Do Not Tell Me Not To Worry

"Relax."
"Don't worry."
"Be sure of yourself."
"Everything is ok and normal."

You know what's not helpful? All of those statements. And as mothers of children who are older than our peers, sometimes we say these things to other mothers looking for help, thinking we are being helpful. When really, we should just shut the hell up.

As a new mother, the world of parenting is "holy shit, what have I gotten myself into, all I wanted was a back rub and now I have a screaming 2-year-old" kind of scary. It's full of self-doubt and conflicting information and long books and self-important blogs (not this one though, definitely not this one.) So of course, when faced with a dilemma such as, "how do I get my child to eat anything other than food that is the colour blue?" we follow our primal instincts and go back to the tribe. The tribe of mothers. Those women who have been in the trenches and have come out alive, with seemingly well-adjusted children who eat the whole rainbow and go the bathroom IN THE POTTY. We put our hearts on our sleeves and we ask them "how? what? why? when?" and we pray that just one of those answers will result in the addition of peas and carrots and maybe even lentils to the dinner repertoire, a successful night's sleep, finally saying goodbye to the soother.

And then, like the sweeping curtain of Trump's combover, the feedback comes in like a tidal wave.

"I know how you feel!"
"I tried XYZ and it worked like a charm for us."
"My mother says this 1234 always worked for us."
"Tell me when you find out the answer!"
"Me too."

And for a moment you have a swatch of solutions that just might, possibly, for a single night, meal, car ride, work. There is hope, a light at the end of the tunnel you call the bedtime routine.

But inevitably, the feedback takes a turn into something akin to the First Wives Club, only this time is the More Experienced Moms Club and they're telling you:

"Relax."
"Don't worry."
"Be sure of yourself."
"Everything is ok and normal."

You know what? I CAN'T RELAX. I AM NOT SURE OF MYSELF! IF I WAS SURE OF MYSELF WHY THE HECK WOULD I BE POSTING IN A G.D. FACEBOOK GROUP?!?

Let me tell you that I'm not coming to the tribe with a question because I need to be told to relax. You know what's relaxing? Having a complete stranger tell you you're overreacting. Yup. Super relaxing.

I don't pretend to be above this. Oh no, I know that I have done this too. It's so easy to look back and see that of course, eventually, they let go of the need to wear the same shirt in a row for 30 days. It's so easy to look back and laugh at how paranoid you were that they might not actually turn over onto their stomachs. As one astute dad once told me, "I've never met an adult who cannot turn over from their back to their stomach." But it doesn't mean that in the moment, you can see into the future. It doesn't mean that you're not worried about it RIGHT NOW. It doesn't mean that you can just throw out vague statements that imply you are overreacting because it's condescending, not helpful.

Real solutions are helpful. Have a tip about how you taught your child to tie their shoelaces using a YouTube video and string cheese? I want to hear THAT. Did you potty train your child by keeping a bucket of suckers next to the toilet? Sounds GREAT! If you can tell me on which night of walking your child back to bed 32 times that they actually staying in bed, that will give me a realistic expectation of what my jail sentence (I mean week) is going to look like.

Yes, every child is different. We all know that. But there are similarities, common roadblocks, and shared experiences that can help us wade through this loaded minefield of parenting. We owe it to each other to take a moment and ask ourselves the same question you would ask when buying a bottle of tequila for a birthday present:

"Is this going to help the person I am giving it to? Or is it really more about me?"

So the next time you're sitting at coffee with a fellow parent, logging into to your local chat group, or dolling out paint at parent participation preschool and that parent asks you for any tips or suggestions on how to stop little Johnny from only eating the marblestyle cheesestrings for breakfast, lunch and dinner perhaps either offer a real solution that worked for you or say "man, I remember how hard that was for us."

And keep your relaxation breaths to your damned self.

~ H

Childfree Costco

Most of you know my contempt for shopping with kids at Costco. The anxiety that comes with finding a parking spot, to the constant "no we are not buying this/that/those" to finally unpacking the cart while the children hoot and holler from their car seats. 

But can we talk about those far and few between childfree Costco trips that feel like a little slice of paradise? Can we talk about how it feels to not give a shit about where you park, because parking further away means the solo trip will take a bit longer and be a few more steps in your step count for the day? 

Let's talk about how it feels to put your PURSE in the bench seat. My purse doesn't demand to sit on one side, and then promptly change its mind to sit on the other. My purse doesn't insist on strapping itself in, only to fumble with the clip for 5 minutes while screaming "I DO IT MYSELF MOM!"

Let's talk about spending five quiet minutes trying to determine, "what kind of salad bowl person am I?". Am I a multicoloured plastic "Mexican fiesta-style fun loving" salad bowl person? Or am I more of a rectangle cherry blossom painted "Orient Express smoky cool" salad bowl person? Who knows and who cares, but I am certainly going to spend some childfree time pondering it. 

Let's talk about picking bread - seeds or no. With children in tow, I am tossing the McGavins 3-pack whole wheat in the cart at a frenetic pace with little regard for nutritional value or pairing options. Childless and carefree, I am reading the labels and thinking about whether I want flax seeds with my natural peanut butter or 12 grains with my nitrate-free ham. My bourgeois tendencies mimic the fire rating for today - EXTREME. 

Let's talk about the samples. All the samples. Why yes, I will sample the chocolate bark thank you very much. Guacamole made from organic avocados? Of course it is a party favourite! I must try it! What do you mean it will be another 10 minutes for the chicken sausage?!? Don't you realize I just sampled cheese and need to compliment it with meat. C'mon people!

And finally, let's talk about breezing out of the doors. Groceries paid for. No smiley face on the receipt for me today, thank you very much. The slow deliberate walk to the car. The quiet unpacking of the cart and the lazy return of the cart. The car seats filled, not with children, but with quiet toilet paper and placid diapers. 

Let's take a moment and savour the childfree trips to Costco. Savour and smile. 

~ H

Change of format

I'm thinking about adding a little extra to this blog - a monthly post of family friendly events happening in the Tri-Cities and Ridge Meadows. I'm hoping this new addition will:

• Keep me posting more regularly
• Attract new readers (tell your friends!)
• Bring some light during the darker times
• Did I mention I want to post more often?

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this idea. Leave a comment on the post about what you'd like to see here.

