The last hug.

Arms outstretched, I lean in. The warm familiarity engulfs me. I hold tight for just a little longer, as if doing so will transfer all my love directly into their heart. As we part, a smile bubbles up from my chest bursting out from the corners of my mouth. “Drive safe. See you next year!” they joke, as if “next year” isn’t a week away. I muster an obligatory chuckle. If I knew then, what I know now, I would have held on for longer, leaned in a little harder, really soaked it in.  

That moment has sustained me for nearly a year; but as the anniversary of that last hug from mom and dad draws nearer, its gravity starts to diminish. An emptiness starts to fill the void. I panic as I imagine never getting to hug them again. If in less than a year, that magic starts to fade I shutter at the thought of…

I know, I know. I am being dramatic; but the reality is being apart from loved ones is hard.

As another round of holidays barrel towards us in the time of Covid, I am reminded of our mortality, and of how little control we really have over our lives. I am reminded not to take moments (and hugs) for granted. While I'm hopeful that my parents and I will get a hug (or two) in in 2021, as mere mortals we never truly know which hug will be our last. So, when it is once again safe to give out hugs, watch out world, as I intend to hold them for an uncomfortable length of time!

Circa Sept 2019

 

 

Three and done? No way! 5 ways I will have more children

Gone are the days when I stare down the pregnancy test, forcefully willing it to display a single line, or perhaps two, depending on the year. My heart pounding as I do the same dance, first refusing to look, then nervously peeking, painfully scrutinizing, and squinting just to be sure. Four pregnancies, three babies and one vasectomy later, I no longer need to spend a small fortune on pregnancy tests. Barring a medical miracle, my uterus will not be housing any more bundles of joy. However, my family is not complete. While I do not plan on birthing any more babies, I’m not done having kids.   

If parenting has taught me anything, it is that life is unpredictable. It is not a perfectly mapped out journey, rather a collection of destinations scattered across a series of pages, some held by you, some held by others. Despite only having a tiny piece of the map, I really feel like I have hit my stride with parenting. Don’t get me wrong, I do have days where I want to run away from it all; but I love being a mom and having the opportunity to shape, mould and nurture little peoples’ minds.

They say once a mom, always a mom and I while I am still knee deep raising the 3 that live under my roof, I can already see how I will continue to add to my kid count.

1. My Kid’s Friends

Now that my kids are in school, I have had the pleasure of meeting and hearing about many of their school friends. While some parents may not always appreciate the role we play in the lives of our kids’ friends; I am acutely aware of the impact of an impromptu after-school conversation or play-date check-ins on the development of their hopes and dreams. Through my own kids, I learn so much about their friends’ goals, hesitancies, resources, and fears. Detailed and unfiltered reports from our kids uniquely position us to offer support and encouragement to their friends. I feel a responsibility to these young minds to facilitate their goals in the same way I do my own.

2. My Friends’ Kids

Almost all my friends are parents now, and boy does that make me feel old. While I sometimes long for the carefree days of childless partying and flourishing into our own together, there is something special about being an unofficial “auntie” to this growing collective of children. The love and support I showered on my partners in crime, as teens and 20-somethings has effortlessly trickled down to their offspring. Whether its sitting bedside of a teeny baby extremely eager to meet us all in person (a whopping three months early), supporting a preschooler’s decision to forgo pants for a summer, or reading up on what it means to be a toddler with celiac; I love these kids with all my being and would take each and every one of them in in a heartbeat.

3. Nieces and Nephews

This squad of little people has been part of my narrative since long before they were born. My sisters and I did not spend our childhoods daydreaming about babies, rather some of us balked at the idea of kids altogether. However, as kids, we were tasked with naming the calves born on the farm and inevitably, we would end up arguing over who would get to use what name for their own kids someday. Those name lists are long gone, and thankfully Princess, Honey, or Panache were not bestowed upon any of our children. What remains, is the special connection of my nieces and nephews to not only my childhood but my first exploration of what it meant to be a mom. I love each and every one of them and will root for their success and happiness in life until the day I die; and if that does not sum up being a mom, then I don’t know what does.

4. Foster Children

While fostering kids is not something we are actively exploring, it is on my radar for the future. We are fortunate to be in a position where we have the stability and the resources to provide a safe landing place for kids who would otherwise be at the mercy of a strained system. The opportunity to weave into a child’s life to offer support, encouragement and stability is not unlike motherhood in general. I was handed 3 different babies in 3 different delivery rooms not knowing how long we would be together or how long they would need me, but nevertheless committed my love and unconditional support to each one. It is with the same passion and commitment to the unknown that I will welcome these beautiful souls into our family.

