My darling daughter, On Mother’s Day, every year, I like to remember when you were born. You came into the world at 2:07 am on March 24, 1993. It was the happiest, most joyous, wonderful day of my life. When you were born, I held you in my arms—after a two-days-plus labour that ended in a Caesarian Section—and you looked up at me with your huge eyes, so peaceful. So calm. So trusting. I fell in love with you there and then. The truth is: I fell in love with you before you were born. I left your father when
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Being a mother was something I always wanted, despite (or because of?) my own childhood. Let’s just say my own mother was less than nurturing and had a violent, nasty streak that meant my psyche was hammered out on an anvil of fear, forged in survival. I knew I could do better, and I did. I wasn’t perfect, mind you, but damn near good enough. *** My daughter is striking. Olive skin, blue eyes, tall. Taller than I. Her lineage is indigenous Australian, but it’s a heritage that’s hard to pinpoint just by looking at her. She could be Greek,
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Sunday Best is a curated list of awesome articles I’ve read over the past week or so that I find enlightening, educational or just plain interesting. This week’s focus is not on stuff I’ve read, but on stuff I’ve written: my best posts for 2015—the ones that were the most read, and the ones that are my favourites. Enjoy! Most read posts Don’t make these 6 self publishing mistakes Published on August 7, this post about self publishing had close to 1000 views. Disillusioned, I wrote it after I didn’t become the overnight gazillionaire I thought I would once I embarked
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My daughter recently informed me that she is moving out next year. Apparently, she and her boyfriend (they have been together since high school) are finally building their house. Yippee! Happy dance and all that, because it’s time. It’s been time for the last 12 months. Christmas last year was a particularly turbulent time, and while we have recovered our relationship somewhat, I still feel that she has no idea who I am and what makes me tick and therefore treats me with a certain amount of dismissive disdain. I’m that nagging person with the annoying, raised voice who is
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