When I Grow Up I'm Going to be...

Hello Friends,

My mum and dad are in the midst of cleaning house in preparation for a major renovation project. This means old schoolwork collected throughout the years is being unearthed in an attempt to decide what to keep and what to toss. Revisiting some of this material has been entertaining, to say the least. This post was inspired by a picture contained within one of these giant rubbermaid tubs.

The picture was titled "When I Grow Up I'm Going to be...". On the page was a stick figure princess standing on a stage holding a microphone. There were music notes floating all around the princess' head and there were a bunch of semi-circles in front of the stage (which I can only assume were either empty chairs or the back of the heads of audience- I'm going to go with the latter). Underneath the picture read as follows:

"Famous" - Amanda, 6.

Haha. While most of my peers were aspiring to be police officers, veterinarians, lawyers, teachers and farmers, I was going to be FAMOUS! I can only imagine the chuckles my parents (and teachers) had upon seeing most of my (art)work from grade school, as there really seemed to be a theme throughout that box of memories.

I've always had a knack for being dramatic and I attribute my love of the theatrical side of life to my being the younger middle child in a family of all girls. It was either stand-out or get lost in the Je-Suz-Jil-whatever-the-heck-your-name-is chaos of everyday life.

Mum- It's Mandy by the way.

Despite only getting my name right one in ten times, my parents were remarkably adept at encouraging my dreams and facilitating my goals. Voice lessons, dance and choir were added to my extra-curricular calendar and at the ripe old age of 7, I felt like I was well on my way to stardom! I would climb up onto those risers, or stand proudly in front of those church pews, or strut out onto that stage (in what would be my future highschool's auditorium) and just give it my all. Whether it was dance or singing (or both!) I would never hold back, always performing like the world's talent scouts were out there watching and waiting in the wings to pluck me from the farm and take me to wherever it is talent scouts take "the next big thing". Haha, the wild imagination of a little girl.

21 years have passed since I boldly etched out those letters (FAMOUS) underneath a stick figure version of myself and I can say that while I may not be a household name, I have created many opportunities to live out this fantasy version of my future. In fact, I couldn't help but notice the resemblance of my drawing to this gem that was snapped during my second year performing in the University of Toronto's Medical School Musical "Daffydil".

The funny thing is, that while I may have long given up on my dreams of stardom, becoming a mum to a toddler has allowed me to experience celebrity status. In a way, mummyhood has made me famous.

- I have a stage name, "Mummy"
It's cool like Madonna, no last name

- I have an entourage wherever I go
Doing everyday errands with a toddler on your hip increases your awesome factor by 1000% "Look at that mum bagging those green onions with a baby on her hip, how freakin' cool is she?!" 

- I have people (or a person) that look(s) to me for answers, information and the what's-what
Those are whales on your shorts. Whales live in the ocean. Whales are super "in" this summer.

- Improv shows are a part of my daily life
Lunchtime isn't complete without my most boistrous version of the Bubbleguppies theme song.

- I get applauded multiple times a day
Loading the dishwasher, "Yay! Clap for Mummy"
Folding the laundry, "Yay! Clap for Mummy"
Paying for groceries, "Yay! Clap for Mummy"
Picking K's blocks out of places they were too big to fit in,"Yay! Clap for Mummy"

- I wear sunglasses almost all the time
Albeit they're mostly to hide the super dark bags under my eyes. 

- Any time I'm invited to an event/outing, I have to check with "my people" before I can confirm
 Ooo, that falls within naptime, but maybe we can push it to 3o'clock? I'll see what he's like at 2. 

- I'm always expected to be in character (as mummy), and it is utterly disappointing to my biggest fan (K) if I break character even for a minute
"Wait?! Why are you kissing Daddy?! Stop that. You're myyyyyy Mummy!" But I suppose it'd be like seeing Will Farell in a period piece drama- weird. 

All in all, I must say, "fame" really is all it's cracked up to be. If I could go back to 6 year old me, I'd tell her to shoot for the moon, sing for those stars and don't be so disappointed that those scouts never showed up. You will land the best gig in town and you will have an audience that never tires of your act.

Until next time my friends!

- A

Beachin' with my entourage!

Toddler Talons

Hi Friends,

Yesterday was K's bi-weekly (read: I'm not really sure of how many weeks have passed, but playful nose-grabs were drawing blood) grooming session.

