Saturdate

A few weeks ago I picked F up from preschool as always and we drove home.

It's exactly a six-minute drive from preschool/work to home. We usually listen to the same 2 songs during that drive. We were waiting to make a left-hand turn when F piped up in the backseat with a simple - yet strong - question.

How was your day, Mama?

It's a question we expect of our colleagues and spouses, friends and acquaintances but I would never expect those words to come from the mouth of my preschooler. It's so... grown up. And so, it became a thing. Every day from that day on, F would ask how my day was and I would ask him about his. During our six-minute drive, he would tell me about his favourite and least favourBite parts of the day and I would generally just tell him my day was good or bad because there's only so much you can say to a four-year-old. 

We have a lot of little things we do, like our weekly Starbucks date (every Friday), and F's bath schedule. One night a week we have pizza and one night a week we have nachos. We watch Octonauts every night before bed. I realized not so long ago that F and I spend a lot of time together without really spending anything actually together and I vowed to change that. 

Tonight, we had our weekly Saturdate - aka our "Saturday date". We do something different every Saturday, whether it's going to the park or going for a walk, grabbing "coffee" together, seeing a movie at the theatres, baking cookies, whatever. We always do something, just the two of us. Sometimes, we don't even leave the house. 

Busy with 10,000 things to do, I bunked down with my laptop to try to get ahead of my list when F came over - smiling as wide as can be - and asked what my "best part" of our date had been. It was a pretty easy answer - the best part of my date was hanging out with him, without anything else to do. But what was his? 

I got to go to McDonald's and have a nice supper, with nice chicken nuggets, and fries and yoooooooooooooogurt and there was a drink and a straw and I got to see Grampy! And then we watched a movie and remember how funny The Croods were?

He said all of this in about 11 seconds, not taking a breath from start to finish and it was pretty much the cutest thing I've ever heard.

It's easy to get completely wrapped up in work and writing and chores and trying to maintain something resembling a social life and squeeze in time for the handsome Hockey Coach, but hearing how much F enjoyed a simple, 30-minute trip to McDonald's is more than enough proof that Saturdate is the most important day of the week. 

Raising Boys

Perhaps it's related to the fact that there are a couple of slightly older boys in F's preschool class, but my darling boy has officially decided that he can no longer sit down to pee. I'd be completely unbothered by the whole thing, but F has also decided that he needs me to show him how and without giving you a mental picture of what that attempt at a teachable moment looked like, I can tell you it's not going to happen.

It's moments like these that I find myself especially frustrated with our situation. As if being a single parent isn't hard enough by itself, the simple fact is that boys and girls sometimes need an older member of the same sex to show them things. I can't imagine how awkward it would have been to ask my father feminine questions growing up. Actually, I can but I think it would have led ol' Papa Bear to a stroke so I'm especially glad I didn't have to get into bras and tampons and all that jazz. Standing up to pee is pretty small on the list of things that F will need help with in his life, but it felt as big as a mountain when he asked me to do it.

By gently explaining that boys and girls are built differently, I managed to help him understand that I cannot show him but I said I'd be there if he needed some help. I asked what he thought he should do, and he managed OK except that he missed the toilet and somehow managed to pee on everything else in my bathroom. But, we celebrate the small victories here, too, so with a change of his clothes and a quick trip to the laundry room with my bath mats, we were ready to try again. And try again we did, with much more success and better aim. (Hooray!)

The challenges in raising a little boy as a bit of a girlie girl are just beginning, and I know that. I feel especially fortunate that F's preschool class has a male teacher - a positive male role model who he can learn from and hopefully turn to. I'm lucky to have a group of male friends who I can turn to for advice when needed, and I'm lucky in that the boy stuff is less gruesome than the girl stuff as things move forward from here.

