Essays and reporting, newest first.
6 articles
Three boys, staggered bedtimes, one knackered mum. The bedtime routine that gets everyone down by eight — most nights — without the hour-long hostage talks.
The screen wars nearly broke me. The truce — rotas, screen-free zones and one weird rule about endings — that ended the daily battle with my three boys.
Three boys means three parties a year, every year, forever. How we throw birthdays the boys rave about for under £100 — venue, food, cake and party bags.
Football kit, PE bags, school jumpers, mud. The washing system that keeps three boys in clean(ish) clothes without me becoming a full-time laundress.
Our lawn died years ago and I've stopped mourning it. Why I let my three boys get properly filthy, and how I keep the mud (mostly) out of the house.
Three boys, one remote control, endless wars. How I referee sibling fights without losing my mind — and the surprising rule that ended most of them.
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