The LegNose Monster – A letter to my kid

Dear DaughterChild,

We’ve been through just about enough life change for a while and, this week, the last one happens. I just know that the emotional tumbles that go with change are here, but you’ve aced them in ways I didn’t expect. Tears are allowed, hating some of it is allowed (heck, I make a business out of that, you know how it is. haha) but moving forward – it’s essential.

So now on the brink of that next change, I’m reading Timehop and laughing at how quickly it all has seemed to pass by. Last night, we were talking about extinct animals like the Megalodon and how the Coelacanth was rediscovered. And today, TimeHop reminds me that you once referred to the Loch Ness Monster as the LegNose Monster. 


Time has gone too quickly, my DaughterChild. One day you’re all LegNose Monster and Badum and now you’re all quadratic equations and fiddling with fractions. I know this all seems like a whirlwind to me, but I know too, that we’ve had our quiet and calm moments. I love those times, where we just stop, stay in our pyjamas and let the world pass us by. Keep those times, and make them, for you, for the rest of your life, please. They’ll help you keep perspective when it feels like there’s too many things coming at you from every angle. 

I don’t even have to tell you about why Monsters can’t see in the dark anymore, and, somewhere, in my head, I still think you need to fall asleep while twisting my hair. But you don’t. In fact, you need me less for these things and more for other things. There’s this disbelief that, as kids grow up, they need their parents less. It’s not true – it’s just that the things you need me for are not the same things you needed me for five years ago. Nowadays you need me for the serious stuff, the explanations and the trying to figure-this-outs of life. You don’t need me to follow you into the loo every time you go. Hell, you don’t even follow me in there anymore, although the puppy does. I don’t have to find things to keep you busy anymore, you do it. I am the one you come to, when you need help working something out though – please never stop doing that. 

I’m proud of you, DaughterChild. You’ve changed. You’ve grown. You’ve accomplished. You set your heart and brain on something and you do it. Please don’t ever let that tenacity be dampened, for it will see you through every tumble you face.

Happy New Beginnings, DaughterChild. 



Dear Dadadadad,

It was your birthday yesterday, and I had to skip writing you a letter because my eyeballs were square from working most of the weekend and spending a tonne of time poring my strength into words for other people.

But, today, as I sit here on the precipice of my tether, with minimal sleep, a furrowed forehead and well, really, what else can I do today, except write to you?

You’d have turned 81 yesterday, and I ponder at the gigantic nature of that number. It seems ginormous and almost unattainable to me. Yet, I do know people who have gone far beyond 81. 

This month has been difficult for me. It’s felt like an obstacle barrage, never mind a course. But, there is sunshine in the spots where I know I can go to. There is peace in the places that I have come to rely on. And, Dad, I know I can rely on, and not in that half-a-toe-in-maybe-I-might-have-to-escape-them-one-day way.

But, as is the way with this time of year and me, I know it’s coming. I thought I’d been able to skip past it at one point, but then it all really came at me like an arrow. So, I plod on. 

By the way, I’m done complaining now.

Do you remember how you used to hang on to this photo? I remember having to rush off and get a copy made at the office, so you could keep the original by you, all the time. 

cam baby scan for post



I wanted to say thank you for that. I don’t think I did at the time and, in the hurly burly chaos of everything that came afterwards, I don’t think I really got to the chance to. We were lucky, you and I, because we got to spend all that time together, and you even came with me for one of my final scans (having everything happen in the same hospital works, hey?). I loved that we got that time together, especially because we both knew (and aptly avoided talking about…) that we wouldn’t get the time after. 

What it did, Dad, was imbue a sense of you into the after. Yes, genetically, that happens anyway, but it has served to create a bond that can’t be seen. Your name will come up in conversation and your grandchild #1 will say “you know, he used to help people” or “yes, he had very tough hair” or (my personal favourite) “my mom says he used to eat her toes” (I’ve long since been able to convince her that you never actually chewed on them, although, for a while there, she did think that toes could be eaten and would grow back).

My point, Dad, is that you’re not here. I can miss you, write to you and wish for you, but none of that will change the fact that I cannot call you up and bore you with one of my stories, or make you eat 25 servings of macaroni cheese, just to be funny. 

But I can, and do, still find you. 

Dadadadad, happy birthday. I hope the whiskey was fab and the dancing girls (family joke) limber.

a letter

Dear Dadadadad

Cameron asked after you again this evening and I realised I had not written to you in a while. So much has happened, all good things, clearing up and clearing out – you said
to me once that, as I “plodded” towards thirty, I’d “probably” sort myself out. Hehe. I guess you were right. I never factored in that I’d end up so goddamn thankful for each
second of my life and yet, here I am, vibrating with gratitude whilst plodding.

Work is well and fine, and like you said, if I put my mind to it, I’ll do it. And I think I am. Well, I’m trying to, even on the shittiest days. There are good days and there a bad
ones, but the spaces between are where I feel my best, less scared and more aware.  Does that make sense? Who knows.

I’ve seen two good friends this week who I just want to squeeze with love. Boos and Seh. Boos is good, and looking fantastic. She never changes, never wavers and still
makes me laugh like a cackling, spitting loon. I always knew I would be lucky to be blessed by her, and it’s phenomenal to me how Cameron remembers her, and how
easily she just got into the groove with her.

