Two years, 51 weeks. Four years, nine months. Three years, 51 days and counting.
I reached out to Jacquie Forde the other week in the hopes that I could pick her brains.
At the time of writing, I have a seven-year-old son who doesn’t yet read fluently and a two-year-old son who doesn’t yet walk steadily. In our family, milestones don’t matter.
You When I was fifteen I wrote an English Essay entitled ‘A Woman’s Place is in the Home?’
The smartphone promised shine! We set our sights on tramping up fresh big hills for city-free thrills. Burgeoning clouds spilling thick drops dared us to Turn. Back. Now. … We paid no heed …
My children see a different world to me. Maybe it’s the size of them; not yet full measure. Maybe it’s the eyes of them; always seeking treasure.