But, challenges lie in being a single mum with a boy in other ways. It's the moments when I need a few moments to do chick stuff that F is convinced that he desperately needs to be beside me. It's as I change my clothes or put on a bra or he asks why girls have to sit down to pee that I realize we might be hitting the age where F and I just can't do those things together, and it's tricky. I can't lock the bathroom door when I head into the shower. I can't tell him to wait outside the stall as I use a public washroom. I also have to gently explain that no, he cannot paint his nails when Mommy does. It's a learning curve. (And sometimes I let him have non-shiny clear polish on his toes, just because.)

Yesterday's pee-splosion all over my bathroom taught me that, although it might get messy, letting F take the reins and taking a step or two back is the only way we can make it through some things. It's really hard to accept that F and I might be coming to the end of our baths together. Pretty soon, I'll even have to put my foot down over the whole co-sleeping thing, too. But there are some things we can't avoid, so we'll have to learn how to make them work.

And make them work, we will.

Twentysomethinghood

Oh, being a twentysomething.

I'm about to cross the line of just mid-twenties to upper mid-twenties and I'm kind of freaking out, man because this whole growing up this is bologna. Seriously. Who invented this shit? I've got bills on top of bills on top of some cellulite and a handful of wrinkles and WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN? I'm about 90 per cent sure that I spotted a grey hair last week, but my eyesight's so bad I couldn't quite manage to find it to rip it out. There was a time - perhaps not so very long ago - when I thought being a twentysomething was the most glamorous thing in the world. Pfft.

I'm drinking tea, writing this blog with Nair all over my legs and a facemask on. This is so not what I expected the fabulosity of twentysomethighood to be.

A kid YOUNG LADY I used to babysit turned 18 today. WHAT THE WHAT? Is that even possible? Someone stop the world, I need to get off for a minute. I can remember packing up my old Barbie dolls and Polly Pockets - the ones that actually fit in your pocket - to give to this girl when she was preschool-aged. I remember giving her boy advice when I was post-highschool-grad and she was getting ready to enter junior high school. She tweeted a goodbye to her 17th year last night. She has no idea how gone it is.

Because, my gorgeous, young friend... there comes a time in your early adult life when you will find yourself sitting on your bathroom floor attempting an at-home bikini wax (which, FYI, is the dumbest thing you will ever try to do at home, by yourself) and you will also find yourself eating dinner in the bathtub sometimes because you actually don't have enough time to eat and bathe. You will put on a great show of being a grownup, only to call your Mom later because you just totally effed something up and nobody knows how to fix things like a Mom does. And you will undoubtedly sacrifice food that is actually real food with taste so you can buy that fabulous pair of boots and then try to lie to your mother by saying they were on sale. She'll know better.

I think it's a generational thing, this idea that your twenties will be this golden time in your life when everything is roses and everything will just play out magically. It doesn't, and it's not.

But it's amazing and it's worth it. And when all else fails, there is nail polish.

Mommy Fear

Earlier this week, I had a big heart-to-heart with F.

It went something like he was eating a bag of pretzels and staring at me while I poured my heart out to him and essentially apologized for being a sub-par Mommy these past few weeks. (I'd get into the whole past, um, his entire toddlerdom but we'd still be in that conversation and I'd feel even worse and he'd have fallen asleep on me anyway.) Whether he understood it or not, we had a hug and a kiss and exchanged a couple of I love yous before he went back to whatever he'd been doing and I stayed exactly where I was just watching him.

I'd always imagined that Mommy was something that just came to you.

The first day of the hardest job I've ever had.

I was wrong. Being Mommy is as much a learning experience as anything else I've ever done in my life, if not more. It's a combination of skills, understanding and a relationship to boot. It requires cultivation, and you are bound to make a million mistakes along the way. I know I have. I made at least one hundred in the past month. I love F, but being a Mom hasn't always been easy for me. Sometimes, I fear that I'm doing it all wrong. I don't want to screw him up.

My impatience combined with my anxiety and Type-A personality made for a tough couple of weeks while F and I were settling into the changes that had happened in our lives. In an effort to do what I thought was best for him, I sent us both reeling backwards - hurt and sad and afraid. I found myself raising my voice and losing my temper when he did that thing toddles do sometimes, defy me. I found myself getting angry and frustrated when I should have been asking him what was wrong. I argued back, instead of explaining why my decision was final.

