In the middle of our town there is a fountain.
This fountain - a whale tail with water streaming from it's tips - is a monument and testament to the beginnings of this little seaside village (fast growing into the "Gold Coast of SA") and it's history.
These days, there's no whaling going on in Victor Harbor (thank goodness) but the whale tale fountain, situated in a beautiful grassy area with park benches, big trees, surrounded by pubs and coffee shops (and today a lady demonstrating the ancient art of writing on grains of rice!!!???) is a common meeting place for locals and tourists alike.
People were lying on blankets on the grass, playing cricket, sharing fish and chips, wandering back from the pub with a beer in each hand or just plain old ignoring the crazy rice-writing chick - it was almost a Renoir painting it was so serene.
So here we were (neither local or tourists exactly) on a beautiful sunny day, having just completed a bike ride around the place (with a stop at each and every one of the 38 million playgrounds in the area), with hot feet and sore backsides.
The bikes are scattered across the grass, helments, shoes and socks lie where they have been hurriedly removed and chucked. Ellie is eyeing the ice-cream vendor (next to the rice-writing chick) and Harri is already ankle-deep in the water of the fountain.
"Mum, can I get wet," he says already rolling up his pants leg.
Various, serious adult reasons why he shouldn't flit through my head - no dry clothes, still got to ride home etc - all negative, logical and very unadventurous.
"Go for it Hazza," I yell, throwing all caution to the wind.
And he does.
Wildly and enthusiastically soaking every inch of his gorgeous little bod.
Ellie wanders just a little too close and he grabs her and pulls her in, splashing her while she squeals her protests for a micro second.
Miniature rainbows flash through the spraying droplets of my children's play, the sun is on my face, the rice-writing crazy chick is actually doing a demo - all is well in the world.
"Kevin, get out of that mucky fountain, you'll pick up some horible infection from that filty water," screams some kind of fish wife a little bit too close to my ear - breaking my reverential moment, the serenity and the peace across the park in one defining moment.
Poor old Kevin, who had seen my kids having a wow of a time and had merely stuck his left toe in to see what the water was like, nearly fell in from the shock.
Give him credit though.
Kevin got out.
Kevin went straight back to his Mum and sat down on the grass.
"She must be a wonderful parent," I thought to myself.
"I on the other hand, am the worst parent - look at what I am subjecting my children to. The dangers of all those germs and infections."
Needless to say, we all smirked on the way home.