I can’t stop worrying
I’m worried about the future. In this Trump / Brexit era, most people are, but to be specific, I’m worried about what the future holds for my kids.
I’m worried about the future. In this Trump / Brexit era, most people are, but to be specific, I’m worried about what the future holds for my kids.
Mrs Adams and I have got the seven-year itch. We’re beginning to think it may be time to move home.
It’s a frightening reality that Izzy, my youngest daughter, is just a few weeks younger than this blog. To put that in perspective, Izzy will start in reception class this September.
This parenting thing: it’s a constant battle to fit square pegs in round holes, right? This is what it feels like to me.
It was hot and my seven-year-old was about to have a gymnastics lesson. She was red-faced before she even went in to join her class. I passed her the water bottle I hurriedly filled before leaving the house. Helen refused to take it. I instantly understood why. “Is it because it’s a Mr Men bottle