Healing through Daughters

So, today as I drove across the city (well above the flood lines, thank you) this amazing song came on. And as so often happens while I’m driving alone, I had time to process some thoughts; specifically around parenting a girl child that have been percolating for some time now.

When E was born, just over a year ago no, a friend said, “Daughters heal you”.  I thought that was an interesting idea; as I thought about it, I determined she meant that having a daughter brings to the front all those things that are issues I have or things I struggle with about my own womanhood, so that I can address them and move forward.

Last month, I had the honour of being invited to a friend’s commencement from Queen’s University.  I was the only member of her “love lines” family; I was seated with her Mom, her Dad and her Aunt Mike.  We had a great time together, watching this right of passage…  the little girl I have known for so long was suddenly – irrevocable – Grown.  After the ceremony we lunched, and then the rest of us left the graduate with her Dad for a few days vacation together.

As we left, I commented on how the father-daughter relationship they have really baffles me.  He speaks to her as though she is a child; he treats her like a delicate treasure, prized over everything else in the world.  She adores him and hangs on his words as though they actually feed her…  Her Mom, my dear, dear friend said, “It’s very special, the Father-Daughter relationship…”

And then today, the song played and tears pricked my eyes.

I’ve been watching how MOMD treats our E since she was born.  Watching their connection blossom, their relationship develop.  Outwardly, there are no differences between his relationship with the boys and the relationship with her.  There is something though, intangible, that is different.  Deeper, more open, more… Just somehow more.

Listening to the lyrics Lenny Kravitz lays out, all of these thoughts and “noticings” came together and crystallized.  “You are my highest high, you make me feel alive, all I can do is smile, when I look in Little Girl’s eyes”.

I’ve heard it said so many times that a girl will marry her father.  I’m sure you’ve heard it too – it’s ancient wisdom.  I for one, did not marry my father.  In fact, the very reason I fell for and chose to change my whole life plan was because MOMD was precisely the opposite of my father.  Because of this, I decided that the ancient wisdom was wrong.

Because of the coalescing of thought from today, I think I understand that statement more now.

The father – in one way or another – teaches the daughter how she deserves to be loved.  He sees her value, and he teaches her what her worth is.  He honours the Godess within her, and calls her to be all she is meant to be.

Now, when I hear in my memory “Daughters heal” what I understand this to mean is this: the way that I see MOMD loves E, is a reflection of how he loves me.  Of what I needed from the primary male in my life.  Knowing how blessed am I that the primary man in my life loves me this way is overwhelming.

And yes, Sebrina: Healing.

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Posted by on July 10, 2013 in Family, Oversharing, Raising Kids


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Excitement, Exhaustion and Terror All in One!

This is me these days, people.  Excited because one of my dearest friends in the known Universe is getting married in 4 days (YAY!) in her adopted home of Nyack, New York.  I’m so happy for her, not in the least because I love and adore the person she’s chosen for the honour of sharing her life.  I’m excited too because this is our first “Family Vacation” since becoming a family of 5.

This also exhausts me.

Because: getting ready to leave the country with 5 people for 4 nights is a lot of work!  Thank God we’re travelling with my Mom and sister, because we’ve shared up the work that can be shared between us.  Thanks again, Amanda for sorting our the who-needs-a-passport thingy! (The answer is only people over the age of 18, if you’re entering the U.S. by car, just in case you too need to know.)  MOMD brought up the suitcases this weekend and put them in respective rooms so that the bigger kids could begin packing their belongings (which inevitably means either he or I have to unpack the cases to make sure that everything that’s needed is there, but whatever: they’re excited too).  He’s also made a list of what to pack, and cleaned the van inside and out so that we’re ready to tackle the Open Road like he and his family did.

Did you catch that part?  “…like he and his family did.”  Yeah, that right there, that is critical.

See, MOMD grew up in the heart of “The Big Land” as they like to call it.  I myself call it it the tip of an iceberg surrounded by vast amounts of nothingness.  I’m talking about Labrador City.  And while yes, technically there is another town (Wabush) close by, they are really one city.  And then there’s nothing else for like 750km’s on the Trans Canada Highway.  So while saying he grew up on an iceberg is not technically correct, he did grow up in the heart of nowhere.  What this meant is that he and his family spent a lot of time on the road, driving to places.  They would go back to the Island (what island?  THE Island: Newfoundland!) for vacations, and they’d go to Prince Edward Island, they even came to Toronto once, on a trip that’s best not talked about.  And all of this was done in a car.

