These are the days of…

Well, as the weeks go by it seems I have less time to write rather than more. Hello sleep regressions and early teething. I rack my brains for something interesting to write about but I can’t seem to pull it out of the daily practicalities. But then I remembered a post I wrote earlier this year, about a book called Simply Tuesday, and how it talked about the importance of marking and naming each phase of life, and so I decided to write something about the very humdrum, beautiful dimensions of my life in May 2016.

These are the days of small things. Of small people and small ambitions. These are the days of endless plates of pasta for the wee man who won’t eat much else. Except pizza. And cheese. And endless handfuls of grapes. These are the days of fighting an endless battle against his eczema with creams and medicines that he hates, of dressing him in vests and babygrows to limit his scratching. The days when we don’t take him swimming and might not get to put him in shorts for the summer.


These are the days of new words multiplying on his tongue every day. Of hearing him call everyone ‘guys’, most amusingly when telling the bath water to listen to him and stop running away down the plughole. These are the days of cuddles and stickers and dens and putting out pretend fires every day with the help of the entire cast of Fireman Sam. Of big emotions and amazing comebacks.

And for the smaller of the two, these are the days of gurgles and early grabs, of smiles and dark hair turning blond. These are the days when we never know whether to expect long stable sleeps or waking every hour. When my little finger is the only dummy she’ll take and settle with. When white noise permeates our waking and sleeping.


These are the days of being in the house and sitting on the deck and gazing at the broken fence and overgrown garden beyond. There are afternoons to bask in the sunshine and chase toddlers down with sunscreen and hats, and hold crying babies and try to fork platefuls of dinner into your mouth while calming and bouncing them.

These are the days of contentment one moment and drudgery the next. The days of a unique and short season with its inimitable but unpredictable rhythm which ends I don’t know where. The days that end with lying on the sofa because it’s already nearly time to feed her again.

These are the days of romcoms on netflix, even the ones I never thought I’d watch.  Of The Mentalist and The Good Wife. Of podcasts that always get drowned out by shouts and screams from small people. These are the days of spending nap time tidying up but never getting anything really tidy. Of baking just to have something to show for myself at the end of the day.  Of writing lists and menu plans to make myself feel I am achieving things. Of a weekly outing on my own to a yoga class where I am the youngest participant and I never talk to anyone.

These are the days of solidarity with other parents who share our small rhythms. Of playdates and improvised picnics. Of endless singing of nursery rhymes and doing actions, even after the kids are in bed, because it’s the only music in my head. Of blind panic in the school holidays when all the toddler groups stop too. These are the days when I walk the toddler up the hill to the childminder with his sister in the sling, and he insists that I carry him too, and so I waddle up the road with a child on each hip. The days when we plead with him to share his toys and to stay in bed at night and to eat something and to get in the car and to wear a hat and to take his medicine and to hold hands when we cross the road. And the days when sometimes we don’t bother (that’s not to say we let him run into traffic).

These are the days of longing for purpose in the world beyond my children (not that there isn’t full and deep purpose to be found in nurturing our kids) and an afternoon that doesn’t involve carrying a baby everywhere. These are the days of feeling spent and like there is so much I am failing to do. Of wondering when I’ll find the energy to talk to the neighbours or even get hold of a compost bin. Days that feel small and never-ending. And then there are days of blissful gratitude for these two most indescribably beautiful kids who are greedy for my attention.

These are the days that will be gone before I know it.


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Adventures in cloth nappying

National Cloth Nappy Week 2016 has just passed and so this post is coming to you a week later than might have been useful (there are a lot of associated discounts). I blame the small children in my house. Still, it reminded me that I’ve never really written a post about nappies and what we use and why, and some of you (the parents of small people) may be interested. To the rest of you, I apologise. No need to read on unless you want to improve your general baby-related knowledge.



Also, if you’re already feeling guilty because you don’t use cloth nappies, stop right there. The logistics of parenting are completely overwhelming and we all pick our battles. I hope our experiences might encourage you to give cloth nappies a go, but they are offered without judgement! Please, be kind to yourselves.

We currently have two children in nappies. (Aaargh). And from the outset we (well, mainly me) wanted to use cloth nappies. There are lots of good reasons to do it (as I found out in a recent survey which asked me to rank my reasons 1-5) but actually most of them didn’t have any effect on me. Most of them hadn’t even occurred to me. I just hate the landfill. The stats on how many nappies lie, not decomposing, in rubbish heaps around the world…well, it upsets me.

Before we had Jesse, my brother and his wife, and another couple of close friends, had babies and cloth nappied. Which gave me a lot more confidence about the whole thing. I picked their brains at some length.

