It was the way she said, “Is that you?”  She looked up at me for confirmation and then back to the photograph.  “You look, pretty…”.  She looked back at me and smiled again.  There was a pride in her eyes. I got the inference.  I don’t look pretty now.  I am not one of the pretty mums.  I am not one of the cool mums.  I am her mum and she loves me, would not swop me, but there is still a piece of her that wishes I were all of it.  A mum she could be proud of, not just love. I

A reel came in to my Instagram feed yesterday and it took me a few moments to realise that I was there once. Over 20 years ago, but the...

The school run was a rush that morning. I mean, when isn't it? There was something about that morning, though. The door shut with a...

Yesterday I was metaphorically hit in the face with a wet fish. I saw something that I know about myself, but generally choose to ignore,...

There has been a break in the writing on this site. In November, I posted brief notes every day on social media, as part of National...