It may be that I have spent the last two years working and rushing around non-stop, so it’s only now that we’re more settled I can fully appreciate the need to savour all the little moments. This time last year I spent so many of my days exhausted and powering on until bedtime that I’m not convinced I made the most of every second.

It’s a bit of a paradox, this time thing though. When you become a parent you’re constantly told, “Make the most of it, they grow up so fast”. And you can see it yourself, when you blink and your newborn is suddenly a chubby toddler. But at the same time as wanting to savour those moments and feeling them slip away all too quickly, you’re trying to stop ketchup being smeared up the wall and fighting an exhaustion that will only be quelled by sleep. Your days both zoom past in the blink of an eye and drip along in a slow trickle, like a smear of thick treacle. 

I always find looking at photographs reminds me how lucky I am. Whether it’s scrolling through my Instagram account or looking back on photos on my laptop, I am instantly taken back to a day or a moment that seemed important enough to capture at the time.

With the weather so cold and dismal recently I’ve been hankering after some summer sun. I’ve been drawn to photographs I took last August, when the sun was hot and we ate ice cream, drank fizz and explored the beaches near our new home. We went on a camping trip to Cornwall, near the Devon border. We ate sausages for breakfast and flew kites on the sand.

These were a series of tiny moments. But they were moments that mattered.

***

Thank you to Lloyds Bank who encouraged me to relive these moments with their Moments That Mattered campaign. This post is written in association with them. For more information please see my disclosure page. 

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Our last weekend has been spent eating ice cream in the boiling heat, berating the lack of a paddling pool (and using an oven cleaning tray instead), packing, packing and more packing, stacking, catching glimpses of the historic Andy Murray Wimbledon victory as we lugged boxes past the living room, shouting the score to whoever was at the top of the ladder, attempting to stop an inquisitive three year old from unpacking everything…

And then giving up the lot and heading to the pub for tea.

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It’s been a weekend of snapshots. So many moments I’ve tried to savour and keep. But, as with everything, each one has slipped through my fingers like sand, leaving me with nothing but a delicious memory.

A trip to the beach, an Easter egg hunt, a (few) cold gin and tonics, a hot bath in a rolltop tub, a snooze on the sofa in the middle of the day, a book… these are the things I’m holding tight to as normal life resumes. These are the photographs in my head.

If I close my eyes hard enough, they’re right there before me.

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I’ve lost two members of my family, worked hours I didn’t think possible and seen my daughter battle hypermobile joints leading to a delay in walking.

But.

But. I have also seen my toddler take those hypermobile joints and give them the middle finger. I have seen her run across sandy beaches and welcome the waves with joy. I have spent evenings lying, exhausted on the sofa and been treated to homemade meals and known there is a reason I married the man I call the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine. We have battled this year together.

I have made new friends and visited new places. I have reached new goals in my work and strived to take them to even bigger things. I have written and written and written and talked a bit and written some more.

Yes, it’s been a thoroughly tough year. But those moments of joy make it all worthwhile.

January: not walking

February: Beach love

March: Outside

April: Chasing freedom

May: Mastering naughtiness

June: Walking

July: Finding happiness

August: New memories

September: Some luxury

October: Exploring woods

November: London adventure

December: Stolen kisses

The post A year to be thankful for appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Living in a rented cottage means painting the walls to “make the place our own” is out of the question. But that doesn’t mean we can’t adorn them will all sorts of pretty things.

We have paintings that my grandma and aunt painted, prints from Picasso and Andy Warhol, as well as a lovely painting given to us as a wedding present.

We also have lots of photographs. Lots and lots of photographs.

But there’s an even bigger portion of beautiful photos just sitting on my computer, hiding away. Many of these are the stunning photographs from our wedding day, some of which I keep meaning to get printed and framed. It’s one of those jobs that’s been on my to-do list for over a year now.

