I so dig women like Tia. She works night shift as a nurse at the local hospital, then lines up next to her husband in the paddock the next day. Oh and she's raising two boys under two. I promise never to complain about how busy I am ever again...Read More
When our two-year-old started speaking more Spanish than English (his childminder was from the Canary Islands), we knew we weren't spending enough time with him. So, we did all what all desperate people do: we made a dramatic decision that we were convinced would change our lives for the better. We decided to move from London to Queensland's Sunshine Coast.
One of the best things about my job (apart from meeting cool families) is discovering new parts of London. One Tree Hill Park is named after an oak tree that Queen Elizabeth I sat under one time in the 1600s. It's literally half an hour walk from my door and I never knew it existed until last week.Read More
I'd never been to a baptism before Emmeline's and I was curious/ daunted. Partly because of the location, Farm Street Church, which is one of London's most beautiful churches in the poshest part of town. And also because -- how would I know which were the important bits to photograph?
I shouldn't have worried. Baptisms seem like they might be the best of the religious gatherings -- everyone's together and completely stoked to celebrate new life, with little of the stress of a wedding and none of the grief of a funeral.
So, now: I've been to a baptism, photographed one even. Bring them on!
You know when you step into someone's home and it feels like you're in an Elle Decoration spread but instead of feeling weird you feel welcomed? Then you meet the owners and they look like a family from a magazine too, but they're warm and sweet and totally in love? YEAH ME NEITHER UNTIL THIS WEEKEND. Meet Tosin, Seun and little Eli-Rae, who, despite desperately needing a nap, turned on the charm for my visit. They don't call him a prince for nothing!Read More
When I first moved to the UK from Australia seven years ago, I was horrified by its seaside towns. They’re cold and windy and everyone was wearing so. many. clothes. To me, the beach meant bikinis and tanning.
But that was then. Now I holiday in North Devon. And apart from the daily terrors that travelling with a young child entails, I love layering up and setting out to collect rocks or climb sand dunes. Part of that might be because my son seems not to care about the temperature, so long as he has a bucket and a spade in hand. It might also be because, it doesn’t really matter where you are, but who you’re with.
Edit: and as pointed out to me, British beaches are beautiful in their own way. Really. They are!
I remember the hushed reverence in my house in the days and weeks after my son was born. It was museum quiet, but with a sweet, gooey warmth that felt like we were swimming in honey.
Meeting Victoria and Stewart brought all that back for me. Their involuntary smiles while holding Emma as if she was made of glass, and in their sixth week together, slowly learning the subtleties of her demands.
I spent a whirlwind morning with them - meeting Granny who’d just flown in from Canada to hang out with her first grandchild, while Stewart pasted down Emma’s hair in the wind and Ukrainian-born Victoria whispered to her in Russian.Read More
There's a kind of mania in new-baby homes that already have kids. It’s a bit like the morning after a wedding: some guests are feeling worse for wear, others are still going crazy and there's this sense that something special has happened and (mostly) everyone is very in love.
Welcome to the crazy house Stellan — you are one delightful bambino.Read More
I met Mike and Iona in a prenatal class in more innocent times. Back when eating in restaurants at night was a thing and so was sleeping eight hours (in a row). Now -- we have toddlers.
Iona is one of those self-assured women who doesn't make you feel stupid even when you say wholly stupid things, who bakes cake when you visit, and happens to be an anaesthetist in a busy London hospital!
There's nothing I can say about Henry's fixation on his bright-pink buggy that won't sound like some weirdo comment on gender roles, so I'll just say... this is how you raise one caring little dude.
You can fit a lot into a day when it starts at 4:45 am. And when the temperature is anywhere above 6 degrees, that day probably involves the park. So, after tomato-sauce covered eggs, two episodes of Paw Patrol, another viewing of Stickman, 15 coffees and some curtain-twirling, we set off.
Having a toddler turns even the most basic activities into adventures - in wonderful and horrible ways. So a short stroll around the local park = epic three-hour journey involving a horror house with a front yard full of headless dolls, some upside-down hanging, stick-investigating, log-balancing and duck-communicating. Plus a whole bunch of tears, tantrums and falling on our faces. And that's just the morning.
Then someone says to me on Monday, "what did you get up to on the weekend?", and I'm all like, "ahh nothing much".Read More