First time round, we were reckless. Friends recommended totsbots (a Scottish company) so I just went ahead and ordered a set – 12 all-in-ones for the day time, and then a set of 5 bamboozle stretches for the nights (bulkier nappies with a separate outer wrap). All-in-ones are appealing for obvious reasons, but having used a two part nappy for nights I feel a lot less intimidated by the process, and they are often more reliable for containing everything). We bought them through the website babipur because they do regular discounts. Happily, they worked and we settled into a nappy washing routine. We kept them in a bucket (with a couple of drops of tea tree oil in it) and washed them every other day, at 40 degrees, in non-bio detergent. The smell was never invasive in our flat, the nappies dried quite easily (having the option of a tumble drier for wet seasons helped), and we got into the swing of it. When we went on holiday we reverted to disposables.

From left to right - two new totsbots all-in-ones, and two bamboozle stretch nappies (which require a waterproof wrap on top)

From left to right – two new totsbots all-in-ones, and two bamboozle stretch nappies (which require a waterproof wrap on top)

We had the occasional leak, I think, partly coz Jesse had such skinny legs, but we used the nappies until he was about 18 months. When he went to nursery they insisted they were happy changing cloth nappies but the reality in nurseries is that they have times of day when they change all the nappies (aside from when dirty nappies call for more urgent intervention), and their schedule was based around disposables. It was too long to leave a toddler in a cloth nappy and so he came home a few times with nappy rash. We switched to using disposables on his two nursery days.

We stopped around 18 months, or a bit after, because of Jesse’s skin. He gets bad eczema and it was getting worse, and we had to be super cautious about anything that might aggravate it. So at that point we switched back to disposables, which was sad.

When Jubilee was born I was excited to re-use the nappies. After a month I put one of Jesse’s on her. Five minutes later she weed and soaked her baby gro. Argh. I thought maybe I needed to wait till she was a bit bigger. So I tried again a month later. Twice. Same maddening story. I may have cried in despair (it wasn’t a good day). I did some research and found out that nappies that work for one gender often don’t work so well for another, because of where they wee.

Happily the night nappies still worked a treat, nothing was getting through those bad boys.

I found a local nappy advisor who was very helpful but was messaging me from her bed where she was nursing her ten day old baby. I decided to give her a break and on her recommendation contacted the local Bedfordshire nappy library. A very nice mum came round and lent me five different cloth nappies to try as research (for a charge of £5). And I sent off for one of the new totsbots all-in-ones (released that very week!) because I heard they were less leaky. And so we did some experimenting.

Bumgenius worked really well for us, as did Close Pop-ins (if we were starting again from scratch I would be very likely to go with with Close Pop-Ins), and we had no joy with little Lambs or Bambino Mio – but, as I say, it all depends on the baby and their shape and their gender, so there’s really no predicting it.

And the new totsbots all-in-one (star) worked a dream, so we went with them as we already had the associated accessories (liners, boosters etc). Plus, they are very cute!

One of the new totsbots all-in-one stars

One of the new totsbots all-in-one stars

I waited to order in National Cloth Nappy week and ended up getting about 30% off – meaning I spent about £125 on Jubilee’s day nappies, and have reused Jesse’s night nappies. It’s a bit of an outlay upfront, but it saves a packet in the long run.

I’ll be honest that my kids have always tended to poo only once a day, and I can imagine the process being more smelly and overwhelming if you’re chucking several dirty nappies in the nappy bin each day. Which reminds me – accessories. You need a nappy bin that seals well and which your toddler can’t easily open. And a travel bag is helpful for when you have to store dirty nappies out and about. In my early days of parenting I may have had a poo related disaster in John Lewis, and nothing to store Jesse’s beautiful but smelly and dirty nappy in. Ahem. And even if you have all-in-ones you still need liners. Disposable ones you can flush away, or fleece ones you wash (but which are much better at wicking moisture away from your baby’s bottom so they don’t feel like they’re sitting in a soggy towel).

Most nappies will fit birth to potty thanks to various poppers that adjust the size of the nappy. But as your kid pees greater volumes over time you’ll need boosters. Especially if you want to use one nappy all night (we use a booster in the bamboozle stretches and they last 12 hours).

It makes a huge difference to my daily nappy experience that Andy does most of the laundry in our house, so I am not personally swamped with endless loads of washing (although I’ll often put a nappy wash on in the day time when he’s out). It only takes a couple of minutes to shove another wash on every other day.

All in all I’m really glad we have used cloth nappies and I really haven’t felt like it is a pain in the neck. But it takes commitment – and probably some early experimenting. You don’t want to shell out for nappies that won’t work or that you aren’t sure about using!

If you’re looking for advice as to where to start, The Nappy Lady has an excellent questionnaire that assesses your baby’s needs, your washing facilities and your priorities and recommends the nest nappies for your family. PLUS her Nappy Week discounts are still on!

If you have any more questions, hit me in the comments!

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The new normal

In the past four months we’ve moved house, moved city, seen our boy turn two and added a whole new person to our family (which also means I’m on maternity leave). ‘Normal’, for us, has had a facelift.


