I’m not really a mani-pedi kind of person – far too much hassle. So the idea of having someone in house who is happy to paint my toenails for me should, in theory, be bliss. Not necessarily the case when the kind helper in question is Boy Two.
Sun was sinking slowly and lighting the fluffy floating seeds as it went. Boy Three and I were walking home through the still, mild evening. This’ll make a lovely photo. But then, Boy Three’s hot sticky fingers squeezed mine. “Mum do you promise to hold my hand all the way home?” “Of course I do. […]
This time 14 years ago I was in a hospital in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria and a very small Boy One was in a cot next to me. I was a bit dazed, my beautifully structured birth plan and seemingly unshakable faith in my body’s ability to do the right thing had vanished. But […]