Wednesday, 31 December 2014

New Years resolutions!

So, I know you were all on the edge of your seat waiting for this. Haha!

Every year, I make resolutions, that are somewhat unnatainable. I mean, who doesn't, right? But this year? This year I plan on keeping them all. So, in order to hold myself accountable, I'm sharing them with you!

  • Get this weight off, once and for all! I lost 30lbs in 2014, which doesn't seem like much when your goal is 80lbs. But, it gave me room to breathe. I finally felt curvy, instead of just "fat" God, I hate that word. I felt happier, I had energy, I just felt more amazing than I had in years. I had a setback, and while I haven't gained any weight back....I am definitely fluffier. And, my thoughts had always been that as soon as we were for sure finished having babies, I would get serious. Well, here we are! And this is my year!
  • Get more organized. Clutter. Clutter everywhere! I want it gone. I will be no longer hoarding every single sheet of paper my kids colour on. Some of it has to go! Clothing that no longer fits will be going to goodwill, and my cupboards will lose the expired green beans. 
  • Have more sex. I know that as a mother with small children, it's very easy to get into a routine. Trust me, I've been there. You are exhausted because your kids don't sleep. You are overwhelmed with everything that needs to be done. At the end of the day you just want some time where nobody touches you. But, suddenly you realize that you and your husband have turned into roommates. And even though there are many nights when I would rather be doing anything else, I know that it's important for my marriage. 
  • Run, run, run. I love running. I honestly never ever thought I would like it, let alone love it this much. It's therapeutic, it's exhausting, it's's just everything. I have realized that lately I just haven't been doing enough of it. And with a half marathon coming up in June, I really need to put the time in. 
  • Spend more one on one time with my kids. With 3 kids, you find out very quickly that there isn't always enough time to go around. And then, you get kids who act out for attention. Which is something we're dealing with right now. And I know that it's important for my kids to feel like they don't have to compete for my undivided attention. So, some alone time for each of them separately is in order for 2015.
  • Read more! Another thing that suffers when you are busy with life is hobbies. I love to read, always have. But lately, I have noticed that I cannot remember the last time I read a book. Not a self help book, or a comic book, but an actual novel. So, I plan on making that a priority this year!
  • Be kind to myself. This needs no explanation. 
I am really set on 2015 being one of the best years yet. :)
Have a safe and happy New Year all of my wonderful friends and family!

11 years later

So, you guys are super lucky tonight. You will be getting a two for the price of one! Two blog posts! So, here's number one.

11 years ago, I was invited to a New Years Eve party. The word was that someone wanted to meet me. I wasn't really the partying type, but, it was a night out with family, and friends. I didn't really know this guy who wanted to meet me at all. I had seen him at a few family functions, he happened to be my cousin's best friend. So, he wasn't a complete stranger to me. But, I had never spoken to him at all. I remembered the previous summer when he and I had both attended another cousin's BBQ. At one point, he and my cousin strolled over to my mom and I, and he literally just stared at me the entire time my cousin talked to us. So, at that point, my thoughts were: Creepy. I mean, who would have been endeared by that?

Fast forward to New Years. The party was at my cousin's house, and my dad, Aunt, and Uncle were going too. So, we all rode together. Well, the evening felt somewhat like a bust. I mean, I had a good time, but Rob never spoke a single word to me at all. I wasn't interested in drinking, but he drank enough for the both of us. And finally I looked at the clock, and it was 2am. I was expecting to head home, when I heard a voice say "So, do you maybe wanna take a walk?" Um, huh?? It's 2am, I've been here since 7, and this is the first words you've spoken to me. We're in the middle of a wrecking yard, where there are ample places to hide a body. A walk? I looked at my dad, and he didn't look jazzed about Rob's new found courage. But, I am unable to say outside I go. Now, let me say, I honestly cannot remember what we talked about. I remember that Rob rambled a lot, and he was severely inebriated, so most of it made absolutely no sense. And just when I thought he couldn't have blown his chance any harder than he did, his parting words to me as I was leaving the party...with my DAD, were "Hey, if you wanna stay, you can share the pullout couch with me." Cue my dad shoving me out the door as quickly as possible. And also, cue me, wondering why I wasted 7 hours of my life here.

