I need to be frank with you guys.

Please don't hate me for speaking the truth, and take a deep breath before reading any further.

Being a mom and not having life insurance is dumb. Your husband/wife/partner not having life insurance is dumb. It's beyond dumb, it's downright stupid. You love your kids, and you love the person you sleep with (besides your children), so you need to do the responsible thing and provide for them in the event that you no longer can.

Before my husband and I had kids and when we were both working full-time, we would talk in the afternoon and decide what we wanted for dinner that day. One of us would stop at our local grocery store, grab the ingredients we needed, then come home and make dinner. We had the time and financial freedom to make monthly Costco trips for our deep-freeze, and to buy everything else we needed at will.

Back in the day, when my (now) husband Matthew and I made the decision to get married, we signed up for a pre-marital course that covered topics that newlyweds would encounter. One of the topics was finances, and we were asked to estimate what our monthly food budget would be. Matthew and I had lived on our own for years, so we knew the drill. Another friend had only lived at home, and he estimated that a monthly food budget for him and his wife would be about $200. Ha. Ha! Haaaaaa.

I picked up my kids from school today and chatted with a few other parents, as I like to do. (Being self-employed means that I take any adult social interaction that I can get.) One of the Dads mentioned that there was a website we should all check out — kidsbowlforfree.com

I like the word "free" and when I got home I looked up the site.

I've been a bit of a numbers geek for as long as I remember. I not only did math problems for fun in workbooks my parents bought me, but I loved to earn money and put it into my bank account. I bought what I needed, and sometimes what I wanted, donated some, and the rest went into my savings account.

As a Chartered Accountant, I'm pretty good with numbers. I kind of have to be in my line of work.

One of my very first posts at YMC, a year ago, was about when kids should join Facebook. There were so many great comments—over fifty—but then my Disqus account got set up and all of those comments were obliterated. In the age of no comments that was especially tragic, but I've carried on like the trooper that I am.

The first pet our family had was a cat named Kitty. Her real name was Milley, but our son was nineteen months old at the time and he could only say "Kitty." Kitty she was.

Kitty was six years old and her owners were moving overseas. I had a toddler and was a month away from baby number two. Kitty had been rescued from the SPCA and spent a few years with toddlers, so I knew she's be fine. She was more than fine. She was awesome.

I started babysitting at an early age. I moved in with my Dad and his third wife when their first baby—a girl!—was not quite two. My stepmom was pregnant with their second child, and a few months later there was a boy in the house.

I remember the first time I took my wee baby brother to change his diaper. I took everything off and was confronted with something new.

Me: "What do I do???"

Mom: "Wipe around it!"

Two winters ago, our family of five took up skiing. We all had lessons and before we knew it, we were regulars on the chair lifts and the blue/green runs. (My boys can ski black diamond runs, but they have better ability and no fear.) We made due with the winter clothes that we had, which meant that when the temperature dipped below freezing, our ski days were cut short. Being chilled to the bone does not make for a fun day in the snow.

I have always been a morning person, mostly out of necessity. My Mom had to head for work that started at 7 am, and she would make sure I was up so that I could get myself and my younger sister off to school. In college, my student work was serving breakfast bright and early. I would get back to my room, turn on the light, and chirp, “Rise and shine, Sunshine!” to my roommate. Years of working at a firm where the office opened at 8 am kept my early-morning persona alive.

Many years ago, one of my childhood friends was visiting me with her five-year-old daughter. This friend is beautiful — stunning, even — with perfectly full lips, wide brown eyes, and a light that shines from within. She's also fit and trim and turns heads wherever she goes. A few times throughout the weekend, she talked about how she felt "fat" and "not beautiful" within earshot of her daughter. Later, when we were alone, I asked her if she always talked about herself so negatively in front of her daughter.

Before I had any kids, I was adamant that I would not have a December baby. I am a January baby, and that is pretty bad in its own right. My birthday is less than three weeks after Christmas which means that there is much fanfare and then ... nothing for the next eleven months. I have a cousin born on December 25th (Merry Christmas!) and both my mom and one of my best friends have a birthday on December 27th. That week of Christmas is nuts and no child should have to compete with both Jesus and Santa Claus.

My baby girl turned seven last week. SEVEN. (Let's take a moment to mourn both her babyhood and my youth.) (Solitary tear.)

My husband — like many men — has an aversion to seeing the doctor. There have been many times where I've had to drag him to the doctor against his will. Well, not literally drag him — he's seven inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than I am — but I have my ways (read: I'm feisty).

Longtime readers of my personal site know my story when it comes to health and fitness. I was a "big girl" growing up, who learned the importance of healthy eating and exercise in her twenties. I still battle "fat days" in my head, because even though I am fit and strong, I am muscular and thick(er) and will never be willowy. Eh, whatever. I ran a half marathon this past weekend. These thighs of mine are serving me well.

We have a number of friends friends who spend the bulk of their summer driving their travel trailer to various locations and camping out. We have other friends who go even more basic and pitch tents (Heh) and cook over a fire and squat in the woods/facilities. I grew up doing both and it was great and wonderful and I have many fond memories. It's just not my bag anymore.

I am married to a man, and that man and I have three children. He works full-time at our church, which means that he works many more hours than he's paid for. It's the name of the game. I work full-time as well, between contract accounting jobs and contract writing jobs. I also volunteer at my kids' school, attend a Boot Camp three days a week, and run three other days of the week. Because I like to take a dare, I'm training for my first half-marathon.

I've been living in the South Okanagan area of British Columbia for over twelve years now. The area is famous for its hot weather, dry climate, multiple beaches, and many tourist attractions. I remember coming here before I lived here and not knowing where to begin, so we just laid on the beach. Beach time is important, yes, but you need to check out some of the hidden gems we have.