• parenting boredom

    Nobody talks about how boring parenting can be. It’s this weird Western system we’ve created, where we all raise our children alone; sealed into our little boxes on quiet, orderly streets. Perhaps meeting at a playground or a toddler group sometimes, where we will start a thousand sentences, and never find out how a single

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  • pink

    Pink is the colour of my little girl’s happiness; Pink is the colour of her princess dress. Pink is the colour of the ’95 champagne that’s chilling in my fridge.  As a mum to a 3-year-old girl, I fight a constant, quiet battle to keep the level of pink in our lives to a sensible

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  • fuck perfect

    Here’s the problem with perfect; it’s achievable, but not sustainable. You can do it for a night, a day, an event, maybe a while. You can starve yourself skinny or primp yourself pretty, or hoover your whole house until it’s entirely fluff-free. It just doesn’t last, and unless you’re an unemployed millionairess without any children,

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  • working from cafes

    Three days out of every week, I drive 40 miles back to the city. It’s partly because we want Orla to stay at her brilliant, please-be-my-mother childminder, but partly also because I just really like to work in cafes. Generally, people’s reactions upon hearing of my cafe-loitering will fall into one of two camps: either they

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  • live with less: toy clutter

    In the run up to Christmas, I’m growing increasingly twitchy about the deluge of toy clutter about to hit. It feels like I’m constantly trying to find equilibrium, walking a delicate line between a sea of pink plastic in the living room, and sad little Orla playing with a lone broken doll in a corner. Simplifying is so much

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