Everytime I ready myself to complete this task, I pause to think about how as an extremely pregnant, emotionally charged, erratically nesting, mum-to-be, one of the two things I was obsessively worried about was clipping baby's finger nails (the other was knowing when to change a diaper... hahah seriously past me?!). I'm not really sure why pre-baby me honed in on nail care of all things, but I was so incredibly anxious about this, like losing sleep (precious, pre-baby sleep) over nail clipping.

Despite this crippling anxiety, the role of tiny person manicurist became mine and mine alone in April 2013 when an unfortunate tip nip incident and resultant baby tears left D emotionally scarred for life. While I'd like to say I eagerly accepted the job (as any confident new mum would do) it was only after a hopeful Google search revealled that there are no [reputable] places that you can take your newborn to get his talons groomed (someone should really start this, I think it would be a goldmine!).

I managed to keep K's talons in check with relative ease for the first year of his life, in fact, months 0-12 had me feeling like some sort of nail-clipping ninja (I had mastered nail clipping while nursing my unsuspecting infant). However, this job has become increasingly more difficult as he's entered into toddlerhood. The last few months have seen me resort to making my move when K is strapped into his high chair. I strategically splay his favourite foods across his snack tray (which doubles as a shield for those wiggly toes), and pray that he doesn't see the clippers before I get to work (as he will insist on playing with them, and do everything in his power to get them into his death grip).

Yesterday was the first day that I wasn't able to groom all 10 fingers and 10 toes. I tried unsuccessfully for 15 minutes to get the last 3 fingers (well, 2 thumbs and an index finger), but with the cheesies no longer sufficiently distracting, I had little left to leverage. Upon throwing in the towel (or better, the nail clippers on the snack tray), my first thought was "what kind of mum am I if I can't even properly groom my little man?". It wasn't until I looked up at my giggling little person, that I realized he was pretend clipping those last few nails (obviously unsuccessfully, but trying nonetheless). I quickly answered my question, "I'm the kind of mum who's unknowingly teaching her tiny person to be excited about grooming himself!". It made me smile to see K learning from me. Although his refusal of my help left those 3 ungroomed fingers menacing to my poor nose (and small land animals), it displayed an air of confidence in K that I absolutely love to see. So while I may have only scored 85% on the task at hand, I was 100% proud of my little man.

Until next time my friends,

-A

Eek! Watch those talons!

How to Marry a Doctor

Hello Friends,

The idea for this blog post presented itself during a recent conversation with a single girlfriend of mine (who shall remain nameless, you know who you are). The conversation when something like this...

FRIEND: Ah, I'm so sick of dating. Why are all single guys such [weiners]? It's like all the good ones are taken.
ME: Haha. There's no way that can be true. I know a couple of single guys who aren't [weiners]. They're really nice guys.
FRIEND: Ooooh, are they doctors? I want a doctor.
ME: Haha. No, but they are really sweet.
FRIEND: I don't want "sweet", I want a tall, dark and handsome doctor; preferrably funny with no baggage! Oh, and he has to be good with kids.
ME: Haha. That's a pretty tall order, I don't think I can help you with that.
FRIEND: What?! Why not? You found one. How did you do it?
ME: I didn't find anyone that meets that description.
FRIEND: Oh come on. D fits that description perfectly.
ME: Haha. Maybe... but he definitely didn't when I met him.
FRIEND: Ugh, you're the worst.

Maybe I am "the worst", but I'm telling the truth. I have absolutely no idea how to find, date or marry a doctor.

The first time I met D, he had just casually strolled in late to our first Grassland 3 Residence meeting, he apparently had to get his beer fridge stocked and that obviously took priority over the mandatory meeting. The second time I met him, he was running through the hallway with a beer pitcher full of vodka and fruit juice (blatent rule break... plus vodka and fruit punch? nasty). The third time I saw D, well I didn't really see him, but I heard him, out on his balcony (3 floors up) at 2am, obnoxiously yelling the infamous lil' John/Usher "YEE-YAH...OK!" (click here for a lil' stroll down memory lane). Let's just say, D, circa 2006, was about as much a Dr., as I was Swedish royalty. In fact, for our first semester of undergrad, I had no idea what his major was and it didn't seem important as I didn't figure he'd be around after Christmas break. When he returned in January, I was pleasantly surprised (as his antics were pretty entertaining). We started hanging out more thanks to a mutual friend and our joint enjoyment of basketball, and by February we were "official". It was at that point, that I realized that this crazy, sometimes obnoxious, always entertaining party-boy, was actually a very studious, intelligent, talented, and organized guy (still faaaaaaar from a doctor though).

Over the next 5 years, we grew up together. We supported each other through tough times, we encouraged each other's goals, we fought like cats and dogs, but most of all we just had fun together.

