August 2014

Growing Up.

by Lori Dwyer on August 11, 2014 · 4 comments

One post at a time.


I go through periods of mourning my own parenthood. I didn’t expect that, to reminisce and yearn for years as they pass. I thought- for the longest time- that parenting involved ticking off boxes, being excessively grateful every time a new milestone was reached. My daughter is toilet trained? Mega bonus. My son can finally pour his own cereal in the morning? Total win.

And it is like that, to a certain degree. The older my kidlets get, the more independant they are, the easier things become. The more time I have to myself.

It is like that, and it’s not. Because even while I am grateful for every day older they grow, every task they can successfully complete themselves; I’m also sad. Sad in a place I only vaguely knew existed before.

I miss them being little. Tiny little. I miss having two sweet, grubby toddlers. I miss days at home with them. I miss cooking cupcakes and watching Play School. I miss cuddle toys and midday naps, dummies and playgroup.

I miss having the knowledge that these little people are mine to shape and grow. I mourn for the reassurance that if I’m fucking this up- and I alays feel like I am- I have time to rectify it. That I have years to turn things around, should they inevitably go awry.

I don’t have that leeway anymore. My children are growing like… children. The Chop is almost seven years old, the Bump just shy of five. She’s at school next year. And while I’m looking forward to that– to days of freedom, to slightly more independant little people– I’m sad, too.

My rose–colored nostalgia glasses insist on it. I wear them often, and they cloud most things with their sickly sweet pink tinge. It’s easy to mourn for things past. The future’s so unpredictable. It’s easier on the soul to hurt just slightly for things that have already happened, rather than think about what may come.



One Post at a Time.

by Lori Dwyer on August 6, 2014 · 17 comments

Well… hi. It’s been a while.

I’ve been afraid to write on my own blog, and I’m still not sure why. It’s bizarre how something that was my salvation now causes me a strange kind of anxiety.

I’ve been afraid of a lot of things over the last year or so. I kind of lost the ability to function in any meaningful way for a while there. Blogging is just part of it.

It felt like six months of falling deeper and deeper into a hole I didn’t even know was ahead of me. And it’s been six months of rebuilding myself. Step by step. Bit by tiny bit. You know how it can be- one step forward, two steps back.

I’ve been afraid of myself, and everything that resides within me. It’s taking a while, to get to know myself again.

I am angry at myself for thinking I knew everything. For not realising what an effect such a huge geographical move would have on me. I try not to think about it too much.

I have missed writing, and I feel the hole that it’s left. But I think about blogging. And that leads to thinking about the avalanche of unanswered emails in my inbox; the Facebook messages I haven’t responded to. Which ties in to the phone calls I haven’t made, the to–do list of things I haven’t done….

And it’s all downhill from there.

So I’m not going to worry about that, right now. I’m just going to write. It’s just fingers tapping on my iPad screen. It’s just writing. A few hundred words and nothing more.



Life is good. Life is laughter and school lunches and Sunday trips into the city, and late nights curled up watching TV in bed.

Life is normal. I feel normal. We- the Most Amazing Man, the Chop, the Bump and I- are a happy, relatively well–functioning little family of four.

Some days I’m still… not great. Some days I jump at little things. Sometimes the sound of sirens make my heart beat fast and a lump of dread sits like sour dough in my stomach. Some days I spiral into things I shouldn’t think about.

But that’s just life, and everything has something that haunts them. Everyone has bad days. These things just manifest themselves in different ways.



The Most Amazing Man is still pretty damn amazing. My children are gorgeous, beautiful, magnificent little creatures. It continually amazes me, how much I can love two people who drive me so absolutely fucking insane with their cheeky naughtiness.

There’s so much i want to tell you about them. About me. And I will, I’m sure I will…

Baby steps. This is one post. One post at a time.