Me, on the other hand…  well, I grew up in Toronto.  Unlike many of my friends, my parents had a trailer in the country; near a little town called Roseneath.  So I too spent my summers driving to destination.  The main difference is that my car trips were generally 90-120 minutes in length, where his were 2-3 day adventures.  Sadly, I am not one who enjoys spending endless time in a car.

Which is really funny given the traffic that I face often enough here in the GTA; but I digress.

When MOMD and I met (almost 15 years ago now!  WOW!) the longest I could really stomach to travel in total was 2.5 hours.  Seriously: that was my limit.  I go a little stir crazy, which coupled with my usual crazy is too much crazy.  One day remind me to tell you about our move to Halifax where we spent 2 solid days on the road.  It was…  gah.  I can’t even go there.

The trip to Nyack is just under 800km’s.  It’s certainly true that in the intervening years I have gotten better at longer stretches of travel, I approach the thought of a long car ride with trepidation.

And then you throw in 3 kids – one of whom is totally the poster child for Active Lifestyles – and I go directly to terror.  Do not stop, do not pass go, do not collect $200.  TERROR!

We’re looking at about a 10 hour trip.  TEN hours, people!  It’s time for the Wizards of the world to share Apparrating with us Muggles.


Posted by on July 8, 2013 in Family, Raising Kids, Vexations


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Missing the Point

So, I’m always reading. Usually, I’m reading stuff that resonates with my beliefs and interests (aren’t we all though?). Most times, what I wind up reading are blogs or articles that get linked to in my facebook feed. In fact, the only way that I really know what’s going on in our world is because of the good people who keep linking to or commenting on political/social/economic/enviromental pieces.

This irritates MOMD to no end since he is a news junkie and a journalist by trade.  My ardent refusal to engage in his penchant for useless information is baffling to him; although I like to think he also secretly finds it endearing.

Anyway. As you well know if your’e a regular reader (bah! Regular! That assumes that I write regularly! hahaha… Sorry. But really: we both know that’s just ludicrous.) my leanings are decidedly socialist with a mighty dash of feminist. So a lot of what I decide to read in my feed are stories in these veins.  This morning I linked to something about women not engaging in political discourse because of the level of debate.

Now that resonated with me.

So I clicked the link.  And I tell you what: it was not well written.  In fact, I think it was written by someone who simply wanted to prove their point because it did nothing to further the discussion, and it actively discouraged my interest.  Which is a shame because honestly, I think the subheader did a great job of luring in readers.  The synopsis hit on an idea that’s been percolating in my head for ages that I just haven’t had the time to formulate.

I do not actively engage in politics because the level of discourse is so low.

A prime example is attack ads.  They do nothing to discuss party platforms, track records, or public engagement.  The sole purpose of these ads is to simply defame a single person.  And while it’s true that often we often vote for an individual rather than specifically a party (Jack Layton, anyone?) ads that vilify the leader of a party are useless.  I remember when Kim Campbell had stepped in as interim leader for the Conservative party back in 1993 and during the election campaign that followed, she was advised to run an ad that criticized – really, made fun of – Jean Chretien’s partially paralyzed face.  The woman I was wanted desperately to love our country’s first female Prime Minister, but the human in me was appalled at that level of insensitivity.  As was most of the country, and the conservatives fell from a majority government to not even holding official party status.

It’s not just attack ads though.  If I look at politics closer to home, a fantastic example of what really turns my engagement to zero is currently holding the title of Mayor in the City of Toronto.  There are so many things that offend me about Mayor Rob Ford, I could seriously go on and on.  If I look at that litany what it all boils down to is that he is belligerent, diametrically opposed to discussion or debate and willfully ignorant.  What I learned in school, when I was politically engaged, is that the heart of politics is discourse.

Remember debating?  I do.  I remember high school debates with so much fondness.  Choosing or being given a stance (defense or opposition) on a statement, and you and your team mate laid out an argument and then you debated the other side.  They were heated, but they were always civilized.  Yes, we kept to our stances while the debate was raging, but we were listening to what the other side was saying.  We had to: we had to be able to refute their arguments.

