13,000 steps for 80 days

by

I ran my first ever 5K in September, raising money for Sick Kids Hospital here in Toronto, where all of my kids have found themselves at one time, but where Ella in particular has spent many, many hours. I was proud of myself for finishing and for helping out a hospital that has not only helped my own children, but children from all over the world.

After the girls’ time in the NICU, I wanted to do so much. I had all these ideas of how the NICU experience could be improved for families who find themselves there, but in today’s reality, nothing’s getting done without some big bucks behind it. Sadly, I’m not independently wealthy, and I don’t see myself being able to leave millions to the hospital that literally saved my daughters’ lives. But, I do have my voice, and I have my body.

So, in May, I will run 10k, or roughly 13,000 steps, in hopes of raising money for Sunnybrook’s Women and Babies Program where we spent the majority of my second pregnancy, and 80 days after its abrupt end.

And every step will be meaningful, important, cathartic. With every step, I will run for every ultrasound, for every non-stress test, for every doctor looking at me with sad eyes, for every inch of those tangled umbilical cords, for every second spent living in the hospital, for every tear shed during my C-Section, for every time I had to ask if I could hold my babies, for every phone call thinking the worst, for every pin prick into the girls’ heels, for every head scan, for every time Ella might have been sent to Sick Kids, for every damn time I pumped, for every goodnight to my daughters in the NICU and every have a good day to my son in daycare, for every parent in their rooms, for every cookie that sustained me, for every nurse who took the time, for every first moment, for every friend who didn’t know what to say, for every day spent going through those doors, but most importantly, with every step, I will run for every day since, for every day possible because of Sunnybrook, for every day with my wacky, curly haired, singing children. With every step that I run, I will run for them.

This is a fit of my own strength, my own capabilities. I will have to push through the tireddness, the aches, much like my daughters had to struggle to learn to breathe, to eat. Yet, I cannot do it on my own. I ask that if possible, you consider supporting me in those 13,000 steps. That you give so that other babies can live, so that all babies have a chance. Your support will be with me every step of the way as I run for those babies, my babies, those 80 days.

To sponsor me in my 10K, please visit;

https://secure.e2rm.com/registrant/FundraisingPage.aspx?registrationID=3702567&langPref=en-CA

Mama, Ella, and Raegan in Sunnybrook’s NICU


The three musketeers, February 2017


For more information on Sunnybrook’s Women and Babies Program, please visit;

http://sunnybrook.ca/content/?page=women-babies-obstetrics-gynaecology

But, seriously, where did those years go?

by

Yesterday was a beautiful, whirlwind day. Bright and sunny in mid February, and the perfect day to celebrate my bright and sunny bear turning five. Five! It seems like only yesterday I was planning for his first birthday, and now in the blink of an eye, he’s a tall, curly haired kindergartener learning to read and write.

Number 5! February 19, 2017


Braeden has evolved into his own little man; loving all things superheroes and newly discovered Pokemon. His love of school sometimes giving way to his nerves of dealing with the other kids, who are not all sunshine and lollipops. His seemingly fearless attitude being challenged when learning to skate. 

Braeden and Mama and an Avengers cake!


But, throughout it all, he has always been easy going, quick to talk to almost anybody with a smile and flash of one adorable dimple. He always accepted big brother status and despite often scuffling with his sister, he is genuinely helpful and loving with the girls. He invents games and is desperate to become a Firefighter, with constant visits to the Station. 

Lego Batman!

I’m lucky to have such a hilarious, whacky, and kind kid who is empathetic and loving. Who is just as interested in books as trucks and arts and crafts as dinosaurs. I’m excited to see what’s in store for this kid, but, seriously time can slow down any time now.

What Disney Princesses have taught me about love 

by

The girls are starting to discover the magic of Disney, and in particular, the princesses. They are loving Belle and Rapunzel especially. Belle was always one of my favourites growing up and I’ve taken to watching it with the girls again, seemingly a lifetime ago the last time I saw Belle first lay eyes on that library.

But, now, I see the women and stories with a different lens, and our conversations about the Princesses delve much further than just how pretty their dresses are. In fact, I think they’ve taught me a couple things about love.

Always be true to yourself.