We’ve moved from a community where our way of living was really deliberate. We knew why we wanted to be there, we made space and time for our neighbours, we wanted to be in the inner-city and make it a good place to stay. And now we’ve moved away, to a town, and we’re not sure what to be deliberate about. Except the two very demanding small people in our house. So whatever ‘normal’ looks like right now feels very time-bound, and it’s hard to see the shape of things beyond.

Today’s ‘normal’ has extreme highs and lows. These early weeks of a having a baby are full of blissful snoozy snuggles, but also the insane frustration of not being able to put the baby down to do anything useful like, say, pack away the shopping or use the toilet, without accusatory screams ensuing. The sling sometimes works as a way round this, when I’m organised enough to have tied it on, but often it just means resigning myself to being pinioned under a baby for large chunks of the day. And on my days when I’m just with the baby, that’s ok. Who wouldn’t want to hang out with her?


And on the days with both kiddos, there are even moments when I sigh with deep contentment and satisfaction. We’re ok! We’re doing this! These kids are beautiful! Everyone’s happy! Seconds later, of course, everyone is crying and overtired and I feel entirely inadequate and how many hours is it till Andy gets back? Jubilee is strapped into her car seat and we’re about to go but Jesse has just done a poo and doesn’t want me to change him so now both of them are screaming and no-one is happy and how hard can it be just to get out of the house for one appointment?

There are no evenings in this new normal. There are only hours spent camped out on the landing, putting Jesse back in his bed, and hours spent downstairs bouncing and soothing and feeding the baby.


It’s hilarious to me how only months ago, looking after a toddler seemed like a really demanding job, and now it seems comparatively easy. Just one kid? And he doesn’t have to be carried everywhere and fed through the night? What a dream!


The new normal also has a different geography. No longer are there a zillion coffee shops, main stream supermarkets and world-class (free) cultural landmarks on my doorstep. The new geography requires use of the car. If I’m going to walk into town I need to factor in the reality of pushing a double buggy back up a big hill on the way home, so I often think twice. I don’t know the lie of the land so well. We’re less spoilt for consumer opportunities, but the countryside is so close and we can go on walks!


A huge part of our London landscape was church. We loved our church family in Camberwell. We felt so at home there, so loved and inspired, so woven into the fabric of what was happening there. It was a wrench to leave. And we’re not sure where we belong yet in Luton, church-wise. Finding a church family is a big deal for us, and there’s no perfect fit. Every family has its own mess and imperfections, but we really believe in being part of the conversation, learning to love and be loved by others, and to work out how to follow God together. So we’re looking around for a home.

And what about work? When I went back to work after my last maternity leave I was a happier person again. Getting to spend half my week doing a grown-up job and having uninterrupted grown-up conversations – PLUS a commute during which I could read books – felt like a gift. I loved the mix of days with Jesse and days at work. But right now, I’m good with the days at home. We have the little man at a childminder he loves for two days of the week, so for a couple of days it’s just me and the little lady. Andy freelances from home a couple days a week and it makes a big difference having him there for back-up. The days don’t feel monotonous, like I feared.

Now is fine. Now I am sleeping more than I anticipated. Now I have more friends than I expected and more support than I dared hope for. Now I am enjoying my kids more than I realised I would. Now I have a little space to dream. Now I am learning to not be on top of all the practicalities. Now we get through the tough days. Now won’t last very long so I’m trying to dive deep into the moments of joy.  In the blink of an eye it will change. It will be different in a month, in two, in three, in six. Jubilee won’t need to be carried around so much, she’ll be more awake and will interact with the world more. She’ll vomit on me less. She’ll be less fragile, she’ll interact with her brother more and they’ll play together. Sometime, she’ll sleep whole nights of sleep. Before I know it she’ll be eating meals and moving around on her own.

We’ll work out what else to be deliberate about as the weeks and months pass. And part of that will be working out what to blog about. I’m writing less often (you probably noticed!), and more about our small family life right now, whereas I set this up originally to explore our experiments with living simply in the inner-city – where we no longer live! I’m pretty sure I want to keep writing, but I’ll be thinking some more about the kinds of things I’m want to write about (and what I won’t write about anymore).

I’d also love to hear about the kinds of posts you like to read, and those that are less interesting to you. Write a comment or email me at jennyflannagan at


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All you need is love, and other impractical reflections on International Women’s Day


“Kig! Kig!” is a zealous cry you can hear many times a day in our house. Our two year old son is obsessed with pigs, and with a certain young, female, cartoon pig in particular. No one can hold a candle to Peppa. Nothing thrills his heart like more Peppa merchandise. But I’ve noticed something weird over the past year. People often apologise for buying him Peppa gear because it is pink (like pigs). Unimpressed with mother nature’s indiscriminate colour palette, there’s this strange idea abroad that it isn’t quite appropriate for a little boy to like anything pink.