~ H

The Seven Year Itch

My husband and I have reached that next milestone in our lives - the one where some of your friends start, to borrow from Gwyneth Paltrow, consciously uncoupling. We're past the expensive years of engagement parties, booze-filled destination stags and stagettes, and weddings that are all pretty much the same (rustic, outdoorsy, nature - it's all the same fucking thing okay?); past the gender reveals, the baby showers and almost past the epic over-the-top 50 person first birthday party. It's okay, I did it too. You're among friends. 

And now we're here. People slowly starting to figure out their marriages aren't working, they aren't the same people anymore, they want different things. And it's freaking terrifying for those of us on the sidelines. We huddle together, shocked when we first hear of inklings of discontent. "Wow, I had no idea. They seemed so happy. We just had a dinner/vacation/celebration with them. I never thought it was that bad" And as a husband and wife you begin to look at one another, critically, wondering what is going on beneath the surface. Wondering if there's something he's not saying. Wondering if there's someone else she is talking to. Wondering, "could that be us?" Because you thought you were close, you thought you were the same as them. You thought you'd have your whole lives together, though maybe you'd drift apart if your kids played different sports. Or you might have a disagreement over where to go on a joint family vacation. But you never thought that this could happen. To them. To you. 

Mind you, it's not happening to you. But something is happening to you. You're wondering, 

"Would I let get that far? 

How would I know when to say something? 

Should I change? 

Should he change?

Do we need a change now, like a preemptive change?

Am I overthinking this? (The answer is always, unequivocally, yes for me on this one)"

And undoubtedly, you're laying blame on these friends, as a way of supporting yourself. Telling yourself that perhaps they didn't do this, or they should have done that. And aren't you a big person for recognizing that. Pat yourself on the back. You know that by doing this you're a terrible friend. But the idea of being a terrible friend is slightly more appealing that the dark notion that you can do all these things and they might not work. They might not "save the day". That at the end of it all, no counselling, date nights, moves, new job, no job, more babies, is going to save you. Some marriages can't be saved. You don't speak your vows in front of 150 people at your rustic wedding (sorry, I had to) with the idea that your marriage might be the one. The one that doesn't last. You can have no way of knowing that 5, 7, 10 years later, you'll look at that person and decide you don't want to married to them anymore. 

So if you can't know beforehand, and by the time you realize it, it might be too late as evidenced by your surrounding friends and family, you can't not be terrified when you hear from a friend they are having "marriage problems". 

You can't not wonder, "are we okay?" But you can grab the wheel, you can continue to drive the car you are in, even if your friends aren't driving the same way anymore. You can say to your spouse "I'm scared and I want to be okay."

~ H

Race Day

Race day

I know. I haven't written in ages. No excuses. I just haven't written. Let's move on. Because today is RACE DAY!

For those of you who have not had a race day, I want to explain my process to you. Because race day is like the first day of school. Increased by 1,000. The night before race day, I am silent. Don't talk to me because I am busy processing every iota of what will be tomorrow. I am laying out my swimsuit, sports bra, bike shorts, shirt, and socks. I'm making my overnight oats, while muttering to myself "don't forget your earbuds, water bottle, goggles, swim cap, money, change of clothes, wait, did I make a water bottle? WHERE ARE MY EARBUDS?!?!" I'm walking myself through the race, wondering where I should put my stuff so I am out of the way but not too out of the way. I have a bath to calm down, but it's not as comfortable as I would like in our 1970's small tub. I try to read, but my thoughts drift to my transition plan (exiting the pool and heading for the bike, as well as getting off my bike and starting to swim). I go sleep, and usually, thankfully, sleep deeply until 5:55 a.m. I set my alarm for 6:45 a.m., stupidly thinking that I can sleep that long. Yeah right. The first twitch and I am up, itching to move and get going, like a child on Christmas morning. I try not to rush, since the race isn't for hours. But there's nothing left to do, for I have prepped the night before. Read the news? Good luck. My eyes reread the same words over and over. I move slowly, sip my tea, eat my oats. And I check the clock. Five minutes have passed.

Fuck.

I got to the bathroom, the first of many nervous pees. I pee all the time on race morning. There, I said it. ALL THE TIME. It's a bit ridiculous. I pack up my stuff. Double check my list. Earbuds. Check. Water bottle. Check. Wallet. Check. Flip flops. Check. Goggles. Check. Shoes pre-tied so I can slide them on during transition. Nope. Do it now. Put everything in the car. Load up my bike. Double check my stuff. Get in the car and go, because I'd rather be early to the race than kill time at home. 

Itchy. Pacing. Nervous.

When I drive to a race, two things happen. 

One - I listen to electronic dance music or rap so loud I cannot hear myself think. The whole way. I do this on purpose. Because of the second thing that always happens on race day. 

Two - I cry on race day. Every time. My emotions are running on overdrive, close to the surface, and I always cry driving to the race. Sometimes about something specific, sometimes just because. 

I get to the race and I'm early. Always. Like somehow I think the drive will take me three times as long, but it never does. And I get there and I wait. And I wait. And I wait. The nerves get better and then worse and then better. And then it's time to line up! I make nervous conversation with the people behind me in line, attempting to sound more experienced than I feel. My stomach bounces and my hands open, close, open, as I desperately just want this thing to start. 

As whistle goes and I quickly to the front of the line as more people get in the water and begin to swim, one by one. They all seem so much faster than me. Some people pass others, some people almost crash into one another and then, all of a sudden, it's my turn. Wait. I'm not ready. Oh wait. Yes I am. NO, WAIT! 

"3, 2, 1, go!" 

And I'm off.

The race itself is a blur. Mouthfuls of water when I need mouthfuls of air. A slow sticky transition. Dead legs. A burst of energy. 

And it's over.

That's it.

I wander around the finish area, looking for my family. Sometime races I find them, some races they can't make it.

I slowly start to ease back in the world of the non-racers. I drink my water, eat my orange and pull on my warm pants and flip flops.

It's over. 

I post pictures, give race recaps, perhaps finish a blog post ;) 

But, in the end, it's over.

~ H

Those old ladies were right

The Babe starts Kindergarten next week. KINDERGARTEN! I started this blog when she was 6 weeks old and I thought I might be going insane so I decided to capture my 3 a.m. musings here. And now she is four and a half and heading to school next week.

And the old ladies were right.

