I can’t imagine anyone will have missed the fact that tomorrow is Father’s Day.
Hardware stores must do their best business in the first weeks of June and sales of bacon probably go up as fry ups are prepared.
But too often the role of daddy is seen as secondary to mummy, surplus to requirements in many ways when it comes to parenting. And admittedly, some dads ARE rubbish. Those mamas, single-handedly doing both the job of mum and dad, are nothing short of heroes in my book.
Yet there are a lot of good uns. And the most important thing they ever do, is just be there. Whether it’s a snatched kiss before bedtime, a cuddle on the couch, or push on the swing, those moments are like tiny beads on the necklace of a child’s life. A tiny, tangible bit of love that helps build them a brighter world. Continue reading
My heart: Sonny Jim and me
It’s a man’s world… so the saying goes.
And nowhere is that patriarchy more apparent than when it comes to fertility.
For all the strides that have been made over the last century. For all the hard-fought rights (to vote, to own our own homes, to smash those glass ceilings) when it comes to having children, nature has us pegged at a real disadvantage.
Women get maybe a 20-year window in which to have their babies. And that’s it.
However we dress it up. Whatever advances that have been made by science, no one has really found a viable, risk-free way for women to put off children well into their forties.
At 35 women’s fertility goes off a cliff – conceiving gets harder and the risks to baby and mama go up too.
Fellas though? Well there’s absolutely nothing stopping them having little ones into their dotage. Continue reading
Running wild: My Sonny Jim making the most of the road being closed
FOR a few hours on Saturday afternoon I felt like I’d stepped back in time.
Our road was closed for a royal wedding street party. There was bunting. Chalk drawings on the floor. Kids running wild up and down the avenue. Neighbours sitting on curbs in the sunshine, sipping beers and prosecco.
It was blooming lovely.
I was never allowed to play out as a child. But even if I had been, it wouldn’t have been as charming in the Nineties as it was for my Sonny Jim on Saturday. He literally had the time of his life. He ate his tea in the street, chased his aunties (and his football) up and down the road for hours and by the time bedtime came around, he had two grazed knees, dirt all over his face and was a sweaty, sticky mess of sunshine in toddler form. Continue reading
Multi-tasking: Typing while saving Sonny Jim from stunts like this…
BEING a mummy is a job like no other.
I mean, in what other role would you be prepared to be on call 24/7, get literally pooped on, get screamed at for hours at a time and your only reward be an occasional wobbly smile and a tiny hand wrapped around your finger?
But two years down the line of mummying and I have to concede that I’ve definitely picked up a few new skills.
Here are some of the most utilised:
- Mum-versations: The ability to chat to another parent, break off to shout/pick-up/wipe down your child, and then pick up the conversation again without missing a stride. Continue reading
Just how important are siblings? My Sonny Jim
We’ve just had International Sibling Day and it got me thinking…
Just how important are sisters and brothers?
I’m one of four (the elder sister of triplets. Yes, triplets. I knoooow.) Sonny Jim’s daddy is one of three (a big brother to two sisters.)
Growing up, both our homes were noisy, busy, at times raucous, places. As the eldest, we both looked out for the littles that followed us. Learnt to share, to row, to compromise. To love – even when they stole your hair straighteners (yes, Clair, I’m talking about you) or left the milk out before your breakfast (warm milk…yuuuuk. Thanks for that Luke and Sam.) Continue reading
Yum, yum: ‘That snail is not a snack, Sonny!’
Do you ever hear yourself say something, and then have to laugh at the ridiculousness of what has just come out of your mouth?
I’ve found having a toddler, this happens more often than the pre-child me could ever have imagined possible.
I was pottering a bit in the garden the other day, with Sonny Jim. The weather has been so blooming dire that as soon as even the smallest ray of sunshine can be seen, I bung his wellies on and we’re outside.
Anyway, all was well, until I heard the unmistakable “yum, yum, yum” coming from my two-year-old. Continue reading
Giant bunny: You take your eye off your toddler for two seconds
Let me preface this by affirming the fact that I am no grinch.
I knocked out a fireplace in Sonny Jim’s nursery when I was six months pregnant, mainly because I loved the thought of my child at Christmas having his own chimney for Santa to come down.
Any excuse to drink Prosecco and giggle and I’m there. And I love a cake, a balloon and bunting more than I probably should in my, ahem, mid thirties.
But when did Easter become such a production?!
As the daughter and sister-in-law of priests, I’m not talking about those celebrating their faith.