Thankfully he’s not picking up on any of their hints.

This is obviously just a tiny example of how our culture decides what is appropriate for each gender – in terms of possessions and clothing, but also in terms of roles, ambitions and behaviour. It’s everywhere. And as the parents of both a girl and a boy, it’s something I know is going to smack us in the face repeatedly over the years, as we try to fight it. Because we want both our children to be able to live fulfilling lives in which their contributions and achievements are not limited or prescribed by anyone else’s concept of what is appropriate for their gender. (Can I get a fist pump?)

Which is a nice idea, but what does it mean practically? That I won’t dress my daughter in pink? (I am far too thrifty for that – I will dress her in pretty much anything she is given). This idea of equality and freedom of opportunity for people of any gender is the focus of International Women’s Day this year (they call it the “pledge for parity”), and for us it leads to lots of practical choices in daily family life. Things like how we divide up chores and decide who works when, who looks after the kids… I could write a list of stuff we do in pursuit of this aim…but I have a feeling it would be quite dull. What’s more, I’m not suggesting that our lifestyle is a model that anyone else should adopt – it’s full of compromise and privilege and mess, and shaped as much by our personalities as anything else. So how do I envisage our society moving forward towards ‘gender parity’’?

The question makes me think of the discussions Andy and I had about what surname or surnames we would adopt when we got married. I always swore blind I’d never take a man’s name, knowing full well that it was a hangover from an era when women were expected to give up their identity entirely when they got married, and become the possession of their husband. I may in fact have dropped this fact casually into conversation about three weeks after we started going out.

But in the end I did take Andy’s surname.

I still don’t like its cultural roots as a practice. I’m not in favour of its universal adoption. But when it came down to us and our relationship, our very specific story and struggles, it felt like an important way for me to express my trust in Andy, and in the fact that he wasn’t going to treat me as a possession but wanted to see me become more and more fully myself.

It looks like I just did the culturally normal thing, but I know that our story was about finding the best ways we could to love one another.

I don’t think equality of opportunity leads to a certain list of outcomes. Everyone’s personality will lead them to different choices. But I weep at the thought of a world where my son will get to choose things that my daughter won’t. Or that the world will expect her to put up with things it will never ask of her brother.

But I get stuck on the how. Because the only way I know to move in that direction is by loving one another, and putting my husband’s flourishing ahead of my own, trusting that he’s doing the same for me. You can’t legislate for it, you can’t enforce it, I don’t even know how useful a thing it is to say. Fighting my corner, fighting for my own rights, will never make my family into the kind of place where we can all become the best versions of ourselves. Love, which so often leads to sacrifice, is the only way forward I can believe in.

But of course it only works when it is mutual. Otherwise one person is just railroaded – and this is perhaps all too familiar a story in cultures the world over. So perhaps we need to triple underline in red biro the imperative for MEN especially to put the hopes, dreams, callings and growth of the women in their family ahead of their own, to encourage them towards opportunity and self-realisation. But how effective will red biro be?


It doesn’t leave me in a very satisfying position – passionate about gender parity but also about every couple and family working out what that means for them as a unique unit acting out of love; idealistically championing the idea of marriage partners putting their partner’s dreams and ambitions ahead of their own rather than fighting their corner, and simultaneously weeping over the cultural blindness that means that probably this advice will just perpetuate the same old bias towards men’s self-realisation at the expense of women’s. Eurgh.

I don’t have a better answer right now, but plenty of other people do. So head over to Lulastic for a round-up of great blogs celebrating International Women’s Day, and to the official website itself for great stories, brilliant initiatives and a lot of inspiration.

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Life with two kiddos

We have reached the first milestone of the little lady’s life – six weeks – so I figured it was a good moment to take a breath and write something about how life is going.


Newsflash: We’re still alive! And miracuously we are more than just surviving. I am enjoying life. When I thought ahead to life with two kids, to my days being full of nappies and toys and playgroups and naps, and my nights being broken, I was more than a little afraid. I was bracing myself for a struggle. I had all kinds of tactics and mantras ready to get myself through. But I forgot the bit about a gorgeous new human being joining our family and all the joy that would bring. Somehow I hadn’t anticipated the flood of love for these two tiny people that would carry me (and us) through. (I don’t think it’s just the hormones). I am crazily grateful for my incredible, kind, resourceful husband and our amazing kids.


Ok, our house is in permanent toy chaos (the laundry chaos ebbs and flows), but I feel calmer, so much calmer than last time, and I’ve been trying to figure out why. It helps that our life is already structured around caring for a small person and so the shift in our family routine doesn’t feel so enormous. Then there’s the fact that Jubilee was born fairly healthy and has had no major health scares since. Feeding was tough at the start, but we’ve emerged into a place of calm and stability, and it’s nothing like the emotionally traumatic experience we had first time round. Sure, sleep is broken, but I know it’s not forever, and right now we can cope with it (she says, ignoring the horror stories that surround her from friends with slightly older babies…). Without the background of grief and fear and emotional exhaustion, I’ve felt able to enjoy these past few weeks, and enjoy this beautiful, irresistable new baby, much more than last time. And that has been an indescribable relief and gift.

