Growing Up.

by Lori Dwyer on August 11, 2014 · 8 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.





by Lori Dwyer on July 3, 2014

This post is sponsored by Nuffnang.


When I was very, very little, I had no front teeth.

My first set- my baby teeth- came through on time. But they weren’t great. In fact, as legend would have it, they had almost no enamel on them at all. My six top, front-most teeth were chalky and spongy, and near guaranteed to rot and be painful.

So they just ripped them all out. Because, really, who needs teeth when you’re learning to eat and speak and whatnot?


I don’t remember ever being self conscious about my missing teeth, though my mum says I was, a little. The photo evidence tells me same.

In pictures where I’m really young- about two years old, I think, twelve months or so after my teeth had been pulled- I’m still smiling, gaps and all.


By the time I hit three, maybe four years old- the age my daughter is now- I’m smiling differently. I was too young to be teased about it (surely…?) but I’m guessing that enough well-meant comments had come my way to make me a little shy about smiling properly. I stayed that way for the first few years of primary school, too.


I think I was about nine or ten years old when I actually started to smile properly again.


I must have found I liked smiling because, really, I started doing a lot of it.

And I’ve been doing a lot of it ever since.


Naturally, having such crap teeth as a child led to having crap teeth as an adult. My teeth are horribly sensitive, especially to cold foods. Or cold days. I can’t smile and breath in at the same time, or it hurts. 

I’m awful at remembering to brush my teeth, and at making sure my kids brush their teeth. Night times are better- teeth brushing fits in perfectly with baths and books and bed. But in the morning, while we’re rushing to have breakfast, get dressed, pack lunches, gather school bags… teeth brushing sometimes gets forgotten. 

So, in line with moving and being happier and attempting to develop some healthy new habits, I’ve given myself a bit of a teeth brushing challenge. I need a star-chart or something.

Perfect timing, because Sensodyne just sent me some of their toothpaste to try. They 


tell me it’s not just for sensitive teeth, but also for stronger enamel and maintaining what’s left of my teeth’s natural whiteness. And it puts a layer on top of your teeth to protect them from the cold, cold Melbourne wind. I’ve just started using it and I have to say, it’s certainly pleasant- more silky than gritty, with no chalky after-taste.

But it’s early days yet. I’ll let you know how we get on.


This is sponsored post by Sensodyne. For the relief of sensitive teeth. Always read the label. Use
only as directed. If symptoms persist see your dentist.
SENSODYNE is a registered trade mark of the GSK group of companies. For more
information on the Sensodyne range, or to report an Adverse Event, please contact the GSK
product information line on 1800 028 533.



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