5. Exchange Students

This is a biggie for me, and something I hold near and dear to my heart. I have dozens of brothers and sisters all around the world because my parents opened our home over 50 times to youth in search of a place to learn and grow. As a mom and global citizen, I feel it is my job to offer myself as a surrogate mom to young people in search of cross-cultural experiences. It can be scary to leave everything and everyone you know in search of adventure and learning, and it is up to parents all around the world to offer the familiarity of kind words, helpful hands, and non-judgmental guidance (or at the very least, someone to read you the riot act before attending that high school keg party). I plan on having a whole bunch of kids this way (bonus is they all come potty-trained)!

Regardless of the number I end up with, I know motherhood will continue to be an exciting adventure of delicately weaving in and out of my kids lives. At times, I will play a large role but much more often I will be working silently in the background to support, encourage and facilitate their growth. There is no shortage of kids needing that kind of love. So, am I done having kids? Absolutely not. In fact, as a parent, I don’t believe any of us are truly “done having kids”, because like I said before once a parent always a parent.  

Parenting in a pandemic: 5 ways to raise resilient kids

The pan sizzles as the partially defrosted ground beef hits the cast-iron. I glance at my phone, it’s 5:15 pm, although according to the stove, it’s 3:34 am. I make a mental note to fix that tomorrow. The kids barrel into the kitchen. “It’s snowing! Can we go outside?”. I sigh audibly. If the older 2 go out, the toddler is no doubt, right behind them. I just want to make the damn spaghetti sauce, hurry along bedtime, and watch adult TV. “Fine.” I concede. I grab my coat, leaving the beef unmanned. Dinner is already late.

I recoil as the crisp October air hits my face. October snow. How very 2020 of you mother nature.

As I step down off the porch I am struck with the most beautiful sight. Three kids, laughing, smiling, and catching snowflakes on their tongues. The same kids who, not 10 minutes ago, were fighting about who’s foot got to rest on the blue pillow; who got to clip the wooden train tracks together and; who got to hold the broken string of dollar store beads at dinner time. For a moment, there is no global pandemic, no climate crisis, and no divisive politics, just unexpected snow, and joy and fresh air. In this most cliché of moments, I am reminded of and comforted by the resiliency of our kids.

Kids are naturally resilient. Remarkable moments, like a first snowfall, or going back to school during a pandemic, unmask that resiliency; but make no mistake it is always there. As parents it is important to foster that resiliency not only for the benefit of our children, but also to help build our own. 

Foster resiliency, for them and us. Got it. But how?

1. Tell them you love them.

Obviously, it is important to show your love through actions; but it is equally important to say the words out loud. Even if its through gritted teeth after a disastrous evening full of tears and tantrums and delayed bedtimes. Words matter. Hearing the words “I love you” gives your kids the space to say it back and creates additional pathways to that message in the brain. The simple act of saying it out loud makes it easier to retrieve in stressful times. Whether it’s tonight at bedtime or twenty years from now over the phone, exchanging “I love you” with your kids has the power to elicit the feelings of safety and nostalgia associated with being a kid or a parent of one. Resilience.

2. Listen to them.

Like, actually listen to what they have to say. I can appreciate there will be times, a lot of times when you have to multitask or when you just can’t. But make sure to make time for them. Put the phone down, close the laptop and look them in the eye while they tell you all about their dream of operating a Puppy Palace Vet Hospital and Grooming Centre or whatever fantastical ambition they have. As parents we need to acknowledge and support their dreams, but it’s equally important to ask solid follow-up questions and challenge their plans. The world is definitely going to. An active conversation can take imagination and passion to the next level while helping your kids develop the ability to adapt, modify or justify their ideas. Through these conversations our kids also have the power to inspire and challenge us to develop and justify our own dreams. Resilience.

3. Share your feelings with them.

If your feeling something, tell them. Label your feelings, say I am frustrated (sad, disappointed, relieved, excited, scared, overjoyed). By sharing your feelings, you give them permission to have and share their own; and by labeling them you give them a roadmap to communicate their feelings with you and the rest of the world. Just as importantly, you avoid bottling up your emotions leaving you better able to deal with life’s unpredictable ups and downs. Resilience.