And even knowing I've done it, I can assure you I will do it again.

In frustration or anger, in tiredness or a rush, my patience and my better judgment will escape me and I'll be that sub-par Mom again - if only for a few moments. Friday morning alone was a test. An hour of trying to wake F up meant we were a whole hour late for his daycare drop off. It meant cutting the things I had hoped to do out of the picture in spite of the mile-long list of things needing doing before 5pm today. It meant that F had a less than awesome breakfast, which he ate in the car, and that I went for a run on an empty stomach and to work with undone hair. We got home with a week behind us, but with no energy left. I snuggled up next to him in bed last night at 8:30 pm, and we didn't get up until after 9am.

For every stressful time, there's a moment like this to wash it away.

 

Today, I vowed I'd be a good Mom. I made homemade buttermilk pancakes and didn't freak out over the toys all over the floor. I made it until about noon before I found my patience beginning to disappear. By the time we'd finished running our Saturday afternoon errands, I was frazzled to the ends of the earth and had the frizzy hair to show for it. Protip: AVOID BAYER'S LAKE ON SATURDAYS. Don't even ask, just listen (see what I did there - momism).

Today was a day when I sat in the driver's seat of my car with that sinking feeling that I'm doing it all wrong, until I glanced in my rear view mirror. Smiling at me, F patted his new (big boy booster seat style) car seat and said "Thank-you for buying me this car seat, Mommy".

Maybe I'm not doing it all wrong.

Bullies (and buckets of water)

Have you ever wanted to punch a child in the head?

I have.

It happened today, when I found out that a kid at F's daycare was picking at him. I was annoyed at first. I've met the Mom. She's a real fucking treat, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that her kid is a five-year-old jerk with a bad attitude and a nasty disposition. Seriously, I'd rather have a yeast infection for the rest of my life than exchange pleasantries with this woman - it's that bad. Now - I'll go ahead and say that I'm glad this world is filled with many different people, because I'm sure that this particular person has a circle of friends and family who adore and admire and appreciate her - I just don't happen to be a part of it. I don't think she likes me either, so there's that.

(can you tell i'm still raging? cause i am)

It started when another kid suddenly dropped to the ground crying while F was trying to play with him. The daycare teacher asked him what was wrong, before explaining that the little guy is having a hard time with the upcoming arrival of his baby brother or sister. Add the fact that he'd been up since 5 am to the mix, and this little guy was just an emotional wreck in size 4 Pull-Ups. F went over to him and hugged him, urging him to play. The five-year-old immediately rushed over to me.

"Your son just pushed Sam down. He's such a little brat. You should punish him."
 
That was the exact moment I decided this kid was a twit - I WAS WATCHING THE WHOLE THING. If he really wanted to get F in trouble, he should have waited 'til my back was turned and I didn't know any better. I brushed it off, and went back to talking to F's caregiver. And then it happened.

"Just do it, splash Ella!" the shithead five-year-old said, devilishly urging F to throw the bucket of cold water he had in his hands on the not-quite-two-year-old little girl in the group. I had no sooner warned F that he'd better not do it than he threw the entire fucking bucket of water onto quite possibly the world's cutest (and now probably most emotionally scarred) toddler girl. Her whole body shook and she blinked her eyes in total shock before collapsing into a meltdown that would make a Real Housewives star look put together.

Although I wasn't freezing cold and dripping wet, I don't think that little girl was any more shocked than I was. I couldn't even move. There were no words. I said F's name over and over, before coming to my senses, taking his hand and announcing that I was disappointed in his behaviour and we were going home to discuss it. Upset by his own actions, F apologized to the little girl and cried as we started toward the car. Tagging along behind me was the five-year-old terrorist, insisting that I put F to bed without dinner and take all of his toys away for being such a bad little boy.

