Love is…

Love is…

Love is perfectly rapping a completely inappropriate Eminem song from your teen years, totally in sync.

Love is letting your partner have the only towel left after you were too lazy to do a load or three of laundry.

Love is not asking where that receipt came from.

Love is sharing a smirk when a song with a private memory comes on.

Love is offering to change the baby’s nappy. The baby who is being reintroduced to lactose, and really probably shouldn’t be.

Love is going out into the thundering storm to save the pram from running away because you know your partner would sob if it was lost. It’s practically an extension of you at this point.

Love is cooking salmon for your partner even though you hate the smell and the taste, and you have no idea how to cook the little pink blob.

Love is having inside jokes that would sound absolutely ludicrous to everyone else.

Love is not pointing out how terribly mismatched the kids outfits are, because your partner is so proud of their styling efforts.

Love is accepting your partners family as your own, genuinely loving them and considering them just as important as the family you were born into.

Love is understanding that some days (most days) your partner makes zero sense. Their crying makes no sense. Their anger makes no sense. Their brain makes no sense. That’s ok, you’ll help them make sense of it.

Love is listening to ‘The Sound of Silence’ on repeat because it makes your partner smile. Even if it is making you want to shove something sharp and pointy into your brain just to get a break from hearing it.

Love is getting up in the middle of the night to hang the washing out because you know if your partner doesn’t have their ‘sucky-innny things’ clean and dry and ready to work hard holding in all those rolls they may just lay in bed in the foetal position and refuse to be seen by the general public.

Love is when your partner climbs into bed and snuggles into you and you do everything in your power to ignore your brain screaming ‘I just don’t want to be touched anymore today, I’m all touched out!’

Love is not pointing out that the number on the scales is going up, and instead making some smooth remark about it needing new batteries.

Love is telling your partner you’re totally into the sexy bald look and genuinely growing to love it, because you love them.

Love is letting your partner squeeze that huge zit on your back because you know they’re some sort of freak who finds pus fascinating.

Love is having late night showers in the dark together, no funny business, no talking, just enjoying the quiet and each other’s company.

Love is holding hands while you walk through the mall, reminding each other that you have a lifeline, an anchor. Even though your mind might be shaking with anxiety over how you’re possibly going to afford the new school shoes that are needed, you know you’re not in it alone.

Love is not always romantic walks on the beach, or long, latenight phone calls from under the doona where your parents won’t hear you.

Love is not always flowers, and chocolates, and jewellery.

Love is not always a handwritten note, sometimes it’s typed.

I love you.

Adultier Love

Adultier Love

Darling husband

I love you, but I love you for different reasons now that we are actual adults, you know, adultier adults.

I love you when you change a nappy that smells like satans breath.

I love you when your muscles glisten with sweat as you Gumption away Mr 2’s latest wall art.

I love you when you cook different meals because one has to be gluten free and you don’t want to see your little man in pain (and up screaming all night).

I love you when you let me sleep in even though your eyes are hanging out, you keep forget the kids names, and you just tried to put a bib on the cat.

I love you when you talk me down from an anxiety attack. Most would run for the hills, or tell me to harden up, but you always know how to bring me down softly.

I love you when you wash every piece of linen we own after food poisoning has taken us out.

I love you when you tell me that you think I’m beautiful even when I haven’t showered for two days and I’m wearing your ratty old shirt and granny undies that are four sizes too big.

I love you when you go in to settle the terrors for the thirty-fourth time that night.

I love you when you speak up and say ‘I just can’t go back in there, they’ve broken me’ because we’re a team, and I’ve got you.


I love you when you read to our children. I know you don’t like reading. I know it makes you feel awkward and silly. You do it for them anyway.

I love you when you play computer games with a child on each knee. I love you when you teach the boys how to play and I love you when Mr 4 comes to teach me how to land an aircraft,because that’s all you.

I love you when you perfectly lip sync the ‘Trolls’ movie. I also cringe though, sorry.

I love you when you sing and dance while you clean, like a better-version of Tom Cruise with a symmetrical face and without Scientology.