Let’s look at Rapunzel. That girl meets Flynn and literally runs around with no shoes, a frying pan, and a chameleon as her bestie, but she owns it. And you know what? Flynn falls for her, just as she is. Even when she starts rocking a new ‘do. And really, what guy wouldn’t want a lady who is just naturally her-flaws and all as opposed to someone who exhausts themselves putting on airs. There was a time I used to try and be what someone else wanted but was more of a character of myself. Now, I’m more like, here I am, sometimes I’m super awesome, sometimes I obsess over dumb shit, take it or leave it, but know that you’ll miss out on something fabulous if you can’t handle it.

Sometimes, the line between good and bad isn’t as clear as it seems. 

It would seem to some that the obvious bad guy in Beauty and the Beast would be the Beast, but let’s be real, Gaston is the biggest asshole ever. And those girls fawning all over him like him because, he’s supposedly good looking? Is that all that matters now? As I’ve explained to the kids, he’s mean to his friends, tries to control Belle, hurts the Beast, and all because he thinks some chick is hot? Like, grow up. At least the Beast owns his crazy until he’s a total baby after being attacked by wolves. He also shows us that love can come in the unlikeliest of places. When we’re looking left, someone comes from the right.

We all have baggage.

Dating in your thirties pretty much predicts that there’s some kind of back story there, and if there isn’t, how weird is THAT?! Flynn was pretty much a typical criminal jackass until he opens up. The Beast seems like a rageaholic until we realize he grew up feeling like a monster. Even Kristoff’s comments to Anna about her “true love” comes from being raised by actual love experts. If we’re coming into love with our own baggage then we have to give others a chance too. Even those seemingly unworthy, for who knows their story?

Sometimes we don’t know what love is until we know what love isn’t.

Let’s take Anna and Hans. He seems like everything she’s ever wanted, like true love. Except, in her time of need, he’s a giant douche and it takes a snowman to talk some sense into her. Pretty sure snowmen don’t even have brains, but once she realizes, she gets it. Love was there, but not the way she thought, and not with the person she thought. My kids always say how Hans is the bad guy, not because he tries to destroy Elsa and take over the kingdom like a real jerk face, but because he lies to Anna about loving her, the ultimate betrayal. 

I can’t protect the kids from having their hearts broken or making some poor dating choices, but I can talk to them about love and show them that the Princesses do more than just look pretty. They’re smart, resourceful, and refuse to be anyone but themselves, even in the face of adversity. And that’s a powerful message for anyone.

Parenting in the new world

by

The last several months have been rife with controversy and political differences, but the last week seems to have taken us back in time and it’s left me wondering how the hell I’m supposed to parent. One of my friends often says that the only thing we really need to be worried about is making sure we don’t raise assholes, but that seems harder and harder in a world seemingly full of them.

Many have compared Trump’s first week as President to the experiences of so many before and during the Holocaust. And, just like the Holocaust, there are those peering down from their ivory towers, believing, foolishly, that they will never lose their privilege, that they will never find themselves there, amongst the persecuted and the broken. Yet, history has taught us that any of us can be sent to the guillotine at any time, and our privilege can only take us so far before our skin colour, gender, country of birth, religion, or physical ability places us in target range.

So, how do you raise kids in a world so full of hatred? You do the best you can. You teach them how to be empathetic by showing empathy. You teach them how to be respectful by using respectful language. We don’t deny what is happening in the world, for that would be to raise them in a fairytale. Instead, we limit what they see and hear from other sources, and we explain to them in ways they can understand. Because something happens to kids and their openness, somewhere along the line they pick up our insecurities, our judgments. Our basic job as parents is to keep them alive, our goal should be to keep their hearts open; to teach them to learn from and love others not despite our differences but because of them. We need to teach them that there is hatred in the world, but that we abhor it. That there are those who hurt, but that we will not stand by and allow it. That there are freedoms that others will try to deny, but that we will fight for them. That it doesn’t matter if they go after my children or my neighbour’s children or children a world away, that I will show my kids that we cannot and will not let anyone, no matter how powerful, take away the basic rights we have fought so long for. 
I could not claim to be a good mother, or even a decent human, if I raised my kids in this world, and didn’t say it’s wrong, didn’t shout from the rooftops how disgusted I am, how heartbroken it makes me. Instead, I will raise empathetic feminists, because I refuse to be a bystander or to raise them. Let us remember that voices together are so much clearer and so much stronger. And that is what our children need from us-strength. 

Ella and Raegan turn three!

by

Ok, so, technically it’s been almost a week since the girls turned three, but it’s been a busy week, with little sleep. And so, here we are.