From my position, today’s politicians are all like Mayor Ford.  They have a position, they have a party line, some communications handler carefully crafts them a statement, and they read it.  Over and over and over again in some cases.  They are not listening, they are not responding, they are not engaged.  When the opposition stands up to speak, they are doing the same thing, except there’s a lot of heavy chest thumping accompanying their stating and restating and restating their opposition.

And really: that’s just so disheartening.  I for one would welcome a conversation where I did not have to prove that sexism is inherent, that rape culture exists, and that listening and responding to comments is an important part of what sets us humans apart from primates.  Maybe, just maybe, if I felt like anyone was listening, if anyone anywhere in our political system was engaged, then perhaps I too would become so myself.

For now though, for now I’ll just stay over here in my media-free bubble.

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Posted by on July 7, 2013 in Opinion, Politics



Getting Back to it

Friends, how I’ve missed you!  Do you ever find that life just grabs the reins and you are left being dragged from commitment to commitment, obligation to obligation, day in and day out?  Yeah, me too.  And then last week, I started to feel almost depressed.  I could feel I was on the verge of a very dark period, and I had to do something to shake it off.

I was feeling frustrated with my weight, frustrated with my ever growing list of things to do.  I was also frustrated because on Wednesday and Thursday of last week, I was so overwhelmed by all that I wanted to do, and all that I had to do, that I became paralyzed.  And so I sat in front of my computer watching videos, reading blogs, watching my facebook newsfeed like a hawk for any changes, and of course eating everything in sight.

On Friday night I started opening up about where I was headed.  My sister was here, as was a good friend, and we were (duh) drinking.  While I was sharing, and they were responding and supporting, I subconsciously started to coach myself.  And then on Saturday, I again found myself in the company of some more great women, and I shared with them too what’s been happening with me.  And the subconscious coaching continued.

Sunday was my “repair” day.  It was a crazy week, full of activities, and trainings, and business launches and more celebrations.  Sunday, MOMD had volunteered for Doors Open Toronto which had chosen his workplace for their tour, and this meant that I was going to be at home, for most of the day, without a car.  I would be made to stay home.  And that is exactly what I needed.  I tidied, I sorted, I gardened.  I washed dishes, chatted with a friend about the chaos of her life, and I baked for my favourite customer: my family.  While all of this was happening, the coaching started to shift from subconscious to conscious.  I began to craft a plan for dealing with my stuff – both literally and figuratively.  When Monday dawned, I was ready for change.

One of the things on my never ending list of want to do and need to do, was blogging.  I have missed it so…  Another thing was doing what I need to do to be healthy.  Yesterday I stopped – literally – feeding my frustration, and began to listen to what my body is saying.  And today, I am writing.

These are little steps, I know.  Often I find though that the little steps are in fact the most important.

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Posted by on May 28, 2013 in Randomness



What No One Tells You

First: full disclosure.  This post is going to be embarrassing   For my eldest.  I’m not going to use his name, not that I think it will make that much difference, when it’s all ready spread through this blog like salt on popcorn, but still.  It provides a modicum of a shroud of decency.  Right?  If nothing else, it will make me feel less like a bad mom for sharing embarrassing things about my children.

(I think this is something that all of us parent bloggers deal with, isn’t it?  Surely I’m not alone.)

#1 (what I will call my eldest throughout this post) will be 9 in 13 days.  NINE.  I have no idea how this is even possible.  In so many ways it seems like just yesterday I was falling asleep at the table when MOMD&I were celebrating our 5-years-of-meeting-anniversary.  It feels like moments ago when I was holding my belly, crying, and dancing with the baby within, that the doctors said I would never carry.  It feels like a couple of days ago when MOMD started his parental leave and I went back to work…  and yet.

He will be 9 in less than 2 weeks.

There are a lot of things that prove this, aside from the calendar.  He’s taller, and he’s getting lanky.  Just the other night he said to MOMD, “Dad, it’s ok.  I think I’m too old now for bedtime stories.”  And the adult’s hearts both broke a little.

The real sign of #1’s impending manhood though came the other night.  Well, morning really.