I had given Rob my number, mostly because I didn't want to be rude, and also, because I was sure that he would never call me. Well, I was wrong. He called a few days later, and I put him off by telling him that I had exams coming up, and I needed to be studying. But, relentless as he was, I agreed to him coming out to my house so that we could get to know each other better. I had no idea that I would be so thankful that I agreed to that "date"

I like this guy. I liked him quite a bit. He was kind of shy, but he was funny, and he actually wanted to know about me, and my life. So, after that first date, that was it. I had to see this guy again. We really jumped into things, And less than a month later, Rob was staying at my place almost every night, and commuting 40 minutes to work everyday, a drive that would be a short 10 minutes from his own house. 6 months into our relationship, we were living together, and we set out to prove everyone who was saying that we were moving way too fast, wrong.

And now, here we are. 11 years, 3 children, and everything that goes along with that. Has it been easy? Hell no! I can very clearly, and concisely say, it has been anything but easy. We have had to fight, and fight, and fight some more, just to get to the place we are at today. And in fact, we almost didn't make it this far. There was a very horrible time, where our future together was not looking so great. But, the one thing we both knew for certain was this: We love each other more than anything. We are committed to each other, and this life that we have created together. And with a lot of work, and a lot of love, we have come through to the other side. Happier than ever.

I still think back to that night, and laugh. It was a disaster. I never in a million years would have ever believed anyone who told me that 11 years later, this would be where I was. But, I cannot imagine my life any other way. And every day I am so thankful for this wonderful man who took me completely by surprise.

Tuesday, 16 December 2014


So,  I apologize in advance.  This might be long,  it might be short.  It will probably be all over the place,  and not make sense, either.  And,  I'm posting it from my phone.  Wheeeeeee!

I'm not even sure why I'm writing this? Maybe to help myself understand my emotions better? I am overweight.  Anyone who knows me,  is aware of this.  Last summer I got fed up with my fat ass,  and started busting it.  I was working out and running consistently,  and I lost 30 lbs!  An amazing accomplishment.  I was proud of myself.  Then,  Winter came....and everything went to shit.  I am now in a slump.  I still weigh the exact same as I did at the end of the summer.  But, I feel I different.  I feel....fluffier.  my bra feels tighter,  my shirts don't fit the same way,  I'm depressed. 

I don't need anyone telling me "You still look great!" Or "Don't do forget how far you've come!" I am the one responsible for the way things are.  And I'm just,  sad. I have never been thin.  I haven't always been overweight,  but even at my smallest,  I've never been thin.  Which isn't such a big deal,  and I can even live with that. 

The thing that bothers me is this: I think about my weight constantly.  And that is not an exaggeration.  When I wake up in the morning,  I tell myself that today will be different.  I will eat sensibly,  and get back on track. Then I get the kids off to school,  and I feel hungry.  Then I feel guilty.  I feel guilty before I've even eaten anything.  Why?  I have no idea.  I'm worried that I'll sabbatoge myself before I even eat.  I'm sad that I can't just eat what I want, without worrying. I wonder what that must be like.  So,  I don't eat at all. Which is a mistake.  I know this,  but I'm trying to prove to myself that I have control.  Although,  I don't.  Because when lunchtime comes,  I either eat way too much, or not at all.  I'm afraid of food.  I hate food.  I hate that I cannot just eat a sandwich without feeling guilty,  and like I'm failing.  And on the days that I overdo it, I destroy the entire day because I'm trying to punish myself.  For what?  I'm not sure. Then after dinner I sit on the couch with my husband,  and I curl up under a blanket,  and sweat,  because I need the blanket to cover my stomach, so nobody  (including me) can see how big it is.  Then at night I lay on my side and suck my stomach in if my husband touches me. Who am I?  This man loves me.  He doesn't care about any of that stuff.  Why do I do this to myself? 

I am active.  I run almost everyday,  I work out a few times a week. But,  I just don't feel good about myself.  I had big plans to be past my first big weight milestone,  and into the next by christmas.  And now I feel like a joke.  It's the holidays.  I so desperately want to be able to enjoy myself, and eat without worry.  But I feel scared.  I'm scared that I won't be able to workout and I'll overeat,  because....Christmas,  and I'll be back at square one. 

Like I said,  I'm not sure why I'm writing this? Maybe other women will be able to identify?  It would be nice to feel not so alone.  I know I'll get my mojo back,  and I'll kick ass again.  I just hope that happens soon. 

