The other day, scrolling through my regular news feed on Facebook, I broke down. I dropped the façade of the superhero mother who is completely at peace with her child's autism, and realized I was human.
It's been almost a year since Jacob last attended school, his immune system too weak to risk exposure to even a simple cold. Nothing with Jacob is ever simple. Life goes on, days stretch into weeks and before I realize it, nine years pass without time away for my husband and I to unwind and relax together.
The night of the performance is one that will be etched in my mind forever. As Amanda, you always dreamed of being on a big stage surrounded by lights and music. In the performance piece called "My Name is Amanda Todd," that is what happened.
Yes, Sophie Grégoire Trudeau asked for help. And with that request, a firestorm has ensued that has attacked her station. I don't mean her ambiguously political role as the spouse of Canada's prime minister or her status of privilege. I very much mean her standing as a working mother.
Many first grade children will finish the school year with no dictionary words for their genitals; and some fourth grade girls will start bleeding from a place in their body for which they either have no name, a family name or, if they are lucky, a dictionary word.
I have had to become resourceful and over time I have learned how to manage the restrictions in such a way that my kids can always find something to eat. If I can offer up advice or ideas that other moms or dads who are doing all of the preparation can find helpful I'm totally into that.
There are an abundance of examples of poor parenting out there, and I didn't know that showing off your curves was one of them. So I thought nothing of posting a photo of myself on Facebook in a fitted dress. I was surprised when someone criticized me for posing like a sexy mermaid when I know good and well I'm a mom.
For divorced moms, Father's Day can stir up a lot of emotions, and many of us are unsure how to acknowledge the day or whether to acknowledge it at all. Divorce as a whole comes with so many ambiguities. Father's Day and Mother's Day, however, shouldn't be ambiguous at all.
It is May and that means it is nearing the end of the school year, which in turn means that there are eighty kabillion dinners, awards ceremonies, and concerts. Each of these has speeches of appreciation which, while sincere, are more or less identical.
Sometimes we forget, we fail to remember: that even those of us who appear all pulled together and perfect (there is no such human thing) and flawless and complete to the outside viewing world: sometimes we all forget, that as individuals, we still have "moments." Moments when life isn't easy.
At my former job in business turnarounds, my boss's refrain was, "What gets measured, gets managed."
It wasn't until about a month into being a mother that I realized that the expectations I was creating were actually holding me back.
Let kids fail young -- while they are still in their beta phase, adaptable and resilient. Let them struggle with a math problem. Let them audition for the lead role when you know they're likely to be cast as an understudy. Let them make mistakes that will build self-care and even empathy.
By the end of this year, visiting hours will no longer exist in Saskatchewan hospitals. In early May, the province decided family members will soon be allowed to sit by their loved one's side, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, should they so desire. Personally, I hope my own province is taking note.
I don't know what Dylan Farrow's experience has been... I can only imagine how deeply painful it would be to hear other women call him a figure of empowerment after he's spent most of her life shaming and discrediting her, while some of the biggest stars in the world fawn all over him and journalists refuse to ask him tough questions because there's some sort of unspoken moratorium on the topic.
Entitled individuals can bob and weave their way through life deftly in large part because those of us around them allow it to happen. We enable that action. We are all guilty of enabling in one form or another -- however, small or large that enablement.
Awake girls might be a little angry. But they know that the poison is outside, not inside. And they'll work to clear the air for all of us.
This weekend, I tried a new approach to the guessing game of paying the babysitter. I told them how much I was willing to pay for her help ahead of time, and I outlined what I expected to happen while I was gone. It was a Take It or Leave It approach, and it worked. But there was a little bit of eye-rolling when I stated that my price for three hours with two kids was $15.