A NOTE TO OUR LITTLE ONEThe word
you invented.
You called butterflies “flutter-byes”. Nobody corrected you. For one whole summer, that’s what they were to all of us.
I’m writing it down because I know one day you’ll say it properly. And I’ll miss this version.
With love, MumOUR FAVOURITE TRADITIONSunday,
at her table.
There was always an extra place. Always too much food. Always the same story that somehow made us laugh again.
It wasn’t really about lunch. It was about knowing where we belonged.
For the family, always.A DAY AT THE COASTWe took
the long way.
We missed the turn and found a tiny café. You drew a map on a napkin so we could find it again.
We never did. But every time I see that photo, I remember exactly how it felt to be there with you.
A small adventure, kept.