Another part of the puzzle is the incredible tide of practical help we’ve had from the people of Luton. We’ve been here just three months, but a group of local friends organised a food rota for us that meant we were still getting dinners brought to us every other night, a month after Jubilee was born! (and you know, there were some pretty amazing meals too – one night we had rabbit stew!!). We are taking ALL the help we can get right now and not feeling at all guilty (actually Andy is better at that last part than me). Our friends (some of them old, some of them new) have come and cleaned our house, brought fresh flowers, filled our fridge and freezer with good food, put together furniture, done DIY, organised our kitchen cupboads, plumbed in our washing machine, brought homemade salted caramel and oreo cheesecake, had us round for dinner, chauffeured us to and from the hospital, soothed our sick and overwrought  toddler to sleep in his hospital cot when we were wrecked, done our grocery shopping, gone out on emergency shopping trips for nipple guards and breast pads, babysat Jesse while we escaped for some downtime, built train tracks with him whilst we napped upstairs, installed waterproof roofing on our garden cabin, and kept us sane. And I’ve probably forgotten plenty other things. Seriously, we have been so well loved and cared for, it’s hard to even imagine the state we’d be in without this amazing crew.


I know it’s early days, but they are good early days and I’m grateful. This season has shot me right back into living one day at a time, and my planning horizons have shrunk back to about a 36 hour limit. So I’m not worrying about next week (actually I’m rejoicing as my in-laws are arriving) or next month, I’m just thinking about the night and the next day, and I reckon they’ll be just fine. As Elise Blaha Cripe, another blogger and new mother of two wrote recently:

I know that this is all just phases. I know these phases are so extremely short. I know that there is magic coming tomorrow and the day after that. More importantly, I know that TODAY is magic.

Before we had Jubilee, I had friends tell me that things would be much easier the second time around, and others tell me that the hardest transition ever is going from one to two kids. Six weeks in, the first of those predictions feels most accurate, so whatever else is coming I am thanking the cosmos (well, more specifically I am THANKING GOD) for these past weeks and our beautiful kiddos.

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Embracing small life and big books

Despite the rational voices in my head telling me to suspend all expectations for the year and just focus on keeping two small people alive while remaining sane, I haven’t quite been able to help myself. This unexpected ability to make non-baby related plans, even if a little nuts, hopefully tells you that we’re in a happier psychological state than I would have predicted!

At the end of 2015 I spotted (blogger) Modern Mrs Darcy’s 2016 reading challenge and I got excited. I love to read but it tends to happen in fits and starts. So what better than a big year-long reading list in manageable monthly instalments to guide me through?! Here it is:


Yes it’s true that this might be wildly over ambitious, but here I am at the start line anyway. And I’ll be kind to myself and probably make a few concessions along the way. In fact I already made one. Knowing that I would be having a baby in January I decided to swap the first two categories so that I began with a book I can read in a day; then I gave myself another break and decreed that as long as I could have read it in a day were I not having a baby and looking after a toddler, it was fine that I took a bit longer over it in January 2016. Ha! (And I made it).

So here is as much as I have planned out, and then I’ll tell you about my January read…

JANUARY: a book you can read in a day: Simply Tuesday by Emily P Freeman

FEBRUARY: a book published this year: In a Land of Paper Gods by Rebecca Mackenzie

MARCH: a book you’ve been meaning to read: All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr (borrowing this one back from my brother who I bought it for last year).

APRIL: a book recommended by your local librarian (I’m off to join our local library TODAY!)

MAY: a book you should have read in school: (this is tough as I basically read the things we were meant to, geek that I am, but then I remembered one I never read in its entirety): The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy

JUNE: a book chosen for you by your spouse (still waiting for Andy to decided, and feeling a little nervous as he is unlikely to pick a novel…)

JULY: a book published before you were born: Emily of New Moon by LM Montgomery (yay for fun summer reading!) – currently 49p in the kindle store…

AUGUST: a book that was banned at some point: A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway (always meant to read some Hemingway…)

SEPTEMBER: a book you previously abandoned: (still thinking…)

OCTOBER: a book you own but have never read: (so many options…!)

NOVEMBER: a book that intimidates you (Help! there are TOO MANY to choose from! Moby Dick? Anything by James Joyce? Cloud Atlas? Catch 22? Brave New World?)

DECEMBER:  a book you have already read at least once: and here I shall reward myself with something by Charlotte Bronte or Jane Austen.