The routine in our house for some time has been that I get up to pee around 5:30, and usually his lights are on (yes, that’s 5:30AM). MOMD gets up for the day at 6, and the boys usually arise with him.  They breakfast, then he comes to get dressed for the day and wakes me up.  About 2 weeks ago now I got up to pee around 5.  It was earlier than usual, and I noticed that #1’s lights were on.

“Hmpf,” I thought. “Another day where he will be tired.  I hope his teacher isn’t left wondering why he’s crying again…” and I stumbled back into bed.

Next thing I know, MOMD is in our room saying, “So, for a switch, #1 wet the bed last night.”  I sat up right away.  “Did you check?  Because I bet it wasn’t pee.”

“Wha?!” says MOMD.  “No way. If you are suggesting it’s a wet dream, you’re crazy.”  Or something like that.

I was adamant though.  I mean: this is the kid who yes, took a long time to toilet train.  Once we tried at the right time though, he was trained in a day.  And from then on, he has wet the bed possibly 2 times.  That’s 2 times in 5.5 years.  So you know, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t regressing to that point and wetting the bed.

And possibly I was prepared for this more than MOMD was.  I have been watching and waiting for the signs of his budding puberty.  In part because I was blooming by the time I was 11, so I expect him to be early too.  And perhaps I’m just attuned to his physical attributes.  You know, Mother’s Intuition sorta thing.

Anyway – MOMD did check, and he was surprised to find evidence that I was correct.  He said to me, “So I checked and it looks like it was option B after all…”

“Whadda ya mean?  What are you talking about?  Oh!  #1!  Wet dream?”

“Looks like…”  MOMD – bless him – was incredulous.  And I get it, I think.  He has a really special, close relationship with #1.  They are two peas in a pod, watching comic-based cartoons, loving cinnamon buns, early risers and all that.  What will this change mean?  What will this step towards adulthood bring to their relationship?  Only time will answer these questions for certain, but I suspect they will remain just as close because they are friends.  This is what I was like with my Mom, and we always stayed close even when discovering my independence.

But: to the title of the post.

Did you catch that part in the story where I mentioned his teacher contacting me because he was crying in class?  It’s true: she did.  She was concerned because it’s not like him to be emotional like that.  She said that he’s always very even-keeled, and happy to continue to find the right answers when he’s wrong.  He gets frustrated, but he has a strong sense of resiliency that she really admires in him.  Which is why she was so shocked when he was crying in class.

That incident was about a month ago now, I guess.  At that time I had notice too that he was more emotional around the house, not dealing well with his siblings, and generally flying off the handle.  I had no idea why because, like his teacher noted, he’s always been an even-keeled kid.  I asked him what was going on, was there something happening at school, did he want to talk and he did share with me.  There was a story about Red Rover at recess and how he wasn’t called to come over and it left him feeling left out.   There were more elements to the story, and somehow I got it in my head that perhaps he was being bullied, maybe this was the start, and then the note from the teacher.

I shared my concern with her, and she promised to check it out.  She let me know that she finds generally he makes good choices in friends, and that she would be surprised if bullying was the issue.  Later in the week she got back to me that it was not looking likely.

Now I get it.  Now I know why.  He is being emotional because his hormones are surging, and his body is changing and he doesn’t know how to deal with all of it.

How come no one ever talks about this?  So many of the media and parent resources take great pains to present balanced approaches (boys and girls) to the changes our children go through equally and fairly.  In fact, in my quick google search, I found a lot of resources geared to kids, to boys and to girls.  Thing is, most of what I saw for boys talks about physical changes.  Very little is mentioned about emotions.  I mean, sure: they talk about boys and them being embarrassed about their voices changing or their acne or waking up in a wet bed.  What they don’t address is the emotional instability.  The rampant mood swings.  Those are solely the domain of girls, it seems.

This post has gone on for so long, that I hesitate to open this can of worms.  But I will, because I want to put a bookmark here, to address the inherent bias shown here for another post.  Even when they’re little guys, they still aren’t allowed to be emotional.  I find that so sad.  How are we going to raise fully developed, emotionally present and available people when we can’t even acknowledge that they have a full range of emotions?

I am here to tell you:  My boy is in the throws of puberty and he is not at all embarrassed.  He is emotional, he is weepy, he is sporadic.  If you have a son, expect that what the experts say about girls will happen to the boys too.