You know those old ladies. The ones who come up to you in the grocery store or at the mall and smile at your baby and say, "cherish them because it goes so fast". Those ladies who you silently flip the invisible bird to as they walk away because they don't know. They don't know how it took everything for you to leave the house and go to grocery store. That you were halfway out the door when the first diaper explosion happened, and then halfway in the car when the crying started and your boobs began to leak and you had to feed, and another diaper explosion and you would have never left the house except that there was no milk for the coffee and you had used the last of the vanilla ice cream as creamer yesterday. They don't know, or else if they did, they wouldn't tell you to cherish it. They would know that you are just wishing he would sleep through the night, that she would walk already, that he would go potty by himself, that she would get her own damn glass of water. Cherish these moments of insanity? Yeah right lady.

Except they were right.

Because now she can get her own glass of water, go to the potty alone, pick out her own pyjamas and grab a snack from the fridge and she does it all in the silly little ways that I don't want her to stop. But I'm scared they will stop. I'm scared that she will go to school and I will lose her and who she is now. I will lose her silly sweet self to her peers and to her teacher and her librarian and I'm devastated that I wished it all away.

Because you can't know until you're here. Just like you couldn't know about having a baby until you had one. And now you know what those old ladies meant but it's too damned late. And I'm grasping at straws having dance parties in the living room and reading all the stories, but it's like waking up Saturday morning and mourning the loss of the weekend before it's even over. But you can see the end, you can feel it, creeping up the back of your throat when you give her a hug goodnight and a kiss.

Tell me your silly stories and yes, I want to go to the library with you. I will do anything to keep you this young right now. To freeze this moment and truly appreciate it. To really see you and not want you to be older, faster, more verbal, less clingy. To just be with you. Before you enter this new world and you perhaps become someone else, someone I don't recognize as well.

I want to stop time. So I can cherish you, because it really does go too damned fast.

 










~ H

Tonight they broke me

Tonight my kids broke me. And it took me awhile to put myself back together. It was a normal chaotic Friday night, nothing unusual other than the heat. We have central air (yes, I am an asshole but in my defence, it came with the house) so the heat generally doesn't bother us too much.

After spending the day at work, all I want to do is see my kids. For 10 minutes. And then I want to go back to work because no tiny humans yell at me there. And then I shake my head and engage and read them a story and laugh with them and remember that I want to be with my kids. For another 10 minutes. And then I want to hide in my room because they're yelling at me AS I AM GETTING READY TO TAKE THEM SWIMMING. A TREAT. FOR THEM.

So I tell them to fuck off.

Not really. Just in my head. Loudly. Emphasis on the "fah" and the "k".

And then we are swimming and laughing and playing with the garden hose in the yard and I think "this is what it's all about". But it has to end soon, because bedtime is nearing and I'm tired from a long week. So we head inside and then the real yelling begins. And the stories and snacks get revoked. And the yelling turns into screaming. And the jammies can't be decided on. And the screaming now includes tears.

So I break. I cannot function anymore. I go in my room. I close the door behind me. I lay face down on the bed. And I just stay there. Broken. Done.

And then I take a deep breathe. And another. And I put myself back together. And I go out there.

And tell them to fuck off. (Just kidding this time)

I give one a kiss, put her pyjamas on, make a bottle, and lay her down. Then I go to the other one, put on her now clean bedding, put her pyjamas on, take her to the bathroom, comb her hair, and send her to bed. I head back to the first one, tuck her in, sing her songs, and give her a kiss. Tell them both I love them. And close their doors.

And then I lay outside, on my deck, in the heat, with a drink, and a sigh. And I watch the sun set.

Because "the world breaks everyone and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." - Ernest Hemingway

Tonight they broke me

Tonight my kids broke me. And it took me awhile to put myself back together. It was a normal chaotic Friday night, nothing unusual other than the heat. We have central air (yes, I am an asshole but it came with the house) so the heat generally doesn't bother us too much.

After spending the day at work, all I want to do is see my kids. For 10 minutes. And then I want to go back to work because no tiny humans yell at me there. And then I shake my head and engage and read a story and laugh and remember that I want to be with my kids. For another 10 minutes. And then I want to hide in my room because they're yelling at me AS I AM GETTING READY TO TAKE THEM SWIMMING. A TREAT. FOR THEM.

So I tell them to fuck off.

Not really. Just in my head. Loudly. Emphasis on the "fah" and the "k".

And then we are swimming and laughing and playing with the garden hose in the yard and I think "this is what it's all about". But it has to end soon, because bedtime is nearing and I'm tired from a long week. So we head inside and then the real yelling begins. And the stories and snacks get revoked. And the yelling turns into screaming. And the jammies can't be decided on. And the screaming now includes tears.

So I break. I cannot function anymore. I go in my room. I close the door behind me. I lay face down on the bed. And I just stay there. Broken. Done.

And then I take a deep breathe. And another. And I put myself back together. And I go out there.

And tell them to fuck off. (Just kidding this time)

I give one a kiss, put her pyjamas on, make a bottle, and lay her down. Then I go to the other one, put on her now clean bedding, put her pyjamas on, take her to the bathroom, comb her hair, and send her to bed. I head back to the first one, tuck her in, sing her songs, and give her a kiss. Tell them both I love them. And close their doors.

And then I lay outside, on my deck, in the heat, with a drink, and a sigh. And I watch the sun set.

Because "the world breaks everyone and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." - Ernest Hemingway

Birthday cake blues

So I am sitting in my car right now, feeling like a failure. A slightly poorer failure, because I just paid $31.99 for an ice cream cake for Baby Macaroni's 2nd birthday. (And yes, after her birthday I will drop the Baby and just call her Macaroni for the purposes of this blog.)

I have spent all weekend agonizing over whether or not to make her a birthday cake. I have spent more time thinking about that than anything else. Should I make the cake? Do I have time to make the cake? Can I make a Sesame Street themed birthday cake? Is there time to get to Scoop & Save before my husband has to leave for softball? Should I bail on my running group to watch a tutorial on icing? What if I make an ice cream cake, like the one I saw on Facebook? If the cake isn't Sesame Street themed, is the party still a Sesame Street party. If? What? Why? How.

Seriously.

My husband so kindly reminded me of the horror that was our kitchen last year with t-minus 1 hour until her first birthday party. The icing I made the night before was still rock hard from the fridge, then the piping bag broke, then I started yelling. Pretty sure I cried. Really sure I said never again, and that next year I would buy a cake.

