This is half-pie.

You know how you’re always told that no matter what the situation, there’s always someone worse off than you? That huge area under the bell curve of human experience means it’s true too. (As it is in many similar comparisons: substitute out “worse off” for, variously, things like “uglier”; “richer”; “more intelligent”; “bat-shit crazier”; etc. as per personal preference. This can be, or not, a comforting thought.)

Nowhere is this more true than at the hospital. And demonstrated in this conversation:

Bloke 1: Oooh, did she hurt her hand?
Bloke 2: No, that’s just where the shunt goes for the IV antibiotic. She’s got a bit of an infection. [Pause.] And yours?
Bloke 1 [looks down at the baby cradled in his arms]: Oh, we’re off to Auckland next week for heart surgery.

…although I think Hadyn is right, these are in fact slugs, and not flatworms as I had originally thought:

Bella found this pair of beasties under a large dried leaf (left over from the summer when the girls were using it as a sun umbrella). As far as slugs go, I pronounce them pretty indeed, with their semi-transparent leaf shapes and contours.

But what were they up to under there? Hmmmmm.

Hannah Abby expired during the night.

Four year olds aren’t often sentimental types, it’s true, but even I was a little taken aback when Rosa turned up with these.

She explained that they’re to be used as decorations for her birthday, later on in the year. Very practical.

Although I would like to know where the rest of the butterfly is.

On the left is Hannah Abby. Reading to (let’s assume) her is Rosa:

Hannah is butterfly #2. She was among some spiderwebs under a weatherboard and got a bit tangled up on her way out; and since then, a couple days ago, she hasn’t flown away. “She’s very sick”, Becky explained. (“And she’ll probably die soon”, I rather too tactlessly added.)

So now Rosa’s looking after her.

So, just as perhaps hinted at in the final paragraph of my most recent Wellingtonista post we took the girls down to Frank Kitts Park this evening to see the Phoenix Foundation, live in a free gig.

We sat on some steps above the main mass of people on the grass so the girls could see what was going on. (That music that comes out of our stereo at home? It’s made by real people. Those people. Up there on that stage.) Rosa fell asleep in my arms halfway though the second song (40 years?), but Bella watched through it all, occasionally jumping up to dance. We, of course, loved it. Great music, happy crowd, kids stoked to be out doing something cool and different.

And then, the last song. Bella climbed onto my shoulders, and Rosa on to Becky’s, and they sung/shouted the words of Bright Grey, a song they know and love well:

…that orange and yellow, they’re making me mellow…

And then rounding into the “ooo-ooo” bits with gusto, enought to make some of the people around us stare and smile. The song faded away, the grins on the girls faces remained; more “ooo-ooo” from them as we walked to the car, the songs of the encore playing behind us.

I think they’ll want to do that again.

Both girls love animals, but Rosa is the one with a particular affinity for the small and creepy.

Today, while the others were away, she led me outside. “Dad! Come and look at the weta motel! There’s a really big one in there!”. She unscrewed the wingnuts holding the cover on, and there they were.

This is pretty much par for Rosa, and of course was easily surpassed later in the afternoon when we discovered she’d adopted a rather battered and broken-winged bumblebee as her latest pet. “It’s called Queenie!” she said proudly.

I explained that she should try and be careful as bumblebees weren’t always very good at knowing friends from squashers. Not that this advice changed her behaviour one bit, as she let it wander over her hands and up her arm.

She made her sister go and pick some clover for Queenie, and we watched as the bee’s long black tongue tried to dip into the clover florets.

Hours she spent, and would only come inside at last for the evening once Queenie was in her own bed, a bower of clover and grass picked for sweetness, and a carefully folded tissue for a pillow, laid out on the front door step away from any rain that might fall.

What will we say to Rosa if Queenie is gone by morning?

This is of course, the previously mentioned hat. It is surely every girl’s dream to be the proud owner of one of these, right girls?

Does this need any further comment by me?

No, it does not.

Today was one of those days, all too few, in which the perfect late spring conditions are achieved: mildness, lack of wind, clear skies. And so we spent a lot of time in the garden, like many suburbanites.

By now though, Rosa and Bella know well how to divert me from my purpose. Rosa spotted this greedy lady jumping spider:

She was one of three we spotted scoffing up large. It’s that time of year, after all. Lots of babies to make.

So yeah, I ended up taking a few photos instead of doing useful things like plant spuds and mow lawns. Useful is over-rated.

And I had to take Bella down to the park for some bike riding and more “soccer practice”.

You see, since she’s started reading Go-Girl Angels, she’s decided she needs to become a football player. Maybe we’ll have to go to the Phoenix soon. I’m just loving that she’s reading on her own and absolutely loving it.

Here’s to summer, then.

We had wondered what sort of party Bella might like for her seventh (which was actually the other week on a not-quite convenient day for a party). I consulted my fellow Wellingtonistas through our private hotline. There was some interesting and useful discussion, culminating in Jo‘s tale of a wonderfully elaborate and memorable outdoor and themed birthday party she had once had as a preteen.

That was our inspiration for this, a fairy party in a woodland clearing:

We decided to invite seven of Bella’s close friends to the party, to be held across the gully in the flax clearing at Otari-Wilton’s Bush. This turned out a lot better than we even hoped.

Rosa and I went on ahead to set up, making sure the others could find us by turning on our fairy music (Cinderella in this case). After their walk up the hill the girls were wide-eyed and ready for my politically suspect story of how and why the clearing came to be (basically some English faerie who had stowed away on the ship out with John Wilton had negotiated with the local faerie, a hapū of Te Tiniotehakuturi, the guardians of the forest, to prevent them from sending yet another earthquake to get rid of the Pākehā and their tree-chopping ways once and for all; thus Otari-Wilton’s bush came to be, and the clearing was where the two groups of faerie continue to meet; and so of course that we need to take care of the forest so as not to break the agreement and cause another earthquake etc etc).

After that came the usual avalanche of “sometimes” foods; a cake; a bout of present-openings; and party games. Then the girls were all mad keen to dance like fairies (as one does when one is a seven year old girl), so we turned the music up (by this time we were on to Sleeping Beauty) and they danced all round the sloping lawn, chasing and catching the bubbles we blew at the same time.

It wasn’t long before it was time to go. Becky took all the girls on ahead, and I stayed to tidy up and pack all the gear (and rubbish) out. They were all a bit tired by the time they got back up to the carpark at the entrance; but everyone, especially the birthday girl, seemed to have had lots of fun (with one exclaiming that it was the best birthday party she’d ever been to, no small compliment given the sorts of parties held these days).

And of course the nice thing from my and Becky’s perspective is that we came home to a house unbombed by party carnage, and we could have a relaxing afternoon in recovery without having to clean anything up. Ahhhhhhh.