RIP Ragnar 2016-2018

Home was not home without you in it.

Dear Ragnar…

Or booooooi, broeder, mow, rags or anything else you would answer to instead of your name ❤

I did not think that today would pan out the way it has. I did not expect a call, THE call that I received this morning and I most certainly didn’t expect that the last time I would give you a good rub down would be last night…

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Dearest nephews…

I cannot wait to be a part of your lives as you grow into the strong, loving boys you’re destined to be.

My dearest nephews…

I longed to be an aunt for an age and yet my siblings were on their own life course. They made me wait and wait and at the time I had made a pivotal decision to move to another country in October 2014, I finally learned of your impending arrival…

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Trauma – The writings of a child abuse survivor.

I am who I am not because of him but in spite of him.

“I am not an alcoholic!” he exclaims loudly as he slurps back the last of a 70cl whiskey bottle. The alcohol doesn’t scare me, it never has. What scares me is the angry result of a bottle down, which would generally lead to me taking the brunt of a father’s frustration after a long day. “I am not an alcoholic!” he shouts again as I wonder which of us he is trying to convince: himself or the 13-year-old girl before him.

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Comparing life to the ‘imperfectly perfect’ scarf.

Knitting is an interesting albeit pensive past time.

I distinctly remember my home economics class in standard 5 / 7th grade / Year 7 in 1996, we were tasked with knitting our own scarves. I chose green and grey wool – though looking back now, I can’t be certain if that was preference or need – and proceeded to knit the loosest, most amateur scarf possible. I never finished knitting that scarf and I can’t even tell you what happened to the start of it, all I can say is that I have spent the rest of my life ‘trying’ to finish knitting a scarf.

Until now.

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My (almost) 12 year old mini-me.

From her hormonal side glances to her witty retorts, she is her mother through and through and I couldn’t be more proud.

This time, 12 years ago, I was impatiently awaiting the arrival of my eldest daughter with all of the trepidations and anxieties of a first time mum. At the tender age of 21, I thought I was ready to welcome Hayley into the world with open arms and an open heart but I was wholly unprepared for the small human that would change everything about the world that I knew.

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Days Out – Oxford Museum of Natural History.

My husband describes Oxford as ‘Camden on holiday’ with a diverse melting pot of people all with similar cultural interests.

Nearly 8 weeks after my initial DVT diagnosis and then later, a more severe diagnosis of clotting in other parts of my body, it was time for me to attempt an actual adventure out of the house. While my mobility has been greatly affected by these latest medical developments, every so often I wake up and feel like I can face the day. When this happens, I absolutely HAVE to jump on it, if I didn’t I would be permanently housebound and this would drive me nuts.

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Parenting, the dark side – Like versus Love.

Let’s be clear, love is not like

Being a mum is so difficult.

There is no manual; there is no textbook; there is no 30 days free return policy.

Then, there you are, suddenly mum (or dad) and baby. Get on with it.

Continue reading “Parenting, the dark side – Like versus Love.”