When we were married in 2011, I didn't marry a doctor. I married D. I married that crazy, party-boy I had fallen in love with. I married that guy who isn't particularly funny, but can always make me laugh (seriously though, what's your fastination with tree jokes?). I married a guy with baggage, some (read: most) of it mine, but we carry it together. We obviously didn't have kids, so I had no idea if he would be "good" with them. But to be honest, it didn't matter, he didn't have to be "good" with kids, he just needed to love them and I was confident that he would be able to do that (I was right).

The fact that D is now a doctor is amazing (no, but seriously, if you only knew D circa 2006, your mind would be blown right now). I am so incredibly proud of him, but I'd like to think that he didn't do it alone, and that my support and encouragement has helped him (at least a little bit) to get to this point.

So while, yes, I am married to a doctor, I didn't marry one and I certainly have never dated one. I didn't go looking for a doctor all those years ago in 2006. If I would have, I definitely would not have found D because that's not who he was then. D is D now because of what we are together.

So, FRIEND, if you're willing to take advice from "the worst", here's my two cents on finding "Mr. Right", throw away that list. Find someone you like to spend time with and start making memories. Or if you prefer metaphors "Don't judge a book by it's cover", instead, open it up, give it a read, turn to the blank pages at the end, and start writing.

Until next time my friends,

-A

D circa 2014

D Circa 2006

Mum Strength

Hello Friends,

This afternoon K had a mini-meltdown at the library. In his defence, it was long passed his nap time and the whole incident could have been completely avoided had I not selfishly dragged him there for Toddler Story time (read: mama-needs-a-coffee-and-some grown-up-conversation time), god love him for making it as long as he did. So there I was, wrestling my squirming, screaming, red-faced toddler into his stroller, while balancing my room-temperature coffee in one hand, all while attempting to prevent my unfortunately-low-cut, nursing top (yes, I still wear some of my maternity/nursing clothes- don't judge) from gaping open so far that the library staff hand me a lifetime library ban. However, with a little bit of athletic prowess and a lot of luck, I got the job done.

Having managed to complete this seemingly impossible task without further incident, I wheeled out of the library as fast as I could. I decided to cut through the mall fully aware that I would have to ascend 6 stairs to get out onto the street. As I approached the stairs, I played out two scenarios: Option A) I pull K out of the stroller, only to have to wrestle his tiny, little, rigor-mortis-like self back into the stroller 1 minute later (read: K has epic meltdown #2 and I look like Mum of the Year for a second time in 10 minutes) and Option B) I summon up what little strength/energy afforded to me by the 8 sips of coffee I've managed to consume and lift my 22lb diva and his 10lb ride up the 6 steps (read: K laughs at the pained look on my face, while various on-lookers are both marvelled and perplexed by my He-Man antics). Accepting that I would most definitely pay for it later on tonight, I chose Option B and lifted that stroller and it's precious cargo like it was my job (oh wait...). And that's when I heard it...

"Wow, look at that Mum Strength"- Random On-looker

This got me thinking, what does it mean to have "Mum Strength"? Surely the vast majority of able-bodied 20-somethings can lift 30lbs?

So while I appreciate compliments such as these, to me, lifting 30lbs doesn't meet the criteria for "Mum Strength". In fact, I don't measure the strength of a mum by the amount of weight she can lift, or the miles she can run, or the feet she can jump, rather I think of Mum-Strength as an immeasurable entity earned only by giving up a little bit of selfishness for your children every minute of every day.

Mum Strength to me is:

- Singing gently and talking sweetly to a colic-y 4-month old baby while you close in on the 5th hour of constant screaming (sidebar:"colic lasts for up to 6 weeks" Pfff... we had 3 fun-filled months of it)

- Patiently wiping all three courses of your tiny-human's lunch off of your face (fine, goldfish and milk, for the third meal in a row, it is.)

- Smiling as that mum at the Early Years Centre pokes fun at the way your tiny human crawls, and proceeds to tell you that her "perfect spawn" has been walking since 12 months (well, good for him, I'm sure his superior motor skills will totally grant him a pass in the future for being that weird, paste-eating kindergartner)

- Not ripping into that childless friend of yours as they ramble on about how kids are the worst or constantly compare babies to dogs (or vermin or any other non-human being) "Oh, but not K" (Yeah, Ok. Jerk.)

- Excitedly reading "The Nose Book" complete with funny voices, for the zillionth time because you're adorable little man has the biggest smile when you do (I'm sure the neighbours appreciate the effort as well)

What?! "You see a nose on every face"?? That's insane!

