Octo-Boy!

I have to practice getting my lips around some new words today...

I actually think I may be getting a stutter...

I'll try for you:

.

MY

SON

IS

EIGHT.

Gads.

A few pertinent questions spring to mind.

Deep and involved queries...

Ssuch as:

How?

What?

Where?

When?

And most importantly...

WHY!

~

My baby boy is growing up.

My Dash is a Transformer-mad, Ben 10-crazy, wii-playing, rip-stick-riding maestro...

We are so proud of you, matie.

Happy Birthday!

(PS Thanks y'all for sweet and reassuring comments last post. I'm okay. And I ain't plannin' on going away...)

Change of expression

Something pretty amazing happened today.

We have been having a massive campdrafting weekend,

with Cyclone Ului being polite and staying at bay (although the skies are quite grey).

There has been some AMAZING action which I will share when I get a spare hour or so to sift through the memory cards chock full of images.

But I had to dig out a couple of shots tonight to share.

Cause something pretty darned amazing took place at the local showgrounds.

~

It happened between two expressions.

The first one looked like this:

And then this happened.

Then this...

Then this...

And then he was OUT in the arena...

(Holy Heck, hang on boy!)

And presenting...

Expression Number Two.

He's saying: Did I score more than you, Dad?

~

To explain more fully...

Dash went in his very first campdraft today!

At the ripe old age of seven (nearly eight) he plucked up the courage (with the help of some cousins) to enter in the 'Junior' draft. Kids under the age of 13 get just one beast (cow) in the yard (as opposed to a small mob for all other drafts) and take it out of the yard and around the course as best they can. They pretty much cannot get 'cracked off' (dismissed by the judge) and just do they best they can in 40 seconds.

It's a riot.

Seriously, more spectators stop and watch this draft

and cheer with more gusto than any other division!

Dash vaccillated between wanting to have a go, and being too nervous and unsure of what he was supposed to do. Before entering the 'camp' he confessed to feeling 'a bit sick'.

There should be more photos of Dash outside in the big arena

but I confess I was yelling and carrying on too much to really focus. Or click.

~

More pics of cuteness to come,

but I am so bustin' out with pride at my

sometimes-nervy little man having a red hot go,

that I just had to share....

Compliments, busy-ness and bottoms

My son is such a little man. He is growing up so darned fast it makes my head spin. Wasn't it yesterday that I nervously watched him off on his first muster when he couldn't keep up with the mob? And the day before that when he was promoted from Rob Roy the Great (Shetland) to Lovely Lacey? And the day before that, I watched him FINALLY take his first steps sometime after his first birthday (and his early hurdles)?
.
And now? Now he is a little man who rides a ripstick with the best of them, who eats like a HORSE (despite never appearing to put on any weight) and wears the title of musterer extraordinaire with beaming pride.

.

I remember when I first started mustering on my own - I also remember the first day my Dad (Pagi) proudly told Mum I was 'as good as a man'. I very nearly busted. (I was about 11 years old and it was long before I had heard of women's lib - to this day I totally understand that he meant that my gender was not an issue while I was on a horse: I was as good as a man. And regardless of political correctness, his compliments just don't come any better than that.)

.

I think of this as I watch my smiling, skinny seven-year-old son who now easily hoists himself onto that old chestnut mare and boots her into action.

Of course he sometimes completely forgets to arrange the reins/steering gear before he climbs aboard. Luckily Dad is around to sort out this minor dilemma for him. (Note how patiently Lacey is waiting - I think she may actually be catching a nap. She's old. She's allowed.)

Undeterred by his initial steering issues, Dash contemplates tactics as he prepares to move the cows and calves from the yards.

And into action...

(if anyone can see a human bottom in this photo, could they please point it out for me? I swear this kid inhales calories like there is no tomorrow, but where they go, no-one knows!)

"Walk up, walk up!"

He walks Lacey forward, sitting up straight as a rod, moving those cows and calves through the dust and back towards their home paddocks... I suspect there could have been some whistling going on at this point...

"Walk up girls!"

(I am never sure if the cows mind being called 'girls' - I am here to tell you, some of them are not exactly spring chickens, so I fancy they are quite flattered.)

And now is when Dash really gets active.

And Lacey wonders what the heck she has done to deserve a kid with ants in his pants.

Dashing off to one side...