I suggested he haul his little butt back to where the daycare provider was as nicely as I could, before closing the gate behind me.

"I'm scared," F wailed as he got into his car seat. "I'm dying and you're going to forget me, he said I was going to die and I splashed Ella!"

HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO EXPLAIN TO YOUR CHILD THAT HE IS NOT GOING TO DIE?

The word "fuck" comes to mind. Exasperated and sad and confused and angry, I sat as F sobbed onto my chest multiple times this evening silently cursing kids and their innate ability to be mean and unreasonable and mean. I talked him through it, assuring him that he's not dying and I will never forget him. Have I mentioned that kids are mean? Because they are.

I knew that F and the five-year-old had butted heads yesterday, too, but I chocked it up to kids being kids. I had no idea that this kid was making him feel this badly, and it breaks my mommy heart. This is just the tip of the iceberg, and I know that. I remember the hurtful words and endless taunting. I remember the broken hearts and the "you can't be our friend anymore" conversations over MSN messenger. I don't know what tomorrow will look like, but I do know that I wasn't ready to be dealing with this yet. Bullying wasn't supposed to be in our world yet.

Let me say now that I have no illusions that F is a perfect kid. He lost his TV privileges for the night after the way he treated his friend today. But, at 3 years old, F is learning boundaries and sometimes he has to learn them the hard way, through getting hurt and sometimes through hurting others. He really felt badly when he saw how sad he'd made Ella, but I know my kid and I know that he was hurting, too. Was he bullied into being a bully? I don't know. Will it happen again? Probably. And I'll be throwing a big HYPOTHETICAL bucket of water on F if and when it does.

And teaching F that life throws the biggest buckets of cold water on bullies, one way or another.

Yellow Lights

Right now, my clean laundry is folded in a basket on the floor of my bedroom closet. 

 

My clean dishes are sitting in the dishwasher. My bed is unmade. My voicemail is full of messages, my to-do list is growing exponentially and I'm not even a little bit worried about it because the last few weeks have been such a wonderful kind of busy. It's been a time of exciting changes and new beginnings, and in the excitement and hustle and bustle of it all, I forgot to slow down and take a break.



Prepare to Stop

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I need to remember to slow down.

While driving to daycare this morning, F reminded me that I needed to slow down as we approached an intersection, the traffic light glaring yellow as a warning. I felt the car slow to a stop as I braked, in time with traffic and the changing of the light. I need to do this sometimes. I need to slow down. I need to stop.


For two months I've been like a barely-in-control race car, speeding around the little track of my life. Mindlessly, I've gone through the motions without being present enough to see - much less enjoy - my surroundings. The drive to work had become so monotonous that I would often find myself in the parking lot before it really occurred to me that I had left home. We raced out the door in the morning, and rushed home in the evening. It was barely-tasted breakfasts and quick-and-easy dinners. It was lunch at my desk and it was smiles and happy and fresh starts and a lot of coffee, so I'm not entirely sorry that I didn't slow down.

But I plan to park for a day or two. Maybe I'll even get that laundry put away... 

Racing

I try hard to be patient.

Really. I do. I take deep breaths and count to ten and I've been known to even do it backwards (someone once told me that helped). But I'm not. It's just not my nature. It always shocks me when someone tells me I'm patient, because I'm as impatient as they come. Seriously. Ask my mother about the time I learned to skate.

I defied my own impatience tonight when I realized exactly how ridiculous it was that I was holding my hair dryer in front of the canvas I'd been painting. I put the heat styling tool down and started to laugh. And then cry. And then that awful hybrid of laughing and crying where your face contorts and any beauty you have is totally hidden by your ugly-cry/laugh and you're suddenly incredibly thankful that you're totally alone.

I was in such a hurry to finish that painting that I couldn't wait for the paint to dry.

But it got me thinking: what else am I rushing through? I was in such a hurry to get my career started that I missed more than half of my diploma program. I was in such a hurry to be a grown-up that I left my childhood behind. I drive so fast I miss the scenery, eat so quickly I miss the flavours and I sometimes fill my days with so much that I don't even have a chance to enjoy them.

