Larry was making the most of his freedom. After three hours cooped up and airborne, he relished the opportunity to stand on his own two tottering feet. My husband queued at the hire car counter; Larry wandered wherever he fancied. We took turns, his siblings and I, being his shadow. We held a hand, or […]
Growing Young Souls
Two years, 51 weeks. Four years, nine months. Three years, 51 days and counting.
“Does he always breathe this fast?” asked the GP, on a home visit. “He’s only twelve hours old”, I said. “Maybe he’s just getting used to being here”.
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.
As I sat on the bus, all scrunched up and knee-slammed, my thoughts turned towards my youngest son. Immediately, a flood of adrenaline squeezed terror through my bloodstream – from belly’s pit to finger tips.
You When I was fifteen I wrote an English Essay entitled ‘A Woman’s Place is in the Home?’
At the end of 2011, the children were over a hundred miles away with the grandfolk and I was getting more than a little excited about a New Year’s Eve party my husband and I were going to with some friends.