Writer, editor, baker, marketing pundit, perfectionist, grammarphobe, Tough Mudder, human raiser, slow runner, tattoo convert, truth teller.
Erica writes with humour and heart about the ups and downs of parenting, pushing the limits of her physical prowess and the glory of turning 40-something on her blog, Diary of a Domestic Diva. When she's not binge-watching TV series on Netflix -- and obsessively pointing out product placement -- she can be found in the kitchen, touting her mad birthday cake-making skills, sharing party-planning ideas on her other blog, Seven Little Monkeys, running the trails or reading Harry Potter to her kids.
Bad grammar makes her cringe, dragonflies make her smile and housework makes her run and hide. She lives north of Toronto with her four cool kiddos, one amazing husband and assorted dust bunnies. She would love to tell you more over a cup of coffee or glass of wine. Find her on Facebook @diaryofadomesticdiva and @sevenlittlemonkeysblog and on Twitter @ericablogs, Instagram @ericablogs and Pinterest @ericablogs.
As much as we want to sit and communicate with our spawns of Satan, to talk it out, to discuss the situation calmly and rationally, they will stare blankly over your head, at the wall behind you, at the fly on the window and then insist they were listening. Ask them to repeat back what you just said and it's instant amnesia.
Dear Daughter, I'm writing this not to let you know how much I love you, and I do. So much. Not to tell you how proud you've made me and how talented you are. You have. You are. I'm writing you to let you know that I understand. That I care.