Eggs are my jam. They get my vote every time. For breakfast, lunch or dinner, they are easy to rustle up and are one of the best budget foods. Unless I am going for a quick and healthy on-the-go snack in which case they must be hard-boiled, I prefer them fried and runny. On brown toasted bread with a bunch of greens (one of my favourite dishes) or with fried halloumi and homemade fried potatoes or served with a beautiful hollandaise sauce. Whichever way I go one thing is for sure: that egg yolk must be cooked to perfection.
I cried, then took a deep breath and promised myself more jumping on the trampoline with my boy. For all the mamas who think they get it wrong.
Every night before I kiss my son goodnight, I tuck him in and say I Love You. With his teddybear by his side, I close my eyes for just a second, and express my gratitude because I am able to keep my baby warm and safe from harm. There isn’t any way that I can begin to imagine the horror of not being able to do just that: Keep my child safe.
Since bringing Indie home, papa and I have been spoiling her rotten. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that she gets more hugs and kisses from us than Georgie does but you get the idea. This, I reckon, is also the reason she doesn’t always listen to us. Things are much better now but during the first month I couldn’t get her to go into her kennel or come or stay or do anything that she really didn’t want to do.
Dear C,
I’ve always found it easier to express myself through writing. To pen down my thoughts and feelings. And because I have a bunch of them all stemming from you, what better way to get them out than to write you a letter?
You know, I was aware of your reputation. What you are capable of. I’ve merely seen the disaster, the pain and sadness you are able to unleash. And I knew I never wanted to meet you. In fact, nobody wants to meet you. Nobody likes you and nobody wants you.