Just to throw in another complication, I have tentatively joined a local book club. And their book for February is May We Be Forgiven by A M Homes. Which is not a small or light tome. So yes, I am attempting to read two substantial novels in February whilst working out how to look after two small children without my husband around every day (farewell paternity leave, you were a delight). Perhaps I will have developed a more realistic plan by the end of the month. Or maybe I will be feeling victorious and well-read.

Finally, I wanted to share some thoughts about my first read of the year, Simply Tuesday by Emily Freeman. Its subtitle is ‘Small moment living in a fast-moving world’ which sounded like just the thing to embrace at the start of this year. And I really enjoyed it.

If I’m honest, I really related to Emily’s struggles with feeling like she needed to achieve something big and significant with her life, and how this often robbed her of being able to embrace and enjoy smallness. I don’t especially like this about myself (and heaven only knows what big significant thing I’m ever going to accomplish); I couldn’t tell you exactly where it comes from, but I feel kind of haunted by this sense that I have to do something big and impressive with my life. Which hovers unhelpfully over days spent changing nappies and playing trains and burping babies. Emily’s writing definitely moved me further towards being at peace with things that look and feel small.

The book also reminded me how Jesus taught his disciples to pray each day for their ‘daily bread’, echoing the experience of the Israelites during the Exodus when God provided manna each and every day, but forbade them from gathering more than they needed for that one day. I realised in the last week how I have plunged once more into a season of taking each day at a time. The luxury of making long-range plans has gone – all I can hold in my head is the next feed, the next meal, the next nap. And actually, each day is great right now. But there is a fear and anxiety in me that wants assurance that I will be able to cope not just with today but with next week, or next month, that I’ll be able to handle this whole year despite all its challenges. And there is no assurance of that. All I have is each day, and amazingly there is enough grace and help and joy (so far anyway) that I know today will be fine. But I know no more than that. And to be ok with that takes faith and trust.

Near the end of the book Emily suggests an exercise of reflecting on each season of life and creating a list.  “These are the days of…” it begins. I love this as a way of rooting me in today and embracing its colours and flavours, knowing they won’t last forever. I remember when Jesse was tiny and I was trying to savour each day rather than counting them down, I would walk in the park and repeat to myself ‘Today is Tuesday 2nd February 2016 (or whatever the date was), and it’s a good day’. It was a way of trying to tie myself down into the here and now, and opening my eyes to what was wonderful about it. So in the spirit of Simply Tuesday…

These are the days of…

  • tiny people needing a lot of me
  • night feeds and broken sleep
  • long snoozy baby cuddles
  • endless toy chaos strewn across the house
  • embracing the amazing flood of practical help from local friends
  • evenings in
  • living life in a small geographical radius

What are these the days of for you?

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A week ago today, at 14.01 on 14.01.16, our daughter Jubilee Isobel Hope was born. And she is wonderful.


She arrived by scheduled cesarian three days before her due date. It wasn’t what we had hoped and planned for, but in the end it felt like the right choice and we were so grateful for the calm and the straightforwardness of the delivery compared with my first labour. It’s not so fun recovering from major surgery, but at least I’ve done that bit before.

Having her in my arms is a complete joy, and we are absolutely in love with all 4kg of her. She has a smooth, silky crop of dark hair – my genes have finally made it to the surface – and an unmistakable resemblance to pictures of me as a baby.


She had a bumpy first 24 hours, and feeding has been a struggle again, but nothing like the anguished ordeal of Jesse’s first days and weeks. I feel overwhelmed with love and gratitude for our beautiful children; we are absolutely loving being a family of four and I am actively enjoying this special, crazy newborn time. Jesse greets his new sister each day with awed cries of ‘beebee’ and ‘wow’, and loves giving her cuddles.

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We chose the name Jubilee for her more than two years ago, when we were pregnant with Jesse (not knowing then whether he would be a boy or a girl). I have never met anyone called Jubilee, so at first it felt a bit ‘out there’ as a name. But we so loved the meaning of the word (not in any sense that relates to the Queen or the royal family). In the Old Testament law the year of Jubilee came around every 49 years and was a year of celebration when slaves and prisoners were freed, debts were cancelled and land was restored to its original owners – it was a time when everyone could experience God’s mercy and goodness in really tangible ways.  Jubilee was both a party and a means of re-establishing social justice. Both of which we love.

Isobel is for my wonderful, big-hearted, kind, resourceful mother, and Hope is, well, another thing we cherish in this world, and hope that she will too.


So welcome to the world little Jubilee, we are so grateful you have joined the family Flan.

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2016: all the things I will not do

Happy New Year! I love fresh starts and blank pages and new projects and I can’t help but feel excited when a new calendar year begins. Hello new diary! (Feel the buzz!)

Hello stylish new diary with hardly anything in it.

Hello stylish new diary with hardly anything in it.

I get some kind of adrenaline rush from new beginnings, and I’m probably at my best when something is just starting. But this year I’m holding myself back. Despite all the lists I sort of want to write, I have myself in hand. I have only written one very short one, of things to remember this year when the going gets tough.

