There are many kinds of mother you can be. Tiger mother, Alpha, Helicopter. I’ve never really seen myself as any of them, and certainly tried to avoid a few. If I had to classify my parenting style, I’d say that I carried stuff. To give it a festive flavour, if this were a nativity, I’d be the donkey.
A month ago today, I was sitting in Regent’s Park, reading a book, drinking coffee. I had an evening at the theatre planned. For the first time in years I felt that everything was under control. I'd spent the previous evening watching Barbra Streisand. I would never to make it to the theatre. 6 hours … Continue reading Get down from there – life with childhood leukaemia
It’s hard to talk about anxiety. On the one hand, admitting that you have a mental health issue does carry with it a certain amount of stigma. On the other, the fear that it will be dismissed as middle class whining when people have real illnesses to worry about is strong.
George Michael was mine and all of these other people are merely charlatans hired in as professional mourners. They had no business intruding on my grief.
I’ll be the first to admit that my blog posts are patchy. I often have several, half written, which never get finished. Today, however, gives me an excuse to merge 3 half written posts into one, and I like to see that sort of thing as a sign of something. This week has been one … Continue reading Dad, Brexit and an end to fear
Dear Nicky I sent my children to school today, as did most parents. Some did not. Over 45,000 parents signed the petition supporting the Let Our Kids Be Kids strike and boycotting of this year's SATs, parents who feel so strongly that the new curriculum is damaging their children that they felt they needed to make … Continue reading Dear Nicky Morgan, about those listening ears …