- Recognizing when you're about to take your entire day's frustration out on your unsuspecting husband when you hear his key jingling in the door, and instead you greet him with a kiss and a "how was your day?" (note: I'm probably only 50/50 with this one- sorry D)

- Having the courage to walk up to a group of mums and introduce yourself because those kids look to be about K's age and you know how much fun he has playing with other tiny people (I totally feel like it's my first day of grade 9 every. single. time.)

- Knowing when you need to call in the big guns ("Hey Mum, K has/wants/is doing x,y,z and I don't know what to do, I need you.")

And finally, despite being credited for my Stroller-Stair performance, I think today's true display of mum strength was:

- Knowing when to bow out of the only activity you have planned for the afternoon (mama-needs-a-coffee-and-some grown-up-conversation time) because K needs a nap. Even if it meant sitting alone on the couch, sipping a cold cup of coffee, writing a blog post that may or may not be of interest to any other human being. (Oh, and not flashing the entire library, that was pretty impressive too.. go me! haha)

While this list is, by no means, comprehensive, I think it represents how I define "Mum Strength".

The funny thing about Mum-Strength is that, ironically, it is in those most challenging moments, those moments when you feel the weakest, that you demonstrate the most strength. So I challenge all mums (and dads-as this can apply just as easily to you), to reflect on times when you felt the most challenged, the most vunerable as a mum, and recognize your strength, the strength you draw from (and for) those tiny people who depend on you.

You are doing a bang-up job. *Virtual high-fives all around!*

Until next time my friends,

-A

Mum Strength- Attending a Bridal Shower with K and Still Smiling 5hrs Later

A Waste of Time and Money

Hi Friends,

All too often, I enter into a conversation about my schooling, only to be asked "Wow, now that you're at home full-time, wasn't doing all that school a complete waste of time and money?"

Short answer. No. 

And (for those of you who would prefer a more detailed explanation) here's why...

Years One to Four:

1. I met the man (read: outrageously-outgoing, crazy party-animal) I would fall in love with and marry, and who would become the most amazing father to our little man. I also met my bestest friend in the whole world, who would become my maid of honour. A number of other amazing friends were also picked up along the way (all of whom I hope will be in my life for the next 50 or so years).

We were babies!

2. I fell in love with learning all over again. Like the kind of love I had in kindergarten when my day consisted of finger-painting, number-tracing and snacks! And while I developed a love-hate relationship with research papers, I had nothing but love for the research that was contained within those 500-5000 words. 

Research is fun!

3. I increased my financial literacy by 1000%. It's amazing how organized and driven you become when you realize the amount of money you receive from OSAP doesn't keep a roof over your head or groceries in the fridge (or beer and tequila shots in your belly). Therefore, working part-time and full-time hours were squeezed into my already full academic and social calendar (it's amazing how much partying a girl of 20 can still fit in). 

This little coffee maker was my best friend

4. I ended 4 years older than I began. My brain matured, along with my goals, hopes, dreams, expectations and ambitions. When introduced to Occupational Therapy in my fourth year, I was able to appreciate how it could combine my interests in healthcare and health promotion and passion for research, and aptly decided to persue a Master's in the field. 

Still going strong after 8 years!

Years Five and Six: 

1. I moved downtown Toronto with my handsome boyfriend (who throughout the two years would become my fiance and then husband). We learned how to live small and appreciate every square foot (all 500 of them). I re-learned how to grocery shop sans car (it's amazing how heavy a cart full of groceries can be... rookie mistake) and take big city transit (the subway isn't nearly as scary as it first seemed). Over the course of these 2 years (and the 2 following) I fell in love with the big city and all of it's hustle and bustle. It's a magical place that I wouldn't have discovered, had we not been forced into moving there for school.

Ah.. young love in the city! Haha

2. I studied Occupational Therapy and while most of my family and friends still have only a vague idea of what Occupational Therapy (OT) is. I can tell you it is an amazing profession, full of amazing people making a world of difference in the lives of countless people. For anyone interested in learning more about OT you can click here. While I'm not currently working as an OT, I apply my OT knowledge and skills almost daily (it's amazing how much of our "Pediatric Feeding and Swallowing unit" applies to mealtime at the Robertson's). This degree also solidified my love for research and teaching and has set the stage for future pursuit of a PhD (why settle for one Dr. in the house when you could have two!)

5 months pregnant at Convocation, thank goodness for big degrees!