I'm racing my own life away.

I have no time for a learning curve. I expect myself to start out at expert-level in every skill I try my hand at. When I don't, I tend to give up because it's easier than taking the time to cultivate it. I half-ass things because I don't have the time - read: patience - to do it to the best of my ability. (Unfortunately for my floors and luckily for everything else in my life this generally applies to cleaning more than anything else. Oh, and folding my clothes.)

I put F's hat on his head and carry his stuff because it's more time-efficient than letting him have that bit of independence that he so needs. I rush him through the moments that he's savouring because I'm too busy racing towards the next moment instead of just letting it be.

Have you done it? What's your secret? How do you become more patient? Can you recommend a quick fix (kidding... kind of)?

In the past month, a lot has changed for F and I and I've been rushing to fix it, scrambling to rebuild and replace and rewhatever I can. But why? He's happy. I'm happy. Things are different but they're good. Maybe I should just let them be good instead of stressing that they're not perfect. Maybe I should be patient and let myself figure shit out.

Life takes time, and it takes it as quickly or as slowly as it so chooses. We can't control even half of it. Why not enjoy it, learn from it?

I'm looking forward to the weekend. A long weekend. And I'm looking forward to taking off my watch, wiping my schedule clean and letting each moment linger or race as it will while I enjoy every. single. one.

Patiently.

Perspective

Sometimes, our plans can change in an instant.

It doesn't matter whether we like it or not. It doesn't matter if we had all of our ducks in a row, and our heart set on something. Sometimes, things are out of our control. Not meant to be. Sometimes they are.

It's easy to drown in the sadness and frustration and anger that comes from disappointment and heartache. It's just as easy to float away with elation, forgetting to keep your feet on the ground. Emotions can feel larger than life, they can smother us with their intensity and we can lose our focus.

It's cliché, but true: In every ending, there comes a new beginning.

Though a chapter of my life that has been full of love, happiness and growth has come to an end, I can see another chapter on the horizon. I don't know what it has in store, but I know that it will be wonderful and beautiful and I will make it through the rough patch I currently find myself in.

Wherever you find yourself in your journey today, remember how blessed you are to be in that exact place. Count your blessings. You make a life with what you have, not what you wish you had. Let it go. Happiness, as always, is waiting.

Be strong and stay positive. XO

Boys Against Girls

I've never felt inferior (or superior) based on my gender thanks to an amazing team of role models including my fantastic parents, extended family, teachers, coaches and friends. While there are obvious times when a male is better suited to the job, such as those related directly to physical strength, I was brought up with the mentality that boys and girls could do any and all of the same things.

You know, like math and sports.

 As a kid I preferred dolls and dress up, but I was known to get down in the dirt behind Papa's car and make roads with Dinkies. I caught a couple of frogs, but to this day I'm totally grossed out by snakes and bugs. I tried all kinds of sports, from hockey to gymnastics and horseback riding to basketball. I excelled in some places and sucked at others not because I'm a girl, but because it just wasn't my strength.

I'm the girl who wears high heels almost every day, never leaves the house without mascara and I have 6 lipsticks in my purse. I'm also the girl who likes to drink a beer and watch the hockey game. I'm the mother to a three-year-old boy who eats, sleeps and breathes trucks and cars and machinery but announces his favourite colour is pink. His favourite stuffed animal? A lavender coloured puppy named Violet. He likes to watch My Little Pony and Bob the Builder.

He also told me I couldn't play with his trucks today because I'm just a girl.

F started daycare last week and so far he's brought home a miserable cold and ear infection I really could have done without, and talks my (painfully aching) ears off every night about Rachel and Owen and the playground. Apparently he's also bringing that gem home.

