Long before the French and the English fought over Saint Lucia (‘ownership’ of the island changed 14 times in between them), this beautiful place was called “Where the Iguana lives”. And if the lizards don’t stop drowning themselves in our pool, they might need to rename it to “Where the Iguana dies”.
‘Between the years’ is a German expression for the days in between Christmas and the New Year. It nicely describes the feeling of where I am at the moment. We are not completely over and done with Christmas, but neither are we in the midst of it. The same counts for the New Year. Time to sit back and reflect
Well, actually it was St. Lucy’s (Lucia) day. But as the whole family will be scattered all over the globe for Christmas, with one brother-in-law with his wife and in-laws in the US and the other one with my in-laws in Switzerland, we decided to bring forward the feasting and feting.
Finally, it’s the season of comfort and joy again. Time to go overboard on Christmas decorations, buy presents for family and friends, write Christmas cards and wish lists, sit together around the table and feast (have I mentioned that there will be the whole family sitting around our table this Sunday, hoping to be fed? […]
Not too long ago, my life was far from rosy. I remember feeling being caught in an impressionistic painting: when you looked too close, the whole thing appeared to be quite messy and didn’t make sense at all.
When we bought our current home, we have been DINKOS – double income no kids. We were looking for a property t in walking distance of the tube, with plenty of shops and bars and restaurants to choose from. The cab trip home from a night out in West London shouldn’t be more than £ 15, and the communal garden at the back seemed to be inviting and lively, with the neighbours having garden parties and kids running around during long summer nights.
Christmas is by far my favourite time of year. I just love fairy lights, the smell of ginger bread, mulled wine and the colourful decorations that brighten up grey winter days. So when John Lewis asked me to contribute my set of rules for a ‘Perfect Family Christmas’, I was more than happy to join […]
The loyal reader might be surprised to find a post like this on Met Mum’s blog – especially as I publicly admitted to be crap at all things housewifish. On said confession, my friend Emily commented: ‘Are you kidding??? You are a kick ass housewife!’ Thank you, Emily, it’s really nice of you to say that, but it just ain’t true. What I indeed do know is when to get my act together and pour all my energy into this one, oh so important event. Such as Big M’s birthday breakfast.
Since becoming a mother, my days have been filled with much more housewife stuff than they used to be. In my childless, naïve and slightly illusive mind, I had envisioned channelling all my energy into looking after the baby, the husband and our home, once I had left that high-profile but mundane city job behind me. Our spotlessly clean house would smell of freshly baked bread, baby food would be cooked by myself and every night there would be a healthy and delicious dinner awaiting Big M when he’d come home. HAHA.
Little L is having her first ever cold. And ever so generous, she passed it on to me. Not without mummy pride I realised that we managed to get pretty far without the slightest sign of a sniff. Can you believe that she’s five and a half months already?