Wednesday, 5 November 2014

What it feels like for a girl...

Are you singing that song in your head now? You're welcome.

I decided to write this post, one that I have had floating in my head for a while, but haven't been able to articulate in words....and I possibly still can't, so bear with me.

I read an article tonight about "sluts" and why that term isn't relevant. And then I read the comments. Now, everyone knows that the number one rule of the Internet is "Never read the comments!" But I did, and now I'm raging, and a little sad.

I have an 8 year old daughter. She is spirited, and wilful, and independent, and everything that I want her to be in this life. In short, she takes no shit from anyone. She knows what she likes, she doesn't stand for unkindness, and she is the first person to call someone out for being an asshole, albeit, not in those exact words. I am so proud of her, and can't wait to see where she takes herself in this life. But, I'm also terrified. Because, as much as we don't want it to be, and as much as we fight against it. It is still very much, a man's world. And, I'm not saying that in a derogatory sense, especially because I am very hopeful that by the time my daughter is a grown woman, things are different. I'm going to list some things that bother me about the world we live in today, when it comes to living in said world, as a woman.

The word slut. Well, this is taken from the dictionary.

Definition of SLUT

chiefly British :  a slovenly woman
a :  a promiscuous woman; especially :  prostitute
b :  a saucy girl :  minx
So, as you can see, the definitions are kind of all over the place. But, if you hear the word slut in conversation, it's usually used to put women down. "She is dressed like a slut." "You are acting like a slut" You get the point. So, I'm going to does a slut dress? How does a slut act? Basically what a great number of the population is saying is that if you dress a certain way, or act on desires that you have (as a grown woman) this is the label that you get pinned with. I mean, seriously. I bet you can go through your high school yearbook, and every single one of you can point out a girl that had a "slutty" reputation around school. Right? Maybe she dressed a certain way, to entice the guys around school....or maybe, just maybe she was comfortable in those clothes. Maybe she liked expressing herself through fashion, and didn't give a shit about what the guys would think. She possibly dated a lot of guys, maybe she even slept with all of them? She probably craved that male attention, right? She probably had issues with her dad, and she was looking for love in all the wrong ways? Or, maybe, just maybe, she just liked to get out of the house on the weekends. Maybe she didn't sleep with any of the guys. Or, maybe she did. But not because she had some deep rooted daddy issues, but simply because women like sex too. Oh, what's that? You weren't aware of that? 

It's just not fair to be a grown woman, who is confident with her body, and sexuality, to act on her desires, and then be labelled for her actions. Especially by other women! Seriously girls, stop cutting other women down, we get enough of that from men. Don't do it to each other. The slut shaming has to stop. 

The fear. Okay. This isn't something that I have really thought about, or experienced until very recently. In April of this year, I started running. I wanted to up my workouts, and I also needed an outlet for all of my stress, so running made sense. Well, one thing that I didn't expect? The fear. I live on a country road, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. I have neighbours, but they certainly aren't as close as you would have in a city, or a small town. The area I live in has crime, obviously much like most areas, but I have never ever felt unsafe. Well, one thing I noticed every time I ran alone, I was scared. Not even sure of what. One time a man on a bicycle rode past me, and I literally had to stop running because I was having a panic attack, thinking about him hurting me. Irrational I know. But this stuff happens. I finally stopped running alone after several runners were either followed by men, or approached by men. This isn't right. Everyone should be able to run down their road/street/trail/track, without being terrified that someone is wanting to do them harm. This isn't how I want my daughter to feel any time she goes out anywhere by herself. And that's not to say that men aren't the victims of crimes like these, too. They absolutely are. But not in the same magnitude as women. And chances are, the men that I see running alone down the road, probably aren't thinking that they could be assaulted, or worse, while on their morning run. That fear is like nothing I've ever felt before.

