Friday, March 2, 2018


After a late night out with the girls, I was struggling to get out of bed. The boys had been parked in front of the TV for about 10 min when Ben had done something to offend Adam. Adam runs upstairs looking for a referee.

Adam: "mom! Benny did (I can't remember what)"

Me: "ok. Tell him to stop and if he does it again, I'll take care of it"

Two minutes pass, Adam runs back upstairs.

Adam: "ok mom. It's time to kick Benny".

I'm suddenly no longer sleepy.

Me: "What? Why would I kick Benny?"

Adam: "...well you said you would"

Me: "I said I would TAKE CARE OF IT. I'm not the Mafia"

Adam leaves disappointed.

Luckily, they do generally get along remarkably well.

An Auspicious Eve

It's currently 11:09 on March 2nd. To most, this isn't particularly meaningful. To me (a general non celebrator) it signifies the eve of my 31st birthday. THIRTY-FIRST. And I find my feelings are a bit of a mixed bag. I am getting older. This cannot be denied. I am also a fully fledged, fully exited of my twenties adult (and have been for a year. It's just hitting hard at the moment). I feel like this should mean that I should have my s*** together, but sadly that's not really the case. I still have THREE family portrait sessions, beautifully done, and only one photo hanging on my wall, because the others didn't fit the frames properly and I couldn't be bothered to reprint and get hanging nails. Homemaking skills? Nil. They say the grass is greener on the other side (yes I know you should just water your own), but so much of my twenties seemed to be looking forward what would come next, that I feel like I should be more educated/eloquent/well read. And I DEFINITELY need to figure out makeup. This part of my teen years was completely skipped over and I'm realizing that my days of being able to coast on what my mamma gave are coming to an end.

In short: I'm a hot mess.

Realistically, I shouldn't be surprised by the above statement. But even as I type, my inner advocate is rising like the warrior she is. I managed to scrape together a degree with no student debt. I managed to put a pretty smart guy through law school. I also played a pretty big role in getting him a pretty great job. I managed and was blessed to birth three hilarious, rambunctious, healthy and interesting kids. And I have even managed to juggle some kinda cool part time work into that mix some of the time. Bonus points for keeping four extra people alive ON THE DAILY and not losing my cool more than a handful of times a week despite doing more on less sleep than maybe I ever have.

Alright 31. I may not have accomplished all my goals before your arrival. That second degree is slowly edging off of the back burner. And those family photo's are definitely not going up by midnight. They may never. But when the grandkids find the photos buried in some box at the estate sale, at least there'll be evidence of some kind.

The first 30 were relatively classy and totally awesome. Bring it 31. I'm ready for you.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

And Then There Were Five

I've never been one for mementos, scrapbooks, baby books, or anything remotely crafty really. But, when given the time, I do like to write. So sorry kids. I didn't really save a lock of hair from your first hair cut, I didn't fill our your baby books, and there's no cool cement handprint from your first days. I'm just not that mom. Although I think I did keep your umbilical cord stub somewhere in a drawer, because the gross stuff is the most interesting! But, I do like to record your birth stories while they are still fresh. At least so far I can say you were all treated more or less equally.

They say that the third baby is the wild card, and to throw all expectations out the window. My motto in life is to hope for the best and to expect the worst, but I harboured more than a little hope that this babe might come at a comfortable 37, or 38 weeks. A girl can dream.

We did not see a baby at 37, nor 38 weeks. Not even at 39 or 40. I thought that my patience had been tested fairly with Ben at 40 + 5 and that I wouldn't be called to go through that again. I think from here on out, I need to throw all expectations out the window.

My maternity doctor, who had delivered Benjamin so beautifully, was going on holiday the day after my due date. This wasn't really the end of the world, but I A) didn't really want to be pregnant any more and B) hoped in a perfect world he might deliver again, and so given that I reallllly didn't want to be induced, I ramped up my efforts at encouraging labor. This included walking 3 km daily, eating copious amounts of pineapple, eating spicy food, and just about every other trick in the book. I had also done a condensed hypnobirthing class, and on my due date, tried some acupuncture to see if that might speed things. While it did have some effect that had me hopeful we might be getting somewhere enough that we went into baby.

My mother in law and brother in law drove up on a week my mother in law could take off from work. They arrived two days after my due date and left five days after my due date. No baby.

There had been plenty of intermittent contractions, a few that even had me thinking we might be getting somewhere. But ultimately, no baby. And while I tried to be zen I tended to volley between thinking I could do this one more day, and being convinced that this was the seventh circle of hell. It's not a headspace I recommend.

