. So I looked up Scooby Doo pinatas online and almost passed out in shock at the cost. But when I told her that they were too expensive, she simply said, 'You can just make one'. I love my daughter's unfailing faith in my ability to make a Scooby Doo pinata when I've never made a single pinata in my life. So Grace and I researched pinata making on the internet (what did we do before the internet??) and, after a few weeks, we have something resembling Scooby Doo (you may need to squint a little...).

And not before time, considering the party is in a few days. Nothing like cutting it fine.

Our favourite girl turned six today. I'm still trying to figure out how six years crept by so quickly.

Even though she has a party this weekend, you can't not have a cake on your actual birthday. Happy birthday Gracie girl! 

It's. Officially. Freezing.

But that doesn't stop 'the girls' from hanging out together. Rain, hail or shine (we've had quite a bit of the first two but unfortunately absolutely none of the latter), Grace is out there with her best friends. And every time I see her earnestly chatting away to them, I find myself thinking that buying these ducks was quite possibly the best thing we've ever done.

Meet the cutest pirate ever. Argh!

The children spent hours today picking and eating our grapes. And feeding them to the hens. Until I realised what was going on and managed to save some.

Unfortunately the hens aren't interested in our monster zucchini. Which seem never-ending. There's only so much zucchini one family can eat. 

And believe me, we've given it a good crack. Zucchini pie, zucchini chocolate cake, zucchini pickles, zucchini muffins....not to mention the twelve or so bags of grated zucchini in the freezer. It gets to a point where you can't even give them away. Not if you ever want your friends to visit you again.

  

It's taken many weekends and weeknights of sanding, more sanding and painting...

 

but Charlie's big-boy bed is finally finished. And to think it's come all the way from a little old house in Nethercote, across the Tasman, to Wingatui. I bet old Billy Fourter never thought in a million years that a little Charlie Morrison would be sleeping in it.

This is what happens when you encourage your children to be independent.

For about two months now, I have been asking Bern to lop off a low-hanging branch that stops the clothesline from turning. This week he finally agreed to do it. Except instead of just lopping off the small branch, he decided to saw of the entire bough. Which landed ON the clothesline. And broke it. Just like that. Snapped the top clean off.

To say I was angry would be a bit of an understatement. The broken top of the clothesline sat on our back lawn for a few days while I seethed and drove our washing into Mosgiel to dry on a friend's line. Then finally I had the idea (yes, I'm taking the credit for it) to flip the top over and re-attach it. Which worked. And provided some free entertainment for our neighbours, who watched our almost-divorce from a safe distance. Unfortunately the line is lower now, so if you're not careful, the sheets drag on the ground. Which drives me insane. But at least I have a clothesline again. And I will never, ever ask Bern to trim any branch again. Ever. Which was probably his plan all along.

Charlie likes helping me with the fruit. Today he especially enjoyed tipping the plums out onto the kitchen floor and skidding all over them while I frantically tried to save them. At least he decided to help me pick them all up. So he could tip them all again.

These past few months our little orchard has been producing more fruit than we can keep up with. It started with apricots, then plums, then more apricots, then the first of the apples. And now we've moved onto pears, more plums, and more apples. Three more trees of apples. We have buckets of fruit everywhere and are giving it away to anyone and everyone. And we're spending a great deal of our time doing this.

But it's wonderful not having to buy fruit. It's even better watching the kids pick and eat their own fruit, whenever they want.

The ducks are still alive and well, and continue to be a constant source of entertainment. Grace can usually be found somewhere in the yard with a duck under each arm, and she takes great delight in giving them swimming lessons and digging up worms for them to devour.

There is, however, the small but significant issue of gender that has her anxiously on the look out for the development of curly tail feathers. If they are boys, their tail feathers eventually start to curl up, but so far there's not a curl in sight. Just in case, we have prepped Grace for a possible name change. She isn't that keen on the possibility of 'Jem' and 'George and is remaining optimistic, assuring us that the girls will lay eggs any day now. 
 

Charlie, on the other hand, doesn't care either way. He's more interested in trying to catch the ducks by their necks, chasing them around and around the yard, and laughing uproariously every time one of them does an explosive poo.

A few weeks ago we picked up some new additions to our flock, two Hyline hens which had finished their professional lives as corporate layers but needed a retirement home to see out their days. 