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Posted by on March 13, 2013 in Family, Oversharing, Raising Kids


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Twenty-Two Questions!

Twenty-Two Questions!

Why hello erstwhile stranger!  Yes, yes it has been some time since we last met.  What can I say?  Life with a baby, a 4-year-old and an almost 9-year-old can be hectic.  Not to mention all the “from home” work I do.  And then the lapse seemed so long that I got uncomfortable and I thought, “how can I go back there?”

Do you ever get yourself worked up like that?  Me too.  And you know what I realized?  I can go back there simply by…  writing.

And then Rocker Mom posted this questionnaire and I thought, “That is the perfect reintroduction to blogging.”  And so here you have it: 22 random questions about me.

Where were you born?

In Toronto, in East General Hospital at Coxwell & Mortimer.  I lived my whole life in the City, until MOMD & I got married.  We moved out to the East Coast of Canada to his old stomin’ grounds, the seaside city of Halifax.  While Halifax had it’s charms (among them the Brewers Market) I did not settle in.  It was the longest 6 months of my life, and on April 1, 2001, I moved home.  MOMD followed with all of our worldly possessions 4 months later and I vowed I would never again leave Toronto.

The lesson here?  Never say never.  🙂

Were you named after someone?

Two someones, actually.  Well 3, actually.


From left to right: Nana Scrimgeour, Anna Margaret Huffman, Nana Keenan, Margaret Lillian Kelly and my Mom,
Susan Margaret Keenan

My name at birth was given as Margaret Michelle Scrimgeour.  The story goes that my Dad was having coffee with my Mom’s Mom (that’d be Nana Keenan) in her kitchen, and pronounced one day that the name of his first child would be Michelle.  My Nan, without missing a beat, responded, “Well here’s hoping it’s a girl.”  By the time I was born, Nana Keenan had lost her long fight with breast cancer.  She passed away a little over 2 years before I was born.  And since my Dad’s Mom’s name was also Margaret, and my own mother’s middle name was too, it was decided that I would also be Margaret.  Trouble was, my poetic parents didn’t think that Michelle Margaret sounded as nice as Margaret Michelle.  And so, I have spent my life answering to my middle name. (And to boot, I doomed my own daughter to the same fate!  I’m sure she’ll love it too.)

If you have children, how many do you have?

Yes, despite predictions to the contrary, MOMD and I have been blessed to shape and mold 3 little people.  Our first is Connor Glenn who will be 9 (NINE!) next month.  Second is Samuel Francis who is 4.5 and last but certainly not least is our darling daughter, Catherine Elise whom we call Ellie Belle.  She is almost 8 months old.

How many pets do you have?

BoosterRight now, we have just the one.  The cutest little dog that you ever did see.  He is a labradoodle, whom we rescued.

MOMD and I have never been dog people.  In fact, we actively made fun of dog owners.  “They’re children that never grow up!”  “The expense of boarding when you want to travel!”  “Walking them….  in the rain!”  Oh how we laughed…  and then, one day a friend of mine sent out a pleading email with a picture of the most adorable little puppy you’ve ever seen.  Before I knew it, I had responded to the message saying, “I’ll take him.”

And then I had to call MOMD and ask how he felt about it!

It was  a tense moment or two, but once he too saw the picture he knew this puppy belonged in our family

The lesson here?  “He who laughs loudest laughs last,” is a pretty accurate proverb.

What was your worst injury?

I’ve been fairly lucky in my life to have very few injuries.  And really, it’s not because I didn’t try or anything; I tobogan down tree-lined hills, I road my bike at break-neck speeds down insane hills that were gravel roads and ended in a sharp turn and I’ve even been in my share of car accidents.  Perhaps it’s simply that the sooner you get your hard knocks in, the sooner you learn you don’t like them?  I dunno.  What I do know is that I was 8 when I broke my arm.  I was skating at our local rink with my little sister and I fell.  I’m sure I was showing off or something; I don’t remember those details.  What I do remember is the rink guard taking me off the ice and into his office where he inspected my arm and pronounced it not broken since I could move my fingers.  Broken or not, it hurt like a son of a gun and I got my sister off the ice and we went home.  My parents distrusting in the medical knowledge of a 16-year-old rink guard, took me to the hospital where it was determined to be a pretty serious break.  I had a cast from my finger tips to my shoulder, on my right arm, for EVER I’m telling you.  It was so frustrating not being able to use my dominant hand…  I remember crying about it in the school office.  Anyway, eventually it came back and my arm has been as good as gold ever since.