Finally, on Saturday evening, a full week after my due date, I started to believe maybe this child was not indeed, an elephant in need of a two year gestational period. Around ten o'clock at night contractions seemed to be getting pretty consistent, albeit somewhat erratic. They were still quite manageable though, so I sent Jim to bed. Around midnight I sent for my doula (again, everyone should have one). She was beautifully encouraging, and I don't think she stopped gently massaging me my whole labor. As things began to feel more intense, my mind went to a place I don't think it had ever gone before in previous labors. I have never experienced prolonged prodromal (or early practice labor) like this, and it made it hard to see an end in sight. That, and the fact that my other labors had been relatively long, made me doubt myself in ways I hadn't expected. I have never wanted to request pain medication before (other than gas) but labouring at home it was calling my name. With any medical intervention there is a risk, and being risk averse I tend to avoid them, but I was sorely tempted. My contractions at this point weren't longer usually than 30-45 seconds, and at times were quite spaced out, but I took that to mean a long road ahead and I already felt so weary.

By morning it seemed like a good time to head to the hospital. I was still managing well, but given the somewhat erratic nature of my labor I was sure they would triage me and tell me I had progressed minimally. When the nurse said "you're a seven" I could have kissed her. Knowing that some of the longest, and hardest work was behind me, my mind shifted and I knew that I could do this.

We were assigned to a room and settled in. I had some excellent hippy zen music queued (magic stuff) and we settled. I laboured for some time before requesting the gas. We had arrived at the hospital at 8:00 am and laboured quite peacefully. Given that I am always positive for a certain type of bacteria that poses some risk to baby I had to have two doses of antibiotics administered intravenously. We just barely managed to finish the second round, when they checked and I was fully dilated (and likely had been for a bit), and my water still had not broken. The doctor arrived and they broke my water. Given that his head was still fairly high, it was odd, because they urge to push wasn't there like it had been previously. Up to this point I had employed hypnobirthing relaxation and techniques, but wasn't comfortable employing birth breathing (essentially using breathing techniques to deliver baby rather than pushing), and so I pushed. For all of five minutes. Birth itself, despite my dejected mind trip in the beginning, had been remarkably effective and manageable. I don't think contractions had ever gotten closer than 5 minutes apart. Pushing may have lasted 5 minutes but...oh I don't like delivery. I am a worker. I was an athlete. I don't quit and I am no pansy. But I really didn't know if I was going to survive pushing.

It's funny. I had been so anxious that this baby would be large. Ben had been 9.3 lbs and I really didn't want to go there again. As an athlete I often found that workouts and races were about lying convincingly to myself. Getting to the halfway point is always the hardest. This isn't so bad. You've done harder things. This is fun! It seems my mind employs the same tricks in labor. Laboring with this baby I knew, that this baby wouldn't be, couldn't be so big as ben. When they weighed him in at 9.11 lbs, I was grateful for the ability to lie to myself, and believe it.

That moment when they laid him on my chest, even though it was my third, is still so magically serene and surreal. Nine months. It's a friggin long time. And there he was, so pure and beautiful, and fresh. He was calm from the start and so far has remained. We decided to name him Leo after my grandfather, whose birthday was three days earlier, and Maxwell after Jim's grandmother's maiden name. And just like that, after months, countless walks, and some good meltdowns, he was here and in an instant it was all worth it. Every bit. Because we aren't complete without him. His sweet, calm, observant demeanour completes us.

I know that Ben will likely continue to struggle a bit with his role as baby usurped, I know that eventually Leo will have moments where he is as big a turd as his brothers, and I know that there will be moments that will test me in new ways I'd rather not think about. I will feel like I'm not cutting it, in some way or other, always. But man do I feel lucky. Three boys. Three wild things. Three musketeers. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Monday, August 7, 2017

Standing on the Precipice

Clearly I only update surrounding major life events. Better than nothing.

As I write it's 10:44 pm two days after my due date with baby number three. We have enjoyed an easy, uncomplicated pregnancy, but it's time. I'm ready to not be the size of a moderately sized urban townhouse anymore.