But then I thought, maybe I could still write a list, and get some of the associated kicks, but instead make it a list of things that I AM NOT COMMITTING TO DO this year, and would be insane to even think of tackling, because you know, NEW BABY COMING. So here it is, my list of ten things I shall not do, as a prelude to the smaller list of things I am going to try to hold onto in 2016, and keep as the main thing.

  1. This year I will not Konmari my house. (But I was inspired by your article Angela).
  2. I will not redecorate the house or even a room of it, or style my space in the manner of the trendy bloggers I follow. I will not expect myself to know where everything is or keep the house as tidy as everyone else I am related to seems to manage. I will not beat myself up about this.
  3. I will not launch out on the Whole30 detox, or attempt to break my sugar addiction (ditto caffeine, gluten, dairy, alcohol – basically I’m not cutting out any new food groups). I will not cook from scratch every night.
  4. I will not try to blog more regularly or develop a social media presence or strategy. I will not attempt to build my audience or write posts that are on trend or suddenly become an amazing photographer, but instead will write about the things I want to, when I have the time.
  5. I will not pick this year to step up my reading of intimidating books, or books I should have read by now. (But I will try this low level challenge!).
  6. I will not run a marathon or a half-marathon or attempt to do the splits or develop any ambitious exercise-related plan. I do not plan to weigh myself this year (that bit is easy as we don’t own any scales).
  7. I will not seek out opportunities to speak at conferences or churches in other parts of the country, and on the occasions when I accept an invitation I will make sure there is a childcare plan. I will no longer imagine that I can entertain children AND speak without going INSANE and becoming resentful of the fact that no-one else made me a support plan.
  8. I will not start renting an allotment or expect myself to be growing all our own veggies in the garden by the end of the year.
  9. I will not create a morning routine that involves getting up before my children (the very idea…).
  10. I will not set out to read the whole Bible in a year. Or [insert any other ambitious spiritual goal].

And as for the things I am setting out to do…

  1. Enjoying our beautiful daughter and son (and most lovely husband) and being grateful for the incredible gift of children.
  2. Taking every opportunity to sleep
  3. Remembering that the “unique” (‘freaking terrifying’) challenges of this year will pass, that it will get easier and that a year is not so long
  4. Not feeling guilty for time out that restores my sanity

Yep, that’s about it. I *may* also be harbouring a ludicrous creative goal or two on the side, but if so, I am pursuing them with a sense of humour and low expectations.

I hope you feel energised by the potential of a new year, and the hope of what it might bring. Watch out for some Flannagan baby news in the next couple of weeks!

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Seeking kindness at Christmas

Last week, amidst all the pre-Christmas chaos, I had a day off and I would like to say thank you to the universe. A day when Jesse was with his childminder and I wasn’t working. I didn’t organise the house or write lists, I didn’t try to get a hard start on finishing up work before maternity leave, I didn’t sort through the baby clothes or make bunting or tidy up the relentless toy chaos or get on top of Christmas (despite all those inner voices telling me I should). I spent the morning sitting in bed.

And I found myself craving kindness.

I am tired and there is so much to do. Parenting our little boy is a beautiful, sublime gift and a gruelling marathon, intensified during that last week by our attempts to wean him off his milk bottles (he’s quite indifferent to the milk itself but completely addicted to the comfort of sucking on the bottles). Andy was doing all the hard yards and the crazy wake-ups because I was exhausted and emotional. I felt grateful and guilty and scared Jesse would never sleep a whole night again.

Our new home is an incredible gift and a joy, but there is an inevitable list of tiny ongoing domestic disasters and things that don’t work that sometimes just overwhelms us, pushing us into the worst versions of ourselves.

Being heavily pregnant with a completely new cast of midwives and doctors who have to keep being retold the story of Jesse’s birth at each new appointment is hard. The baby seems healthy but is big and there are ongoing conversations about the birth, some of which are fine and some of which push me over the edge. I am up and I am down.

It’s only a day now until Christmas and I have barely completed any preparations. I had all kinds of grand creative ambitions for hosting Christmas, baking and batch cooking ahead of time, creating beautiful memories, treating family, giving thoughtful and meaningful gifts. And the reality is that very little of it is going to materialise. Heck, making my own lunch is enough of a challenge right now. I’m trying to make peace with very low expectations.

And then there is the wide world, which keeps breaking in. The families who have had to abandon their homes and carry their children across new countries in bitter winter, in the hope of finding safety. The people being bombed, attacked, shot at, persecuted, violated. So many people who won’t feel safe this Christmas, not for a moment.