My last subject is a big one. A controversial one, but one that I need to talk about. Abortion. I am a 31 year old, married woman with 3 children. My husband and I have taken permanent steps to ensure we will not have any additional children. But, this Spring, I had a scare. I won't go into details, but I thought I might be pregnant. I was terrified. I felt sick at the prospect of more children. I love my kids to death. I would die for them. But, I do not want any more kids. I know in my heart and soul that 3 is my limit. A point of contention between my husband and I. He would have gladly added more chaos to this household. I was the one who had to firmly say. I can't. I can't do it again, I won't do it again. So, we did what we had to do, and had a permanent procedure. But, then I was late. Discussing this with my husband, we had very different ideas. He obviously thought, well, what's one more? It'll be fun to have another little baby again. I felt the exact opposite. We were on completely different sides. But, the difference between us was, I was the only one who could truly decide. After all, it's my body. And yes, he's my husband, and I take his feelings very seriously, and I love him more than anything. But, ultimately I knew I was not having any more children. I told him this, and he really didn't understand what I was saying. He thought I was talking about adoption, but I'll never forget the look on his face when he realized that I was talking about abortion. He and I have very different opinions on the subject, and I knew that a decision like that could have a detrimental effect on my marriage. But, I also knew that bringing another child into this situation would have been extremely irresponsible. Now, luckily we didn't have to get that far, because I was NOT pregnant. But, the point I'm trying to make is. I, a 31 year old, married woman, would have chosen abortion. It would have been my right to make that choice. After all, nobody else is going to help me buy diapers, nobody else is going to get up in the night with it, nobody else is going to go through the PPD for me. But, just as a 31 year old woman should be free to make that choice so should a 16 year old, and so should a 45 year old. It is nobody Else's choice. And when I see people trying to take that choice away from women, I just get sad. Everyone is free to believe what they want to about abortion, but the simple thing is, if you don't agree with abortions....don't have one. 

This world is changing everyday. Some things for the better, and some worse. I have so many wishes for my little girl. I want her to get a good education, I want her to always be kind, and make friends wherever she goes. I wish for her to find true love from someone that is good to her, a person who respects her, and loves her for who she is. But, I also want her to be able to wear anything she wants to wear, without being judged for it. I want her to never be ashamed of her sexuality. I want her to be able to go out alone, and not be plagued by fear, and uncertainty. I don't want her to be immediately distrustful of any man who she encounters. I want her to walk with purpose. And, I want her to be free to be the judge over her own body. Her body is her own, and I want her to feel that always. And most of all, I want her to know just how much hope I have for her future, and how much love that I have for her. 

Wednesday, 29 October 2014

10 Years...

So, here we are. Halloween again.

I have kids, so obviously, I have a lot going on every Halloween. But, if I'm being completely honest, I'd like to sleep through the entire fucking day, and night.

10 years ago, on Halloween night, my world changed forever. The ground was swept out from under me, and nothing has been the same since. Last year, I shared the story of the events that played out on Halloween night, so I'm not going to tell that story again. I'm just going to lay some word vomit on you all, mainly because it helps me to cope, and also because....well, I do what I want.

My Grandma Sharon was one of my favourite people in the world. She was warm, she was caring, and she gave absolutely zero fucks about what anyone else thought about her. She was my babysitter, she was my Grandmother, she was my friend. As a child, I don't think we truly grasp just how precious our people are to us. We don't understand that someday they will be gone, and we will wish we asked them all the things we just can't ask them now. Like, my Grandma's lasagna recipe. What is it? I have no idea. And as a child of 13, watching a roomful of grown men devour a huge roasting pan of lasagna, I had no idea how much I would long to know that recipe as an adult. Although, my mom's recipe is pretty kick ass.

I wonder what my Grandma was like as a child. That's another thing. When you are a kid, these things aren't important to you. But, it seemed like, the second she was gone....I wanted to know everything. I wish I had really talked to her, like an adult. Sometimes I do talk to her, and I swear I can hear her voice, and I know exactly what she'd say to me in most situations. But, it's just not enough. She's gone, and it still sucks.

My kids. It kills me, like literally tears my heart to shreds to know that she wasn't around to see my kids. And, I guess depending on what you believe in, you might say "Well, she sees them now. She's so proud!" And that is a perfectly acceptable opinion to have on the subject. Truth is, I don't really know what I believe. I mean, I like to believe that she is in Heaven, with all of the people that left before her, and have left since. Thinking like that makes my heat happy, to know that they're not alone, and she can see the life that I've made for myself, and my beautiful kids. And, it really makes me happy to think that someday, I will be with her, able to hug her, and talk to her, and talk, and talk, and talk. But, I don't know if that's what happens. Maybe you die, and that's it. You rot in the cold, cold ground forever and ever. Which, I guess won't matter once you're dead.