Ella and Raegan turn 3! January 7, 2017


Every day I am truly amazed by these two. They’ve grown up in the blink of an eye. Two pounds to thirty pounds. Tiny itty bitties to sassy pants preschoolers. They talk SO much. To think Ella was once diagnosed as universally delayed due to speech is so crazy to me – the girl tells stories paragraphs long. Just seems to have so much to say. Raegan is a chatty lady too and the two of them talk constantly to each other and to Braeden. They tell me about their day and their friends at school, but they also lay in bed and call out to each other as they’re falling asleep or waking up, always needing to be near each other.

All dressed up for their party!


The girls got to invite friends to their party; Raegan chose one friend from school and Ella chose two. It’s so amazing to see them with friends that they’ve made on their own, to hear them talk so excitedly about them. When they were in the NICU, imagining “normal” things like making friends seemed so far fetched, so far away, and now that it’s happening I’m wondering what happened to my babies.

The cake!


So, with so many things for the girls, we celebrate, because there is much to celebrate. And when you have twins, sometimes they don’t always see eye to eye, so when one wants a Frozen party and the other wants Bubble Guppies, you throw a mashup party of both and have the girls’ two favourite things come together for my two favourite girls.

Ella adjusting her tiara


So, we got together and wore tutus (or at least, the birthday girls did), ate food, saw friends, and celebrated. Because every year, every day, every moment is worth celebrating.

Bear bum

New year, old me 

by

I’ve never been one for resolutions, or even New Year’s, really. But, I do believe in goals and as 2016 started to come to a close, I began to reflect a lot on the year, and myself.

As I thought back on the year, I realized that it felt as though a dark cloud was constantly hanging above me, one that seeped through to my soul. I acknowledged to myself that my mental health has suffered, that I’ve felt more than a little blue, and in turn, some of the things I loved quickly vanished, replaced by emotional eating and lack of sleep. Workouts became nonexistent, running stopped, my jeans got tighter, and my exhausted mind, body, and soul could barely form the words it needed to in order to write. I didn’t feel like me- I didn’t feel much like anyone; more like the faceless mum à la Charlie Brown, doing everything for the kids and nothing for myself, rendering me like a character.

So, a resolution was made, in a sense. Though not the drop 20 pounds in two months kind, but the find myself-again- kind. The feel better kind. The smile more kind. I need to work on becoming me, a task that may take years to accomplish, so I may as well start now. Back to where it all started with the 21 Day Fix, building my physical strength for toting around children, but my emotional strength as well, for toting around all the baggage that comes with, almost, 33 years of living. 

More writing, more laughter, more listening, and yes, more talking. Talking about what I need to talk about, asking for help, admitting exhaustion. This year is about finding myself again, as not a mum, but the woman underneath. Reminding myself that I deserve love and laughter and adventure, and most of all, an identity. Because finding oneself truly is the most important resolution of all. 

She gets it from her Mama 

by

2016 is soon ending, and it was just one of those years-simultaneously flew by and went on forever. It was a tough year, with so much going on in the world that would make anyone want to crawl under the covers and await the new year.

But, this year was the year I saw Ella grow so much. Her strength throughout this year has been incredible. In January, she could not sit in a high chair. She was needing help to feed herself certain things. And now? Oh now, she can sit on her own, can support herself on the stairs, can army crawl faster than any Marine, and is just so strong. So, so strong.

I’m amazed. Her teachers are amazed. Her progress is phenomenal. And her personality? That sass, that cheeky attitude, that flash of dimple. The crazy, curly hair. What an amazing girl. And seeing all three of my kids playing together, that’s a great Christmas gift. 

Sometimes, I look at her, and I wonder where her strength comes from. Where that personality of rainbows and lollipops and phenomenal attitude of “I can do it!” comes from. Where that unwavering desire to want to do it, to try, on her own, comes from. Where that stubbornness comes from.

I’m pretty sure that Ella is just particularly sunny, but sometimes, I like to think that part of why she’s so strong is because I am too. Mostly, it doesn’t feel like it-the days are long, so long – but I hope that there is strength there. Not all the time, that’s impossible. But in the important moments. Her strength gives me strength and hope knowing that this girl is never going to let anything get in her way, particularly not Cerebral Palsy.

Ella propping herself up and about to crawl!

