It’s been a weird week.
The kids are back at school and Tilly has been… well, temperamental to say the least.
Full of fire and venom one minute—sharp words and stormy looks—and then curled up in my arms the next like nothing happened.
It’s like trying to parent a wildfire and a daisy all in the same breath.
But today—Saturday—felt soft. Real.
The three of us—me, Tilly, and Joel—spent most of the day together. Joel had his tattoo appointment, a tribute to his wonderful grandma, Julie. I only met her a handful of times, but she welcomed me like she’d known me forever. That kind of warmth stays with you. I feel honoured to have played a small part in the design for the tattoo that will now carry her memory forever on his skin.
While Joel was getting inked, Tilly and I mooched around town—picking out little treasures with her pocket money, giggling over snacks, just being us.
We met back up for lunch, the three of us, then did the groceries like a proper little family unit. I love those ordinary rituals—the rhythm of the trolley wheels, the unspoken teamwork. They’re the moments that ground me. The ones I never want to take for granted again.
Later, we headed to my mum’s, then wandered down to the beach with the dogs.
Tilly was in her bathers, legs splashing and wild hair catching the wind as she danced through the tide.
It’s always those bits—barefoot, salt-stung, alive—that feel like childhood is holding my hand too.
But late afternoon rolled in, and it was time for goodbyes.
Joel needed to get Luca, to shift into his dad-time, and I never stand in the way of that.
Still, watching him go always tugs at something in me. Even just for a night. Even when I know tomorrow comes quick.
I think love shows up most in these quiet parts.
In the mooching.
In the shared lunch.
In the way we each make space for the people we love most.
It’s the little things.
Always the little things.