iron sharpens iron

I’m so proud of my eldest daughter for being invited to join the Science Olympiad team at school. It’s a wonderful opportunity to deepen her understanding, build confidence, and develop her skills in science. It’s such an honour to be selected.

Only six students were chosen, and what makes it even more special is that three of her closest friends were also invited, meaning all four girls in her little group made the team. She is surrounded by studious, curious, and like-minded peers, the kind of circle where iron sharpens iron.

They are such a good influence on one another, encouraging each other to aim higher, stay focused, and grow together. Like a small constellation, each one shines brightly, but stronger together. It’s a joy to see her thriving with such inspiring young ladies by her side.

mother goose

One of the nice things about getting older is knowing you don’t need to have had all your ducks in a row. Even as a kid, I never had one of those polished answers to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I wasn’t dreaming of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, or anything particularly impressive.

But age brings the comforting realisation that the answer doesn’t have to be a profession to be purposeful. Sometimes, it turns out to be motherhood.

My daughters have promoted me to Mother Goose, which is a far better title than anything my younger self could ever have put on a vision board. Of course, no goose can be majestic all the time, and my goslings would be the first to tell you that I am just as often a silly goose.

the fire after the fireworks

The movie Eternity poses the question: is love at its truest in the bright rush of the beginning, or in the long, unremarkable faithfulness of time? 

Elizabeth Olsen gives Joan a tenderness and intelligence that keep the film from collapsing into sentimentality. She captures the difference between young love and enduring love without reducing either one. One is electric, unfinished, almost mythic because it never had the chance to disappoint. The other is deeper, weathered, familiar, and less cinematic on the surface, but far more real.

Unlike Joan, I do not have two different husbands. I just have Dave twice. There is Boyfriend Dave: the guy I loved with reckless, gleaming, honeymoon affection. This Dave could do no wrong. He was young, handsome, proper, and such a gentleman. Then there is Husband Dave: the man I have loved through years of adventures and laughter, companionship and loyalty, dirty socks, abandoned cups, household chores, and all the small, unglamorous acts that go into raising a family.

He complains that I loved Boyfriend Dave more than I love Husband Dave, which is exactly why Eternity resonated with me. If Joan had two husbands, then in a way, so do I: Early Dave and Lifetime Dave. That is what makes the comparison sweet rather than sad. Early love is noisy. It sparkles. It is full of butterflies and daydreams. But lasting love is underrated because it stops performing and starts proving itself. It becomes less about the thrill and more about choosing the same person so many times that your heart knows the path by instinct.

So no, perhaps I do not love Dave now in exactly the way I loved him in the beginning. Back then, it was all fireworks. Now it is the fire still burning after the party is over, the chairs are stacked, and the house is quiet. Honestly, that is the greater miracle.

Eternity suggests that love has seasons, and that the softer, older kind may not look as romantic, but it runs deeper. Joan had to choose between two husbands. I got lucky. I chose Dave, and then kept meeting new versions of him along the way.

growing pains

I used to think heartbreak was losing a guy.

I was wrong.

The deepest pain comes when your own child disappoints you. No one lives in your heart the way your child does. They carry your love, your hopes, your prayers, and the dreams you held for them before they could hold any of their own.

When they make choices that wound you, reject what you taught them, or become someone you hardly recognise, the grief lands hard. It carries sorrow for who they are and mourning for who they could have been.

This heartbreak bruises love to the bone. This grief bears their name.

The hardest truth is that love stays. You love your child through every break in your heart. You keep hurting. You keep hoping. You keep praying they find their way back.