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I went to school for television broadcasting, and I have worked in the television industry for the past 17 years... behind the scenes. Not since my college news cast have I been the person in front of the camera.
So, when I got an email from Laurel Crossley-Byers of MomU asking me to be her guest expert on step parenting, I got a little nervous. I said yes, of course, but I knew if I was going to be comfortable in front of the camera, I would have to do my homework.
I set about making notes, reading books, researching websites. It wasn’t until my notepad was half full that I felt I was ready for any questions that might come my way.
When I got to the station and I was having my make up done, I asked Laurel if she wanted to see my notes. She looked at me as though I was a nut. “Notes?”
What? Isn’t this how people prepare? Maybe not everyone is as forth coming with their neurosis, but I guarantee I’m not the only person who ever took notes to be on her show. Not all of us can be as natural on tv as you, dear Laurel.
So, anyway, my notes came in very handy. I used most of the information I had researched, and I think the show went really well.
If you live in the Oakville/Burlington area and you get cable 23, I hope you will tune in. It’s on Thursdays at 9:30 pm, and the step parenting episode should be running April 12.
Okay, now back to my regular behind the scenes job... seems a little lack luster now.
PS. The producer of MomU, Joey, is fabulous (no money exchanged hands for this compliment, I swear.)
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I often talk about how important it is to maintain a friendly rapport with your ex when you have a child together, but today I am going to give another reason to preserve that relationship.
Last night, I went out for a friend’s birthday. I planned to spend the night at another friend’s house so that I could drink without worrying about how I would get home.
I still ended up worrying about how I would get home... but for different reasons; I lost my car keys.
So, this morning I had to phone my husband and tell him I was stranded. Unfortunately, today was full of lacrosse clinics and rep tryouts. Tom wasn’t available to come and rescue me.
I was going to be stuck in Toronto until dinner time, then I remembered that Rebecca’s dad would be driving her from his house (in Toronto) to gymnastics right near my house.
I sent him a text and explained my situation asking if he would come and pick me up. He said yes without any hesitation.
An hour later, I was on my way home playing the alphabet game with my daughter and her dad.
It’s good to have great friends.
*Tom and I returned to get the car when he got home and found the keys in the glove box.
" I remember when I was young and my heart belong to me and me alone; I wore it on my sleeve.
When I was wee, my heart would fill with joy at the simplest of things.... pink cotton candy, a game of soccer, climbing a tree etc. It was just as easily disappointed, but was quick to recover.
As a teenager, I seemed to loose control of my heart. It skipped a beat when I saw a certain boy, it sped up if he stood too near, and I thought it might burst with my first kiss.
Then, when said crush rejected me, the agony was so intense I thought my heart may actually stop beating. My heart was irreparably torn apart... or so I thought.
Some how, my heart was salvaged... again, and again. It’s hard to be a teenage heart.
As an adult, I found my heart’s soul mate, and was married. I thought my heart was safe and sound. No-one could possibly cause me anymore heartache.
I was wrong.
My heart has never been more exposed or more vulnerable, as it walks around in the pockets of four young children. They don’t know it’s there, but it jumps when they are confronted with conflict, it weeps when they feel sad, and it practically explodes when they achieve even the most minute goal.
The hardest part? It waits tentatively when my children have to make tough decisions, it implores them to make the right choices, but knows that the choices are theirs to make. It hopes and prays that I have imparted the knowledge and common sense that they need to stay clear of danger and wants only to know that they will be okay.
My heart is no longer mine; it is my family's.