Then darting back across the mob to keep those slower cows moving, moving, moooo-ving.

(Sorry. Cow pun. Couldn't help it.)

Across...

And back...

And again... and again.

Either this kid is hyperactive, or, as Mr Incredible says with pride:

"He's just tidying them up - like a good dog."

.

Compliments around here - you've really just got to know how to take them!

And the winners ARE...

Alrighty then... tis done!

We giggled and scratched our heads and snorted at your entries...

as usual it was outrageously hard to nail it down to just one winning comment
but Jeanie has spoken and

The Winner of the Bush Babe 8" x 12" print of their choice is:
Jayne!

"You know, Dash, I think I used the salad oil instead of the saddle oil last night!"

We are arguing that it could equally be said vice versa - depending on the apparent discomfort level of our erstwhile father. Heh!

.
It was a hard choice. I loved Stephen's hat angle, and those who guessed something gate-related must know my Dad in real life! He lives to get others to open gates for him (his knees protest all that getting on and off!). I am taking a paddle to Pam (A Novel Woman) and The Accidental Housewife for their extremely risque remarks - well, I would, but I suspect you would both enjoy it far too much. You made us totally snort. And I am currently holding my hand over my mother's eyes. I am afraid I might have to explain y'all! Too funny...
.
Oh, hang on. There was another prize wasn't there?

The Winner of the fabulous Aussie DVD "The Castle" is:


Random number generated (for total of 31 comments) - 7
And I think comment # 7 belongs to: T Lee
Persistence pays off!!
(You will have to give us your review when you get the movie!)

Thanks to everyone for taking part! We loved your work.

.
And I suppose you want to know the REAL story?

(Can YOU handle the truth?)

Well... it really comes from my uncle - Dad's little brother - the ex-rodeo rider.

.

When we were kids (and he was a 20-something-year-old cowboy) he would ride up behind our ponies as we rode out to muster, and stealthily lift us completely out of the saddle. (Think buckjumping horses or bulls, and that dude who flies in on another steed to lift the hapless rider from his bucking animal and away to safety). If we were lucky, the pony would just keep on walking at relatively the same pace and we could maintain our dignity and slide back into the saddle calmly. If not, we would be left mid-air, legs flailing and begging to be put down.
He would laugh uproariously and say:

"What? You never been taken off by a professional pick-up man before?".

Which was really hilarious, because we had. About a hundred times. By him. Never failed to amuse him. We learned to have eyes in the backs of our heads. And we rarely volunteered to ride out on a muster in front of him!
.
So the photo that looks like my Dad was gently patting his grandson on the back was actually a prelude the same playful threat:

"Ever been lifted off by a professional, boy?".

Dash has had little experience in this department, so was too naive to be nervous. I'd say Mr Incredible's body language says "I don't think that's a great idea!". And perhaps remembering that his daughter was documenting activities behind him, Pagi had second thoughts and kept on riding...

(If you noted the comments you'll see Jeanie-the-Judge spotted the scenario immediately).

.
Hope you have a great day - we are headlong into branding today so posting might be sketchy. Will check in on y'all later though.

And winners - please email me at your earliest convenience.
Au revoir...
BB

Conversations with Dash - the great slot machine question

I often wonder where the manual is for handling the questions you get from your children as you attempt to raise them. If anyone knows of one, I'd sure like a copy.

...

My little man is a bit of a character.
A typical seven-year-old in many ways.
With typical seven-year-old fascination with toys and lollies and slot machines.
I am always having to say 'No' to gum ball dispensers at our local cafe, and those random pick-up claw games at arcades. But I had trouble keeping a stern face during my 'Save you Money, Mate' spiel on the trip back from BrisVegas on the weekend.

...
We were in a little service station in the middle of nowhere, and I had let him visit the 'Gents' on his own (with me keeping vigil at a table near the door, which led into the restaurant). He was so proud of his solo effort before we did coffee (me) and ice-creams (them). As we packed up to hit the road again, Dash decided to 'go' again.

...

I was all "Geez Dash, you just went" as he marched in to do his boy business.

He arrived back within a couple of minutes with an expectant look on his face.
"Can I have a dollar Mum?" he asked, eyes wide in anticipation.
"What on earth for?" says I, looking around the sparse offerings in the diner.
"There's a game!" says he, blinking.
"Where?"
"In THERE..." pointing back into the Men's Room.
It took me a moment.
But the lady sitting next to us got it straight away.
"Oh dear!" she whispered as she stifled a giggle.
I choked.