I love you when you watch something boring or gross on Netflix and I end up watching Good Mythical Morning on my phone. Then you stop watching your zombie crap because GMM is more interesting, and we realise that we should have just put it on in the first place and agree not to let you choose anymore.

I love you when you shave for work every morning because you want to look professional, even though we both know at heart you’re a bearded beast.

I love you when you discipline the children so that I don’t have to (for the twenty third time).


I love you when you recognise that even though I will only be working once a week, that doesn’t make my work any less important to me than yours is to you.

I love you when you tell me to study. Even if I do spend most of the time doodling ‘my husbands a jerk because he’s making me study’. 

I love you when you talk about my grandfather. It kills me that our children didn’t get to meet him, but you did and you help me keep his memory alive.

I love you when you get home from work, tell me to go and have a rest, and brace yourself for the onslaught as three boys come flying at you from every direction and I run like I’m being chased by a mass murder.

I love you you get excited about me watching 50 Shades of Grey because you think that I’m going to come home wanting to pretend you’re Christian. Mate, it was one time.

I love you when you sleep walk. When you jump out of bed yelling at me to run because ‘they’re coming’. When you roll around the ground so ‘they’ don’t see you. When you laugh about it while I tell you of your adventures the next morning.

I love you for so many more reasons, but at least one child needs me so I have to leave it at that.

I love you. I just really, really love you. I love you so much I want to squish your cheeks and never let you go. 

I love you more, but I love you differently.

I love you for the gross things, the boring things, the necessary things, the real things.

I love you for navigating your way through this ridiculous, crazy, life with me. 

I love you.

We all want to smother you with kisses
From pigtails to parenting

From pigtails to parenting

I’ve been thinking about my relationship a lot lately. About how much it has changed since we first met.

It was 2002. I was 14 and he was 15 and in the grade above me. Yes, we were high school sweethearts. We actually met when I went with my friend to see her boyfriend (now my hubby, oops) play Ice Hockey.

After his game a group of us stood outside the rink to chat, except the only two chatting were hubby and I. It may be hard for some to believe but we both knew that night that the other was going to a part of our lives in some form.

Our relationship grew so naturally, starting with friendship and rapidly becoming more. One day it was a uniform free day at school. I wore my hair in pigtails. Well, apparently that was his kryptonite and we started dating that day. He still talks about my pigtails fondly.

I’m not going to glamourise it, we had our troubles. In fact, I think we overcame nearly every obstacle a couple could come up against. But the point is that we did best them all.

And now here we are, 14 years later. Married, with three beautiful children and a kitty. I’m not sure how I got so lucky to be honest.

The other night we watched a movie called ‘The D.U.F.F’ which stands for ‘Designated ugly fat friend’. Hubby proudly announced that we were a perfect match because we were both Duffs. Pretty sure he didn’t think that through properly because he managed to call me both fat and ugly in one go, but he was actually right. We both had one close friend who was the desirable one whilst we were the approachable ones. Maybe that’s why we work so well. We’re basically the same.

Well whatever the reason, we match. He is the cheese to my macaroni and I simply couldn’t imagine my life without him in it. We’ve come a very long way since pigtails and every day we face new challenges – parenting is hard work sometimes – but I know we’ll be ok.

We’re not some super Disney couple that will defeat everything with true loves kiss. We will laugh at our lame jokes. We will communicate. We will say ‘I love you’ multiple times a day. We will have food fights. We will share a passionate kiss in between making toast and pouring milk. We will laugh at each other for having hairy legs (me) and for going bald (him). We will cherish the time we spend together sitting on the couch watching TV whilst trying to settle a screaming baby. We will fight over having no money, over having different opinions on discipline, over who’s turn it is to clean the loo. We will make up and move on and most likely do it all again the next day. We will love each other.

We will love each other for the rest of our lives and if reincarnation is real then we will love each other in every life after. When we’ve passed if you see a lioness and a staffy cuddled up together, it’s us, say hi. And if you see a more attractive lioness and a tougher staffy near by then we’re duffs again. Hey, it works for us.

We’re choosing Duff over Disney.