The Griswalds have nothing on us

Leaving the house with four children all in a state of dress suitable for the weather is the equivalent to giving birth in a cupboard. Excruciating and basically impossible. But every now and this irrefutable truth falls out of our head and we attempt to leave the house. As a unit.

Yesterday was one such example. 
There’s about six of these shots. This is the one where I either a) least resemble Jabba the Hutt, b) am least likely to send the paparazzi into a frenzy that I am pregnant or c) Felix was pulling the least stupid face, d) we’re all sort of looking in the direction of the camera or e) all of the above.
Again, one of about 12 shots, all involving Grandmama trying to make Felix stand up straight, not pull funny faces or put bunny ears behind his brothers. This caper scared off some French tourists and a very refined English couple with well behaved, nicely dressed and obedient children.
My children operate on the principle that why look at scenery when there are rocks to climb and poses to strike. 
They are all opportunists to steal the limelight from a sibling.
I rest my case.
This location is right on our doorstep. It is spectacular and breathtaking. My children wouldn’t know. At this stage they were pushing Oscar up a hill, turning him around and letting him go. I understand the Tactical Response Unit are still looking for a body at the base of this cliff after reports from other people in the vicinity about hearing horrifying blood-curdling screams.
 I love rock stratas. Felix was wondering – aloud – how many people had killed themselves off this cliff. A moment when I was grateful the nearby elderly Chinese tourist throng had limited English. 
Compulsory shot of Australian native flora. 
ROCK!
Onward!