I was a panellist on the Claire Byrne programme on RTÉ Radio One today. The piece was based on interviews that journalist Evelyn O’Rourke did with seven and eight year old children about Christmas and questions that they had about Christmas. I was joined on the panel by Shane Bergin,…
These days kids are asking for phones from a very young age. We were always resolute that our eldest wouldn’t get one until he was in secondary school. Or at least when he was 12. Then, last Christmas, 3 months after his 11th birthday we decided to surprise him with…
Sometimes when it’s the second child who hits a milestone it doesn’t get marked properly, and it’s my second born’s life’s work to ensure that this injustice does not happen to him. So here’s Cathal’s tenth birthday post because Ciarán got one and it’s only fair. (Makes diary note for…
I don’t write a birthday post for each child each year, because life is busy and sometimes birthdays pass us by in a rush. This year, because things are just so hectic and there is so much going on I felt that it was even more important to sit down…
I stole a glance, hoping that he wouldn’t see. I’ve been warned often enough not to do embarrassing things. There he was among his friends, chatting and laughing, confident. I saw something new, something that’s been around a while but I’ve been ignoring it, pretending that it’s not there. He’s…
Guilt. Find an article about a working mother without the word being mentioned. Go on, I dare you. You’ll be a while looking. Guilt. “It’s a useless emotion.” “Don’t waste your time on it.” Let it go, like Elsa famously said. I’m sick and tired of being told what to…
Dearest Children. If you’re reading this then you’ve either swiped my phone or are using the internet unsupervised, but it is addressed to you I guess, so who am I to stop you. If you’ve been having a root around this site you are bound to be asking yourself some…
Three kids. But there’s always one. One who pushes my buttons. One who shrieks at a pitch that sends me over the edge. One that wants “up on you lap”. One that refuses to talk. One that refuses to stop talking. One that won’t wash their hands, One that’s germophobic…
I remember so well the first time I saw you. Your little head slightly squished from your fraught arrival, covered in a mop of blonde hair. She handed you to me, wrapped in your blue hospital blanket, “a big lad”she told me. You still are. I held you tight and…
I’m a parent now almost ten years. I’ve the scars to prove it. Along with the joy, the happiness, the sense of pride and achievement I’ve dealt with the downsides too. I like to think I’ve soldiered through well. I’ve battled colic. At least twice. I’ve removed headlice and soothed…
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