As you can imagine, they are very loved, however the bantams did not share our enthusiasm. The first night our concerned neighbours called us to say it sounded like their might be something attacking the hens in the hen house. But no, it was just the hens attacking each other. Viciously. But they eventually they sorted it out, and despite a few ruffled feathers, an uneasy truce seems to have been struck. And, more importantly, everyone survived. 

At only 18 months old, Hattie and Penny were considered 'over the hill' commercially as they didn't lay every day. Luckily for us (and for them, just quietly....) they have shown their appreciation for their new home by laying almost every day for us.

It would be so nice to sit down to an evening meal and not have to go through this. Every. Single. Night. Argh!!!!

Meet mummy's little helper.

What you can't see is that he's emptied a brand new bottle of washing up liquid into the sink. That has his beanie, gloves and sandwiches in it.

This week I found a toy police helmet at the Salvos. As suspected, it was a huge hit. So much so that he insisted on wearing it to bed for his afternoon sleep. Best 10c I've spent in a long time.

Last weekend we picked up some little friends from Balclutha.

Introducing Georgia and Jemima, our two Pekin ducklings. After observing the amount of loving squishes they are receiving, we are secretly relieved that we didn't opt for anything younger than seven weeks.

Much to Grace's horror, Charlie delights in splashing the 'ducklies' and chasing them around and around the pen. Resulting in hysteria of apocalyptic proportions (Grace) and hearty applause (Charlie). Despite all her love and attention, however, Grace has been inadvertently responsible for a few mishaps of her own. Like when she accidentally shut Georgia's head in the hen house door. Or yesterday, when I heard her screaming and raced outside to find her hanging upside down, her pants caught on the fence she was trying to climb over, still hugging the ducklings to her chest. Thank God they'll only grow bigger. And tougher. 

Today was Grace's first day back at school for 2012, and we were actually running on time. Right up until it came time for the obligatory first-day-of-a-new-school-year photo shoot. At which point we experienced some technical difficulties.

But we got there in the end. Have a great day Gracie girl!

Once upon a time our long-suffering little hens laid three eggs a day.

Their eggs have never been easy to find, for despite having a perfectly good nesting box, they free range around our yard looking for the most difficult places possible to lay. So for a while we thought they had just discovered better hiding spots. Like right in the very centre of the grapevine, or underneath the spiky conifer. But no, the cold hard fact of the matter is that they have just stopped laying. And while Grace can't figure out why, there are a few likely causes. 

Perhaps it has something to do with tea parties on the lawn. Or being spun around and around in circles with Grace while she dances. It could have something to do with them being flung into the air so they can 'learn how to fly'. Or maybe it's due to the trauma inflicted on them by Charlie chasing them on his bike, roaring with laughter and yelling, 'Look out pennies! Charlie coming!' at the top of his lungs. Or just never being given a moment's peace in order to actually lay an egg.

Whatever the cause, I'm hoping the girls start earning their keep soon, because Bern is talking about bringing in some industrial-sized shaver hens like Cochrans have.

Which were suitably unimpressed with Grace's attempts to catch and nurture them during our recent visit to their farm. Resulting in her sobbing floods of tears and flinging herself onto the ground while the hens watched on from a safe distance, apparently unmoved.

Up until now, bringing in new hens has felt a bit like replacing striking workers with cheap offshore labour, but not today. Today, I need to bake a cake and we have no eggs, and out the window, I see the girls, sashaying around the garden without a care in the world. And apparently no intention of laying me an egg.

Ever since we house-sat last year, Grace has wanted to explore the Cochran's shearing shed. So when we woke to more rain today, I decided it would be a good distraction. And it was.

Lots of running around and around, climbing pens, opening and closing gates, and generally getting covered in muck wore them out. Eventually.

Last night we set off for Cochran's farm at Isla Bank and, despite driving through torrential rain for most of the way and almost losing the towball off the CRV (and therefore the trailer attached to it), we eventually arrived in one piece, ready for another house-sitting holiday.
 

This morning we woke to snow on the mountains (hello Summer?) and rain, but in between showers we managed to get out and go for a walk.

Despite a few heart-felt protests along the way...

Grace managed to get Charlie moving again and we eventually found a few of his favourite things - diggers, water, rocks and mud.