And here we are.

But everyone around me, related to me, friends on Facebook, strangers on Pinterest, seem to be making their kids cakes. So if they can do it, I should be able to right? I can bake. I love to bake. Tonight The Babe and I made the cupcakes for the daycare birthday party, which in case you are taking notes, comes before the family birthday dinner and way before the family birthday party. Thank goodness we're not at friend birthday party age yet, because you might have to pull me out of a dark corner somewhere.

I never thought I would be the type of person who measures her parenting against other people's. I pride myself on doing what is right for us, and who gives a rats ass what everyone else is doing. When everyone else was buying dolls for their kids, we bought The Babe a toy workbench. But I made the cupcakes at that party. Why is this cake tearing me up? What about that tradition has got me so mixed up inside?

I'd love to make this a longer post, but truth be told I'm in the thick of it right now. And my husband's Blizzard is beginning to melt :p

~ H

Daycare is not raising my kids

I recently had a conversation with someone about the work decision mothers face when maternity leave is coming to a close. The phrase "but do you really want someone else raising your kids" was casually thrown out in reference to making the choice whether or not to send children to daycare. I quickly retorted that daycare is not raising my children; that I am raising my children.

But it stuck with me. For a long time. A really long time.

Because what that statement, that very commonly used statement implies, is that by sending my children to daycare, I am not raising them. And that my friends, is bullshit.

Daycare is an amazing place and this post is not intended to diminish the roles those kind, strong, smart women play in my village. Because that's what this is - a village. Daycare is one part of my village which is made up of grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, parents of friends, and neighbours. These are all the people who are helping me to raise our children.

Can we just stop? Stop saying that sending children to daycare is having someone else raise them. I am waking up with my kids in the middle of the night when someone throws up. My husband is calming nightmares, braiding hair and matching cardigans to dresses like nobody's business. We are doing crafts with them on the weekend, talking about days over dinner, and wiping snotty noses all the damned time.

We are raising our children.

The decision to return to work is not an easy one for many mothers. The schedule is daunting, dinnertime is horrific (for me at least), and when you're at work all you can think is,

"Are the kids okay?
I'm sure the kids are good.
I need to focus on work!
I missed my job.
Mmmmm hot coffee.
Oh god, is that daycare calling?
Did someone throw up?
I hope she didn't bite someone (again)."

And when you add into the mix that people are judging you, thinking you're not raising your kids? It can become too much. It makes you question yourself, it makes you wonder. It makes me wonder. But then I remind myself that this is just an outdated idea. And that I don't need to worry about my kids.

Because between midnight - 9 a.m. they have their dad.*
Because between 9 a.m. - 5 p.m. they have the staff at daycare.
Because between 5 p.m. and midnight they have me and their dad.
Because on many weekends they have their Papa & Memere.
Because some nights they have their Nana, their Gramma or their favourite babysitter.
*(Let's be honest, he's the one getting up in the night whenever they wake up)

And the kids are alright.

~ H

Car time is me time

I'm a driver. In life, some people are drivers and some people are passengers. And an unfortunate few take the bus. Kidding! But me, I'm a driver. I love to drive anywhere, anytime. Suggest a shopping trip down to Bellingham and I'll almost always offer to drive. I'll offer, somewhat because I get carsick, but mainly because when I'm behind the wheel I am at home.

In college I was on a work term with a magazine which required me to do interviews all around the region. I was constantly heading out in my teal green Chrysler Sundance and driving for hours while navigating Alberta range roads. I loved it; it never got old. I spent my college years driving back and forth from B.C. to Alberta on summer breaks, either for moves or for visits.  To me, my happy place is cruising down a highway with the windows down, sunglasses on and some great tunes playing loud on the stereo.

And then I had kids.

Sometimes when we get into the car, I forget I have kids. The sun is out and M.I.A. comes on my playlist; the windows go down, the sunglasses come on and I'm cruising on Highway 7. And then a little voice yells over the rush of the wind, "MOM THE WIND IS HURTING MY EYES! MOM MY HAIR IS IN MY MOUTH! MOM, WHY IS SHE SINGING ABOUT BANGING ON THE DASHBOARD? MOM! MOM! MOM!" And I think for a moment, "I don't care if your eyes hurt! MOMMY IS HAVING A MOMENT!"

But of course, I sigh and roll up the windows immediately. I change M.I.A. to RAFFI and remind myself that "bitch" probably isn't on the word learning list at daycare. Mind you, my music options didn't change for the first few years of having kids. I continued to listen to house music, rap and rock. And then The Babe started repeating "shut up and dance with me" and I thought to myself, perhaps 212 by Azealia Banks is not something I would like her to repeat in public. (Seriously that song has some nasty lyrics. Great beat. But nasty lyrics.)

As Slippery Fish replaces Bad Girls, I pass out more crackers. My car has become home to crackers in the door, gummies in the glove box, fruit in the console and is now a veritable crumb factory. For the first time since I bought my car, I just had it cleaned inside and I didn't even recognize it when I saw it afterwards. I strategically had it cleaned after driving the girls to a weekend at the grandparents' so that I could maximize on goldfish-free drives for the whole weekend.

Yes, the husband and I had a whole weekend to ourselves and it was glorious. We went to a late-night (read 9 p.m.) concert in the city, stayed in a hotel for the night, met up with friends for beers (read cider for me) and ate out. A lot. It was great to reconnect as a couple and to just be hands-free for a few days. This full-time work, two under 5, triathlon training schedule has got me beat. I'm actually supposed to be putting away a week's worth of laundry as I type this, but I needed to get a a new blog post out before 2017 rolled around. A weekend with the spouse is highly recommended if you can swing it. Some people said we looked like honeymooners with the holding hands by the end of the weekend.

And we spend most of the time driving around with the windows down, sunglasses on and the music on.

~ H

Tri Training

The last time we spoke I was talking about lunches. The time it takes, the good, the bad, and the ugly. This time I'm talking about training for a sprint triathlon and it's pretty much the same. Good, bad, and really ugly.

I've been so long between posting because in my spare time (ha!) I have been training for a sprint triathlon. Yes, I am crazy. Yes, I barely could manage things before this - between work, making lunches, a social life and a marriage and now I have added rigorous training for a somewhat grueling physical event in there. C to the R to the AZY. That's me.