As I sat in bed on my morning off, I tried to think where I could find someone to say kind things. I wasn’t seeking actual people to talk to, it was a lay-low kind of a day in which I mainly wanted to hide away from the world. So, podcasts? Sermons? The Bible? Who could I google? What should I read? I couldn’t think of much, and then I remembered my friend Travis’ website, The Work of the People, full of thoughtful and beautiful films of wise and reflective people, and I starting watching some of them. And it worked. There was this one from Glennon Doyle Melton, and then a little gem from Rowan Williams in which he starts –

‘Living in reality, I guess, ought to be the easiest thing of all, and it’s the hardest. Because our minds are really active, fabricating worlds that we can cope with. The real world isn’t a world we can easily cope with, however much we think we’re coping…the world is bigger than we can cope with. So, somehow connecting with the reality which is not just the one I make for myself to keep myself comfortable – that’s faith, that’s where we have to end up.’

Somehow hearing him tell me that of course the world is more than I can cope with made me feel ok. It made me feel human and weak and inadequate but loved and accepted all the same. And that it was ok that I’d run out of energy to fabricate a word that I could cope with.  Of course it’s too much. But there is acceptance and kindness and grace for me. And he used a beautiful metaphor for grace, that cosmic kindness bending towards us:

As I talked to him the landscape changed. There was a different light on it.

The story of the first Christmas sounds to me like more than anyone could cope with, or feel on top of, let alone the thought of all that might follow. So I will be trying not so much to cope, or to expect myself to be on top of anything in this season, but instead to rest and listen out for kindness and acceptance. Who can say what will arrive with us or stare us down in the days that follow? But I have faith in a bigger picture than I can explain, one that I don’t need to fabricate or fully understand in order to be carried by. And I’m thankful.

Andy recently recorded some of the worship songs he has written in the past year or so, ready for an event over new year, and I was listening to one in the car this week. It speaks beautifully of that ache of our current brokenness and not-enough-ness, the promise of the healing to come, and the reality that God is here right now, in all the not-yet-ness. So here is a recording of it if that sounds like something that would bless you this Christmas (and his website, for more tracks and resources is

May you have kind Christmases.


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Holiday missive from Luton

Greetings from misty, wet, bewildering, welcoming Luton. And from the much reduced but still evident chaos of our beautiful new home. We’ve made it. The furniture and boxes are all here. Most things work. We have beds to sleep in (although Jesse has just worked out how to climb out of his – yikes). The boxes in the house have mainly been unpacked (the others have been moved to the man-cave).  Life here is slowly beginning to unfurl.

Jesse outside our new front door

Jesse outside our new front door

Everyone is asking how we’re settling in, and how I’m finding my feet in a new place. It’s just overwhelming, to be honest. It’s been a month now, but a week of that was spent in Ireland, and half of each week I’ve been commuting to work, which now takes two hours each way. I leave in the dark, and arrive back in the dark, and in between there is a lot of waddling. There have been days when I felt like the major achievement of the day was simply reaching the office (but apparently I was also expected to work when I got there). All of which is to say, I don’t feel like there’s been a lot of time to build much of a relationship with the town itself.

I am trying to find my way around, but I have to use sat nav to drive anywhere, including the supermarket. There are no longer Tesco Expresses and mini Waitroses on every corner. I am trying to retain a healthy, pedestrian lifestyle and resist the urge to jump into the car at every opportunity, but we live at the top of a big hill and Andy is pleading with me to give in to the constraints of my current elephantine proportions. I had a day off this week and made it to the cinema alone (joy!) but had to consult google to work out how to find my way from the car park to the screen. I had failed to notice that they were next door to one another.

The logistics are overwhelming, and we are battling with the seemingly endless list of tiny domestic dramas that need to be set right. On good days we remember that this house is a spectacular and beautiful gift and that so much has gone smoothly. On less good days our ineptitude at DIY seems like a cruel joke.

But what is already amazing is the welcome we have received. So many people have stopped by to help unpack, or assemble flat pack furniture, or bring provisions. We’ve been to a birthday party and a Christmas fair, we’ve been round for family tea and over for coffee, there have been playdates and poker parties (that last bit is all Andy). Yesterday I even thought it would be a good idea to invite another nearly-two year old over to make gingerbread men (which, frankly, was insanely optimistic). In those sociable moments it feels like the easiest and happiest of moves, and in the scheme of things, that matters more than the bewildering logistics of a new place.

Perhaps I expected too much of everyone...

Perhaps I expected too much of everyone…

We even have our first real, family Christmas tree and have rounded up enough decorations to make it look festive, although crawling underneath it to reach the light switch is more than I can manage. Also, Jesse demands that all decorations be hung at the top of the tree, so it’s a little odd looking. We are hosting Christmas this year, mainly due to my size, and are already looking forward to having grandparents around for the whole holiday season – both for the sheer delight it will bring Jesse, and the incredible help it will be to me (and us). I could almost cry with gratitude already.

Thanks for all the encouragement and love and prayers along the way. A new chapter is beginning and we feel very grateful (if also freaking terrified about next year).

(Jesse did eventually let Andy in)

(Jesse did eventually let Andy in)

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