She talks about herself in the third person. ‘She’s too big to go in the pushchair,’ ‘she doesn’t want to go to school,’ ‘she wants a cuddle.’ She has tantrums, oh man, those tantrums that draw people who are practically-strangers to offer their help. Tantrums that – though I am technically stronger and could forcibly strap her into the pushchair, if I really really tried – make me practically-weep with gratitude, yes, please.


She is defying middle child syndrome by making herself known, I think. She draws and practices handwriting – swirly curly tails are her current thing – and is great, apart from when she is not. When she screams and screams until I think I am going to pass out. ‘I’ll have my own melodrama thanks E,’ tempts me. As does fleeing the house, asking, what the f did I do to my life? And then, I don’t know, I don’t go anywhere and she brushes my hair or requests another cuddle, please, please, and I’ll be glad, whatever the f it is I have done to my life.


We used to drag him from his secret places, climbed into toy chests, behind cupboard doors, screaming ‘no, I don’t want to go.’ We forced him into the swimming pool, aged three, chanting ‘wibble wobble jelly on a plate’ from the side of the pool as stern teachers tipped him off a big float into the water.

‘He must learn,’ we said. We dragged him to birthday parties where he would not do the thing. Go Karts, bouncy castles, bowling. Now he wants to go to it, whatever it is. Football and school and can other people come over all the time to play? Still, at bedtime, a kiss, cuddle, and a pat. 7 years and 51 weeks old.


You know what I miss?

Mix tapes.

I think I am not alone in this but mix tapes were great and so was This Is My Jam and I miss that too, because I really liked listening to songs that people I like, like, and now nobody does that anymore. I even miss the way how on Myspace you could set a song to go on your page.

And you know you’ve hit hard, sad, times when you are reminiscing over the days of Myspace.

When we were younger, living in different places (before I was a child bride, even) we used to make each other MiniDiscs and send them in the post. I sat for hours, inputting the song names with the remote control, so they would show up when he played it. I’d settle for a personalised playlist now, I suppose.

4 books I want to write or thought about writing this week:

  • The one I am writing, which, slowly, slowly I am still trying to do. (It’s shit, I hate it, it’s awful, I’m wasting my time.)
  • “What the fuck am I going to do with my life?” A memoir where I try out all the careers I want to do and then at the end reach a conclusion.
  • A collection of short stories where it gets increasingly dark. As in, like, literal darkness, not ‘oh that’s so dark.’ Not sure WTF either and have no ideas for stories, just thought that having a theme might help.
  • A parenting book. I have nothing to say about parenting particularly, just thought that since I like having children and writing, maybe I would come up with some ideas?

Chris Gethard fantasy

I keep fantasising about talking to Chris Gethard on Beautiful Anonymous. So, basically, “I want to talk to someone about myself for an hour.” I mean, not enough to actually try to phone the podcast or find out HOW to phone the podcast, but a bit.

Which is kind of sad and probably means I need to find some friends or something.

BRB just going to make some friends.