“A portrait of my youngest children, once a week, every week, in 2015.” Poet: the messiest of braids, the brightest of eyes. Percy: first dip in the ocean and despite his look of [...]
Poet wears the pointelle camisole and twirl skirt These past few weeks of spring have prompted me to reorganise the tubs of kids clothes at the top of the wardrobe. With summer fast approaching [...]
Clear skies and sun have done wonders for the grouchy moods of late. One of my very favourite things to say as a mother is: “Go, go outside. Play!” Sure, there may be the occasional [...]
The wintry storm that came and disrupted spring is still carrying on outside. Inside is much the same; convalescing, fighting, squealing and boredom stirred together with a pinch of fed-up and a [...]
“A portrait of my youngest children, once a week, every week, in 2015.” Poet: before she went into hospital I learnt how to French braid her hair. Thanks youtube. Percy: my littlest [...]
I’m about to light to fire for the first time in six weeks, ironic considering it’s the spring equinox. The windows I flung open in a spring frenzy are now tightly shut and rattling [...]
Daniel and I often remark on how different our entry to parenthood would have been if Percy was our firstborn. He’s been (by far) the most unsettled of our three; the fussiest feeder and [...]
“A portrait of my youngest children, once a week, every week, in 2015.” Poet: her lashes are getting thicker and longer by the day. Lucky girl. Percy: he’s really settled over [...]
“A portrait of my youngest children, once a week, every week, in 2015.” Poet: a split-second of serious before she went on her merry way. We can’t believe how much her face has [...]
There are two things that immediately and undoubtedly brighten the home: fresh flowers and a top-to-bottom thorough clean. If I had my way I would always have fresh blooms on the table and [...]
My recent bout of illness had me looking at the house with a particularly critical eye. Everything looks filthy when you’re sick, doesn’t it? I was seeing germs and mess and scrunched [...]
Poet’s operation was, in every way, a standard procedure. And yet taking your child to hospital, talking them through the procedures and eventually handing them over to the operating [...]