4. Don’t solve every problem for them.

That being said, do help them solve the big ones or the little ones that create big emotions. You might be tempted to let them struggle, that it somehow builds character (and resilience) but be careful with that approach. While let them figure it out is completely appropriate for finding shoes, dividing up the last chocolate chip cookie and taking turns on the slide, it can be harmful for things like dealing with a bully, struggling with schoolwork, and navigating loss. Instead, offer support, guidance, and the resources you have amassed through your years of struggle. As a species we have been able to evolve and create amazing things because the people who came before us shared their experience, helping us avoid dangers and freeing us to focus on tackling bigger and better things. Working through the big things together can help everyone avoid creating bigger issues or needlessly repeating past struggles. Resilience.

5. Recognize that you wouldn’t be a parent without them.

This might seem obvious, but it can be easy to forget that we would not be the same parents with different children. Our kids shape and mould us as much as we shape and mould them. Our experience of and approach to parenting is intimately linked to our specific children. While it can sometimes feel like we have complete control over how we parent, the reality is our kids teach us how to parent them. So, be open to their lessons, sometimes they have answers we do not. Recognize that, as parents you learn and grow with your children, allowing you to capitalize on each other’s strengths and compensate for each other’s weaknesses. Resilience.

Resiliency is listening to your kids when they suggest a breather, a moment of fresh air. It is eating dinner 45 min late, skipping bath, and only having time for three books before bed. It is recognizing the world won’t stop spinning because you leave dinner on the stove for 20 min while the kids stomp around in the backyard. It is appreciating that a 20 min disruption on a typical Tuesday night might be all it takes to remind us that life is bigger than routines, schedules, and this week’s new cycle. Resiliency is knowing when to lead and when to follow. Kids are naturally resilient. If we can foster that resiliency, we will all be better positioned to succeed in life; and in 2020, the year of chaos and unprecedented events, resiliency is more important now than ever.  

I can't breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Three words that I have never uttered but still elicit a tightness in my chest, a knot in my stomach, panic in my heart.

I can’t breathe.

Three words that, as a white woman, I am more likely to associate with inside jokes and belly-laughter.

I can’t breathe.

Three words that, as a mother, I hope to hell my children never need to gasp.

But as a white mother, the nightmare plays out in a crowded public pool or trapped under wreckage on the side of a highway. Not at the hands of law enforcement.  

I have privilege. I am white. I am not poor. As a mother, the lessons I get to teach my children about the “dangers of the real world” include islands of refuge, safe places, and people to turn to for help. I can confidently tell my children that if they are in trouble, or if someone or something feels unsafe, they can seek the shelter of a police officer. I can send my children out into the world knowing that there is social infrastructure to help me keep them safe.

I can’t breathe.

But it’s not because I can place myself or a family member underneath the boot of that police officer.

As a white mother I get to teach my children that if they break a law or do something stupid, they may be arrested or detained. I get to warn them that the punishment would fit the crime, and may be a hefty fine, a night in the drunk tank, a few months in jail. However, I do not have to teach them that that the price of any infraction, perceived or real, may be their life. 

I can’t breathe.

Because since the murder of George Floyd, I have heard numerous people of privilege suggest systemic racism can be stopped if only we take a cue from children. To not see colour, not see differences. As if this earns them a gold star in race relations and can magically combat the racism that runs prevalently through our society.

I can’t breathe.

Because I know that there are children, far younger than my own, who do see colour, who do see differences. Who have witnessed their parents be racially profiled, who have had playmates whisked away by racist caregivers, who have been warned by their parents not to wear a hoodie, not to cut through a neighbours backyard, not to gather in large groups with their friends.

I can’t breathe.

Because there are people, some that I love, that forward racist chain mail, create racist memes, support racist members of parliament.

Because there are people who believe that what happened to George Floyd was the result of one bad apple.

I can’t breathe.

Because while I teach my children that all humans are created equally, I must also teach them that society does not treat them equally. I must implore them to do better, to call out the same injustices that many adults in their life are unwilling to address.

I can’t breathe.

Because I can only begin to imagine how vastly different my experience of motherhood is from a mother of colour.

I can’t breathe.

Because tackling racism is an uphill battle, and as a white woman I know I’m not even looking at the same hill.

And that too, elicits a tightness in my chest, a knot in my stomach and panic in my heart.