Stop telling everyone to Consciously Uncouple

by

Ever since Gwyneth first used the term Conscious Uncoupling, it’s like every couple splitting up was in a race to do it the best; to be the most amicable, the coolest, the most modern. And now, everywhere I turn, people speak of these Unconscious Uncouplings, even the news that featured a divorced couple living next door to each other. And that’s great and all-for them. It’s great that so many couples are able to do that, to end one relationship and begin a new one as friends. 

Truth be told, as my marriage failed, and it was clear it was ending, I pictured Christmases and birthday parties together, the kids being able to see both their parents on these special days. Despite the past, I had hopes for the future, my children’s futures. And then, something happened that dashed those dreams of one big happy unconventional family.

And it felt like I couldn’t even get divorce right-a failed marriage, a failed divorce. No amicable Thanksgivings spent passing the stuffing. Instead, an incredibly isolated one where not many people know the full story, nor realize the exhaustion and loneliness I feel deep within my bones. How it feels like the fairytale let me down, and then I, in turn, let the world down by not being one of those cool hipstery couples with an amazingly awkward story to pass around with the craft beer.

How strange it has been for me to not write, to actively prevent my fingers from flying, from saying what is in my heart. But, with the great privilege of children comes the great responsibility, and I chose them over my one tool; my pen and my ink. How heavy this silence seeps through my body, and soul, wishing to express to these other couples, these fine examples, of how it is for the rest of us. 

When we speak of these couples, the Gwyneths, let’s stop speaking of them with the notion that they hold the gold star of divorces, but instead, remember that every story is unique, even the ones unraveling. 

All of those memories 

by

I love Facebook memories for popping up pictures of my babies when they were in fact, babies, and not giants with wild hair and sassy attitudes. But, the last couple of weeks has featured my posts from three years ago-when I was admitted to HRO and living in the hospital to monitor the girls. (Coincidentally, also when I started this blog, so happy three years to all of us!)

One picture really took me back; it was me in bed, my belly exposed, hooked up to monitors to watch how those girls were doing. Back when I was sure everything would be ok. Back when I assumed we’d be rolled into the OR at 32 weeks, smiling and chatting. 

But, the other thing that made me catch my breath when I saw that photo is remembering how lonely I felt. Those weeks in the hospital were the only time in my life that I was never actually alone, what with two tiny ladies constantly using me as a swimming pool, but when I felt the loneliest. I never felt that anybody could get it, could understand how weird it felt to have no control over your own body, to not even really be able to make decisions about it anymore. To have it be Christmas outside but feel almost like doomsday on the inside. 

Having the girls’ birthday so soon after Christmas when it was supposed to be the first day of spring-what craziness. Where have those three years gone and how have we survived it? Never would I have imagined in that hospital bed that this is where we’d be, but I’d never change those wild haired sassy children for the world.

The special needs elite?

by

This weekend we went to get our Santa picture done as a family and I made sure that we were there before his arrival to avoid massive lines and irritated children. 

After waiting for some time, Santa’s elf approached us, and I assumed was going to welcome us as we were next in line, Ella in my arms; however, she informed us that another family was going to go first because their child had autism. There was kind of a quick ask in there, mostly assuming I wouldn’t say no, and of course I didn’t, but I was slightly confused by the interaction. To be clear, they asked one child with special needs to make way for another child with special needs. I’ve been pondering this since it happened and it’s left me perplexed.

My best guess is that there had been a request and they complied. Maybe they noticed Ella’s AFOs, maybe they didn’t. Maybe they couldn’t tell how heavy she was or how she had to be propped up on my lap and held onto tightly. Maybe they didn’t really notice that the kids were starting to get antsy and bored waiting, but I did, and others must have. I’m sure they didn’t mean to make us feel left out, a feeling all too familiar. But to be left out of a group that we are a part of is disappointing. To not receive a thank you or even a nod from the mother, who instead seemed annoyed, not thankful. To feel like their child deserved to go first because that’s what we’re told. But my child also deserves to feel like other kids-seeing Santa and being excited. She doesn’t need to be made special or different because she is already special, as are my other two children, and the day was special.

When I see her smile in the photo and I hear her talking about seeing Santa, I am so filled with love for my girl, who is strong willed and loving and really sees the world so full of magic and rainbows, and I’m just lucky enough to see it through her eyes. And no matter what happens, what people see or don’t see, say or don’t say, we will always have those special moments together and at the end of the day, that’s what fills my heart.