Author: Metropolitan Mum

The appalling silence of good people

You’ve got a voice. Use it.  I have long thought about how to write this post, and often abandoned it again for a lack of the right words to use. Today, I stopped caring about getting this perfectly right. Today, I am using my voice, no mater how angry and hurt and screechy it might […]

masturbation and female pleasure

May is Masturbation Month

Yay for May! And June. And July… I have been a little hesitant about posting this here, given that my 11yo recently found this blog. But then I thought that there is so much crap on the web she’ll come across soon or maybe already has (children under the age of ten account for 22% […]

12 little things to keep anxiety at bay

Spoiler alert: scrolling through Facebook is a No No Hands up if you’ve truly had enough of Covid, lockdown and homeschooling. Living in LA county, we are at the epicentre of Coronavirus infection and death rates, and the promised easing of restrictions that can happen in some counties will have to wait a little longer […]

Letters from lockdown

Hello from the other side (of the pond) As this blog was born out of the isolation of first time motherhood, I thought it fitting to let it have a bit of a rebirth. Something like Phoenix from the Flames, minus the wings (wouldn’t that be just the best right now, to have wings?!), plus […]

Happy Birthday, Met Mum

I almost missed this, but this blog turned 10 (T_E_N!!!) last March. How the hell did this happen? I miss writing so much, but for one reason or another, I don’t feel that this is the right place anymore. The things that are on my mind are nothing I would like my ten year old, […]

There’s no plastic in Malibu

It’s soon going to be four months since we moved to Malibu. The Expatriate Adjustment Lifecycle (yes, there IS such a thing) stipulates three months of Honeymoon, followed by Culture Shock. Let me tell you one thing: living out of two suitcases and moving from one AirBnB to the next, with leaking roofs and bug […]

Feels like failing

Growing up as the daughter of a second wave feminist in the 1970s, I never once doubted that I would become the strong, independent woman I was destined to be. Fast forward a couple of decades, two children and five moves across countries and continents, and I feel like I failed. I failed myself, my upbringing, and if life continues as it is, I am going to fail my daughters.

House tour

If it wouldn’t sound so terribly clichéd, I’d happily venture into interior design. Not the one with the fluffy pillows, trinkets, knickknacks and rugs, but the one with the tiles, wall colours, walls (knocked down or put in), new windows and side extensions. Or is that interior architecture?

Moving on

Finally, it’s time. The house is sold, the studio is sold, and all the members of our family are sold on the idea of moving. Well, almost all, but I realised that I can’t stay another winter, hence we are moving anyway. 

Dear 1995

Remember 1995 and the years leading up to it? Those were the years of my late teens – years interspersed with teenage angst, first loves and first (very awkward) sex. Sadly, my diaries of that time, which came close to an encyclopedia with its ten or so volumes, are lost. At some point (it might […]