My Fringe Does Not Look Like Other People’s Fringes

Because I went for a half-fringe first and my hair got confused Because I have naturally fluffy hair (I will not dignify it with the classification 'wavy' or 'curly', because it is neither) and cutting fluff into shorter fluff above one's face is not, objectively, a good idea Because I wrestle it into submission using … Continue reading My Fringe Does Not Look Like Other People’s Fringes

Ten years of Granny

We had a memorial service for Tim's Granny yesterday. Granny Ann. She passed away a couple of weeks ago. I haven't written about it because in a way it feels like borrowed grief. She wasn't my granny - I only knew her for ten years, not a whole lifetime. So it feels sort of presumptuous. … Continue reading Ten years of Granny

Speak up for your bad days: they’re important too

I had every intention of sitting down tonight and writing about T's birthday. We had a grand day. I've got lots of very pretty-looking pictures. But whenever I write something especially appreciative about my children on this blog, the universe intervenes to make sure they're little horrors the day after. And so they have been. … Continue reading Speak up for your bad days: they’re important too

Belong to where you are

I have this Anthony Burrill print on the wall of my downstairs loo. Ideally I would sit and ponder on it while I use the facilities, though of course I never use the facilities without a curious onlooker keen to hand me loo roll and compare genitalia. ('I just love talking to you', H said … Continue reading Belong to where you are

On ovary-wrestling

I've been struggling a bit with hormone rampages in the last few weeks. It's been hard not to tip myself into sadness or self-flagellation every time my tether's been shorter than I wanted, or I've forgotten to reply to an important message, or walked straight past the reusable shopping bags on my way out to Tesco … Continue reading On ovary-wrestling

A manifesto for being an all-round good egg at thirty

I've been thirty for a week and I'm not dead yet. I jest. I've been gently bemoaning my age as this birthday has approached, but my heart hasn't really been in it. The one small moment of panic I had in January, where I sobbed 'I'M GOING TO BE THIRTY AND I DON'T KNOW IF … Continue reading A manifesto for being an all-round good egg at thirty

The women who made me

  If I am a good mother, it's because of my Nanna. It's because I learned from her that little things mean a lot to little people. It's because I know it's possible to bear physical limitations and pain with unbelievable grace. It's because I believe most problems can be solved with a weekly helping … Continue reading The women who made me

Live a little

Come and sit by me, I want a chat. I feel two-dimensional, often, as the mother of two toddlers. And I need a better way of categorising them than that, for a start. 'Two toddlers' is too brief to convey the sweat and tears and bruises and seesawing emotions. It says nothing about the early … Continue reading Live a little

I eat my feelings, and maybe you do too

I am the sort of person who thinks a lot about food. You might be able to tell. Most of my jokes are about biscuits, aren't they? I maintain forever and always that a good biscuit joke sets most people at ease and, an additional benefit, encourages them to think more about biscuits. Lately I've … Continue reading I eat my feelings, and maybe you do too

Why I’ll be sending my kids to camp

I've just got back from girls' camp - well, not just: I've been back long enough to sleep for a couple of hours, to unpack all my moss-covered, grease-covered things, and to realise I'll be doing a full-body cringe for the rest of this week while my fiery sunburn dies down. I've only been involved in … Continue reading Why I’ll be sending my kids to camp