Thinking about my Grandma makes me smile, every time. But, it also takes the breath from my lungs, and makes me sob. And I'm not talking about softly sobbing into your pillow, I mean full on, gut wrenching, body wracking sobs. The kind that drain you of all of your energy, and make you think that you will dehydrate from all the crying. There is just no way for me to think of her, whether it's a good memory, or a sad one, without sobbing uncontrollably. 10 years later, and I still feel the same way I did back then. Grief really never leaves you. You pretty much just carry it around forever. It doesn't get easier living without a loved one, you just learn a better way to manage your pain.

Sometimes I think about how different things would have been, if Grandma hadn't passed away. Maybe things wouldn't be different at all? Maybe they would be exactly the same, except she'd be here? Obviously, I'll never know, but I do think about it a lot. I play a lot of different scenarios in my head when it comes to loved ones that have passed away (I'm not crazy, I swear!) As painful as it is, one thing that is sure to calm me down, and make me feel peaceful, is to think about people that I've lost. It's sad, and it's hard, but thinking about them and the impact they've had on my life, lifts my spirits. Blah! I told you thins would be word vomit.

My Grandma was so fun to be around. She made us all laugh constantly. And she had the best laugh. I miss it. She also said the most inappropriate things at times. But, that always made me laugh, too. Must be where I get it from. ;) I remember after I had broken up with my first serious boyfriend, I was trying to give her reasons that she thought were good enough as to why we broke up. I started first with the long distance, which she just assured me didn't matter if we loved each other, I then went on to my age (16) Well, age is only a number, you are old enough to know if you're in love. So then, I told her, we just didn't have any chemistry. OMG. Seriously, talking to my Grandmother about physical attraction, and chemistry. And then she said "Well, I thought he was sexy!" I died. What?!  I fell onto the floor laughing, all the while with my Grandma saying over and over "Yes. He is sexy!" I still to this day, have no idea if she was being serious or not. But that is one of my best memories of her. Another time, my Grandma, my brother and I were in my mom's car waiting for her to come out of the grocery store, and a very old man walked past the car. My Grandma watched him walk by, and said under her breath "Lordy, Lordy, look who's past 40" My brother and I couldn't breathe we were laughing so hard, and we still laugh just as hard when we think about it now.

I love the good memories, because there are enough of them to push back the bad ones. The day I found out she was gone, going to her house to pick out something for her to be buried in, seeing how lost my Papa was. Then, seeing her for the last time. I know a lot of people say that their family member didn't look like themselves at the funeral. This wasn't the case with my Grandma. She looked just like she had when I had seen her a week earlier at my birthday party. She just looked like she was sleeping, so peaceful. She looked so much like herself that I held her hand. I had never ever considered holding a dead person's hand before, the idea completely freaked me out at my Great Grandpa's funeral when I saw my Great Grandma holding his hand. I kept thinking, who does that? That is beyond weird. But, in that moment, when I saw her, I couldn't not hold her hand. I just needed to. It wasn't weird, or strange at all.
But, by far the worst memory? Leaving the cemetery. It was cold, and raining, and there she was. All alone. It was like I was leaving a piece of myself there with her. Nothing about that moment felt right.

Every Halloween since that horrible one, 10 years ago, has been somewhat forced on my part. And now that I have kids, I have to put on a happy face, and do the Halloween thing for my kids. And I do. I do because I love them, I do because even though I would rather be at home in bed, sleeping until November 1st, Halloween makes them happy. I do because seeing them happy makes me happy, and most of all, I do because I can hear my Grandma's voice in my head saying "For Christ's sake, Tricia! This isn't about you! Get your ass out there, and get my Grandkids some candy!"
See, I told you inappropriate!

Tuesday, 12 August 2014

Depression. My Story

My hands are shaking right now typing this out.

I'm sure everyone has heard about the absolutely tragic, and horrifying news of Robin Williams' passing due to suicide. This death has hit me hard. Not only because he is such a beloved actor/comedian, that I grew up watching, and loving. But also because depression has played a major role in my life for as long as I can remember. So, I decided that I would share my story. A story that only those very close to me know the details of, a story that could have ended in a very different way. So, I apologize in advance if this gets long, and winded.