As I anxiously await for things to get going in earnest though, I can't help but want to savour, and even feel some guilt at the change that I am about to bring about. Life is good. Very good. Adam is an  excellent older brother, Benny relishes his role as the baby of the family, and we have a good routine. And in a matter of hours, or days, all of that will change. And as much as we are excited, I also can't help but mourn, in the smallest degree, that this chapter is ending. That change is coming. And that I don't know what that will look like or how it will impact the ones already here. Ben has always been my cuddly bear, and I think he senses something is shifting. Adam knows what's coming and is excited, having done it once before, and it's my hope that he might help his brother navigate what will be new territory.

And yet standing so close to this inevitable change, I am so anxious to hear that newborn cry, to snuggle that rose petal soft skin, and to smell that sweet milky breath. Standing in the in between has never been a preferred place of mine.

My headspace has been all over the place of late as I try to prepare for this impending birth, try to ensure my mind is prepared to put forth the work, to be patient, to trust that my body and my baby can work in harmony, to be patient, while still trying to be active and engaged, and fun to the two energetic boys I already have. It's such an odd place to be in, and it's my hope that my putting these feelings and thoughts into words, that the pieces might somehow fall into place and that the ball will start rolling in a forward direction. Because nobody really wants to be the size of moderate urban townhouse indefinitely.

Keep us in your thoughts and prayers. We may need the extra strength over the next few days or weeks.

Until then, here's a photo of the two hooligans ;)

Saturday, June 24, 2017


While the boys squabbled over something in the car on the way home

Mom: "Who's the boss"

Two year old: "Me!"

Mom: "I don't think so dude"

Two year old after a brief pause: "Boss baby"

...I've unintentionally created a monster

Thursday, June 8, 2017

To Boys Who Grow

It's almost midnight. I have folded about 6 loads of laundry, started an article for a group I periodically write for, scrubbed my kitchen, and should be packing for a weekend trip we take tomorrow. Blogging is not what I should be doing right now.

But here's the thing. Today is June 8th. Tomorrow is June 9th, my oldest baby's fifth birthday. And my heart can barely stand it. Five years ago tonight he and I worked like dogs for him to be able to make his entrance into this world. And that baby has now grown into a beautiful, inquisitive, energetic, dinosaur obsessed, kind, brotherly boy who often seems to me to be wise beyond his years. And I completely adore him.

I know I can't stop the growing, though I have tried. When I ask him to stop now he just says "mom I can't. Heavenly Father made me so I could grow into a big daddy". And of course he's right. But what I wouldn't give just to slow his pace and savour it a little bit longer.

Yesterday was a hot, glorious day. And so along with some friends of our we went to a local splash park. Given the heat of the day, lack of a public outdoor pool, and the fact that it's one of only two in town, the place was pretty packed. I was keeping as close an eye on him as I could, but at some point when I wasn't looking he had managed to run into someone pretty hard. He ran crying into my arms, with a slightly bloody nose, and I held him close until the pain subsided. It was nothing remarkable. It's an act I've performed at least a thousand times and a hallmark of motherhood. But holding him there in my arms with his younger brother balanced on one knee it hit me: I may not get to do it a thousand times more for him. In September he's off to full day kindergarten. His landscape, our landscape, is about to change in some significant ways and the boy who knows his mom can make anything better...might not believe that for more than a few more years. And so I held him as if I could slow time. As if I could freeze it. As if I really could fix whatever came his way.

Oh Adam. I hope someday you always know how incredible you are. I hope you always ask so many questions. I hope that as you grow, you will learn to fix the problems that come your way, but I also hope you never get too old or wise to ask me for help.

Happy Birthday Bud. You completely rock our world.

Friday, May 12, 2017

Overheard in the Pool

A few weeks ago a girlfriend and I took our boys to the pool. We both have two that are about the same age, and generally they play pretty well together. The big ones had life jackets on and were motoring around and so we were mostly focused on the littlest two. After a few minutes however, it became apparent that some significant tension had arisen between the two older boys.

Curious, as mom's we investigated. This is my first real foray into the overactive imaginations of preschoolers.

Me: "Adam, what's wrong man?"

Adam: "He stole it! He stole my imaginary treasure!"

Me: "huh? Where did he put it?"

Adam: "I don't know, but he took it and it's gone and I'm REALLY MAD AT HIM!"

Me, with a brilliant idea: "Oh no. But good news Adam, I got it for you right here". I hold up empty hands.

Adam: Eyes as big as saucers, utter surprise on his face "YOU STOLE IT BACK?"

Me: Uh huh. Just for you buddy.

Moments later, the other boy is shouting: "Adam thinks he has the treasure back, BUT HE DOESN'T!!!!".

Well that was fun.