Conquering the world, one step at a time


I’ve been running around the beach and lake, barefoot or in flats, for the last two weeks – soaking up the sunshine and inhaling the salt air.

A sudden purchase today of yet another pair of heels… And I’m transported.

The second I don a pair of heels, I become invincible. I’m convinced I can conquer the world, one strut at a time 😉


Favourite toys


This has long been one of my favourite toys. I bought it for one of the many craft ideas I adopted many years ago… One of those crafts I soon gave away…

This cutter has been the most used toy in our house, I think. This morning, it has sliced sight words into nice, neat rectangles.

I’ve been missing it greatly. Scissors just don’t cut it (pun not intended, but I’m leaving it). Neat. This is the key word. And fast!

I want my little boy back

Not quite 48 hours… and he’s gone…

Currently, he’s gone for a walk… At almost 10pm… And he’s not quite 13… This easily qualifies as a bad mother moment, although I’m not quite certain what the correct action should have been. Tackle him and tie him to a chair?

He rang his father to go back there. The answer was no. Five sleeps and five days to go. We won’t make it.

How can someone you love so much hate you so completely? Especially when I truly can’t see why…

So my heart will shatter once again. I can’t see an end in sight to this. We can’t seem to connect.

Not so long ago, we’d argue, I’d go to his room and we’d talk it out, laugh and hug… Now, he won’t listen. He won’t talk. He won’t hug. He most certainly won’t laugh.

So much anger. So much hurt. And I’m still not certain when and why I became the scapegoat. It’s all still quite surreal. All those years of being the one he turned to and relied upon… Perhaps I just let him down once too often… Didn’t protect him one too many times….

The why doesn’t really matter anymore. The road ahead looks bleak. I can’t see a solution. He doesn’t seem to want one. My greatest fear? That he will never, ever forgive me for whatever it is that I have done…. That I will never have my little boy back….

Swinging the sword…

He’s home for the week. It’s the morning of the second day. My patience is shot. His seems to be, too….

How do you find the balance when parenting an angry child? When he swings his sword wildly at anyone who gets too close. Anyone who doesn’t follow his exact honour code.

I am exhausted. I am counting sleeps. Five sleeps, six days.

I love this child. He breaks my heart into a thousand shards. Daily.

He has been awake 20 minutes and we have argued about the Xbox, money, food, language, attitude… I’m sure there’s more…

The logical element of my brain knows that I have no idea how to parent this child. Not really. I am too soft, and my words are too harsh. I give him all the love I have and then some, but it is not enough. It will never be enough… and he has built his fortress so high and the walls so impenetrable, that any hint of love is rebuffed by a volley of arrows. Or the sword, swinging wildly, slicing anything in its path.

Hitting Send

Some days, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want voices or sounds. I want to type my messages. The thoughts tumbling onto the screen. The clack of my nails on the keyboard, in time to my thoughts – the only sound in the still of the room.

Because, you see… when I type, there is a delete key…

The trick though… Is to hit that delete key before I hit send….

Trust or integrity…

It took 8 and a half years for me to learn that my husband had been lying to me from the day we first met. Actually lied from the day we first met.

I already had trust issues. I was already convinced that if you confide in people, they’ll use it against you later. He did that, too. I was firmly convinced that everyone you love will leave as soon as you don’t agree with them – I still believe that one far too often. But more than anything else, I have never been good at trusting people are telling me the truth. I look for the nuances. The body language. The skip in the voice. The twitch of a cheek. The flicker of an eye. Anything. I am good at reading people. I’ve always been listening to small things.

I’m rarely focused on the big issues around me. A car crash could happen in front of me some days and I’m listening so hard to the sounds in the distance that I wouldn’t register. The product of a violent upbringing no doubt. Listening to the sounds of the house to prepare for whatever was to come.

So, I had trust issues. Then, when our third child was a few months old, I discovered the lie. The lie that had, oddly, been part of a discussion on the day we first met… and he had never had the courage to tell me. The lie I had actually confronted him about several times during our relationship, including three days before we were married. The lie that continued. Not just the lie itself, but the actions. The betrayal.

Addictions. As simple and as devastating as that.

Conversations with friends had often found themselves revolving around someone having an affair. Would you know if your husband was? I was always adamant that I would know. He was useless at keeping a secret. This was the guy who gave me my birthday and Christmas present at the same time on the day he bought them – usually a few days before Christmas. He was hopeless at secrets. A guy who hated me keeping things from him, even though he knew he’d end up telling people. He was useless at keeping a secret. Except for that one. The one that mattered. The one that protected him.

So, I discovered the lie. My world shattered. But, over the months, we tried to rebuild. Without the addictions. He had quit. When we argued, it was because he was hurt and angry that I did not trust him. I tried to explain that this would take time. That I needed to believe he was now being honest. Months. Months of him looking me in the eye and swearing to me he had quit. Months of looking me in the eye and yelling at me, telling me that if I didn’t trust him, we didn’t have a relationship anymore.

Then, ten days before I had a caesarian with our fourth child, I discovered the lie had never actually ceased.

It wasn’t even the lie that got to me. It wasn’t the addiction. It was the fact that he looked me in the eye and yelled at me because I didn’t trust him. He made me feel like the lowest being because I couldn’t trust him. When he was trying so hard and I couldn’t have faith in him.

He let me take the fall. Begged me to not tell anyone. He was embarrassed. He was sorry. He ticked every box. But he let me take the fall. He let me look like the harpy of a wife whilst he played the harangued husband…

Ten days until a fourth caesarian. I couldn’t leave. He refused to leave. Over the next few years, we flogged the marriage to death. I couldn’t trust him. Every time he opened his mouth, I suspected he was lying. Finally, I discovered he was. A different addiction, but an addiction nonetheless.

Lies, deceit and half truths.

I need black and white nowadays. I need people to tell me in plain English exactly what the situation is and exactly where I stand.

Lunch with a friend today and we touched briefly on the idea of a future relationship. Trust. That’s what matters most. No… it’s integrity.

People lie. People make mistakes. People do things they regret. I am far from perfect. I have made so many mistakes and I have kept so many lies… I still do. It’s not about the lie. That’s what people don’t seem to understand.

When the lie is to protect others, then I can forgive most things. When the lie is to protect yourself though…

So, my trust issues have magnified. I don’t trust people. Every word out of a mouth I dissect and analyse. I look for nuances. I listen to the small things. But it’s not about the lie itself. It’s your actions when you are caught in the lie. The words that fall from your lips afterwards. This is what matters the most. Are you able to stand and face the consequences, apologise honestly, or do you attack the person you have hurt?