I was 12 I had my first panic attack. I thought I was dying. I have always been a very dramatic person, and a slight...alright, a HUGE hypochondriac. At first, it was a feeling like I couldn't swallow. Now that sensation alone is hard to describe. My mouth was completely dry, and trying to swallow, which always seemed like a natural reflex, suddenly got really difficult. My reflexes would kick in, and I would be able to swallow, but, the panic that had already set in at the thought that I couldn't swallow did a number on me. My heart started racing, I started sweating, and my throat felt like it was closing in. I remember telling my mom I couldn't swallow, and she didn't get it. Nobody in our immediate family had ever had a panic attack, so my parents truly had no idea what was going on. I went to the hospital, and they focused on the swallowing. I immediately felt better when we got to the hospital, the fact that there were doctors everywhere to "save" me, made me feel 100x better. Well, they found no reason for my swallowing issues, and sent me home.

These panic attacks continued. It got to the point that I carried a bottle of water everywhere I went, and if I didn't have my water, it would send me into an intense panic. I remember forgetting to bring it along one time on the way to a shopping trip with my mom. I freaked out so badly that she frantically raced to the nearest drive thru to get me a drink. My panic attacks came to a head one weekend at my Grandma's house. I had a very intense panic attack that had me confined to my bed. I was completely immobilized. I didn't recognize at the time that my anxiety had sent me into a deep state of depression. I only left the bed every morning when my mom drew me a bath, then I would crawl back into bed. I was anxious, scared, sad, and unbearably lonely. I was surrounded by people, but nobody understood what was happening. My lowest moment at that time was begging my mom to take me to the hospital. I remember yelling in her face "You'll be sorry. When I die, you'll wish you took me to the hospital." That was all it took. My mom took me in. The only instructions my father gave my mother before we left was to not let them medicate me. My dad didn't believe in that.

They did medicate me. They had to. I think even they were surprised at the level of my anxiety...I mean for a 13 year old. And just like that, after a weekend trip to my Grandma's that was supposed to last only 2 days, but had lasted a week, I was well enough to make the car ride home.

The next few years were miserable. We moved from Hamilton, to the middle of nowhere. The adjustment was more than I had ever anticipated. And I had my first real boyfriend, which as any teenage girl knows, can destroy your life in a million different ways. I was depressed. I had no idea why, I had no idea  how to deal with any of the feelings that I was having. I was lost. So, I started cutting.

Now, I've never been able to explain cutting to anyone. Why I did it? Why it made me feel better, and worse all at the same time? Why I couldn't stop? I just don't know. I remember the first time I did it. I was having a breakdown, and felt so full. Full of emotions, full of sadness, full of loneliness, full of hopelessness. Si, I grabbed the closest thing in my reach (a push pin) and started cutting. Instantly I felt a release. An unexplainable feeling, that calmed me down. After that day, I was in a constant battle with myself. I knew that what I was doing was dangerous, and not normal coping behaviour, but I also knew I couldn't stop.

After a few long months, my brother realized what I was doing. I made him promise to keep it to himself, and I think I really did expect him not to tell our parents. But, he was 12, and he was scared. My parents confronted me, and I broke down. I started counselling right away. My counsellor implemented a "number system" My parents were to periodically ask me throughout the day what number I was at. Any number below a 5 or 6 was concerning, and meant I shouldn't be left alone. I started to dread the question "What number are you?" It meant I needed to talk about how I was feeling. I hated that. I hated how sad it made my mom. I hated how crazy it made me feel. I hated it all. I had been missing a lot of school, I was still horribly depressed, and now the principal was telling my parents that there was no conceivable way I could make up my credits, and have a successful school year. They wanted me to drop out, take some time off, figure my shit out. Whatever way you want to put it, they wanted me out.

I felt worthless, I was an embarrassment, I was a burden......I was nothing. For the first time in this entire ordeal, I wanted to die. I had never felt like that before. In fact, I had always felt the exact opposite. I had been through enough panic attacks to know what dying felt like (or so I thought) and I had actively tried to avoid that feeling. But, over a very short period of time, my despair, and heartache had turned into thoughts of suicide. The thought of dying consumed my thoughts. I thought about how, I thought about when, I wrote several drafts of a suicide note. I just wanted out. I felt like my parents had suffered enough grief on my behalf. I thought they'd be much better off without me. They would be happier. I even imagined them being relieved that they wouldn't have to deal with my shenanigans anymore. They would be free. And so would I. I wouldn't have to pretend to be happy. I wouldn't have to smile, when I felt like crying. I wouldn't have to lie, and say that I was fine, when I wasn't. I was exhausted, nothing made sense, and I felt more lost and lonely than I ever had before.

