Journals She Wrote

"It's your birthday party today," I told my newly minted two-year-old. This statement didn't elicit excitement about presents or friends or balloons. Nope, the words he dreamily spoke as his eyes lit up? "Birthday cake!" It made me smile too. Munchkin:  August soon developed a sweet tooth like his Mummy (and Daddy, to be fair!) I once floated the idea that my quarters in heaven would consist of regular picnics on rugs, with drinks poured from fine tea sets and the devouring of many exquisite cakes. I love cake. There's something about the fluffy simpleness of sugar, flour, butter, egg, milk and vanilla essence topped with a layer of icing sugar and more essence that makes the heart sing. And that's before you start hitting the unbeatable flavours of banana with caramel frosting or carrot cake with cream cheese. And that's not even to mention coconut with passionfruit, lemon drizzle, rosewater sponge, or dirty old chocolate m...

The Robinsons are restless. Beneath the calm, sleepy surface, dreams are brewing. They always draw us away from where we are, our friends, our home and launch us into the exciting. The unknown. In days gone past we would relish these dreams, pinning our hopes upon them like children. We would ride each wave and cry out as they tumbled down. We pined for city streets and new scenes, skyscrapers and aeroplanes. We yearn for greatness, to build our walls high, to extend the vineyard. But a part of me wants to cower under the covers, return to slumber and wait for all of this to blow over. Waking up, I want to find that I am still a mummy writer, James is still an IT project manager and we are unfazed about the mortgage over our heads.