Home is where the heart is?

Home is where the heart is? | THE DOOR IN THE WALL

Next week I fly back home. After being ‘home’ for almost one month. These past weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about what home is for me.

Yes, I said home is where the heart is many times. Because I believed it. Or because I really wanted to believe it. It feels like a reassurance, like my mother used to tell me when I was sad or hurt “everything will be all right”. No clue how, but I believed her and felt better immediately.

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Ruby Rascal

ruby rascal

What is it with negative experiences hanging around in your head longer than  the positive ones? Or negative thoughts about yourself, what you did, who you are. It’s just how our (or should i say my) brain works. Negative versus positive 1-0.

Yesterday I came home. Happy to see my people again. J running around in our tiny garden and B making diner. After a while I asked how things were at daycare. B said her teacher told him that they call her Ruby Rascal. Pushing the limits (or other kids). Do unacceptable things and wait for the other to respond while making eye contact. Defending her stuff with her whole body as if it’s a pot of gold. You know?!

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Just the two of us (and some free advice)


When I was pregnant with Sylvester I thought I knew it all. I was 32, lived, traveled and partied and was ready to settle down and be a loving mom (with wooden toys and no sugar).

All the well-intentioned advice from parents was sweet, but I didn’t need it. So I smiled and gave them the “please shut up” look. I read about it and I had common sense. The tip: “Enjoy these last moments being just the two of you” was the most frequent and annoying.

We were ready for this baby, for this new exciting phase in our lives together.

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It’s the little things

it's the little things 01

It’s the little things in life. It’s the ladybug lessons. We have to look closer, walk slower. It helps to see what’s happening right in front of us. It helps to feel alive.

Today J fell asleep next to me while watching Musti. I didn’t bother to put her in her own bed. I just laid there listening to her breathing, smelling it (a weird mama’s thing) and watching her sleep. Suddenly I saw how her legs were in the exact same pose as mine when I fall asleep (and maybe many others out there).

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No saint

no saint

800 people trying to leave their horrible lives by boat. If that’s what you can call it. Life. It makes me sad to think of them: mothers, brothers, sons and daughters. Those terrifying last minutes somehow full of hope, because that’s all they had. And now it’s gone.

Damn it.

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Insta madness

insta madness
I’m a curious person. I love watching people! Some people might even call it staring. What they do, how they live, what they eat and what they wear.

It is one of the biggest reasons I fell in love with Instagram. Before I read a lot of blogs for this exact reason, but instagram is faster, easier, more real. It is a perfect place to get a small peak in someone’s life, get inspired, find new ideas and brands.

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Batshit crazy

batshit crazy 02

Since the day she could talk it’s mama this mama that, all day and every day. She loves B, but she somehow needs me more, or maybe it’s just a different way of parent child bonding.

I love her, more than anyone else, however at some point she and her mama mania drive me crazy. Mad crazy and guilt crazy, if you know what I mean. The ultimate saviours when I find myself locked up in the toilet with a toddler yanking at the door is leaving the house and sniff some fresh air. Even if she’s screaming her insides out and knocking herself against the floor. A hell lot better when B is home. I mean, what’s superior to having someone around who knows how hard the phase you’re in can be?

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