WALK WITH ME, HOLD MY HAND {my home spun boy}

This morning, after the girls had pulled out of the drive with their Nanny, Zeph and I stomped on our boots and ventured out the front gates. Just he and I.

We were going on a big adventure. Not far from home but in terms of life and it's many milestones, this was a very significant day.

Across the road and an onto the narrow concrete path we went. Holding hands and pausing occasionally to admire the scattered collection of match sticks on the grass or the gaggle of pink gala's in the open paddock, we walked slowly and methodically.

Each of us allowing every one of our senses to absorb the freshness of the morning - the crisp air pushing through Dave's knitted jumper that I threw on before we left, the clomp of Zeph's Spider Man gumboots, the knocking of one neighbour upon the door of another, the sound of our own voices as we chatted intermittently about what was to come.

Through the gates (shhh, the children are having their morning assembly), around the bend and into the heavily air conditioned office.

'Hello, My name is Emily, I'm here to collect the enrolment papers for my Son to start school'.

At that very moment as those words escaped from my mouth, Zeph and I both knew that we were really growing up. He and I together.

She gave us a glossy, emblem embossed folder filled with paper work and requested 3 forms of verification for our home address.

On the way home, my larger than life child was unusually introspective. His answers to my questions were offered in hushed tones and his hand gripped mine with an unfaltering firmness.

My boy. My not baby boy. My baby boy.

And like a loose thread on a knitted jumper these years are unravelling before me. They have only just begun yet somehow they're coming to an end.

Next year my home spun boy will venture farther afield and begging to knit a little story of his own.

He's ready.

I might be ready. Not sure yet.