Hand to mouth, I suddenly realised what the 'game' might be.
"Um, I don't think so darling..."

And then tried to explain just why those particular dispensers were different to the plastic-toy ones at the front of the local cafe.

"Oh..." he said. "Grown Up Toys."

And we left it at that.

...

Life is a minefield, isn't it?

A minefield without a blinking manual...

Beach Weekend: Snapshots #2. Surf Lessons

One thing you need to know about my family, is that we are a competitive bunch.

Which is fine is we are in an environment in which we know the rules. It can be a hinderance when we are trying out new ventures. Disappointment reigns supreme. Of course, we don't let it get in the way of having a red hot go at whatever endeavour presents itself.

(OK, karaoke is the one exception here - singing just ain't our thing I'm afraid!)

And when physical impediments prevent us from trying out something new ourselves, we are not above sending our kids in on our behalf. (And when I say 'we' here, I really mean 'me').

...

When we got the chance to change our jeans-and-boots for togs-and-towels, we didn't mess around. This change in attire can shock the onlooker slightly (our suntans tend to stop at mid-bicep and stretch from mid calf to mid-thigh - known colloquially as a 'bushie tan'). I admit to resorting to a tan-in-a-bottle to try and even up the view a little. It's a necessary public service I perform.

...

Among the activities we jammed into our three-day weekend beach holiday was a surf lesson.

OK. When I say 'we' I am being a bit royal.

I actually mean Dash.

(Keep up with me people!)

The thought of me attempting to clamber up on top of a moving board would not be pretty. Not pretty at all. And no amount of spray tan could help, I'm afraid.

Also I am not a fan of sand. Gritty and uncomfortable stuff.

I am so NOT a beach babe!!

....

Enough of the prelude...

Here are our little soldiers/surfers trooping down to the beach...

Dash has that 'oh dear, I don't know what I am doing here' kinda look about him...

And this is the 'I wonder if anyone would notice if I dropped this end of the board and snuck away' look. He didn't.

He knew his mother was recording the event.

His chances of being unnoticed were pretty much zero.

Poor kid.

After paying close attention to the demonstration

(issued by the quintessential Aussie surfer dude)

it was time for a beach-surf practice.

Students 'paddling' furiously through the sand...

The thought of that sand under my fingernails makes me wince.

Dash didn't seem to mind it at all though...

Then it was time to LEAP to FEET.

Being old and crotchety and lame, this was the part which ruled me out.

I don't do leaping.

Then the inevitable... trying out the moves in the surf.

It was pretty cold and Dash took some convincing to actually give it a go.

(Despite eating like a horse, my child has zero body fat. And he goes quite blue unless he keeps it moving when he is in the water...)

Luckily Mr Incredible can be quite persuasive and after a couple of false starts...

Gads, I didn't realise the board looked quite this threatening when I took this shot

(editing photos is a downright shocking process sometimes!)

... anyway, Dash soon found those feet and was away...

This was just a few minutes into the surfing proper

and he was the first of the class to get up...

and then did it again...

...and again!

'Let's go surfin' now

Everybody's surfin' now...'

I was cheering and hollering from the sand.

And our quintessential surfer dude teacher joined in the applause...

I'm not sure this 'side-foot' style would win any '10s' against Kelly Slater,

but the board continued happily along in front of the small waves...

And our little man cruised in to beach like a pro.

...

And as his lips turned blue and I high-fived him (I'm a dag, I know!) and wrapped him in a towel and congratulated him on doing so well, you know what he said to me?

"But MUM..."

*teeth chattering furiously*

"I wasn't any good...

didn't you see?

I fell OFF!"

...

Good to see that competitive spirit is alive and well...

*sigh*

Gymkhana Joyride

I know, I know...

I have been sadly neglectful of my blog this week.

Has anyone noticed?

Never mind, don't answer that (the echoing silence might depress me!)...

I have NOT been sulking that Roger Federer lost the final of the US Open (after I gave him a massive rap and jinxed him in my last post), and it's NOT that I have been sipping lattes and playing ladies (can you IMAGINE that?).

...