Seh is, Seh is. Wow. Seh is a fantastic mother. She was made to do this parenting thing we hold so high. Calla is gorgeous and so good. I never thought I’d ever see Seh
so calmly doing this. She’s so much braver than I ever, ever knew – I always knew she had the courage to take over the world, I just never knew she really would. I guess love does make the difference in the world, after all.

It’s been so re-affirming to see them again. To talk of nothing and everything and be silent with each other. It’s so rare for me to feel that I can be silent in the presence of
another person. And yet, there they are. good friends who have lived through the quiet and the insane noise of my life thus far, and have never wavered. I’m a lucky, lucky
girl. I have very good friends.

Ah, but that’s not the only reason I’m lucky. As I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, I’m really quite taken by this person. I think you’d like him. Funny enough to make me
want to throw my shoes, yet quiet enough to let me feel safe. Familiar enough to feel comfortable and scary enough to keep me on my funny toes. Just like you said, once.
Enough about me, let’s talk about her for a minute. There are so many times I look at Cameron playing, talking, twirling around, that I wish for you to be with us. That I think
how fantastically you would be gobbling up this experience of life with this precious person and how, when I have tired of reading Cinderella for the ninety-fifth time, I
sometimes wish I could ask you to do it. I think Cameron would love that.

Sometimes I’ll catch her doing something that I so easily see you in. The way she likes to creep up on me with that funny, arched-eyebrow look, when she knows she’s
going to make me laugh. Sometimes when she thinks, she puts her finger on her nose, and I laugh and ask her if she’s holding up her imaginary glasses. And when I
ask her what she’s thinking about she says, “Mom. I’m thinking. Give me a minute”.

The time, it slips away so quickly. Just like you said it would. But, I’m having the time of my life as her mom. I’m having the time of my life as me.  It’s the little moments that mostly nobody else sees that make every day with her so precious. The way she squeezes her little arms around my neck and says “I love you mom”, and the world spins around us but in that moment, we’re entirely still.

You were always so good at telling stories and I try really hard to be the same. Sometimes I’m just so darn tired, though. But, I do try. Enthusiasm is a choice, after

I often used to question you about all of this parenting shiz. And you would laugh and say “out of the three, you were the hardest”. Heheh. That’s probably why I won’t
chance it again with another. When you said you knew I could do it, I don’t think I believed you then. But, I believe you now, and I hope I do a good enough job. Only one
person can answer that though, and it’s not you or me or anybody else but her.

I never thought she’d be the girl she is today. Does that sound strange? I thought she’d be a tomboy, a rough and tumbler, and yes, she is to some extent. But the inner
princess is floating right through her. I wish you could see her dance. Can you? Without the slightest abandon or fear of toppling over – all she cares about is that she is

She rides her bicycle now, and I swell with pride. She kisses my cheek and nothing in the world beyond our front door matters at all. You said nobody could teach me to be
a mum, that I would just do it, and I do. I’d ask you how can you love someone so much that you would do anything in the world for them…and you’d say “you don’t think
about it. you just do it because, it’s the most natural thing in the world”.

You were right, after all.

It’s bedtime for me, so good night and, keep sending the feathers. xxx

The world spins in concentric circles

The world spins in concentric circles. Swirling and orbiting through time.

Sometimes it’s hard to hold on to your name, never mind yourself.

Sometimes it’s so close you can see the grain of sand nestled between your toes.

But the things that keep you going, through the rains, weird ass tornadoes and disappointment are your friends.

Andre, thank you for this

You, thank you for all.of.this.

And then, the daughter of my Gladys, wrote me a letter. I’ve had a few before but today, I needed it. Thank you, M******.

Dear Cathy

I am writing you this letter with no fancy punctuation marks because this is an honest letter.

You are an inspiration to me to do good to other people who are in need.

By the offering you’ve been giving us, you have created people who were nobody to be somebody, by the loaf of bread that you give my mom every day you have saved so many lives. Your clothes have protected us from the cold weather. The salary that you give my mom has paid for our school fees.

I’m very proud to tell you that because of you I am now working, and my sister is working.

Thank you for allowing my mom into your home and trusting her with your family. You have become a member of our family by all the good things you’re doing for us. We may not be able to show you how grateful you are, but I thank God for introducing you to our lives. Our lives have changed completely and you are the highest blessing from God. I may not pay everything back but I will make it my duty to help another person in need. I will pay it forward. May God Bless you and protect you and your family because in this world we live in, we really need people like you.



My. Heart. How do I ever respond?

16 years with 12 years experience

yes. it’s true. tomorrow i shall be 16 again! Yes, true, with 12 years experience, but hey, that fits for this year… roll on and wash on over me 1996 again. 😀

I received a note this morning. Funny. I wrote one to myself on Sunday morning (circa 2am post-surprise birthday shindig bestest of all time i have no idea how i got so lucky holy fuck there were 12 candles waha).

I don’t know who the letter is from. I have a damn good idea who it’s from, though.

I’m keeping it forever.

Thank you. I know you’re reading this.

You’ve never been this you before
So unforgivingly open and feeling
Yet so closed to the world.

You are learning to use your exuberance for good
And not to gain the attention of the unworthy ones.

You are leaving your mark without stain
And you’re finally moving up to taking blame for your own pain.

You’ve cuddled and kissed and learnt so much.
You are reaching more than you just touch.

You are still meek and mild
And, look at you,

You are raising a beautiful child.

You are, at last, at one with your mind.
To yourself, you begin to be kind.