F's daycare provider takes care of elementary-schooled aged children before and after school in addition to her all-day toddlers and babies. Maybe that's where he learned it. Maybe he heard it on TV. Maybe it's some inate thing that all small children have in their heads. I'm sure I told little boys on the playground that they couldn't do something just because they were boys, but I can barely remember what colour underwear I put on this morning so it's safe to say I don't remember my 7-year-old antics.

I sat and gently explained to F that boys and girls can do the same things if they want to. Boys can play with dolls and like the colour pink just as much as girls can play with trucks and like the colour blue. It's a super easy conversation to have with a three-year-old, but I happen to think it's a very important one.

It's never too early to teach our kids that it must always be what's between your ears that counts, not what's between your legs.

Dear 16-year-old self

Although there are some parts of being 16 I'd rather not ever revisit, there are a pile of things I wish I could go back and say to myself now.

Dear 16-year-old self:

Hi.

 You may not know me, but I know you. I know you very well. I know your ins and outs, the way your mind works and I know that you have two thongs hidden in a bag in the back of your closet. Don’t worry. Mom’s not going to freak out – in fact, she won’t even say anything about them when they land in the laundry basket. She’ll wash them, and you’ll find them in your underwear drawer. In ten years, you’ll hate them so don’t stress about wearing them. Seamless panties are better and way more flattering. TRUST ME.

I know you’re really worried about having sex for the first time with your boyfriend. Stop feeling bad about your decision to wait, because it’s going to change everything. Know that you made the right decision, and that you chose the right person to share that experience with. When you break up next year, you’re going to feel like you can never love again but you will and you do. By the way, you’re still friends in the future and you’re always going to hold him in a special place in your heart.

Speaking of love, Mom loves you, and she was right: one day you’ll understand why. You see, you’re going to watch your heart running around before your eyes in only a few short years. You’re not really going to be ready for it, but you’re going to love every minute of it.

Stop trying to grow up so quickly – your adolescence and carefree days are gone before you know it.

Stop calling yourself fat. You’re not. Don't listen to the people who make you feel badly. They're as ugly on the inside as they make you feel on the outside. Make sure you don’t skip breakfast – it’s important and while beauty trends are going to go from super thin to curvy and back again over the next few years, don’t forget that healthy is always in.

Make sure you tell everyone you care about just how special they are. You never know when or how things will change.

Don’t stop writing and don’t stop dreaming. Those dreams are going to become a reality and you really are going to be a writer when you grow up. If you don’t believe me, just read this letter again. You wrote it.

Perfection is overrated. Get that through your head.

In less than ten years, you will have cellulite, stretch marks, wrinkles and hormonal acne on your chin. It’s not the end of the world. You’re a tiger and you earned those stripes, dammit. ...Except maybe the acne – but Witch Hazel is your friend and those super expensive acne treatments that are full of harsh chemicals are going to screw up your skin. Don’t waste your money. Seriously, you need it to buy toys for F.

Never say never because you’re going to survive things you thought you couldn’t and do things you don’t necessarily want to. Don’t forget: if you have to convince yourself to be with someone or convince that someone to be with you, it was never right in the first place. Let it go. Happiness is waiting around the corner.

Give Great-Aunt Mayme an extra hug. You’re going to live in her house in a few years, but it’s going to be short-lived. You’re going to feel her presence forever. Smile every time you see a Habs emblem – it’s Doug telling you he loves you. Papa lives in your baby’s heart, and when you look in his eyes you’ll see Papa shining through.

Becoming a Mom is scary. Enjoy every minute of it because he’s going to run out of time to spend sitting on your lap before you’re ready to let go of his hand. Speaking of Moms, make sure you thank Mom for folding your laundry and don’t bitch at her for asking you to put it away. You’re going to miss that. Trust me.

Double speaking of Moms – your biological mom is still out there, and she hasn’t forgotten you. You’re going to find her soon. Hang in there.

Hug Dee, because you have no idea what he’s going through. He’s going to be your best friend in a couple of years – stop rolling your eyes, it’s true – and you’re going to cherish him in a way that you didn’t know you could.

