Having shingles is horrible — the aches, the pains, the feverish nerve inflammation, and that awesome ‘I just took a roll in fiber glass’ feeling where your skin hurts when someone even looks at it… Oh and let’s not forget the gross tell-tale rash and, in my case an eye infection. Eww.
Moms, beware. If you’ve had chicken pox, you can get shingles. You aren't immune. And it sucks. It especially sucks when your recovery time can be clocked with a stopwatch, because shingles can go on for weeks.
My daughter is out of diapers. She is in a great school and has a great routine. My ex-hubs and I are amicable and have worked out a really solid approach to co-parenting.
I have a dog.
I have a small business with ever-changing demands.
I have a new, supportive, and amazing relationship.
I have friends that I can visit with, and events that I can say "yes" to, confident in my child care routine.
After many years, my life is finally coming together.
A while back I sent 3 lucky mummies to Civello Queen St. Salon and Spa for a lesson in pampering and putting yourself first. Each mama got spoiled head to toe with manicures, pedicures, massages, facials, hair cuts, colours, and full make up; but only one lucky lady got to have her story featured on a webisode of Trying Times.
Halloween decorations and spooky books and specials can seem like no-brainers when we’re trying to look for triggers that might scare our kids or cause anxiety, but at the end of the day it can be hard to pinpoint what is actually setting off their fears.
Yesterday was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day and it took all my strength to be vocal about it on Facebook.
I sat there glibly, scrolling through feeds, eyes darting around, the familiar anxious gurgle of heart burn bubbling away in my chest.
“You should totally post it. You want to. You need to.”
Tick tock.
I miss clocks. I miss the gentle ticking reminder that a task is waiting. The elegant sound of gentle pressure, and a reminder that we are in a moment. And then another.
Do you think that because you’re pregnant or raising a kid it means you have to move to the ‘burbs? Not so fast. Between condo communities, family-centered activities, quiet green spaces, and at-your-doorstep transportation, city-living can offer your family the perfect kind of convenience, and a very cool blend of urban and wholesome.
I’m selling my family home as part of the divorce.
My rational self knows the outcome is going to be great for both the Ex and me, but getting through it this far has been exhausting. It’s been sort of like stepping into an inviting, buttercup-frosted meadow only to be blown sky high by emotional landmines.
Like most social media savvy dogs, Rolo the dog came into our lives via Facebook.
He appeared in the feed of a friend of mine — a 6-month-old puppy with all his shots, free to a good home. After a long and winding road he ended up in our welcome arms. And he promptly changed my life forever.
I’m frozen in the bathroom in post-shower nudity. For some reason I can’t even grab the towel in front of me and water is dripping noisily against the ceramic.
“YOU’RE GOING TO DIE.”
I swallow hard. I can feel my pulse running so quickly and high that it’s become a throaty tremolo.
Earlier this year I fell in love with a pair of underwear.
They were fancy, lacy, adorable, sexy—and being held hostage at an adult store.
I sat there in the parking lot of said store, with my heart slamming inexplicably in my chest, palms glistening and sweaty, as I drummed up the courage to go in.
When I first saw the #Zombiemoms hashtag on Twitter, I laughed out loud. What else could possibly capture the shambling gait; involuntary groaning; and sleep-deprived, delirious, empty stares of early motherhood? And let’s not forget our compulsive appetite for brains…um I mean coffee.
When Baby Girl would ask about me having another baby, I’d look at the crib in her room like it was some kind of oracle. Like it was somehow going to tell me if I stared at it long enough.
“Mummy, I want another sister, ok? Maybe a brother. Maybe both. I really love babies and you’re a great mummy. You should have some more. We don’t really need a daddy. Maybe you can ask your friends to help you...”
Hmm. Oddly convenient that the crib decides to stay quiet at times like this.
We look to reconnect with that person inside of us, but often settle for a passing reflective surface and a snap judgment about how we look and what we’re wearing.
Maybe we are torturing ourselves. Maybe we’re not eating. Maybe we’re binging. Maybe we’re purging. Maybe we are programming ourselves to feel shame about our bodies, and crossing our fingers that our children or friends and families don't see what we’re doing or why.
Generally the Ex and I don’t fight, which is pretty awesome. But when we do? Good. Lord. It’s like listening to Sean Connery spiel about Capone in the Untouchables.
“They pull a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. *That's* the *Chicago* way!”
Pole dancing is an all-year round super fun fitness regimen that will have you feeling like a kid, and Valentines is the perfect excuse to try it now.
I did, and I love it.
Hands down.
I headed over to Aradia Fitness Oakville to meet with Owner/Instructor Jane Wilson to find out as much as I could about the pole, and learn some awesome moves.
Jane is lovely, effervescent and all smiles, and her Oakville studio is warm and inviting.
Earlier this year I started to realize that this blog was not just about my life journey as a newly separated mom. I literally woke up one day and thought that there’s so much more to it all. There are as many truths and stories to share as there are facets in a person.