3. I ended 2 years older then I was when I began. My brain matured, along with my goals, hopes, dreams, expectations and ambitions. When D and I discussed starting a family in my sixth year, I was able to appreciate how it could it change our lives for the better. One year later we welcomed K! While I anticipated that mummyhood would modify my goals, hopes, dreams, expectations and ambitions, nothing could prepare me for the way it would change my priorities. I never imagined that I would choose "homemaking" (I hate that term) over entering the workforce, but it is a decision I have made consciously and after much thoughtful contemplation. I also appreciate that while I've chosen to enter into the wonderful world of SAHMummyhood the ebb and flow of life will undoubtedly continue to modify my goals and shift my priorities. 

Our little family!

So no. There is no amount of money that could replace or negate the learning, growing and memories that my six years of post-secondary afforded me. Also, not a single minute of those 6 years (and the 2 that have followed) has been "wasted" as each second combines to create the life I am living and loving right now.

Until next time my friends,

-A

An Ode to Naptime

Hello Friends, 

Today's post has been especially inspired by today's naptime, though it applies almost daily. It is dedicated to those mums (and dads) around the world who, during a naptime battle, may only manage to cling to a shred of sanity by promising themselves a few guilt-free minutes of phone-time. 

Ode to Naptime

“A Mummy’s Quandary”

Why oh why child won’t you take a nap?

You and I both know you are feeling like crap.

Your face has turned all scrunchy and sour

You’ve been drunk-man stumbling for over an hour.

But still you fight it, that sweet sleepy dream

I sing ever so sweetly tho’ I just want to scream

JUST GO TO SLEEP

Finally!

I hear whimpers no more

Time to… oh crap, my phone’s on your floor. 

Today's post is brought to you by: Complete defeat. We've all been there. 

Until next time my friends!

-A

This classy shot: brought to you by a missed naptime!

Extended Breastfeeding is for "Hippie, Dippie Weirdos".. and Me!

Hello friends,

If you would have asked me a year ago if I would still be breastfeeding K on July 8, 2014, I would have laughed in your face (as I awkwardly attempted to unlatch K from my battered, beaten and bruised nipple while trying desperately to hold down the free flapping nursing cover with my inner elbow). In fact, I wrote a very candid post on my challenges with breastfeeding almost exactly one year ago (you can find that here). It's funny how a year of mummyhood can, so drastically, change your perspective.

Until today, I hadn't really thought much about what breastfeeding at 16 months meant. According to Google and (La Leche League- for those of you looking for a more "reputable" source), breastfeeding past 1 year of age, gains you access into the "Extended Breastfeeding" club. Since we are a solid 4 months beyond the criteria of 1 year, I guess our feet are firmly planted in that camp.

Before having K (and even when he was a little newbie), I never imagined belonging to such a club. Admittingly, I thought extended breastfeeding was for hippie, dippie, weirdos and their gender-neutral, organic and vegan-fed, unvaccinated, homeschooled offspring; Sky, Meadow and River-Rock. It wasn't until just recently that I realized how fast (too fast) we reached and surpassed that "normal" one year cutoff.

Cue me sitting here, frantically assessing my life choices... could it be? Am I a hippie, dippie weirdo? We try to buy local, and we choose organic when we can. We recycle, we compost, we have some potted plants on our balcony (that we've, shockingly, kept alive for more than a week). We ride bikes, not only for fun, but (gasp) for transportation. We frequent our local farmer's market, we've discussed renting a plot in our community garden...we wear lots of sunscreen and hats (of all shapes and sizes)... we have library cards (and actually take out books)... and I'm breastfeeding my 16 month old! Oh. my. god. It's true!

But then I remember, we shop at Walmart (a lot), we just went on a week long road trip in a gas guzzling GMC Acadia (great ride by the way), we like to treat ourselves with McDonalds and our favourite family restaurant is Montana's (a tasty, meaty cookhouse). K is up-to-date on all of his vaccines (flu-shot included) and there's no way I would consider homeschooling (this mum will deserve a break after 5 years of full-time mummyhood). Phew. Safe, for now. That was a close call.

But in all seriousness. We are still happily breastfeeding over here, and I don't think that it's weird at all. Past me would shutter to think of myself breastfeeding a walking, (somewhat) talking toddler, breastfeeding is for babies only, you're keeping that toddler in a perpetual state of babyhood-you weirdo. But present me sees the happy, well adjusted, independent little guy who still wants a couple minutes a day to cuddle with mummy while we do our thing.