Your boobs are going to be a little saggy in a few years. Take that bra off while you still can, girl!

Don’t forget to forgive yourself every now and again.

Nothing is going to hurt more than sucking up your pride and going home, but you’re going to realize how lucky you are to have Mom and Dad. Go give them both a hug. Say I love you at every opportunity. They deserve to hear it, and you’re not too cool to say it.

High school isn’t forever. The people who are mean to you now will be mere memories soon. You’re going to meet your true friends and they’re as whacky as you are. Oh, and that red-head in the Nike sweater? Yeah, girl... you win him over in a few years. Hold on - he's worth the wait.

It may not be easy, but life is good. Enjoy it.

 

Lessons

Being in a relationship again is kind of weird – but in a good way.

As much as I was really beginning to enjoy hanging out in my sweatpants and being totally disgusting when hidden behind the walls and doors of my apartment, I have to admit that I’m a much bigger fan of having the companionship I've found in Red. It’s such a drastic change from my last relationship that I sometimes find myself overwhelmed with the urge to find a way to go back in time and smack myself upside the head. We just laugh all the time. There’s no nitpicking (except for the occasional, fun pick-at-each-other-sprees we tend to go on – but it’s all in fun, really), and I feel genuinely appreciated every minute that we’re together, and the warm feeling stays with me all day long.

Last night, after consuming far too much food, we laced up our sneakers, put Daisy’s leash on her and hit the pavement for a walk/jog together. I've never done that before. I've never wanted to spend that time with someone, and it’s a little bit overwhelming. I’m not an expert on relationships, but I've had enough of the shitty variety to be assured that I've got a good thing in my life right now. I’m not 100% convinced that I know how to keep a relationship on solid ground, but I think I've learned enough over the past few broken hearts to have a bit of a grasp on this notion.

1. Always think the best of each other. Believe strongly in the good, and doubt the bad.

2. Talk. (Crazy, right?) If you can't talk about it, you have no right doing it - whatever it may be. Sex, love, relationship, whatever. Just talk.

3.Go to bed angry. Go to work angry. Stew, if you must. Have a sip of coffee by yourself, and deal with it when you’re ready. It’s highly unlikely you’re going to solve whatever you’re facing when you’re both overtired, or when you have 15 minutes until you leave for work. Whoever said you should stay up arguing until 3:30 AM, sleep-deprived and frustrated was an idiot. 

4. Don’t complain about your partner to your friends. They don’t love him (or her) the way you do, and they’re less likely to forgive, assuming they ever do. If your friends hate your significant other, it makes your relationship a lot harder. Trust me on this. The same goes for your parents. Need to vent? Talk to his Mom. She'll forgive him. Yours probably won't.

5. Let. Shit. Go. Seriously. Those little things will drive you crazy, so check it where it needs to be and move on whenever possible.

6. Finally (even if a little contradictory to my point here): If it’s that bad, just leave. You’ll both be happier. Life's too short for a shitty relationship. Someone great is waiting. 

I strongly believed for most of my life that being alone was the worst thing in the world. It’s not. Being lonely in a relationship is the worst thing ever. Feeling unfulfilled or unappreciated breaks you down, and it sucks the life and energy from you. My year of singledom was enlightening, occasionally lonely, but it has been and will likely remain to be one of the most educational, fulfilling experiences of my life.

And I can’t wait to see what this next phase brings me.

Time Flies

March is disappearing before my eyes, and I can hardly believe that the day that F meets my new boyfriend is right around the corner. Sometimes I feel as if it was yesterday that I walked through the doors of my Public Relations class at Eastern College. Other days, it seems like it was only yesterday that I held F for the first time. Time is slipping by so quickly I feel as if I'm constantly playing catch-up. 

Neither one of them are babies now.

