I want to look like me ten years ago but perhaps with more tummy coverage and less cleavage on show. But I also have to be comfortable and be able to do the splits, unintentionally, at a moment’s notice in whatever I am wearing.
It’s that time of year again. The time when I thrust a roll of bin bags under my arm and head to the bedroom to sort out what clearly doesn’t fit and can go back in the loft. Most of the clothes on my rail – I’d have a guess at 7/8ths if pushed – …
One of my favourite times with my sons is when they sit next to, with or on me as I apply make up. I melt as they smear pink paste over their cheeks and
Every time we take a bath together Bub.1 points to my décolletage and asks “Is that sand?” No son, it is the cruel effect of six years of Australian sunshine.