But hear me out.

I was going to wait a few years before attempting this again. Yes, this is not my first attempt at training for a tri. I began tri training in the winter of 2010, but a little person called The Babe threw a wrench in my plans. Morning sickness and swimming just don't go together. So I shelved the plan until I had the baby, was done nursing, and had the time to commit to training. Then, just as I was rounding the bend of nursing and time management with The Babe, along came Baby Macaroni. I thought about my tri plans and told myself "someday, someday." I told myself, "there will come a time when I can dedicate the proper attention and dedication that an event like this needs."

This, by the way, is not that time.

But then the universe spoke, and it spoke in a way that is pretty hard to ignore. Part of the new job I have is FREE access to a rec facility ACROSS THE STREET from my office! FREE ACCESS TO A POOL! AND MORE THAN ONE STATIONARY BIKE!

I'll stop using all caps now because you get the point.

I would be crazy not to do the event this year given my unprecedented access to fitness facilities. This may also be the only time in my life I have a colleague in the office next door who will run 5k with me on our lunch break. This may be the only time I have a friend who is not only crazy enough to sign up with me, but will also spend hours on the weekend doing brick workouts (a bike ride followed immediately by a run, or a swim followed by a bike ride). Someone who not only trains with me, but pushes me to be faster, stronger, better.

I have all the pieces, and strangely enough, I'm finding the time. Am I sacrificing things? Of course I am!

I am sacrificing lunch breaks that I could be spending running errands, eating with friends, or catching up on work. I'm sacrificing time with my husband in the evenings when I am out running or swimming. I'm away from The Babe and not putting her to bed on the nights I am training. I'm not with the whole family when I am training on the weekends. My other hobbies such as reading, sewing, watching TV have gone by the wayside. I don't have much spare time to see friends.

But I'm doing it. Because I want to. I think I'm happier because of it. Having a goal gives me more purpose than I had before. A nervous energy courses through my body when I think about the race. I'm excited to have my family there watching me do it. My fitness has obviously never been better. I'm also anxious to have the race be finished and not die in the process (seriously, I could die. It happens, right?)

Is it hard? YES. My legs hurt pretty much all the time. (But that could have been due to my bike not being properly set up.) I'm hungry all the time but I haven't really figured out a proper meal plan. Which means I can often be found scarfing down a post-run donut and thinking the carbs are a good thing. I'm really tired every night by 9 p.m. Like falling asleep sitting up in bed tired. And people at work have started calling me Superman because I dash around the office at lunch time in my clothes - workout gear - clothes before getting back to afternoon meetings.

I couldn't do all this if I didn't have the support of my husband. He puts The Babe to bed when I go train. He takes care of the kids when I do brick workouts on the weekends. He eats whatever random food I am cooking that week (meatless, paleo, day 4 of leftover pork roast in a new and creative way). He tells me he is proud of me.

So I am doing it. I'm headed Up the Creek (without a paddle) in early May and I can't wait!

To be finished ;)

(Photo borrowed with permission from my training partner Michelle)

~ H

Neverending lunches

Sorry to be so long between posts but I have been making lunches every free moment of my day.

Okay, not really. But kind of.

We are almost three months into my return to work and it has been an interesting ride to say the least. We are adjusting, but I wouldn't say we have adjusted completely.

Back to the lunches. I forgot about the lunches. I forgot about coming home, making dinner, putting one kid to bed, cleaning some dishes, putting the other kid to bed, finishing the dishes and finally thinking you can sit down with a glass of wine or a mug of tea and pop on an old episode of Grey's Anatomy but then those pink canvas boxes creep into the corner of your eye as you turn and you let out a curse because darn it all if you don't have a damned thing to put them tonight.

Seriously.

I run out of bread mid-week. I cannot find anything to give Baby Macaroni so I fill her bento box with frozen peas and frozen corn and cubes of cheese and pray that she eats it. I plan ahead and spend my Sunday slaving over the stove to make individual muffin sized portions of macaroni and cheese and cheese stuffed meatloaf, only to have Baby Macaroni eat none of it at lunch.

At least, however, I am now remembering to make the lunches consistently. The first week back when we had a transition schedule, one of the daycare teachers kindly informed that they weren't sure if The Babe was staying the whole day because I had only packed her a cut up orange in her lunch bag. My face glowed with shame as I tried to laugh it off.

I think that making lunches is the bane of most parents' existence, am I right? Those crazy pastoral scene bento box lunches are fake, nobody actually makes those. Don't be ridiculous. I get fed up just slicing apples for my kids' lunches. I think I could make a million dollars if I invented a core-less apple with a peel that just slid off. Now all I need is an angel investor and perhaps a smidgen of knowledge about botany and I'm set!

Speaking of those bento box lunches, I just deleted the Pinterest app on phone. After another crockpot fail, with an expensive head of cauliflower to boot, I decided to kick my addiction cold turkey. I did it! You can too! I do miss those images of soft cookies and beautiful art, but I don't miss staring into the oven or crockpot and thinking "how the eff am I going to get them to eat that?"

Being back at work reminds me just how many errands I actually run and how little time there is to do them once you throw an 8-hour workday and a daycare pickup in there. And I don't even have to drop the kids off the morning, my husband handles that thankless task. We have streamlined our mornings somewhat though. The Babe gets to pick her outfit the night before, with assistance from me. I make a big batch of oatmeal on Sunday or overnight in the crockpot, so that both the girls have breakfast for the week. I'm crossing my fingers that translates into no more Cheerios in Mommy's bed, but I don't believe in miracles.

Having Christmas in there so soon into my return kind of threw us all for a loop. While the days off together were great, the comedown in the first week back at work and daycare was brutal. It was as though we completely forgot everything we had learned and practiced in December. There were many lunches that again consisted of crackers and cheese and frozen verggies.

But here we are mid-January and it's Sunday and I have just managed to cut up four apples, four oranges and make soup that will serve as tonight's dinner and tomorrow lunch. So I'm good. Unless The Babe and Baby Macaroni decide they don't like apples and oranges. If they do, they can make their own damned lunches.

~ H

Landing after the leap

Here we are, 5 months after my first post about taking the leap and leaving the workforce, and I am now about to re-enter the workforce. Next week I will begin training for a one-year full-time contract with a local municipality in their corporate communications department. But before I go into how I am feeling now, let's quickly revisit the last 5 months.

