Last week, after her usual visit to Nan and Pa's place, my little Pippi presented me with a solitary Camellia. A single plump pink bloom, picked fresh from my mothers tree. The tree that sits proudly in front of the french doors that lead the way into Nanna's 'Special Room' - you know, the room that holds all of the antiques and the fine bone china and the crystal? That one.
It was the first bloom of the season and it was given to me by my smiling, snotty faced, pyjama clad (because it's all she'll wear) daughter.
As she ran inside the our front gates, arms outstretched towards me I was instantly reminded of being a first time mum.
In that moment, I could see my 26 year old self carrying a brand new baby Zephie out onto the front lawn. Yet in my memory I wasn't greeting my daughter, I was welcoming my mum.
Each June the Camellia's start arriving, just like they did in June 2009 when Zeph was a baby. Those long, blissfully disorienting days were so often punctuated by my darling mum. She would arrive on my door step with a loving hug, a gentle smile, some Bakers Delight berry and white choc chip scones and a fist full of freshly cut flowers.
The transfer of said hug, smile, scones and blooms would be executed swiftly and before you knew it, that mother of mine would have a baby Zephie sleeping in her arms.
Things have changed a little since then. Two more babies have arrived here at The Beetle Shack but the goodness of a freshly cut Camellia and the sweetness of my mother remain the same.
I just wish we still had time for a cup of tea and a scone.