Do you have a special talent?

This sounds like a trick question; maybe vaguely suggestive even.  Perhaps that’s just me.  ~ahem.  To the answer then!  I have a couple of talents actually.  One I get to practice here and another one here, and the other one I just practice where ever I happen to be.  I love to sing, you see.  And I sing pretty much wherever I am, when the mood strikes.  It’s just one of my many charms, don’t you know.  :p

What’s your favourite thing to bake?

I think I could no sooner pick a favourite star in the heavens.  Seriously – I love to be in the kitchen.  But if you’re going to force the issue, I guess I’d have to say that I love to make cakes.  No cookies.  No, wait: pie.  No, cupcakes!  GAH!  Why do you make me choose???

IMG_3963    IMG_2484        100_4857 IMG_1420

What’s your favourite fast food?

You’re totally going to judge me.  I know it, and I’m ready for it.  When I want fast food, only one of two things will do: McDonald’s fries with their barbecue sauce or a Crunchwrap Supreme from Taco Bell.

God it feels good to have that off my chest.

Would you bungee jump?

No.  No I would not.

What is the first thing you notice about people?

Their smile.  Does it light up their face?  Do they seem genuine and joyful?  Do I want to be around them?  You can tell so much from a smile, aside from good dentition.

When was the last time you cried?

This morning, actually, as I watched this video.  I cry fairly easily actually.  Like if I see beautiful expressions of love.  Or a new person (like a baby, I mean).  Or for utter joy.  Of course I cry for sadness and greif too, but mostly for the other reasons I mentioned.

Any current worries?

Well, I’ve started this baking thing and while I had a lot of success in the previous 2 weeks, I don’t have any orders for this week.  And while that doesn’t exactly scare me, it has me wondering about how to make the work a little more consistent.

Name 3 drinks you drink regularly.

Arbonne Tea in Kiara's mugI always have a cup of water on the go.  I drink 8 oz before I have anything else in a day.  I love water.  After my first cup of water, I brew my Arbonne detox tea, mixed with 1/2 a pomegranate fizz tab and 1/2 a citrus fizz tab.  And then the 3rd one…  gah, I don’t know!  5 months ago my answer would have surely included coffee.  But since we figured out that it was causing my breast milk to be acidic, I cut it out.  That said, now that Little E is eating more and more food, I am having a cup here and there.  So maybe coffee.  But then, my favourite drink is a gin & tonic.  So maybe that?  With a slice of lime?  Or just a great glass of wine…

Are you starting to figure out that getting me to pick a favourite can be a little tough?

What’s your favourite book?

Again with the favourites, you guys!  So tough.  Because I have so many books that I absolutely love and can’t imagine my life without.  But if you’re going to force me to pick just one, then…  the I guess it will have to be The Mists of Avalon.  That book started my life on the course that brought me to who I am today.  And if I’m perfectly honest with you, I absolutely love my life.

Would you like to be a pirate?

Ummm…  no.  I’m not a taker!  Or a theif, or mean or violent in anyway.  I’m a peaceful giver.  A lover, not a fighter, to turn a phrase.  Although I would love the jewellery…

What are your favourite smells?

kok1) the smell of a Greek bakery.  I grew up in Toronto’s Greektown, just a little south of the Danforth.  My Dad would sometimes take me for walks to pickup stuff for dinner, and we would almost always wind up in a Greek bakery.  I loved those walks, and to this day when I walk into a Greek bakery, I see myself as a little girl, letting go of my Dad’s hand to press my nose to the display case of koks (image on the right).  2) the smell of freesia.  So sweet and beautiful!  I love love love freesia.  Yellow ones.  3) mens cologne, just a hint of it.  I love it.  Any cologne.

Why do you blog?

Initially I started to blog here because I wanted to know that I was more than just a mom.  Which may sound patronizing in some way, I know.  Thing was, my life went through massive transition and I was lost.  I felt like I was walking around in someone else’s skin, living their life.  I needed to find me, to confirm that I still had thoughts and opinions that I could express effectively and that other people might relate to.  And so I started here.  You’ve all been so warm and wonderful, and really: this blog saved my sanity.  So thanks for reading, and reminding me that I do in fact love my life.  xoxo

What song do you want played at your funeral?

