And so it is.

If I am honest, I began today – my 32nd birthday – feeling a little bit sorry for myself; feeling fat, old and broke. But after a wonderfully ordinary day of custom art presents from two very talented monsters; a shortened work day and a cheeky late afternoon nap I remembered something.

I remembered that I don’t actually give a flying &*^%…. (sorry kids, my mum reads this).

You see, I could write you a list of 31 things I learned when I was 31 but we all know I’ll get too bored by the time I got to point 5. And I’m pretty sure everything I’ve learned in the past few years is pretty easy to sum up in a few short sentences.

  • I can do it. I have done it. I will continue to do it. And the people who matter know I can do it as well.
  • Gin is truly delicious, and the more gin I try the more delicious it seems to become.
  • Motherhood is the most complicated adventure I will ever embark on, I may as well enjoy the ride as perfection is not an option.
  • I prefer to be healthy, even if it means eating less cake. However I loathe wasting my time on bad food.
  • I am an extremely ambitious person in ways my younger self never imagined.
  • I like attention.
  • I am not infallible.

Oh look, I made it to 7.

But tonight I packed my kids in the car after tea, even though it was after pj time and took them to my favourite place. I need more of that in my life and less of the other stuff. Because if I can’t now, when will I?


We are but mere mortals.

I don’t dedicate much time to thinking about my own mortality.
I don’t think that many of us do. Focussing on our mortality has the potential to hold us back, fill us with fear, weigh us down.
But then there are times when we just can’t help it. Like when we find ourselves skidding across the road with only a thin layer of fabric between us and the road. Like when we have to make an emergency flight across half the world to visit a parent who is fighting for his life. Like when we hear of people we know being told their child has a terminal illness.

It is in these moments that we have no choice but to face the reality that yes, we will all die. And no, it will never feel fair. The timing won’t be right, nor the situation ideal. Death is not considerate. And I do not know how any of us can really be prepared.

But I cannot live prepared that the next time I set off on my bike will be my last; that every time I open Facebook chat with my mum there may be a message worse than the last. I need things like games of Tetris and wasted time on Pinterest; I must laugh and carry on. Because life will end, for all of us, and not one of us has a bloody clue when it is.

So let’s enjoy it while it lasts, eh?