My daughter is one. We’re at a grocery store. She’s strapped to me in a Bjorn baby carrier, kicking her feet, babbling away, smiling at strangers. A woman walks by. “Enjoy the moment,” she says. “They grow up fast.”

I’m thinking about my shopping list, the dinner I have to make, and whether we’ll be home before my daughter gets hungry or needs changing. I smile and keep walking.

Then she’s two. We’re at a music class. A dozen moms sit in a circle on the floor. The kids are orbiting one another in the center, scooping up bells and…

My daughter used to be an artist. She would spend hours in the TV room, not watching TV, but on the floor surrounded by scraps of paper, beads and string, making collages and jewelry, or copying cartoon characters into notebooks.

She loved to sew. With a needle and thread, she would make dresses and hats and shoes for her dolls. Before I got around to buying her fabric, she used construction paper. My brother gave her a small wooden artist manikin one Christmas. She made clothes for that too.

She wasn’t allowed TV on school days, but we were lax…

My daughter often pats my belly, smiles and says “baby.”

I’ve told her repeatedly the word is “belly” not “baby” but she keeps saying it. The optimist in me says she wants a sibling. The realist worries she says “baby” because 18 months after giving birth I still look pregnant.

I was always trim, even a bit vain about my flat stomach. When I discovered I was pregnant, I considered photographing my stomach to remember it by. In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t. My belly is far flatter in memory, muscled even. …

She was a 15-year-old Muslim girl from Dubai. I saw her taking photos across the pond. My dog jumped up beside me on the low wall. That’s when she took our photo. Then slowly and shyly, she made her way towards us until I said hello.

She told me she had never pet a dog before and was afraid. I told her Leo was a gentle puppy. I promised her he wouldn’t bite.

She told me she was afraid of all animals, not just dogs. Like the animals on her grandfather’s farm. …

I’ve been cranky for a year now, but only just realized it after going on holiday. We’re in an outdoor cafe. Me, my husband, our daughter and the dog. We’ve been hiking and are hungry. The menu offers grilled meats and salads and pizzas. I order a hotdog and a mojito. My husband thinks this is funny and gives me a high five. I smile and laugh.

“You’re in a good mood,” says my daughter.

That’s when it registers. I’ve been in a bad mood for a year. Sure, I still laugh and smile on occasion, but generally, I think…

I had no interest in leaving home this summer. With onerous Covid requirements, fear of catching Covid, and assuming Europeans wouldn’t be thrilled to see us, it hardly seemed worth it. But now with the 14-hour journey from the UK to France behind us, and happily settled in the Chamonix mountain valley, I’m delighted we made the trip. It turns out the requirements weren’t all that onerous and I was wrong about people being unwelcoming.

Here is some information that might be useful to others thinking of coming to Europe this summer.

1. The Requirements Aren’t a Huge Deal

The first things to know are that requirements…

It’s hell finding a job but try after taking time out to raise kids. Last week, I sent ten emails to prospective employers. I got one reply to something sent two weeks earlier. (Thanks for your interest, now go away.)

I’m not desperate to work immediately. But I am hoping to have a job when my daughter starts nursery school in the fall. Finding something in journalism would be ideal, but so would finding a pot of gold. I widen the search, applying to be a financial recruiter, a communications coordinator (whatever that is), a training consultant and a business…