My maternity leave officially ended at the beginning of July and we spent the summer doing summer things. Going to the zoo and hitting up the local playground. A few visits to the nearby water park and a lot of swimming in our pool. So much swimming that The Babe is completely comfortable swimming underwater, yay! So so so much swimming that my hair turned green, not so yay. We visited family on Vancouver Island, spent time with the grandparents checking out the river and the horses near their place, and hanging out with various friends and all the cousins. Some days were fantastic and some were temper-tantruming terror, as it is with a toddler and a baby. It wasn't all sunshine and smiles, but it definitely was a lot of the time.

But as the summer wore on and the fall began and we moved into a new routine, I found myself missing the work. The contract work I have been doing just isn't the same. As a contractor you are not intimately involved in the company, you are on the outside and only privy to what directly affects the work you are responsible for. Which I found difficult. I missed the work culture. I was also struggling with the way I left the full-time work world. I wasn't finished. I always knew there was a large possibility of my leaving the workforce for a few years once we had our second child, but I wasn't where I thought I would be in my career when it was time to leave. The thoughts of leaving on that note, in that place, continued to nag at me.

When an opportunity came knocking at my door, I thought long and hard about how I have been feeling, what affect it will have on our family for me to go back to work for a year, where my priorities lie. I thought I was questioning myself a lot in June, when it turns out I have never questioned myself more than in the last two weeks.

I am excited to begin this new (short) chapter. The team I get to work with is one that I have worked with in the past and whom I respect immensely. The work will be busy and important and I will be a part of some major initiatives and events over the next year. And I love working in communications. The office is close to home and has some great benefits such as flex days which I will look forward to spending with the kiddos.

I am nervous about the transition for both the kids and for me. While The Babe has been in daycare before and will know a bunch of the kids from her time there before, Baby Macaroni still clings to me like a small koala to a bamboo tree. I am unsure how she will manage in daycare. She is not as independent as The Babe was at this age, but we never worried about socialization for Baby Macaroni because she has had The Babe to socialize with. I wonder how she will change by going to daycare and will I be okay with it?

I am unsure what will happen to the family dynamic once I am back at work. I know it's not something I can plan for, it will unfold on its own and I cannot control it. But in some ways, I do control it, with my actions.

I feel as though I have failed at being a stay-at-home mom because I want to go back to work. It didn't work out, as one well-meaing preschool mom asked me this week. But in the same breath I don't see the problem with wanting to work in a position I worked hard to get to AND be a mother at the same time. The scales are filling up with thoughts on either side, tipping from up to down to up again. My brain is tired and so is my heart.

Next week we begin our transition with the huge help of family and friends. I know there will be some tears, but I'm hoping there will be lots of smiles too.

~ H

Whole 30

"What was I thinking?" some of you have asked. There have been days I asked myself that same question. At the beginning of August I started the Whole 30, a "diet" which you do for 30 days (hence the name) and during which you avoid the following:

- dairy

- legumes

- grains

- sugar

- alcohol

- fun

The last one is not an actual part of the plan, but an addition by myself as a way to stick to the plan. Because going to a very fun birthday party on Day 10 where they are serving broccoli salad, cupcakes, wine and cheeseburgers is extremely hard. Excruciatingly hard. It certainly put my willpower to the test, as did the second birthday party the following day where there was a homemade peanut butter and jam ice cream cake with a peanut butter cookie crust. That's right, a peanut butter cookie crust! I ate a salad I brought from home that day, and died a little inside.

I did the Whole 30 for a few reasons. I finished nursing Baby Macaroni in the spring, however I still hadn't finished eating like I was nursing by mid-July. I was also feeling bloated all the time, and every time I saw a photo of myself I cringed. A friend had been talking about the Whole 30 over the past few months and I kept coming back to it. Checking it out on Instagram, reading the website, unable to shake my interest.

All of sudden I decided, "I'm doing this. Now." And I did. I borrowed the book from the same friend. I checked to see if my almond coconut was Whole 30 approved (it was, a rarity) and I have the most tempting sweets to my husband to hide from me. I did not purge the entire house of every sugary treat and carbohydrate. Other people have to live here too. I asked my husband if he would be on board for the dinners, which he agreed to. If I was cooking something a little more out there (spaghetti squash as noodles), then I also cooked regular pasta for everyone else. I stocked up on groceries and that was it - Day 1 on August 3rd.

Today is Day 30 and I have learned a lot about myself over the next 30 days, so I will sum it up in a paragraph or two ;)

I have strong strong willpower. Halfway through the 30 days we took a trip to Vancouver Island to visit family. I packed a cooler full of food for me, but one day we hit up a local beach and The Babe was sitting next to me eating a Kraft peanut butter sandwich on whole grain bread and I have never wanted to rip a sandwich out of someone's hands and devour it in two bites more than in that moment. There was also the aforementioned birthday parties. My husband sitting next to me in bed powering down a bag of Chicago mix popcorn had me almost tackling him for a sweet caramel kernel of goodness. But I drank my club soda and pure cranberry juice, munched on a few cashews and took deep breaths.

I have an amazingly supportive family. The same husband as above got up early one weekend, the weekend I was running an obstacle race with a team, and made me a Whole 30 compliant breakfast, right down to the cooking oil. He never complained about the lack of grains at dinner, and he is a carb guy. He told me he was proud of me. A lot. When travelling to visit my family, I told them about my diet and offered to make meals for everyone, not wanting to be a pain in the ass. To my pleasant surprise, not only were they supportive, they all planned meals I could eat during my whole trip. It was amazing, and definitely helped me to keep going.

I learned with enough protein and veggies and good fats, I don't need snacks in between meals. It was so interesting to get to 4pm and think, "oh! I can wait until dinner to eat!". This has not been the case prior to the Whole 30. I always thought I needed to eat small meals 6 times a day to keep my blood sugar up. Turns out, I just need to stay the eff away from Tim Horton's. Seriously, I can never go there again. That place is my kryptonite.

Lastly I learned that I can avoid alcohol for awhile but I definitely enjoy a beverage with friends and I also really miss sugar. I had two cheats over the 30 days and both were alcohol - one night it was two tall vodka sodas on a much needed Mom's night out and there was one post-obstacle race cider. But that was it! No other cheats! As for sugar, I have decided even though I have gone without for a month, coffee is still better with sugar. I will definitely be incorporating that back in. 

