Andrea Mara

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First Child

I think about how you said sorry so quickly when you knocked over the cereal box this morning, and my insides constrict. I told you it was fine, it was an accident – I brushed it away. But that doesn’t change the fact that you rushed to say sorry –

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  I clash with my daughter. She’s six. And I’m not six. I’m not proud of clashing with someone half my size and thirty-ish years younger than me. But, as we are fond of saying here, it is what it is. And the reason we clash? Because we are the

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To my September girl

You stepped silently down the stairs, gliding almost, and quietly joined us in the kitchen. The skirt that grazed your ankles a year ago when you first wore a uniform is now swishing around your knees. You slipped wordlessly into your seat, entirely focused on breakfast to the exclusion of

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This is not a light, self-deprecating, jokey post – I really lost it with my five year old today, and I’m feeling bad about it. I shouted at her, marched her up the stairs, and told her that she wasn’t going to the party that she was invited to this

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