I am afraid to admit that life has kind of OVERTAKEN my blog. School presentations, catering cook-ups, new people moving onto our property, bull sales and a bit of travel have played havoc with my normally constant posting. But I have still been snapping away, never fear. I will be playing serious catch-up with my backlog of images, I can tell you...

BRACE yourselves people!!

...

Now where were we before Life Rudely Interrupted?

Oh yeah.

The Gymkhana.

I should warn you, this post is lengthy and filled with cuteness.

Yes I am biased, but lets just say it contains

toothless grins and jodphurs and Shetlands...

'nuff said!

...

THE GYMKHANA

It was a warm Spring Day at Granite Glen last weekend, when we hauled our kids from their slumber, jammed breakfast into their yawning smiles and pushed their tracksuited bodies out the door and into the vehicles. The truck and Prado were packed with chestnut ponies and buckets, saddles, jodphurs and helmuts (respectively).

...

The two ponies had been washed multiple times in the days before the event, leaving one corner of the houseyard with a chestnut-hued carpet of used horse hair. Rotund shetland Rob Roy and his ancient old lady friend Lacey were pretty bemused by all the sudden attention, but put up with it for the price of a sheaf of lucern hay per session.

...

On arrival at the showgrounds, we primped some more. We brushed, we trimmed, we even painted little hooves black (to Mr I's disbelief). I am afraid this Mama grew up imbued with saddle soap and curry combs and a dog-eared copy of Happy Horsemanship beside her bed.

...

It paid off...

Lacey was almost unrecognisable from her former shaggy appearance (although you would recognise those half-closed eyes anywhere!).

Here Dash and Lacey warm up with cousin M and his pony, Selwyn.

How darned cute are the outfits?

Kids in white shirts and jodphurs could be eaten with a spoon...

Our team lining up ready for the 'marchpast'

(perhaps it should be shuffle-past in Lacey's case?)

...

Can you handle more jodphur-white shirt cuteness?

And can you handle a SHETLAND and a Mr Incredible into the bargain?

You cannot say I did not warn you!

*sigh*

And now for a mass jodphur shot...

For the record the home team (us) won the marchpast.

And Violet and Rob Roy got a pale mauve ribbon for 'presentation'.

The crowd went wild.

And then the events proper began...

Dash and Lacey 'jumping' ... my heart was in my mouth for his entire round as he had never really jumped properly before, and despite not knowing where the start OR finish lines were, the pair took out the blue ribbon in this event.

We all very nearly busted.

It was all very formal, with Dash's group of four competitors being shadowed by myself and my sister-in-law Neeta.

We took turns sashing.

It was very democratic.

Thanks Aunty Neeta!

And here Neeta's daughter Em gets the red ribbon.
She was very impressed with the colourful contrast it made with her previous purple ribbon.

And this kind of reflected the laid-back nature of the contest (at least in the 7-9 y.o. age division):

Blues are nice and all, but a pattern of happy colours was just as satisfying!

...

And did I forget to get some coverage of my daughter in action?

No indeed...

Please witness the Rising Trot in the Flag Race.

That sound? That's me busting again.

(With pride, silly!)

Would you check out the high stepping on Rob Roy?

Seriously, as soon as we painted those weeny hooves black, he was breaking out the moves!

And that neck? Not LONG enough for all the ribbons people.

He was as proud as a little furry overweight cockatoo.

...
And by the end of the day the ribbons festooned and fluttered from riders and steeds like they were mobile Christmas presents...

It's utterly gratuitous, I know...

But kids, riding boots, jodphurs, white shirts, ties and piles of ribbons?

Simply cannot be left alone by a Mother's Nikon...

please just take my word for it!

I did experience a moment's concern when my son walked away...

Where IS that child's bottom?

Honestly, joddies do terrible things to a woman's thighs, but do they enlarge my son's rear end in the same manner? No. They do not.

It's an equation I JUST DON'T GET!!

And another mysterious series of additions had us all gaping in amazement...

Dash not only won a little trophy for getting somewhere in his age group...

Fangs very much!

...he also took out boy rider of the meet!!!!!

That's a TRI-COLOUR ribbon to add to the loot!

And that expression is pure 'stunned mullet'!!

...

You know, I was going to end on that amazing victorious note.

And then I decided on this one of Violet and cousin Mol...

Which I like to call The Debrief Session.

But then I just HAD to use this one...

Over and out from Granite Glen's Gymkhana crew!

Zzzzzz.....