A journal in progress

Ordinary days, written down.

Two small children, one draughty house, and the parts of the week worth keeping. Written slowly, mostly at the kitchen table.

The parent who writes this blog, holding a mug in a sunlit room

Written by Elin Marsh since 2019

A parent and two young children walking hand in hand through a sunlit front room

The front room, 7.42am

What to expect from our website & blog

entries since 2019, most of them short

Nothing here is sponsored and nothing is a system. It is one family writing down the weekday hours before they go, twenty minutes at a time.

Out of doors

Walks that were meant to be short, and the long argument about whether it counts as a hike if nobody wanted to go.

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What actually gets eaten

The suppers that get made on repeat, the recipes my mother posts in the mail, and honest notes on what the children pushed to the side of the plate.

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Slow trips

One bag, low expectations, and somewhere within a tank of fuel. The trips are small and the write-ups are honest about the parts that went wrong.

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It all happens at
the kitchen table

Lessons in the morning, potatoes in the afternoon, letters to grandparents when it rains. Most of what ends up on this blog started at the same scrubbed table, and the entries read like it.

Days out, kept small on purpose

We stopped planning grand outings the year the youngest learned to say no. Now it is one flask, one field or one stretch of coast, and home before anyone is properly cross. Those days fill more of the archive than anything else.

“I came for the homeschooling notes and stayed for the Tuesdays. It is the only blog I still read slowly, the way you read a letter.”

Jane Smith

Reader since 2021

The Sunday letter

One short email at the end of each week. What got written, what got eaten, and a photograph that did not make it onto the blog.

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Read the archive

Six years of ordinary days, sorted by season. Start anywhere; the entries are short and nothing needs to be read in order.

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Say hello

Notes from readers get answered slowly but gladly, usually once the children are asleep. Tell me about your week.

hello@example.com