So when Hello Canvas challenged me to pick a photograph to put on a canvas and hang on a wall, I knew the one I would go for immediately. It’s the only picture of our little family that we have – or the only one that we like anyway.

Taken on our wedding day, at the end of August last year, I can’t help but smile whenever I see it. And now that’ll be every day, thanks to the gorgeously upmarket canvas we now have.

I love it. What do you think?

***

Prints from Hello Canvas start from £13. This canvas was provided to us for the purpose of this review

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“Live in the here and now. You never know what’s around the corner. Life’s too short,” she said.

She’s right, you know.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the daily grind. The daily struggle and juggle. Daily worries, long-term planning, anxious what ifs.

But these aren’t the things I’ll take with me when I’m gone.

THIS is the memory I’ll take with me. My daughter sitting on her dad’s knee, waving at passers by as she rides the train on a family day trip.

Seeing the gold medal won in the running race by my hypermobile daughter and knowing she’s finally holding her own when it comes to walking, romping across the finish line in the Toddler Olympics at her childminder’s:

Sitting in the sunshine on a Friday afternoon in our local pub, enjoying a cold G&T as my two year old sips juice and waves to canal boats passing by.

There’s been too much sadness recently. Stories of people I know going through all sorts of difficult and painful experiences. It shouldn’t take hearing of these to make me wake up and realise I need to stop fretting.

My mum’s right. Life’s too short.

***

It would seem it’s not just my mum who’s wise.

I recently read two posts which really resonated with me, so I’d like to link to them here. This one by Ben at Goodbye, Pert Breasts and this one by Jane at Northern Mum had me nodding along in agreement. My mum would absolutely agree.

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I thought.

And then I thought some more.

And then I thought again.

Every answer I came up with sounded incomplete and contrite. “Childhood means splashing in puddles”. Nope, not quite right. “Childhood means wallowing in unconditional love”. Well, sometimes – but it’s not everything about the formative years. “Childhood means….”

I mused on the subject during our week away and I drew a blank.

Until tonight, when I was scrolling through my phone for inspiration. For me, childhood isn’t about one thing. It’s about a whole set of things.

It’s about cold treats on a hot day.

It’s about searching for shells on a sandy beach.

It’s about breaking all the fashion rules. And not giving a hoot.

It’s about wearing Sir Elton John sunglasses. And, again, not giving a hoot.

It’s about walking hand in hand with your hero.

It’s about climbing frames and peekaboo.

It’s about rummaging through your mum’s jewellery box and stowing away the shiny things, like a magpie.

And once the day is over, it’s about falling into a deep and untroubled sleep, ready to do it all again in the morning.

***

This post was written as part of a blog hop organised by Merry over at Patch of Puddles, to raise awareness of the plight children are facing in West Africa.

Hunger and poverty mean they’re experiencing a very different childhood, going through things most adults wouldn’t be able to deal with – let alone kids.

Just £1 could make a difference. The charity World Vision has until 30th August to make the most of a matched funding scheme, which sees the government double every single £1 that is donated.

That money could put a glint of hope into the future for many of the children who’ve lost their childhood in West Africa.

And then maybe they’ll get to sleep the sleep of busy, playful children. The sleep of childhood.

***

If you’d like to help raise awareness, feel free to join the blog hop. Simply choose a picture you feel best represents childhood (as you can see, I cheated with more than one) and write about it.

Then include the link:

https://www.worldvision.org.uk/giving-forms/single-gifts/*/giftId/62/

And tag two more people to join in.

I’m tagging -

Hello It’s Gemma

Honest Mum

Then tweet about it, share it on Pinterest, G+, Facebook and any other social networks you use, using the hashtag #LostChildhood.

All entries will be pinned to the WorldVision Pinterest Board and the best entries will feature on their blog too.

The post Childhood appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

So these moments – snatched with grasping fingers and held close – are ones to treasure forever.

