Our Rosie Posie has been a huge part of our lives for these past four months. 

Having a lamb has definitely been a steep learning curve for our family. Like when an over-excited Grace accidentally dropped her and we spent the next fortnight anxiously watching her hobble around, hoping she leg wasn't broken. Or when it became apparent that the she rivaled Charlie in her Houdini-like escape tactics that included (but was by no means limited to) jumping over the fence of her pen as well as crawling under it.

Despite all this, Rosie has been great fun and was much adored. She was as fat as a barrel (seriously, if she had fallen over she would have rolled down the hill) and kept us entertained with her funny antics like chasing then hens and getting stuck in the olive trees while climbing up to try and eat the leaves. She followed us around like a puppy and loved nothing more than to sit in the sun with Grace and have her head scratched. She also kept the grass down on our acre section, which reduced the five hours it takes Bern to mow most of the lawn (yes, a ride-on lawn mower is on the wish list).

So it was a big shock when we woke one morning this week to find that Rosie had died in the night. It was, as you can imagine, very upsetting for all of us, but especially Grace, who insisted on helping Bern bury her. Having a pet die may be a part of life, but try explaining that to a five year old.

With the Rugby World Cup being held here at the moment, our household is currently rugby-mad. Well, even more so than usual. In the spirit of all things rugby, Grace tried her hand at supporter face paint. The results of which no amount of Napisan could budge from the white collar.

Hard to tell which team she was going for with this colour scheme. And for future reference, green face-paint is equally difficult to remove from skin. Three days later Grace's face still bears a sickly green tinge despite repeated scrubbing.

Then there was the small matter of the flag raising. 

Which, I'm relieved to say, did not end as I had feared when I first watched Bern climb that tree with a saw hanging from his belt, egged on by his little supporters. Or the second time, when he had to lop a few more branches that were stopping the flag from flying in all its glory. Or the third time, when the flag got snagged and didn't fly at all. Or the fourth. Or the fifth. Get the picture?

As the World Cup has progressed there have been lots of shenanigans...

monumental hangovers...

dedicated supporters... 

and, of course, just  a bit of rugby.

And with the All Blacks playing France in the upcoming final, I have no doubt there will be a whole lot more of the aforementioned antics before this World Cup is finished.

This weekend we drove down to Invercargill to hand-deliver Aunty Katharine's birthday present, which Grace made almost entirely by herself. 

We had a wonderful time with Katharine and Donald, who made us a lovely lunch and patiently endured our over-excited children and their heart-felt piano and accordion playing which made me happy we haven't bought a piano just yet, even if the musicians were cute....

Then it was off to the Cochran's farm, where the daffodils were out, my favourite avenue of trees were in blossom, and lambing was in full swing.

While we were there, we traded some of our sheep..... 

for one of theirs. Which won't be eaten. Meet Rosie, Grace's new love.

 

Ever since we house-sat for the Cochrans back in January, Grace has talked non-stop about their sheep. And has begged us for one of her own. We even bought a house with enough land for one. Luckily for Grace, Katrina has been on the lookout for a suitable lamb (ie. tough, unbreakable, tolerant....) since lambing began, just for her. So thanks to the Cochrans, her wish has come true.

As always, Grace and Charlie had a wonderful time with the Cochran girls. There were lots of hungry lambs to be fed (which Charlie insisted on calling 'cats' and then mooed at)....

more lambs to be born...

 

sheep to be moved....

lots and lots of trailer rides to be had....

sheep to be fed....

and sheep biscuits to eat.

All squeezed in 24 hours. Phew! Thank you Paul, Katrina, Sophie, Emma and Lily for giving us Rosie, and for letting us 'help' with lambing.!

Can you guess what we're picking up tomorrow?

Both Charlie and Grace have been sick with a vomiting bug this week,  so we've had lots and lots (and lots) of this. 

Which upset our Fathers Day present shopping plans, so Bern had to be content with a sleep-in this morning, pancakes for breakfast and spending a lovely day with his kids in the garden instead. Much better than any old present.

Happy Fathers Day Nernie! 

Katharine and Donald recently returned from the Cook Islands, bringing back with them Charlie's first ever Hawaiian-style shirt....

and Grace's first grass skirt. Which she tried on immediately.

Something tells me this isn't the traditional way to wear a grass skirt. But then I think Grace's version is a whole lot more fun, don't you?

This afternoon Grace's class put on another performance. And this time, I was there. In fact, I was so determined not to be late that Charlie and I arrived too early. So we snuck in and watched them get ready.

They sang The Gumboot Song which was very entertaining, and I was so proud of her. And she was just a bit chuffed when she spotted us in the audience.

 

 

Gumboots, they are wonderful, gumboots, they are swell
'coz they keep out the water and they keep in the smell.
And when you're sittin' round at home, you can always tell
When one of them has taken off his gumboots.

If it weren't for your gumboots, where would ya be?
You'd be in the hospital or infirmary
'coz you would have a dose of the 'flu, or even pleurisy
If ya didn't have yer feet in yer gumboots.

Now there's rugby boots and racing boots and boots for drinkin' rum.
But the only boots I'm never without are the ones that start with "gum".
I've got short ones and long ones and some up to me belt.
I'm never dressed 'till I've got on me gumboots.

If it weren't for your gumboots, where would ya be?
You'd be in the hospital or infirmary
'coz you would have a dose of the 'flu, or even pleurisy
If ya didn't have yer feet in yer gumboots.

Whenever I sing at the opera, my gumboots are a must.
They help me hit the high notes, and protect me feet from dust.
They keep the water well away, so me voice won't get no rust.
You will not never see me without me gumboots.

If it weren't for your gumboots, where would ya be?
You'd be in the hospital or infirmary
'coz you would have a dose of the 'flu, or even pleurisy
If ya didn't have yer feet in yer gumboots.

Now Rob Muldoon and Rowling, they haven't made a hit.
They're ruining the country more than just a bit.
If they keep on the way they're going, we'll all be in the...
So you'd better get yer feet up yer gumboots.