Baptism.

Last week, I took the boys on a long walk down to the slippery rocks. Rocco jumped in puddles the whole way and I didn't rush him once. It took a LONG time.

On the way back, it started to rain. Heavily. We stopped under some trees for a bit, then I thought, who cares if we get wet? It's just water. We strode through the pouring rain, getting soaking wet in seconds. The boys screamed and I laughed.

Max ran up ahead. I was behind Rocco as he stood in the swirling torrents of water in the gutter.

Rocco is three and a half years old. Max is ten.

Back on Max's first birthday, we held a huge naming day ceremony for him, with lots of people. He was christened by a friend using water from the lake. No godparents. There were bushfires that day, and a water-bombing helicopter kept flying overhead and hovering, scooping up water next to us. It was awesome.

I've been so slack when it comes to doing those things with Rocco. Walking behind him in the rain, I had a sudden urge to just baptise him myself.

So I did. I cupped my hands and splashed water all down his head. He didn't even turn around, not even when I said "I christen you Rocco Riley with no middle name. May you live a long and happy life. Just really live it."

Now my boys are both the same.

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