Want to know more? Wondering which recipes I am going to keep in the rotation? Just ask :)

Above: fried plantains from a recipe at Nom Nom Paleo. I love her site. 

Link: http://nomnompaleo.com/post/113854926293/fried-green-plantains-patacones-or-tostones

~ H

The dreaded toy purge

Ugh. I'm having a panic attack just thinking about it.

We have a boatload of toys in our house. Big toys, little toys, stuffies, McDonalds happy meal toys, musical instruments, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from the 80's, a dress up box, a play kitchen, a play workbench - the list goes on and on. Some of the toys are in a daily play rotation and some are collecting dust. But whenever I suggest to The Babe that we possibly give a few toys to other kids, I'm met with a resounding "Nooooooooooo" and tears. And so the clutter becomes more clutter, the toys begin to stack up, and I can feel the space shrinking by the minute. 

The thing is, not only does she not have a favourite toy, she also has an excellent memory. I pulled out a stuffed toy she had not put hands on for at least 6 months and as I put it in the donation pile, she began to cry and told her dad that I was giving away a very special gift someone had given her over a year ago. Seriously?!? How do you remember that, but not what you had for lunch today? The clutter problem is compounded by the fact that we have another child, also a girl, who may want to play with these toys in a year or so. So I go back and forth on what to keep and what to donate. Sometimes sneaking things out under the cover of night when The Babe is asleep and stealthily putting the boxes in the trunk to drop them off, where she cannot see them. 

I will say that our message to our family to buy our children less stuff has been heard. Recent holiday and birthday gifts have been more along the lines of memberships for activities, movie tickets and gift certificates. It's hard to give people ideas for non-stuff gifts. Clothes can be good, but only for the older one as the younger one has more than enough hand-me-downs. 

Back to the purge, sigh. How do we do it? We can tell her the old toys are helping other kids, but how do we show her where the toys go and how they can help? She's 3, not 10. Will she really understand? She doesn't understand why she should share with her sister, or why Annie's Bunnies cannot be eaten for every meal, so I'm not sure she will grasp the concept of service and goodwill.

Share with me your tips, tricks and funny stories about how you deal with the toy clutter and purge in your house.

~ H

The nine circles of Costco hell

If only Dante had known how applicable his famous text would be to the act of taking two children under three to Costco for groceries. Everytime I venture out to Costco with the girls, I find myself saying (not yelling, never yelling) "this is an exercise in patience girls!" before I have even parked the car. Oh the parking limbo dance you do at Costco! Will this be the lane where you spy a coveted end spot, only to find an oversized SUV hugging the line so tightly there is no way you could open your door, let alone manage the gymnastics it would take to get your child out of their car seat. So you drive and drive until you find someone inching, creeping, crawling out of a spot in the first three lanes by the entrance and you call it a win. "Yesssss!" with a fist pump in the air.

But that is where the wins end my friend, because now, as you look around in envy as other shoppers simply grab a cart on their way in and breeze by the greeters without a care in the world, you decide which of the two options you have is the least unappealing. Do you strap one child into the cart, wrestling with her to get her legs in the right slots without breaking her tibia and then strapping the other smaller child into an ergonomically friendly carrier which will not allow you to grab large boxes or taste anything hot and delicious? Or do you take the stroller with the baby in the seat and the toddler riding shotgun on the glider board, which limits a normal grocery shop to 20 items, but a Costco shop to three?

Neither choice is a great one, believe me.

Once you've managed to tie everyone down and get through the door (and not gouge anyone's eye out in the process), toddlers' eyes light up with every possibility they see before them. Costco, by its very nature, is a physical manifestation of gluttony. Huge hunks of meat, bags of popcorn the size of a 2-year-old and 1,000 roll packs of toilet paper? Yes please! And if you're a toddler, why not try to scale those packs of TP and hide behind flats of tomato sauce? I mean, why not give mom or dad a heart attack by disappearing into the black hole that is an empty space in the housewares aisle? And while they're at it, they might as well take up camp in the shed display near the bread, because lord knows you are not getting past that one without some sort of a negotiation.

I'm not sure which sin comes out more when doing the actual shopping - greed or lust? Does she need a full princess dress up set (that should read "another") or a 100 pack box of chocolate milk? According to the toddler, she needs it, she wants it, she must have it. As she lays out on the floor or halfway out of the cart wailing when you don't put it in the cart, angry and violent "I WANT IT!!!", all pride goes out the window and you cannot get to the cashier's line fast enough. Don't worry, you're nearly there. You just need to get through the separation drama which comes at checkout time.

"Almost done," you think, "I can do this," you whisper, as your eyes glaze over and you contemplate a drive-thru treat for yourself and maybe even the kiddos if you're feeling generous. But one little hand, one chubby reaching creeping baby hand is out of the carrier before you can say boo and has grabbed ahold of the $10 organic salsa and in slow motion horror the hand pulls the salsa off the conveyor belt and did you know that hard plastic shatters just like glass when dropped from the right height? You thought you were all on the same page, the same team, the same side trying to all get out alive but no, treachery has occurred and you are staring the enemy in the face, all six teeth and dimply grins of it. 

As you finish your walk of shame out the door, there is a light at the end of the storm. The greeter at the door who puts happy faces on the receipt! Never have you lusted for someone so much in this moment! Someone who can turn it all around, turn those frowns upside down with the simple swipe of a Sharpie :) You give the privilege of holding the receipt to the toddler, who can barely contain her excitement on route but then turns mute when the destination is reached.

You all emerge from the store and as you load the jumbo prawns and one million packs of wipes into the car, you swear this time will be the last. It's not worth it, you think, I just lost years off my life. And it's not worth it. Until you run out of milk and diapers and wipes and toilet paper. Then the circle begins again. Thank goodness for the samples. 

~ H

P.S. I know I missed Heresy and Fraud. But I got the rest. So cut me some fricking slack ;)

Taking a leap

I did it. I made a choice. Or rather, we made a choice. As a couple, as a family. Yesterday I gave notice that I would not be returning from maternity leave. A flood of emotions has been washing over me. I'm terrified and happy and sad and scared. I cannot believe I left a job with benefits, something many people would literally die for. I cannot believe I thought benefits might tip the scales to keep me satisfied in a role I have outgrown. I took the leap because waiting on the edge of the cliff was exhausting, mentally and physically. We couldn't have anymore conversations, I couldn't make anymore budgets, I just had to take action and see how it all unfolds.