As a mum, I'm quickly realizing that "societal norms" are more arbitrary than pre-mum me believed them to be. From my perspective, extended breastfeeding does not equal radical, hippie extremeist. And I think it's safe to assume that most people who know me, wouldn't conjure up my face when asked to think of one. I think it's important for all parents (new and seasoned) to remember that these "norms" don't always lend themselves to the style of parenting you've embraced and that's ok. You do what feels right to you, and I'll do what feels right to me and we will agree to talk about... last night's episode of MasterChef, what Princess Kate wore to Wimbledon or whatever it is he's eating over there.. it looks delicious!

Until next time!

-A

Boys will be... whatever the heck you teach them to be.

Hello Friends,

The recent "Like a Girl" campaign by Always has inspired today's post. Having been raised on a dairy farm with three sisters and no brothers, I (along with my sisters) had the privilege of growing up in an environment relatively free of the narrow-minded "like a girl" view of the female gender. Now, I can't speak to whether or not my childhood would have played out differently had I had brothers, but I can tell you that the cows couldn't have cared less whether that human walking towards them had a penis or a vagina (or both!), so long as they were pitching hay, carrying a milker or tending to whatever needs/wants they had at the time. Sometimes I wish my fellow members of society were more like cows.

As I reflect on discussions/comments/general encounters I have had with a people since finding out and sharing K's gender, I have come to realize that this siloed way of thinking with respect to gender is still very much alive. While many of these comments are seemingly harmless, over the past year, they have really started to bother me. Here's a sampling of said comments, along with my accompanying (outrageously sarcastic) internal dialogue.

"Well, you have to put him into hockey, his dad played after all..."
- Yes, I will blindly put my son into everything and anything his father did, because that what perfect little boys do. I will completely disregard his interests and avoid expanding/broadening his horizons because everyone knows the only thing little boys are good at/want to do are sports. I completely acknowledge that putting him into activities that I enjoyed as a child like; dance or voice lessons is completely absurd, because he does not have a vagina. It's not like I would have ever done "boy" things like play sports, or drive a tractor, or clip cows, or been waist deep in mud and cow crap, oh wait... "

"You took him wedding dress shopping (he was 8 weeks old at the time)?! There's no way he enjoyed that, a boy in a dress shop it's so girly in there..."
- A) My baby is 8 weeks old, I could've taken him to the freaking moon and he would've been completely oblivious to that and B) I will expose my young son to all sorts of "girly" things because maybe that way when he's 15 and has a knack for sewing/designing and wants nothing more than to pick up a sketch book and design wedding dresses/Broadway costumes/fancy hats he will do so, as opposed to detrimentally suppressing his desires/interests/dreams to satisfy society's need to see him shoot a hockey puck. 

"You let him play with a purse? Well I guess that's OK, he'll have to learn how to hold it for his woman someday anyway..."
- Are you for real right now? For one thing, murses are in. Second, maybe he will  hold a purse for his partner someday, but it will be his choice and that person may or may not be a "woman". What decade are we living in?!

Now all that being said, I openly acknowledge that I will, in fact, put my son in sports. This is not because I think all boys need to play sports, but because I think everyone needs to play sports. Sports teach discipline, teamwork, how to win and lose gracefully, problem solving, basic motor skills and so much more. They also keep your heart healthy. However, I will also put him in dance, music, orienteering, 4-H, book club, painting, beauty pageants or whatever his little heart desires because I want him to grow to become a respectful, happy and fulfilled human being.

Sometimes I think it might have been easier if K was girl, because then I could just pump her so full of confidence and self-assurance that she would be a beacon for all other girls. I could show her first hand how a girl can do it, and society wouldn't fight me nearly as much for it, because it would be perfectly understandable that a girl grows up to be like her mum. But then I look at my amazing, bubbly, outgoing little boy, and I understand that I have been blessed with this perfect little penis-bearing being for a reason. I was raised with the understanding that girls can do anything boys can do and I believe that to the core. It will by my job to pass on that value to our little man, and I am more than up for that challenge. Bring it on society.

Until next time my friends!

-A

"Doing dishes" at IKEA

Cuttin' up a rug on the dancefloor

Hanging with the Ladies

DJ Kelly J 

Kellen and his Murse

Shopping with Mummy

A Baby Well-Travelled!

