This Is Where We Are: a letter to my children on Mother’s Day (6)

Every year on Mother’s Day, I write about how I mother my babies day-to-day. I think they might like to know how the little things felt, as well as the big ones. Here goes the sixth, an entire week late (this is the first year I’ve had a proper excuse).  Dear Future Versions of Henry, … Continue reading This Is Where We Are: a letter to my children on Mother’s Day (6)

This Is Where We Are: a letter to my sons on Mother’s Day (5)

Every year on Mother’s Day, I write about how I mother my babies day-to-day. I think they might like to know how the little things felt, as well as the big ones. Here goes the fifth (late again – will this become part of the tradition? Yes). Dear Future Versions of Henry and Teddy, This … Continue reading This Is Where We Are: a letter to my sons on Mother’s Day (5)

This Is Where We Are: a letter to my sons on Mother’s Day (4)

Having read about it here, I wanted to write about how I mother my babies day-to-day, every Mother’s Day. Here’s the fourth. A bit late this year! Dear Future Versions of Henry and Teddy, This has been my fourth Mothering Sunday, and you are three-and-a-half and twenty months, respectively. It’s the end of the day, … Continue reading This Is Where We Are: a letter to my sons on Mother’s Day (4)

This Is Where We Are: A letter to my children on Mother’s Day (3)

Dear Future Versions of Henry and Edward, Today is my third Mothering Sunday, and you are two-and-a-half and nine months old, respectively. We are tucked up in bed again, this time because you have hand, foot and mouth virus. Before I had children I thought HFM, if I thought about it at all, was a … Continue reading This Is Where We Are: A letter to my children on Mother’s Day (3)

This Is Where We Are: A letter to my son on Mother’s Day (2)

Having read about it here, I wanted to write about how I mother my babies day-to-day, every Mother’s Day. The first was here. Here goes the second.  Dear Future Version of Henry, Today is my second Mothering Sunday, and you are eighteen months old. We are sat side-by-side in the big bed, you tucked under my … Continue reading This Is Where We Are: A letter to my son on Mother’s Day (2)

This Is Where We Are: A letter to my son on Mother’s Day (1)

Having read about it here, I wanted to write about how I mother my babies day-to-day, every Mother’s Day. Here goes the first. Dear Future Version of Henry, Today is my first Mothering Sunday, and tomorrow you will be seven months old. I am sat in a puddle of quiet, feeding you before your nap. … Continue reading This Is Where We Are: A letter to my son on Mother’s Day (1)

What we talk about when we talk about Christmas

I remember my Christmasses past in traditions. Holidays matter to small children, and they mattered to me: whatever had happened that year, I knew that Christmas Eve would find me sliding across the sofa in new satin pyjamas, static sparking merrily from my shiny backside, and that Christmas Day would bring bulging Santa sacks, strawberry … Continue reading What we talk about when we talk about Christmas

What does Father Christmas eat for breakfast? Weeto-ho-hos. (Sorry.)

Forget personality types – this is all I want to know right now: are you a short-and-sweet Christmas person, or a tree-up-in-November person? Mostly I like to keep my Christmas in December. I think it’s more magical when it’s extra-concentrated. Like condensed milk straight from the tin (YES). That is, until we got an invitation … Continue reading What does Father Christmas eat for breakfast? Weeto-ho-hos. (Sorry.)

One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-six

  Dear Henry, Today is your birthday, and you are five. You are asleep, finally, after an exciting day where you have made all the important decisions: bacon and waffles for breakfast, a trip to London to visit the ‘dinosaur museum’, hot dogs and milkshakes for lunch, episodes of Transformers Rescue Bots for an evening … Continue reading One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-six

When a dinosaur comes to a party, it wears its best hat

Birthday fortnight is over. Well, not really – H’s birthday is still to come next month, though because he’s blown out a glittery ‘5’ candle, he’s convinced he already is. And I say: fair enough. You can be five for a few sneaky weeks. Five is great. It seemed like a good idea to move … Continue reading When a dinosaur comes to a party, it wears its best hat