three kinds of sunshine   

Remember when you were a child and summer was about turning on the sprinkler and running around the garden with nothing on? Remember the way the soggy grass squeaked under your feet and how wonderful it felt dashing from the warmth of the sun into the shade of the trees? Remember how happy and free you felt? Because it was summer and the sky was blue and it felt better to be naked than have clothes on your body. Well that's how my children feel most days. Because where we liv

This is the start of a new series about the experience of being a mother and the state that it induces - whether that's one society imposes on us or, simply, the way the very act of mothering, makes us feel. It's a space where I'm going to discuss my experiences as a mother - hopefully exploring them in the context of my environment. I'll also explore current ideas on motherhood in the media, and persue new ideas and thinking on parenthood. I've been reading and enjoying a re

I did something today that I've been putting off for weeks. I went to get a replacement driver's licence. While waiting in long queues, wandering up and down corridors looking for the right office, filling out forms, clock watching and re-reading officious notices, I struggled to stay calm. I didn't want to be there. It was boring. It was frustrating. It felt like a waste of time. After an hour or so of waiting I decided that I couldn't take it any more and walked out towar

One of my new year's resolutions is to take a portrait of each of my three children, every week throughout 2015, the year we're living in Barbados. It's something that I've always wanted to do, but it's also about noticing and recording the effect our environment here in the Caribbean is having on each of us. There's no doubt that, as my children grow and change, their life here on the beach, by the sea, in the sun, is shaping them. So here are my first two installments, #1

I wake up thinking of England. Of my family and friends. Sometimes I feel so far away and get caught up in thoughts of what we've gained - and lost - by spending a few years of our lives here. Getting out (if I can, if it's early enough and Alex is here) helps. A lot. So I head out for a run on the boardwalk. I don't run far today because the sea, undulating, turquoise, lapping against the rocks as I pad along, is too inviting. There is a stretch of white sand edged with rock

When you transplant your life to a different part of the world, certain things stay the same. You still get woken up (by small children) early in the morning, make breakfast, get dressed. You still do the school run. Yes, the school run. The daily journey to school. The daily race against the clock with three children, three school bags and three lunch boxes in tow. Because it's routine - something we've done for years - the bit before we leave the house feels very familiar -

A lot has happened in a year. When we moved our family across the globe, from London to Barbados in August 2013, I didn't really think about the effect it would have on our children. Not really. Yes, I imagined them playing on white sandy beaches and chasing each other behind the banana trees in our garden. But the truth is, while we've been adjusting to this new life, my three have changed. A lot. That's partly because they're growing children. It's what they're supposed to

About a month ago, my littlest, Iris, had an accident at home. It was awful. We'd been at the beach bar with friends and had enjoyed fishcakes and a beer and watched the sunset, while all the children had played on the sand (our usual Friday night ritual). We got home at around 7pm and were getting the kids ready for bed. My husband, Alex, was having a shower with Iris in the family bathroom and I was drying off our little boy, Oscar, in his room, when Alex called me in a pan