Everything came to a head one afternoon. It had been a rough day. I was fighting with my dad. He wasn't too happy about me laying around the house when I should be in school. I was horribly hurt and ashamed, but I agreed with him. I was a lazy, freeloading, sad sack. What was I doing here? I didn't belong here. My parents didn't deserve this, they didn't deserve to be burdened with this. I had had enough. I had a small pocketknife, I had locked myself in the bathroom, and started cutting. Well, thank God the knife was a million years old and super dull, and thank God my dad wasn't done fighting with me, and busted the door open. I was a mess. I couldn't even stand up straight. I was broken.

That was almost 15 years It doesn't seem like that long ago. I can still remember how I felt. Explaining depression to someone that has never experienced these feelings, is difficult. They just won't understand. Not because they are a horrible person, or they don't love you, but simply because, there is no way to describe these feelings. Such a deep despair that you are simply exhausted just existing. Such a strong loneliness, that you always feel alone, even when you're around people. You feel lost, like you just can't find your way home, and you keep walking in circles. That's depression. Not necessarily wanting to take your own life, but not wanting to live. Because the pain is so deep, it physically hurts you to talk, move, smile....

I know that I will always struggle with depression. Yes, I'm on medication. Yes, I have been through counselling. But, depression is forever. You can treat it, and most of the time, you will feel like yourself. But, I still have periods where I look around and have no idea who I am. I am urging anyone who is struggling, to please, please get help. Trust me when I tell you, you are not alone. This isn't about anyone but you. You are important, you are an important piece to the world's puzzle. You are loved. You are worth it. And, if you have friends or family that are struggling, do your best to help them. Don't tell them to "snap out of it" Don't expect them to get better on their own. Be there, listen, save your judgements, and love them. Nobody deserves to feel this way. Nobody wants to feel this way. Watch for the signs here: If you see any of these, act fast. Don't brush it under the rug, don't assume the person is bluffing. Get them help.

These are the Canadian suicide hotlines:

This is the info for the suicide prevention lifeline:

Friday, 25 July 2014

What is this place?

I'm having one of those days. You know the ones. The kids are screaming, you're tired, you're yelling way too much, the house  is a mess (and you don't have the energy to care) and then you see someone share one of those pictures on Facebook. You know, "Cherish every moment with your children, because when they're grown up, you'll miss this time." And then you get the overwhelming urge to scream at the offending poster for making you feel so shitty about the way you're feeling right in this moment.

I would be lying if I told you that my summer had been amazing so far. I mean, sure, I guess it's been pretty good. Spending a lot of time outside, playing in the pool, not having to be up and out waiting for the bus by 8. Awesome. But, man. I am overwhelmed. 3 kids never seemed like a lot to me. I got into a decent routine pretty early on, and yes, we had rough days, but these ages right now, they're tough. And there's 3 of them! I'm only one person. Ever since summer vacation started, shit has gotten real around here.

Ciena, wow. I love her to pieces, and she is a dream. I mean, she's 8. So, she's content to sit quietly, and watch a movie....or videos of some British guy playing Minecraft on Youtube. She likes to read, and she does this often. But, when she's pissed, she's like a hurricane. Unpredictable, noisy, and Hell bent on destroying everything in her path. The attitude I get on a daily basis is pretty ridiculous. She will tell me that I'm ruining her life, I just want to ruin her fun, and sometimes when she's feeling especially feisty, she'll just slam the door repeatedly. Fun, right! During the school year, I only have to deal with these episodes from 4-8 on weekdays, and on weekends. But, summer is here. And it's a 24/7 shitshow.

These boys are sucking the life force from me. For real. My house is destroyed....continuously. Like, I can't even keep up most days. I am constantly cleaning. I truly feel like they follow me around, and just throw shit around, just to make more work for me. Logan will watch me put clothes in a basket, and immediately take them all out while staring me down. They run, run, run through my house, which isn't that big. And they are both insanely clumsy, so you can guess where I'm going with this. I'm constantly telling them to stop running, but they don't. They both average on about 6 timeouts a day, and that's on a good day. Let's put it this way, one of Logan's first words, was "timeout" They fight constantly, and I mean that literally. There is not a moment that they are together, that they are not beating each other senselessly. I actually had to stop writing for 20 minutes, because Joel bit Logan......hard. Separately, they are both Angels. Put them together, and it is crazy. I grew up with a brother, and, while we fought, and it was sometimes physical, it wasn't even close to the level that I deal with when it comes to these two. I pray that this is normal, and that it doesn't mean that they hate each other subconsciously or something.

