Posts Tagged: Guest Post

An open letter to my daughters – from your over-thinking Mom.

Dear Anna and Lauren,

I’m writing to you today for the same reason that I always blog about you or write to you. So that one day, when you’re grown, you’ll hopefully be interested in knowing how your Mom thought and felt about your childhood and raising you when you were wee.  And you’ll be able to read all about it.

(Goodness knows I won’t remember all the little details.)

I want to give you a look into the inner ramblings of my mind. And it goes a little something like this:

 

I’m laying in bed.

I’m thinking instead of sleeping again. I’m thinking about how late it is. Thinking about you two.

I turn over and stare at a strong, quiet face – covered in stubble. It’s a peaceful face. Sound asleep. It’s one of your most favourite faces in the world.

I marvel at how the brain inside that head has the ability to be so carefree. I wonder if he ever lays awake thinking about every little thing that happened that day. Would sleep ever take a backseat to the worry that he didn’t do good enough today?

I wonder if your little 4-year-old self will remember that I lost my cool and yelled at you this morning? Or will you remember the afternoon we played on your bed for over an hour – kissing and hugging, then laughing… hiding under the covers, giggling and rolling around.

Will you, my sweet little 2-year-old, have happy memories growing up in our house? Playing in the court outside, running and biking and picking up leaves and insects. Will you think I took enough pictures of you? Will you talk about our family vacations with fondness when you’re grown?

What does it take to do it right? What do I need to do? What do I need to say?

Of course, I realize, for the most part I just need to be. Be present. Be here for you. Kiss your boo-boos. Hug you each morning. Tell you how happy I am to see you when you get home from school. Just be me.

Because “me” is someone who loves you intensely. Who can’t quite remember being someone other than your Mom.

Someone who will always do things like smile and laugh with an incredible amount of pride at the sight of you jumping on the trampoline at gymnastics class. Or immediately start bawling when you give me your first Mother’s Day card made at daycare.

And as you get older, as we make different choices together – I’m learning. About you, and me, and the decisions I have to make as a parent.

And I’ve realized that there’s no script to follow. I can’t answer the question “what does it take to be a good Mom”. There are no rules for everyone to obey.

But, I do know that it doesn’t matter if we stay at home or go to work, have one child or have six, if they’ve got special needs or not, if we believe in attachment parenting or if we’re laissez-faire. We all have the same worries. The same feelings. The same questions.

And we all love like we’ve never loved before.

Remember that, my girls. Remember that I love you. Remember that, Moms. Remember that you love like you’ve never loved before.

And for that reason, the kids are going to be alright.

Everything’s going to be alright.

We’re alright Mommy. You can stop worrying so much. (For now…)

 

About the Author:

Heather Dixon is a copywriter at Mabel’s Labels, a smoothie aficionado, a runner, a wife and a Mom to two – soon to be three! – highly advanced little girls (according to her husband and her).

Outsmarted by a toddler and a cookie.

Cookie? What cookie?

I can clearly remember the exact moment I realized my toddler was getting too smart.

When my 4-year-old daughter was not quite 2 yet, the little buttertart pulled me by the hand to the kitchen one day and pointed to a tin sitting on our counter. A tin she has never seen before.

“Coo-ee!” she exclaimed, over and over again.

Yes, there were cookies inside. But how the heck did she know?

So I did what Moms do sometimes. I lied to my kid. (The right kind of little white lie doesn’t hurt that much, right?)

“Sorry honey, the cookies are all gone. No cookies! All gone! Cookies all gone!”

She looked at me with a furrowed brow. I got down to her level (as I’ve been told by experts to do to help her understand what I’m saying) and repeated myself.

“No cookies, honey. Sorry.”

She looked at me and started saying something I couldn’t quite understand. I kind of stared at her for a moment… Just enough time for her to get frustrated with me. “Mommy! Coo-ee!!” she yelled while pointing at my face.

“I don’t know what you mean, sweetie.” I replied.

So she touched a spot on my face. And when she pulled her finger away, there was a brown spot on it.

Chocolate.

I wiped my mouth and realized I had a huge blob of chocolate chip on my face.

Awesome. I had just been caught red-handed. So I grabbed the tin and gave her a cookie. “Here you go, honey. Have a cookie.”

She smiled and trotted off.

I stood in the kitchen for a moment, watching her walk away happily, realizing I had been found out by a 23-month old.

The kid. She’s too smart for her own good.

Mama’s in trouble.

 

About the Author:

Heather Dixon is a copywriter at Mabel’s Labels, a smoothie aficionado, a runner, a wife and a Mom to two – soon to be three! – highly advanced little girls (according to her husband and her).

#World’sWorstHockeyMom

Guest Post from Karen Pearson.

I started that hashtag for fun one day on Twitter, after my son’s coach skated over to the boards with a smile on his face, to let me know that I had put my 10-year-old son’s goalie pads on the wrong legs. * face palm *

Don’t get me wrong; I’m no stranger to chilly arenas and snack bar hot chocolate. We’ve got three kids who all took skating lessons and performed in those big production skating shows at the end of the year. Shows complete with dress rehearsals, lighting, music, professional photos and souvenir DVDs. Elaborate costumes ranging from Alice in Wonderland to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and my all-time favourite the adorable Penguins (perfect choice for aspiring 4-year-old skaters. Lots of shuffling, falling down, helping each other back up…still one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen!).

But hockey’s different. I’d heard stories from other parents about how hockey completely takes over your life, and if your child makes it into rep, LOOK OUT! When we signed our son up for Timbits many years ago, my husband agreed that he would be the hockey parent and handle all those details like registration deadlines, schedules, skate sharpening, equipment shopping, and shuttling to early morning practices and games. I can be counted on to make sure all the equipment is labeled (with the Hockey Combo, naturally!), show up for games and marvel at how it’s even possible for a young boy’s hockey equipment to smell THAT bad.

When my husband is out of town, with the best of intentions I bravely slip into the hockey mom role (see goalie pad mix-up above). I sit in the stands with the other hockey parents and try to casually divert the conversation when talk turns to levels, divisions and stats (Yikes, is he in blue or white this year? Which one is the middle level? Is this Atom or Pee Wee?). I can’t get that equipment in the washing machine fast enough and admit to accidentally putting the cup back in the jock backwards AND upside down. Ouch! Apparently nobody ever takes those things out when they wash the jock. Who knew?

We always wanted our son to play hockey for fun, exercise and all the benefits that come from playing a team sport. Now that he’s getting older, the pressure’s heating up and the stakes seem higher. I’m okay with my lackadaisical role and I’m pretty sure he won’t be scarred by the involvement I’ve had (or haven’t had) in his hockey years.

In fact, I think he enjoys teasing me about almost melting his new mouth guard in boiling water, hearing me yelling from the stands “Hey, no pushing!” whenever anyone gets a little rough with him on the ice…and those tricky goalie pads.

Does your child play hockey? If so, what’s YOUR hockey parenting style? How does your family manage all the sports and activities in your busy household? Ever put goalie pads on the wrong legs or something similar? I can’t be the only one, right? Right?

 

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