Our tiny little family has been on the go since K’s arrival just over a year ago. With a med student (now resident) for a daddy we have had a lot of practice living out of suitcases. In fact, the past year featured over three months of us living places other than home! And while this may have been a nightmare for routine development (that we continue to pay for), K has become pro at sleeping just about anywhere (so long as he has his trusty pack and play and snuggly blanket). So when planning what to do for D’s final break before residency, we decided to give a jet setting, ferry-boating, rocky-mountain driving adventure a try (and boy was it an adventure)! While this trip, by no means, makes us an authority on travelling with a toddler, I’d like to think that our making it home with everyone in one piece grants us access to the super cool exclusive Have Baby Will Travel Club! As one of the newest members of this is super exclusive club (be jealous), I would like to share with you a few things learned while obtaining this elite membership.

Flying with a toddler:

1. Pray for at least one vacant seat on the plane. The person lucky enough to be the third in your row will take it from there (i.e. spy it and ask to be moved- in our case this took approx .6s). 

Baby Avioner

2. Flight attendants like flirty toddlers. Flirting early on in the flight allows for a blind-eye to be turned/or funny-face making assistance when dealing with the inevitable toddler crankiness later in the flight. It also gains your whole entourage extra cookies at snack time, score! (And yes, I called “in-flight refreshments” snack time… haha).  

3. Pack more wipes than you think you will need (then add a few more). You never know when you will have to manage a 9/10 poop-tastrophe mid flight that will leave you wipeless (and fearful of the wrath of every bite of food consumed by your tiny human for the remaining 3hrs of flight).

4. Don’t spend any extra energy worrying about the other passengers on the plane. You will need every ounce of it to come up with new entertaining activities that can be done with the limited number of resources at your disposal (toys/Tupperware/napkins/plastic cups/TV buttons). It is surprisingly draining to come up with activities that can be done in 1ft by 0ft radius. Besides everyone loves to tell their epic story about that nightmare plane ride they had with that 1 year old, you don’t want to deprive anyone of that experience, nor do you want to be the reason Mr. Big Shot Financial can’t one-up his buddy at the bar.

Ferrying with a toddler:

1. Find the children’s play area, and then take solace in knowing that, like at any playground, your child will not be the worst behaved. Also, take a few moments to bask in the adorableness of your toddler interacting with other kids. K has a real thing for “older” women, he had a 6 year old wrapped around his little finger- and scored some exclusive toy truck playtime out of it!

Chillin' on the smoker's deck

2. If you find yourself with a sweet view and minimal wind while out on deck- you’re probably in the smoking section (in this case, it’s best to take the baby back inside D).

3. Wait until the final “call for passengers to return to vehicles”. We still had plenty of time to get back, and it beat having K all strapped in his seat with nowhere to go (since lets just say K’s “singing” leaves a little (earmuffs) to be desired)!

Roadtripping with a toddler:

All smiles in the car

1. Just do it! The good thing about toddlers is that they all seem to have vehicle-induced narcolepsy.

2. Having a toddler along for the ride also kept us on top of stretching and meal breaks. This kept us feeling good!

3. Find a hotel chain you like, and stick with it! Also, when selecting a hotel, look at the floor plan to ensure there is a playpen-sized alcove (unless you want to “hit the hay” at the same time as your 15month old). Entranceways double surprisingly well as a baby’s room. For us this was the Holiday Inn Express (bonus: includes a free full breakfast every morning). Our only regret is not joining the loyalty program as we stayed there four different times (dang).

Kelowna at Sunset

Overall we flew a total of 6056 km and drove approx 1570 km with our little man in tow. We had a great time and would highly recommend a trip to through the Rockies to anyone looking for breathtaking vistas and family fun adventure (note: it could definitely be done much less G-rated for all you single and/or childless and/or too cool for PG-school people- you know who you are). We will remember this trip forever, in fact, when we are old and grey and living with dementia, there is a good chance that this trip is where I will believe myself to be (and I wholly look forward to that).

Until next time my friends,

-A

Lake Louise

Beach in Victoria

Beach in Kelowna

Spiral Tunnel

Kananaskis

Meeting Auntie A's Horse V

Year Two: Some Drink Wine

Although, I anticipate some backlash, I’m going to say it. Being a stay at home mom is incredibly boring. Not all the time, but I would say, like 96% of the time. Don’t get me wrong; it’s great to be able to afford the luxury of being at home with K.  I know many moms who would jump at the chance to be in these practical, comfortable, mom-shoes. These are the most precious years right?!  Unfortunately, “precious” doesn’t translate into stimulating (or even intelligible) conversation, peaceful contemplation or even respectful interactions (cue K jabbing me in the eye with his index finger- followed by laughter…his of course.). If any mom begs to differ, the publishing of a “how-to manual” would be greatly appreciated because you, my friend, are some sort of supernatural being and are holding out on the rest of us poor suckers.

