clay date

My daughters are my greatest motivators. Even when I’m running on empty, they ignite the spark that keeps me going. My dear friend Hue is pure inspiration. Creative, thoughtful, generous, and optimistic, she lifts everyone around her. With their encouragement and enthusiasm, I find myself capable of more than I ever imagined.

We threw together a clay date for the girls and their school friends. I didn’t think I had the energy, but their excitement made it easy to rally. Hue led the pottery workshop with her usual calm magic, patiently guiding the kids as they shaped pieces worth keeping.

Lunch was a tea party spread, served on elegant three-tiered stands with avocado maki sushi, salmon aburi, spring rolls, and egg sandwiches. I loved that these young ones are now old enough to use proper dainty porcelain tea sets.

The afternoon was a mix of quiet concentration and cheerful chaos. Our guests were kind, respectful, bright, well-mannered, and mature, exactly the sort of company I wish for my daughters. I’m so grateful my little ladies have made such genuine friends.

soft spot

Labubus have been getting a fair bit of hate lately. I’m not personally invested, but I see no reason to mock what others enjoy. Collecting thrives on rarity, the chase, and the reward. It triggers dopamine: a spark when you spot one, a bigger hit when you score it, and a warm afterglow each time you see it. That “maybe this is the secret edition” keeps the loop going and hooks people.

My version of Labubus was a group of quirky plush toys. They weren’t popular or expensive, just small-eyed, big-smiled figurines that I found completely charming. One or two became a little family without me really planning it. Most people didn’t notice their appeal, yet a couple of friends still gifted me some without judgement. I held onto them for years because they made me happy.

In my mid-twenties I redecorated my room, decided I’d moved past toys, and donated the lot.

After becoming a mum, those funny little faces came rushing back in a wave of nostalgia. I searched online and found them still floating around, some even new with tags. One in particular caught my eye: the hippy chick, soft and familiar, with a black stain on her dress like the one I remembered. She turned up in a house only ten minutes from where I grew up. She looked exactly the same. Maybe it wasn’t the original, but that didn’t matter. It felt like she had come home.

to all the friends i’ve loved before

It took me decades to understand that some friendships belong to certain chapters, not the whole book. I held on out of sentimentality and duty, even as life pulled us in different directions. I once believed shared history guaranteed loyalty, but time proved that bonds can loosen and not everyone has a place in your future.

But growth demands honesty. Not every relationship is built to last. There’s nothing more awkward than a flat conversation or one laced with subtle competition, where everything becomes a comparison. I’d take watching cement dry over forced small talk any day. I now gravitate toward friends who bring joy, encouragement and authenticity.

I used to feel responsible for everyone’s happiness, often at the cost of my own. I was overly inclusive, inviting people along and bridging social circles just to make sure no one felt left out. Secretly, I resented it. Entertaining acquaintances I wasn’t particularly fond of out of pity was a self-inflicted burden that only fed internal conflict.

I regret the hours spent twisting words into polite refusals, protecting feelings at the expense of my own peace. Now, it only takes a few taps to disconnect: a simple unfollow on social media, a bit of silence, a shift in energy. Sometimes the quietest exit speaks the loudest intentions.

I don’t take breakups lightly. I’m nostalgic and old wounds make abandonment feel dangerous. I tend to hold on longer than is healthy, convincing myself endurance equals care. This habit stems from past trauma, where moving on felt like losing a part of myself. But when I finally step away, it means I’ve reached my limit. I know it’s not ideal, but it has been my mechanism for self-preservation.

Letting go creates space. It clears the ground for healthier bonds, genuine connections, and relationships that feel alive rather than obligatory.

playground politics

The past week has been an uphill climb, a steep learning curve, and a test of loyalty. Adversity reveals character. 

One clear lesson stands out: friendship cannot be forced. Without shared values or common ground, no genuine connection will form. Confidence often unsettles the insecure, and instead of facing that discomfort, some choose exclusion, gossip, or passive aggression.

It’s a hard truth to face when you’re young, but there is no need to shrink for others. You can stand tall, hold your ground, and still speak with honesty, even when it feels awkward or unpopular.  

The way you stand matters as much as what you stand for. Firm opinions can live alongside kind words. Calling out poor behaviour does not require cruelty. Using your voice does not mean closing your ears. Respect comes from knowing when your words carry weight and choosing moments with care. 

My message landed. The culprits admitted fault, showed remorse, and reached out for reconciliation. Words, when sharp and deliberate, can cut through pride and create space for change.

Apologising takes humility and courage, whether in writing or face to face, and accountability deserves recognition. Dave doubts their sincerity, but I feel relieved. Peace has returned to the playground, the air feels lighter, and the tension has lifted. At the very least, they now understand the adults are not passive observers but active guardians. 

Through this, I’ve felt the strength of fellow mama bears who share my values. Their support has been steady and reassuring. Moments of friction strip away the noise and show who truly stands with you.