There's nothing like a Sunday that starts with the blast of a husband's phone alarm at 4:30am, particularly after a Saturday spent trackside. "What, prey tell, are we doing today", I murmured half asleep, "that requires a two hour pre-dawn awakening"? or something to that affect.
After a long and joyful day at the races Saturday with my local 'gang', I was actually pleased to lace up the work boots Sunday. And back to Bottle Tree we went on a cool Winter's morn.
Only two more weeks with Mummy for these fat babes.
We had a birthday girl in our midst.
She travelled home in the truck with Dad. The other three and I making it home just before dark, time to run in all directions feeding animals and filling waters. The broken-winged angel (Dad's term) headed for the kitchen to whip up a birthday cake. With crumbed steak ordered for tea, and nothing but fillet in the cold room, it was rather schmancy crumbed steak on the menu, almost sacrilegious, but good.
Apparently fourteen year olds are too cool for photos.
But we mothers are persistent creatures.
Which made me think of this: