I hit forty this month. Did I mention?! And now I’m here, forty feels like the autumn of my life.
Stay with me here, mummas. Sounds a bit weird, but I know you’ve come to expect that. Weird is my happy place, after all!
It’s kind of mathematical. I’ve always thought of life as being divided into seasons. If I’m lucky enough to make it to eighty, then my four seasons would be four little chunks of twenty.
I’ve done spring – those first twenty years when life is budding and you bounce around like an excited lamb, learning all the things. Spring was cute, but trust me, life gets cuter.
The second twenty years were my summer, in full glorious bloom. OK, so most days I was distinctly nothing like a rose garden – but you catch my drift. There was magic in the air and flowers in my hair. (I know – that rhyme was terrible!)
Here’s the Autumn of My Life
And now comes autumn, which quite honestly has always been my favourite. I was born in the autumn, so I think that makes a difference. Do you favour your birthday season?
Anyway it’s the time of year for bonfires, fireworks, pumpkins, Halloween. Rustling through crunchy leaves, sitting by crackling fires, snuggling up with a blanket and marshmallow-y hot chocolate.
Fresh autumn walks when it’s cold enough to bundle up in a scarf but not so cold your fingers feel frosty. And the colours – even a grey day can never be grey. The trees are alive with the fire of orange leaves which fall around you like bright confetti.
You may have caught my Mother’s Day post, in which I apologised to my mum for a lifetime of being a bit of a selfish toad. So staying topical, I have a Father’s Day poem for you. It is from my little boy to his Daddy. Yes, he’s very advanced for a toddler, don’t you think! It’s all his own work. (So excuse the formatting – he’s just a kid!)
PLEASE DO THIS VERY QUICK FAVOUR FOR ME! Let me explain…
I will am currently taking another stab at embracing technology (PAIN!), and attempting to move my subscriber list to a better system.
This will mean I can send my readers freebies and exclusive content, so it should be super exciting.
What is NOT COOL is that I will lose all of you who signed up via your WordPress account (rather than subscribing by putting your email address in the box.) I feel so sad about this, as us bloggers sweat blood and tears to win the heart of every precious reader. I can’t bear to lose any of you. Please stay with me!
So if you signed up via WordPress, I would love it if you’d stick your email address in one of the SUBSCRIBE boxes now, as I can move those emails to my new system. I have a FREEBIE coming out with my next blog post this weekend, and I don’t want anyone to miss out. So please take this step ASAP!Continue reading “URGENT MESSAGE TO MY SUBSCRIBERS!”
I mean, since when did overwhelm become a noun as well as a verb – that’s what I want to know.
Was it when we all became so overwhelmingly overwhelmed, that some flashy business guru had to invent more jargon? Well, don’t let it be said Brazen Mummy doesn’t keep you on the cutting edge of fancy schmancy lingo.
So are you suffering with this overwhelm too?
And what does it look like?
Err, you know that thing when you’ve got so much stuff to do you can barely stop for breath? When you might just yank your frazzled hair out and scream big ugly swear bombs just for the eff of it? Yes, well that. (So a friend tells me…)
You may wonder why Brazen Mummy would suffer with this overwhelm. Aren’t I “just” a stay at home mum? Well, firstly, this mumming is a damn sight more demanding than my years of swanning around the office. The days when I could pee solo and make coffee the first time the kettle boiled.
Mumming is a twenty-four hour Piccadilly circus, with no pay and a two foot boss who can tantrum like a b*tch.
It’s World Poetry Day today, so I hope you don’t mind if I share this poem with you. I began writing it in the last few days of my nan’s life; it’s her funeral today.
My nan was in her nineties, a fiercely proud Italian and about the most headstrong of characters you could ever wish to meet. She loved unconditionally and went down fighting; a real Trojan of a woman.
I don’t know much about poetry and don’t usually write it. The opening lines just appeared in my head on my way to visit her for what I knew would be the final time – she was too ill to soldier on.
Then when I sat down to work on the poem, the words just flowed. Sometimes writing is like that. You don’t know what you want to say until the words emerge on the page. That’s part of the magic.
My nan was a natural-born storyteller and loved to be the centre of things, so I know she’d be thrilled to have her own poem, shared with the world. I can imagine her now, nodding sagely to anyone who’d listen, “my storia, on the compute.” So here it is. Continue reading “World Poetry Day – For You”