After weeks of yo-yoing back and forth like a crazy person, I’ve finally pushed the button and made the big, fat, hairy, scary call to put my house on the market. Even as I write these words I’m tearing up and drafting an email in my head about how I can legitimately pull the pin at the 11th hour....

With one kid gonski and the other vehicularly mobile, my Saturday mornings no longer resemble a scene from the Amazing race. As I sip on my latte and read the paper, I offer that ‘old persons’ empathetic smile to the procession of parents trying to grab a quick takeaway coffee prior to the ‘divide and conquer’ mission that involves wrangling kids into cars and ferrying them off to multiple sporting fields in far flung and (not so) exotic destinations. ...

I’m sitting at my desk, ready to write and all I can hear are the shrieks and squeals of “Marco” (pause) “Polo” from the kids two doors down. It’s happy noise and I’m not bothered by it but it has made me ponder … when did endless pool games and bombies stop being fun? ...

My son is bilingual. Actually, he has become so proficient in his new language that he rarely lapses back into his mother tongue. He picked up his second language with little or no formal instruction (#gifted) … via teenage osmosis I think. You may have heard of it … it’s called Gruntlish ...

I have noticed that I am becoming increasingly intolerant. My list of annoyances grows by the day and includes everything from slow walkers, to cyclists, call centre help desks, poontzy dudes in flashy cars and anything to do with the post office. I frequently flip the bird, swear like a sailor when I’m driving and have been known to pull someone into line for trying to jump the queue at Bakers Delight. But all these things pale into insignificance when compared to the angst derived from the supermarket....

Last week was pretty big on a few fronts, not the least of which was that my baby bird finally got his drivers license. This was a big dealio for several reasons. Firstly … after two kids and 240 hours of supervised instruction, I no longer need to endure that white knuckle, tongue biting invisible brake hitting torture that inevitably ends in a screaming match and a migraine....

Last week I ‘delivered’ my eldest child to college in the US and this week my youngest got his drivers licence. I am officially as redundant as the white pages. Full of info that no one wants and desperately in need of reinvention. If I’m honest, I admit that I have been fantasising about this day for some time. But be careful what you wish for, because instead of popping the champers, doing nude cartwheels down the hallway and reveling in the serenity, I’m feeling decidedly unsettled, and a bit wobbly....