GOD so many!!  Not that I think about my death all the time – I don’t, I’m not that morbid.  I do however attend a lot of funerals and viewings (no idea why that happens, but there was a winter where I had 14 funerals in a 3 months period.  True story.) and so I’ve given a lot of thought to my own celebration of life.

And that, my friends, is what I want: a celebration.  A big party, with a DJ, open bar, and excellent food.  A mic where people can talk about their memories of me, and share how I lived.  I want “Into the Blue” by Moby at some point; I want Bach’s “Air” played on strings, in the key of G; I want something by Sarah McLauchlan.  I want Finlay Quaye; Bob Marley “No Woman No Cry”; so many songs you guys.  I love music, and I”m sure there’s a soundtrack to my life.  I just have to sort it out.  Good job I have some time, huh?  😉

Name something you’ve done that you never thought you’d do.

Well, get married for starters.  True story!  When I was growing up, I always aspired to be the crazy aunt with a high-flying career, taking my nieces and nephews on jet-setting trips, living a life of dreams.  And then I met MOMD and he ruined – positively ruined – all that by being so perfect for me that I had to dream a new life.  And here I am, doing many things I never ever thought I’d do.

The lesson here?  Be open to change when opportunities to better yourself come along.

What are your favourite things to do?

Honestly you guys?  This is going to sound so lame, believe me, I know!  I love to put on my nasty old paint-stained track pants, order a pizza and sit on the couch with MOMD and watch something.  Just him and me, on our comfy couch, in our cozy “house pants”.  I also love a pedicure, border runs with my girlies, and of course, cookin’ up a scoff.

Any pet peeves?

Don’t you DARE leave the toilet seat up, that’s all I’m saying.

What was the last thing that made you laugh?

I laugh a lot you guys.  I can’t even remember what the last thing was that made me laugh because I’m sure I’ve laughed since then!  My kids are hilarious, the synchonicity of life often amuses me, and gin always befuddles my mind.  But here: this is the last thing on the internet that really made me laugh out loud:


It’s SO me!

And there you have it.  My, summed up in 22 questions.  If you decide to take some of all of this for fodder for your blog, tag me in it so I make sure to check out your answers too.

It’s good to be back!

Me and my hunny in NYC in December 2010

Me and my hunny in NYC in December 2010

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Posted by on February 21, 2013 in Oversharing


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Dinner Conversations

When I was growing up, my family had dinner together every day.  Never with the TV on, usually with music playing in the background, glasses of milk for the kids and water for the adults.  We sat at the table every night and we talked.  Everyone talked about how their days were, what we learned at school, challenges at work, sharing the news about our friends and family; we engaged with each other every day.  On Sundays, the same rules applied except that the food was usually more labour intensive to prepare, and we always ate in the dining room on the fine china.

They say that you will do what you know, and so it’s really no surprise to me that every night we all sit at the table to have dinner.  Although, our fine china is not dishwasher safe like my parents is, so on Sundays we just eat on regular plates.  But I digress.

While I try to engage everyone in discussion about their days, some times that conversational tactic runs out before I’ve even taken my first bite.  On those nights, the kids ask random questions and we do our best to engage in discussion with them.  One night though, over the Christmas break, Connor asked, “So Mom: what is man’s work?”

The feminist in me immediately bristled.  “Where is he getting this from,” I raged internally.  MOMD dropped his fork, his terror shining from his eyes, while he tried desperately to see how I would respond, without looking at me thus to provoke my wrath.  Being in communications, he tried to firmly get control of the question and started sputtering something like, “Well Connor…”

Cooler heads prevailed however, and I interrupted MOMD with the faithful advice given by my OB many, many years ago.  “Well Connor, ” I said, “what do you think man’s work is?”

Connor: “I’m not sure.”
MOMD: “Well, let’s think about the kind of work I do, and the kind of work Mom does.”
Connor: “Oh…  ok.  So like, Dad does the laundry, cleans the bathrooms, washes the floors…  So I guess that’s man’s work.”
Me: “Well, my work is done here.”


Posted by on January 8, 2013 in Family, Food, Raising Kids, Traditions


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