Being a stay-at-home mom (SAHM) is a full-time job, despite what some people think, and a challenging (and crappily-paying) one at that. Now, I’m not going to go into detail about this fact or draw witty parallels between SAHMs and CEOs, but I could, and there have been many, much funnier, woman who have done this (you can Google them, if you’re having trouble drawing a comparison, or appreciating this fact). Instead, I’m going to talk about a couple different ways SAHMs tackle this whirlwind of an occupation.

But first, I should clarify; when I talk about SAHMs, I’m talking about staying at home, post maternity-leave. Maternity-leavers are often the biggest offender to the SAHM, as they have up to one magical year of baby-snuggles, stereotypical “firsts”, and of course all of the sleep-deprived wonderfulness that comes with the first year of a tiny human’s life. While, they can appreciate the boredom, and exhaustion that comes with being a full-time caregiver, they inevitably have that “light at the end of the tunnel” return to the workforce, which in fairness to them, they may be dreading. But nonetheless, this perspective often translates to the following phrase, “I would love to be at home with my baby, I miss him/her so much when I go to work” and “oh, man, I know how you feel, when I was at home it was _____ too!”, or something to that effect. These types of statements, not only make me want to roll my eyes, but they also make me feel really guilty. However, much of mummyhood is about managing mom-guilt, so allow me to manage away! Also, to the working mum, kudos, it must be tough, but I don’t have that perspective, so it will be up to one of you to write that post.  

There are many different types of SAHMs, and I know for a fact that while all must have boring moments during the day, some are better at keeping a baseline level of entertainment in their lives. I can’t possibly account for all types of SAHM, so I’ll just speak to three different types:

1. Etsy Mums- These moms are super crafty. They are your stereotypical SAHM taken to the next level. They not only excel at arts and crafts, but also have converted their talents into paying gigs. They make up 99% of Etsy stores, but you can also find them peddling their products at your local farmers markets, at Mum Groups and on Mum BST websites. These mums are good, I doubt they are as bored as the rest of us, one may say they are rocking (or painting, or sewing, or knitting…) this whole SAHM thing.

            My only complaint with the Etsy-Mum movement is that anytime “boredom” is brought up in conversation, it is inevitably suggested that I take up a hobby/craft. No offence to the Etsy mums, but this is not for me; I can’t foresee myself creating one-of-a-kind masterpieces on the daily (mine take 9 months of baking… haha).

2. Blogger Mums- To be a true Blogger mum, you have to be really committed. Like iron-man training committed. Unfortunately for the real blogging mamas, there are a lot of Blogger Mama Posers out there. We only have a few followers. We only post once ever 3 months (if that). The only people giving us feedback are our significant others (who, after being forced to read our posts, fearfully only give rave reviews) and our own mums (who secretly chuckle that we are being paid back for many years of their dealing with our pre-mum antics). Jokes on us though, because real bloggers morph all of those boring moments into entertaining ones by taking the opportunity to avidly gather content for future posts (that they diligently write) AND are paid for their cleverly crafted opinion pieces on motherhood.

3. Those who drink wine- While this is pretty self-explanatory, I will elaborate a bit. One can replace wine with any tasty beverage really; fancy coffees, infused water, we do not discriminate! This category is for us mums who haven’t found our SAHM calling yet. Those who need a few minutes of escape from the boring that could consume our very personhood. Those of us who have chosen this path of parenting, but second-guess our decision every third minute or so. The time it takes us to consume these delicious beverages is usually the amount of time needed to refresh and recharge our mum batteries. It also allows us to feel like a real grown up, if only for a brief moment (until the reality of the fact that that handsome barista is really just a precariously piled stack of dishes from last night- and the insightful conversation you are having is really going something like this “go get your train, trains say choo choo, yes mummy would love to hold your train, oh! You want it back?! Ok here you go…”). The only problem with this category is that the benefit of wine (beverage) drinking is short lived (and it's hard to find someone to pay you to indulge). Hahah

Now that we are back from vacation, all settled in our new city, and D has started residency, reality has set in. Adjusting to life as a SAHM has been a challenge for me. Staying at home with your child(ren) takes a level of creativity and ingenuity that I definitely did not expect. While this lifestyle has not come naturally to me, I am having fun trying to figure out where I fit on the SAHM spectrum. I know it’s only a matter of time before I figure something out, as the boredom of the daily grind has me chompin’ at the bit. But for now, I shall sit here sipping my Grande Caramel Machiatto sharing my poser-blogger thoughts with you all!

Until Next Time my Friends!

-A

All Dressed Up for Daddy's Convocation