There is a little stone house beyond the paddock where childhood is happening exactly as it should.

You can almost feel it before you reach the front door.

It's in the work boots waiting to be pulled on before heading outside. The toy tractors scattered through the house. The bikes ready for another lap down the driveway. The dog who needs a cuddle on the way past. The tree swing, the trampoline, the cubby house and the bike track built for small people with very big plans.

It's the kind of place that makes children restless when they've been inside too long. Because out here, there is room.

Room to run. Room to fall. Room to get back up again. Room to imagine. Room to be loud. Room to spend an afternoon doing absolutely nothing and, somehow, doing everything.

And right in the middle of all that beautiful childhood, another little life has arrived.

Lenny George.

Driving down that familiar driveway again felt a little like coming home.

The last time I had been here, there were only four of them.

Morgan was brand new, and Fergus was a big brother who was... let's say, still considering his position on the matter.

Getting him anywhere near his baby sister for a photograph required some fairly advanced negotiations involving chocolate chips strategically placed on Morgan for him to pick off.

I photographed the evidence and then carefully edited the snacks out later.

Years later, I walked back through their door and was welcomed as though I were an old friend.

And there was Fergus.

Bigger now. Chattier. And with stories ready before I'd even properly arrived.

I remembered the little boy who loved tractors and trucks, so naturally I had to ask.

That was all the invitation he needed.

He told me about his favourite tractor. About his own toy tractors. Then proudly paraded a beloved truck for me to see.

And, perhaps most importantly, I needed to know about his new bike.

It had BIG wheels.

He'd also built a bike track outside.

There were jumps.

There were berms.

And I would absolutely be seeing it later.

Morgan was a little less certain at first.

She watched.

Listened.

Stayed close.

But then she saw Fergus and me talking.

And off she went.

A moment later she returned clutching her little Barbie fairies, proudly introducing me to them as though perhaps we'd all been waiting years for this meeting.

And there she was.

The tiny baby I'd photographed all those years ago.

Except she wasn't the baby anymore.

Because now, there was Lenny.

Or, as Morgan calls him: her baby.

She adores "Lenny George."

Not casually, either.

This girl loves him with her whole body.

She squeezes him close. Smothers him with affection. Tries desperately to convince him to "kiss" her nose.

And if there were any doubt about how loved this little boy is, it disappeared somewhere between Morgan wrapping herself around him and Fergus leaning close to tell his baby brother a story about dragons.

We gathered everyone onto the couch.

For a few moments, anyway.

There were cuddles and squeezes and the kind of sibling giggles that start with absolutely nothing and somehow become uncontrollable.

The love oozed out everywhere.

And nestled amongst it all was Lenny.

The newest little person in a family already bursting with stories.

But we'd made a promise.

After the photographs inside, we were going out to play.

And children do not forget promises like that.

So, work boots on.

Out the door.

First, Archie needed some love.

Then Morgan needed to fly through the air, courtesy of Dad.

And then came the bikes.

Down the driveway they went.

Straight towards the track they'd been waiting to show me.

Fergus was ready.

This was his territory.

There were berms and jumps and just enough challenge to make every lap an adventure.

He rode and showed me his tricks.

And don’t worry, Morgan wasn't about to be left behind.

So she rode too.

There was dirt.

There were tumbles.

There were giggles.

There was encouragement from Mum and Dad watching nearby.

Nobody rushed to make everything perfect.

Nobody worried about keeping clothes pristine.

They simply let them play.

At some point Morgan abandoned the bike altogether, found two sticks and decided they were far more interesting.

And then came the cackle.

Britt had warned me about Morgan's laugh.

Apparently, she has the best cackle.

She wasn't exaggerating.

It is the kind of laugh that takes over her entire little body. The kind that makes everyone around her start laughing too, even when they have absolutely no idea what was funny in the first place.

The cheekiest, most glorious sound.

And once she gets going, she really gets going.

We talked about childhood while the kids played.

About how rare it can feel now to give children uninterrupted time to simply be children.

No agenda.

No perfectly planned activity.

No rushing onto the next thing.

Just...

"Go outside."

Looking around, I sure could understand why Fergus and Morgan spent their days outside!

There was an entire childhood waiting beyond their front door.

Eventually we wandered around to the backyard.

The kids headed for the trampoline while Britt and Brad had a quieter moment with their newest little boy.

Then Lenny needed a feed.

And Dad was recruited for trampoline duty.

Because life with three children doesn't exactly stop for newborn photographs.

It simply makes room.

Next came the tree swing.

Fergus climbed aboard, lying across it on his tummy.

His Batman position, he informed me.

Obviously.

Then Morgan came flying over to join him.

And she laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

Until there were actual tears coming from her eyes.

The kind that come when your little body simply cannot contain that much happiness.

Eventually Mum rejoined us with a content little Lenny and suggested they show me the cubby house.

Naturally, Fergus had another idea.

There was a seesaw horse.

There was a slide.

And somehow those two things needed to become one activity.

WHOOOOOOSH.

Down the slide.

Horse and child.

A spectacular crash landing.

A split second of silence.

And then...giggles.

Of course.

Kids will be kids.

Eventually, the camera went away.

The session was finished.

But for a moment, I didn't really want to leave.

Because there is something about this place.

Beyond the paddock, away from the noise and hurry of everything else, sits this little home filled with so much life.

The frogs bellow somewhere nearby.

Birds sing from the trees.

The breeze moves gently across the property.

And three little people are growing up here.

Fergus, with his tractors and his BIG wheels and his stories about dragons.

Morgan, with her fairies, her sticks, her enormous love for "her baby," and a cackle so wonderful it makes her eyes water.

And now Lenny George.

Right in the middle of it all.

One day, the bikes will be gone from the driveway.

The work boots by the door will be far too small.

Nobody will need Dad's help launching a seesaw horse down the slide.

The cubby house will become quiet.

And perhaps even Fergus's beloved tractors will eventually find their way into a box somewhere.

But not yet.

Right now, childhood is here.

It's loud and muddy and hilarious and completely uninterrupted.

And I think that's what I'll remember most about this afternoon.

Not the photographs we made.

But the life happening between them.

A family who welcomed me back through their door as though no time had passed.

A new little boy arriving into a home already overflowing with love.

And the gentle reminder that perhaps the childhoods dreams are made of aren't made from grand adventures at all.

Perhaps they're made here.

Beyond the paddock.

With nowhere else you need to be.

With people who love you nearby.

And enough room to run wild.

Welcome home, Lenny George.

You've arrived right in the middle of something wonderful.