The hardest part of being away from F over the last few months was the uncertainty surrounding when I will see him again. Nova Scotia winters can be treacherous and unpredictable (much like myself, actually), and the drive is long. I haven't seen him in almost 3 weeks, and it's absolutely killing me. It's with the support of amazing friends, the beauty of technology and a lot of mind-busying tactics that I've survived thus far and I'm sure I'll rely on them in the future, too.

When I was a girl, my parents often lamented that time goes faster as you get older and I think they were on to something. The days have turned into months and into years so fast that memories blur together - or are we just too busy to slow it all down?

I'll never pretend to be an expert on anything, really. I'm not the world's best mom, friend, daughter or anything else but I know how much it hurts to miss moments you can't get back. I've spent the better part of the last three years wishing I could turn back time and spare that extra moment to give my Papa a hug and tell him that I loved him before I left his hospital room that night. I wish I could go back and say the "thank-you" and the "I'm sorry" to so many people that should have been said in that moment. Now it's too late.

I'm guilty of sitting at my computer or looking at my phone when F wants me for something. I'm guilty of letting precious moments escape me, allowing time to fly by taking memories along with it. I'm guilty of half-assing storytime, distractedly building a puzzle with him and pretending to listen to his story while I do something else that is way less important than what my little boy is telling me about what has just transpired between his stuffed animals and the train set.

Time isn't going to slow down. Life isn't going to wait, but we can.

We can make the choice to unplug. Slow down. Relax.

Over the past two weeks, I would have given my left arm to have a few minutes of blissfully uninterrupted time with F and I've realized that I too often let those moments slip out of my grasp. He's never going to be 3 again. He's growing up so fast I can't keep up with him, and the moments I've let pass me by are never coming back.

When I go home this weekend, I'm going to unplug and slow it all down. I'll turn my phone off. I'll leave my laptop in my bag. I'll read every book F wants to read, complete with funny voices. I'll take pictures of him. I'll kiss his fingers, his belly, his toes and his little ears as I help him dry off from his bath and get dressed. I'll have crazy dance parties in the living room, build a fort under the blankets in bed and I'll even sing the Barney song with him. I'll take him outside when he wants to go out and play. I'll roll around in the snow.

And I'll make a pile of memories to make up for some of the ones I've missed out on.

Breakfast Cake

Yesterday, F and I had birthday cake for breakfast.

I'm not sure who enjoyed it more, to be honest. Probably F, since it's still totally new and exciting to him that you could possibly ever eat something beside Cheerios and eggs at breakfast time. If we're being honest, I've eaten many a non-breakfast food for breakfast (beer included). We ate our breakfast cake in my bedroom, he standing at the nightstand and me laying in bed. Between great-big-honkin' spoonfuls, he looked at me and said "I'm so happy you're home. I love cake for breaksbist."

I'm not sure if that was the exact moment or if it was the ten minutes we spent hugging and looking at eachother the night before that did me in, but I melted. He's just so fantastic. Being away from him has been so hard. Even though he's not quite three, F is showing a level of understanding beyond what I could have ever imagined. He told me that I was away so I could buy him more toys, which is partially true: I'm away so I can give him more everything.If it weren't for my family, I wouldn't have the opportunity to do this for F and I. It's the greatest gift ever.

Down the hall from mine, Mom's room is piled high with gifts, each wrapped perfectly with love and care. I haven't wrapped my gifts to my family yet. Nothing seems big enough or good enough. I can't imagine every finding something big enough or good enough to give to my parents. They've given me everything, and I'm doing my best to one-up my gift from the year before every year. (Spoiler alert: Next year, I'm going to try to buy an Island. Wish me luck!)

As a society, we've forgotten the true meaning of Christmas. It's lost in the stores filled with toys and expensive jewelry. Christmas is a time for family, friends and love. It's a time to share, reflect and be thankful for all we have. I've vowed to spend every moment in positivity and love for the next two days. I'll eat cake for breakfast, pour myself a bigger glass of wine and I'll let the poor manners and occasional snarky comment from F roll. I'm going to enjoy every minute.

And I'm going to savour the look on my Mom's face when she sees what I got her for Christmas!