The balloons still litter the floor, an ostentatious carpet of celebration. The helium struggles to keep the ‘1’ and the ‘8’ bobbing hopefully, a memory of a perfect day. Helen can’t bring herself to clear them. Every day she notes
Don’t let four fool you with his desperate truths, Trust not his whispers, fuelled by darkness and shame, Lie still, Eyes scanning the shadows, and wait for Seven’s sense.
Choose now. Choose action. Choose love, loyalty and friendship. Choose to say what you mean and choose to mean what you say. Choose to fight. Choose them, choose us. Choose the right to disagree without being a dick, and if
Our children mirror our best And our worst. We reflect in their glories Adjust focus when they fail Through this lens we learn the whys of who we are See the reasons we chose the paths we trod
Summer wasn’t meant to be this way. Summer was meant to be about feeling the sun on your face, lifting your chin to let it filter down your body, enveloping you in a cocoon of gold.
On motherhood, middle-age and stuff…
Dear Teacher, You know that moment at parents’ evening when you look up from your register and clock me sitting, waiting, trying to peer around the pushy parents stood directly in front of me who are determined to see you
“Open the door Emma, my key won’t bloody work…” “Em! I know you’re in there – c’mon, it’s pissing down out here!” “Jesus Christ woman, what is this?! I’ve just got off an eight hour flight, I don’t need this