The sense of anticipation on a Friday evening, as a long four day weekend stretches ahead of us. The excitement as we arrive in Devon, on the way to see my parents’ new home, taking in the Jubilee bunting strewn through various villages.

The inevitable tears and glee from an over-excited child, aware that something is different on this night. It is not a usual bedtime.

Waking up to a sunny morning in the Devon countryside, with no sound except the birdsong outside the window.

Eating breakfast in a beautiful kitchen, as sunlight streams through the open doors, taking in the endless possibilities that this day may bring.

Discovering a new birthday present for a child, soon to be two years old. Watching the delight on her face as she “drives” around the spacious garden on her gleaming tractor.

Taking a picnic to the beach, tucking into roast chicken sandwiches and apples, as the waves crash onto the sand. Making castles and burying feet. Witnessing hesitant, toddling, steps towards the water, turning into confident strides and, eventually, a fully fledged run.

Discarded clothes, a nappy, a perfect peachy bottom covered in sand.

A cold glass of Pimms in the garden, as the afternoon turns to evening. Serene in the knowledge tomorrow will be another day packed with moments to pinch between the fingers and stuff into bulging pockets full of memories.

Moments like these make life slow down.

I love them.

The post These moments appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Me. Aged 10. Or 11. Or thereabouts.

Remember 1994? When everyone was wearing those heatglo T’shirts you could turn flourescent just by blowing on them? Before owning a pair of GHD’s was the norm and Take That were big the first time round?

Well I’ve been right back there this evening.

I found my diary you see. It contains the thoughts, angst and lists of loves from my Year 6 self. I had just turned 11 and thought I had the world sussed. Clearly, I hadn’t (especially not Maths or boys), but who was I to correct myself?

The thing is, rather than shoving this diary to the back of a sock drawer, to gather dust and never see light again, I thought I’d share it. Not just with one or two people. But with the audience of the breakfast radio show I co-present for Heart. And, now, with you.

If you missed the first instalment, you can listen back here.

And now to the next entry, as read by a lovely ten year old who is quite clearly after my job on the radio. I’m cringing already…

MOLLY’S DIARY DAY 2

***

After I bared my 10 year old soul last week, Dorky Mum suggested I turn The Diary into a Linky. I’m not sure anyone would join. It may be like throwing a party and no one turning up.

So to test the waters, I thought I’d put some “feelers” out (what does that even mean anyway?). Would anyone be interested in either baring their soul in a similar fashion or casting their minds back to their younger selves and writing an entry as if you were a kid again?

If you have a burning desire to do just that then let me know and I’ll open it out when the next entry goes live this time next week.

The post The Diary. Or *cringe* appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

The tattered diary

I may have taken dedication to my job too far. And, in another lack of judgment, I may have taken dedication to my blog too far.

I found my old diary, you see. It begins in 1994, aged 11. It’s cringeworthy, to the extreme.

But it’s also a gold mine of content. References to subjects at school, friendships, tiffs with boys, favourite games, crushes, favourite films, favourite clothes… It’s an insight into my actual mind of 18 years ago.

I couldn’t sit on it.

So I took it into work and pitched an idea to my boss. How about I transcribe this diary, word for word – only a tiny bit edited – and we put it on the radio? It might trigger some memories that our listeners can relate to. They might feel sorry for me in my cringey squareness and geekery. They might even find it funny.

Sure, he said. Great idea.

And then our producer had an equally great idea. Let’s get another child to voice it. That way we’ll really get into the mind of a child. But make sure she’s all Drama Queen, otherwise people won’t believe that it was actually written by you.

OK, I said. And then, in my infinite wisdom, I asked if I could share it with the people who read my blog.

Oh, I’m so clever. No, really I am.

Or just very very stupid.

So here it is. The first entry of my diary. Please don’t judge me…

MOLLY’S DIARY DAY 1

***

If you liked this, you can see more on the Heart website. If it’s not a total flop then I may bring you back the next instalment. It’s up to you – do you want to hear any more?

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