Two years ago, we managed to have the most unexpectedly perfect time on a two-night trip to London with the kids. Unexpected, because the kids were five, eight, and nine at the time, and I didn’t think a city break would work. But we were visiting my sister and her
“We’ve been here six times,” said the woman behind me in the queue at the bakery, “and now we’re afraid to go anywhere different in case it’s not as good.” This was in Cambrils in Spain, and she wasn’t the only one who said it. One family reportedly rented the
Dear Teacher, I’m writing this down because if I try to say it to you in person, I’ll cry (I cry very easily) and I’ll mortify myself and mortify you, and my child will never speak to me again for all the mortification, and with all that going on, I won’t
It was eleven o’clock on Sunday morning, and we’d been chatting to and entertained by our hosts, Jean and Dónal, for about an hour at that stage. We’d only met Dónal that morning but we’d meet Jean two days earlier when we’d arrived in her Airbnb in Ballybunion. She had welcomed us
After 18 months of searching, fourteen thousand buckets of tears when we walked away from our old house, seven nail-biting weeks from “sale agreed” to “here are the keys”, and a month of almost-done refurbishment, we’re finally in our new house. And it’s bliss. Except for all the things that aren’t
Six o’clock. Hazy sunshine. A nippy evening chill creeping in, but these hardy soccer players don’t care. Shin guards on, socks pulled high, shorts and proud club jerseys. Running to the pitch, racing for the first kick of the ball. Eight, nine, ten years old, one thing in common – a love of the beautiful
This Easter holidays, along with some very nice things (like getting keys to our new house – hurrah!) the kids and I did the following: Went to a tile shop and picked tiles Bought a towel rail Went to a kitchen shop and picked cupboards Went to the new house to
I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe. I feel like someone has poured glue inside my head. And the thing is, it’s not “someone” who did it, it’s me. My own dumbass system, over-reacting to pollen – producing histamine because it thinks it’s under attack. “You’re not under attack, dumbass,”
There’s no such thing as a perfect parent – even the kindest, most calm parents have off days (and I suspect it’s a good thing for kids to know parents aren’t perfect) but apparently more than half of Irish parents feel they’re failing, and this feeling is amplified by the internet
I’m bracing myself, gearing up to make the call. Not an important call, not a life-changing call, just a call. To a plumber. On my mobile. To his mobile. From the room where the coverage is usually (but not always) okay. Where the call is least likely to drop, or
I’ve posted snapshots on the cusp, on the verge, and on the couch, but now I’m very firmly on the hunt – I need a house. It’s almost three months now since we sold our house and moved in with my dad, and the whole “the property market picks up in February” morphed
We were talking about Mother’s Day recently (I suspect I was reminding my kids how much I like lie-ins, breakfast in bed, and lunch in nice restaurants, or just anywhere that doesn’t involve cooking it myself) and one of the kids asked when Children’s Day is. “Every day is Children’s Day!”
Dear 9-year-old me, It’s that time of year again – that time you used to love. The bit in between the pancakes on the Tuesday and the chocolate eggs on the Sunday. The forty days of giving stuff up. Lent. I remember how carefully you decided on the rules each
If you’re a campsite person, you’ll have had the conversation; the one where you chat with the people in the mobile home across the way about which campsites you’ve been to and which ones they’ve been to, and which ones were great and which ones were awful. Who you stayed with,
If you’ve done this, you know the drill. Saturday morning is house-viewing morning. Particularly so when the clock is ticking, because the old house is gone. And every time, you get your hopes up. We certainly do. This could be the one. Sure, it’s not quite the location we want, and
“Mum, it’s your engagement anniversary!” my eldest announced when she came in from school this afternoon. I hadn’t realised it was my engagement anniversary and it’s not something we (or I suspect anyone) celebrates – though I’m thinking of bring that in, because to be honest February could use all the help
My laptop and I are in a coffee shop for lunch. It’s a little bit because there’s no fresh bread at home, and a little bit because it’s good to get out. I’m grumpy, because my soup came with toasted sourdough. I could have toasted my not-fresh bread at home. Sourdough feels
One night a few years ago, I was out for dinner with a group of mums from the school (this bunch – I still miss them). One woman who is particularly wise and funny and interesting to talk to was telling us about a book she’d just read. A book
The Last Full Day It’s our last day. Yesterday was our last time doing school pickup and coming back to this house, the same house we’ve come home to every day since they started school. I didn’t say it as we pulled into the driveway. The kids have been so
New Year’s Morning. 8 am. My youngest arrived in for a chat, a few jokes, then went down to watch TV. 8:05 am. He came back up to tell me there’s nothing on TV. Sadly, I couldn’t find my magic wand – the one that makes new films appear on the