As I lie here in bed with my laptop on my knees, my 17 year old daughter to my right snoozing, she is feeling unwell, it’s nearly 10am and yes I am still in bed. I feel inclined to pretend I am up, awake, having done a run and meditation, had breakfast, got dressed but none of that would be true. I am here in my jammies and the thought of walking down the corridor to the bathroom and doing my teeth right now seems a bit of an epic.
How do I love these children as much as I can? How do kids learn things that connect with their souls? How do the fireflies of inspiration spark their spirits? Can I help keep those iridescent lights of creativity shining? I ask myself these questions... I know that for me putting the kids in a schooling environment stopped being an option when I saw their spirits shrinking and the sparkle diminishing from their eyes. I also know that this may not be easy to read, especially if in your heart you feel through
My husband tells me that according to a book that he has just read that monkeys raise their young not always knowing who is who, they look after each child like it was their child. That years ago before the age of agriculture patriarchy didn’t exist and that the need for one’s own child was irrelevant, that men looked after other children as if they were their own. That children were raised in troupes or flocks and that every child was everyone’s child. I am not entirely sure how I
From where I am sitting right now, everything is perfect, I am surrounded by families having lunch, chatting, smiling and laughing. I am the odd one on her computer amidst a restaurant full of people eating, in fact the waiters may ask me to leave in a minute… If I take a quantum leap into the unknown and believe what I have been reading (Thank you Jonathan Safran Foer for talking about belief in We are the Weather) it is clear to me that it isn’t looking pretty. I think
It was one lunch time sitting around the table that my husband started talking about values and that we don’t always do what we say we do, even though we really try to. He went on to talk about the parmesan, that my daughter was generously grating over her garlicky tomato spaghetti. He said ‘for example, take parmesan, we are vegetarian but is it vegetarian?’ One of my daughters got up and looked at the plastic packet that it came in. ‘Mum, what is rennet?’ she asked. I knew it
Normally, I would rise to the sounds of my family waking up. I have just spent three weeks without them. I wake up right now and the flat is empty. I walk down the corridor to the kitchen to make myself tea and it is so quiet. I wait for the ‘Good Morning’ Whatsapp message, I follow them on Instagram as I see their travels, a sad sad Mummy stalker, who is missing them badly… I came back to the UK for a 25 year drama school reunion and
This morning my husband shows me the Instagram account of a self made Italian millionairess who has made her fortune via Instagram. She just takes pictures of herself, in various outfits, looking sometimes like a model and sometimes quite normal. She has done this for years and now gets paid by fashion houses to promote their fashions. I assume that is how she has made her millions. My knee jerk judgmental response was that she is narcissistic. But that would be missing the point. She is clever. She has made
‘That is it I have got it, the future if education is Minecraft’ I say to my husband then he looks at me across the kitchen coffee in hand, ‘erm, am not sure you are right there’ he says. I am not sure I am right either but I think I am on to something. I then go on to tell him that a university in the UK aims to teach children biochemistry using Minecraft and he thinks about that. The reason for my revelation is this. Well there are many
There are some mornings where I wake up with another large family of five in our kitchen. Behind the bright sparky face of our son’s Minecraft buddy, I see this family waking up. They are in South Africa and we are in Italy. Slippers, pyjamas and all. I see breakfast being had and I can hear the teaspoons stirring in cups and I wonder if they drink tea or coffee…This feels a bit like community, even though it is bizarrely though a screen. I listen to the way my son
‘Just let me live my life’ were the words that came out of my sons mouth yesterday as I tried to teach him about following a recipe. He was furious. He was wanting to cook, I was wanting to help him cook. He was wanting to make biscuits, I was wanting him to follow a recipe. He didn’t want to. I wanted him to. We hit a stalemate. ‘Just let me live my life and let me learn how I want to learn’ I caught myself in that moment, caught