Twenty-eight years ago this month, my parents drove to France for the first time, with four of us rattling around in the back-seat. We got lost (how did anyone not get lost before sat nav) and by the time we arrived at our campsite in St Jean de Monts, the gates were locked and the reception ...
June is mad. So says everyone. Teacher presents and end-of-term nights out and inductions for junior infants. Sports tournaments and school summer fairs - and barbecues every time it stops raining for more than six hours. I woke up this Monday morning and let out a long breath - another manic weekend done, and finally time to ...
When my third child was born, and when unlike his sisters, he was not a girl, great plans were immediately afoot (pardon the pun) to turn him into a footballer. You see my husband has been playing football since before he could walk, and after all the many, many girl babies we'd had (two) it seemed ...
What objects define you? That's the question asked by Maud on Awfully Chipper recently, and her story of her mother's gold watch hooked me in. My mum had a gold watch with a clasp too, and though I haven't thought of it for years, when I read Maud's post, the memory came back as clear as ever, and ...
I pressed the button on the kettle, and clicked into Facebook. Sucky-sucky time-sucker lovely Facebook. But it's OK - according to my own personal virtual rulebook, I'm allowed to scroll through my phone while waiting for the kettle to boil. Especially when just back from an internet-free day out with the kids. My husband was out on ...
When I was in my mid-twenties, I figured I had finally become a grown-up. I had a proper job with a proper swivel-y chair, a new boyfriend (now husband) and very grown-up things like health insurance and more than one handbag. So when my eyes started to itch one spring, I did what any sensible grown-up ...
White faces because Factor 50 never quite rubs in. Short-sleeves on the school run. Homework in the garden. Lunch in the garden. Dinner in the garden. A tidy kitchen because we've almost entirely relocated to the garden. Ice-cream every day - and twice on Sunday. There's nothing quite like the drop-everything wonder of an Irish summer. The summer ...
My name is Andrea, I'm a yeller, and it's been 163 days since I last shouted at my kids. By no coincidence, it’s precisely 163 days since I had a blow-out shouting match with my six-year-old. She is a chilled out child – my easy one. But unlike her siblings, who are more used to getting in trouble ...