Choosing to stay at home with my children while I look for work has changed the course of our lives, according to one of my friends. She is right. I have made a conscious decision to put my career on pause for a little while, though I won't stay I've jumped completely off the ladder. The beauty of my field is the contract market, should you choose to market yourself. Now I have the ability to work in different areas (photography, writing, editing, social media management) on my own schedule. The chance to spend more time making these and these. The opportunity to perhaps take an online course or two. So many doors and so many windows.

I have never left a job without having another one, except for my post-college summer break right after I finished my Bachelor's degree. But as I write that I think "I have another job! It's being a mom!" I'm not leaving to sit on the couch and eat bon bons (although I do have a box of Maui Caramacs on the counter which are calling my name). I will be colouring, painting, exploring nature and checking out Science World and the zoo. We will be swimming and having playdates and learning more counting and singing songs. We will be going to the library to get our weekly stamps for summer reading club and checking out what's going on around town. I will be helping to run my husband's growing business. I will learning. And should an opportunity to work out of the house come up and it fits with our family, we will explore that too.

A big thank you to those who been listening ears, who have offered advice or told me about your own decision and challenges. I haven't been able to talk to everyone who has offered, because in the end I needed to take some time to think about what I want, what my husband wants, what our girls are needing right now. But everyone's kind words have been in my heart.

Enough with this, let's move on. Next week's post will be about the trials of a Costco shop with two kids. Back to the funny already!

~ H

Know when to fold em

I am facing a dilemma. As maternity leave draws to a close, my future as a working mom hangs in the balance. I am at a crossroads. I applied for a management position and didn't get it, based on two specific areas of experience, so my options are to stay in my current role and most likely gain no more experience in those areas while paying the cost of full-time daycare for two children, or leave my job and stay home for the next year and two months until The Babe is in Kindergarten and childcare costs drop dramatically but it creates a hole in my resume, or leave my current role and begin full-time job hunting for something where I can continue to gain the experience I need and want and if found, decide whether or not to put the kids in full-time daycare or have my husband stay home until school begins. No path is right or wrong, black or white, and each has its pros and cons.

To say it is consuming me would be an understatement. I play out each scenario as I am brushing my teeth, flipping the laundry and planning my next few weeks. I am creating budgets, reading articles and consulting a few people who have been in this scenario before. On the one hand, I read somewhere that if you have been lucky enough to receive a post-secondary education, you owe it to the institution to follow through and use that education. Which to me means working in my field. On the other hand, countless people have taken me aside over the last year and told me that you don't get this time back, your babies are only babies once. That if I have the opportunity to stay home for a little while, I should seriously consider doing it.

I am reading article after article about the mass exodus of educated women leaving the workforce after becoming mothers and I feel a kinship to this unnamed mass. With no family nearby to take care of our girls during the day, daycare is the only choice. Our daycare is on the more expensive end, but it works for our lives and we have a bond with the staff, which is worth the money. Changing daycares to save money so I stay in my current role is not the way my priorities work. I have yet to explore the freelance and contract world, this is on my task list for next week.

I feel as though I have spent the last two days in a fog, not entirely present for my husband and the girls. I am sad and confused. But perhaps this is a good thing. It is forcing me to sit down and work out exactly what my priorities and goals are. It is forcing me to write about it, always a cathartic process. As I go through this weekend, Father's Day weekend, I will be thinking about my own parents and the decisions they made. I will spend the weekend with friends and family and then I will approach next week with clarity and a positive outlook.

If you have found yourself in a similar situation, please feel free to weigh in with your process and outcome here.

~ H

Tummy troubles

I have a tummy. I would love to say it came from my babies, but that would be a lie. It has been there for as long as I can remember, smaller and larger depending on my workout regime, diet and alcohol intake. It is something I struggle with daily because, on the one hand, I want my girls to embrace their bodies and love all their parts so I should too, but on the other hand I could follow and share the advice that if you don't like something, try to change it. I have never done anything for a consistent amount of time to reduce my tummy, so I am not sure that I would still have one if I did. But here I stand, constantly battling with my wardrobe in the morning: do I dress to hide it, picking drapey shirts or ones with strategic gathers, or do I say "this is me" and wear a form fitting t-shirt or tank top? I hate to think my daughters may go through this same dilemma. It is such a useless dilemma to ponder. I hate to think my daughters would go through it because they saw me go through it.

Which brings me to the reason behind he dilemma in the first place. Between #fitfam hashtags, Whole30 lifestyles and Crossfit converts I am bombarded with ways to change my shape - if I choose to. But should I? I can work to change what appears to be my forever body type or I can work to embrace my body exactly how it is. Neither option seems right or wrong, just different forms of self-love. Working your body at the gym or spend the time with my family. Eat whatever I want (donuts, cheese, more donuts) or stick to trying new recipes for lentils and veggies in the kitchen (not kale, never again, not even as chips loaded with salt). I could go the rec centre gym, work with a trainer twice a week while The Babe is at preschool and put Baby Macaroni in the babysitting room they have. But that is my only one-on-one time with her, and there is also a nap in there. And is that really how I want to spend my time? Slaving away without my kids to be more comfortable in my own skin? I want to be more comfortable in my own skin period. I want to look in the mirror and say "damn! I like what I see!" It shouldn't just be my husband saying ;) I need to say it too. But I would love to be active with my kids in a way that is fun and fat-burning at the same time.

If abs are made in the kitchen, how much stock should I put in enjoying my food? Are grilled chicken salads and steel cut oats the way I should be going? I wouldn't say we eat badly. There is almost always a protein, a veg and a carb option for dinner. Some nights it is two veg and no carbs! But we definitely use salt and butter and portion sizes are not a huge priority. I incorporate a meatless meal once a week and I frequently make egg muffins for a quick breakfast. Post-dinner TV snacks almost always happen as well.

I think what I am most concerned with is not having a stance. Embrace or work for what you want? I want my girls to like what they see when they look in the mirror. Powerful arms, jelly bellies or larger feet - I just hope they like what they see. 

~ H