My house right now is completely ridiculous. It looks like we've been robbed....but they didn't take anything. And the worst part? I don't even care. I know I'll care tomorrow, when I'm spending all day cleaning, but right now, I'm just burnt out. I put a chicken in the slow cooker, and called it a day. And now, I'm pissed at myself that I didn't throw potatoes and veggies into the slow cooker too, because now I have to get up and cook them. I feel like a shitty wife. Rob works crazy hours. Most nights, he's not home until after 7, and I try really hard to not burst into tears the second he walks though the door. Out of relief, frustration, sadness, and sheer exhaustion. He's tired, I'm tired, the kids are never tired. My two older kids get me up at least twice a night still. Logan sleeps like a dream, thankfully.

I guess, I know I'm not alone. I'm sure there are other moms who are going through this exact.same.thing. (hopefully) and the good days outweigh the bad ones. But the bad days are so much longer, and so much more frequent. And wishing for September, and some routine makes me feel shitty. I'm here with 3 healthy, happy kids, and I'm wishing the time away. And I don't enjoy that, but I also know that the next person to tell me "Come on. Just enjoy them. These days go by too fast, and you're going to wish you'd cherished them more." is probably going to get throat punched.

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

Yoo Hoo!!!

Hey! Remember me?

A friend, and one of (or possibly my only?) blog reader(s) told me that she missed my blog posts, and that went right to my head, so I'm back. :) Life has been so busy lately, and really not busy at all. How the Hell does that work?? So, here's an update, and some ramblings because around this time every night is when my mind begins to wander, right before I take an Ativan to shut it up. ;)

Summer vacation trampled right over me this year. I remember about 2 weeks before school let out, I was thinking about how nice it would be to not have a set schedule in the mornings, sleep in, not have to rush around making lunches, and yelling at Joel to put some pants on for the fiftieth fucking time. How awesome would it be to be able to lounge around, and play outside all day. Aaaah. Well, then school actually did let out, and I wanted to punch myself in the face for wanting summer to start so badly. 3 kids. I have 3 kids. It's like I totally forgot what every single evening from 4-8 was like during the school year. The screaming, the whining, the violence, the nakedness........yeah, Joel really hates pants. Well, you take those 4 hours every night, and multiply it by 10 million, and then I stick a fork in my eye. My 8 year old is a full on diva. It's like I'm living with Mariah fucking Carey. Complete with the hair flips, and hands on hip. And the boys. Holy shit. I'm too exhausted to even think of a phrase that describes them. It's kind of like when you've been at a concert for 3 hours, and then you leave, and the second you get outside you have that really loud ringing in your ears. Well, that's what life with my boys is like. A constant ringing in my ears. All they do is fight. And I'm not even exaggerating. Tonight, I told Logan to give bedtime hugs, and he gave everyone a hug, and said "I love you" He walked up to Joel, gave him a hug, and then punched him in the face. It never ends. I'm actually really surprised that we haven't had to make any trips to the ER yet. They are so vicious.

Logan still doesn't eat. So, that takes up a shit ton of my energy, and my stress has skyrocketed in turn. He is completely healthy. When I tell people that he has eating difficulties, they look at my 37lb son, look at me, and raise their eyebrow. Yeah, I know. He's a big kid. Yeah, I know it looks like I feed him steak for breakfast. Yeah, he is pink, and hydrated, and healthy......but seriously, his diet consists of Purees, baby cereal, yogurt, baby formula, and Oreos....or the cream from Oreos I guess. He's working on chewing, but we're still a ways off from where he should be for a 2.5 year old. I have never wanted someone to eat so badly in all my life. The stress of this makes me physically sick sometimes. And I feel a lot of judgement from people, people who really don't understand that eating is a skill. It's isn't something that you just know how to do. Babies have to learn, toddlers have to learn. If I had a nickle for every time someone said to me "Well, just don't give him anything at all. When he gets hungry enough, he'll figure it out."  Um, no. No he won't. I just really keep hoping that once he starts really chewing, and realizes how delicious everything is, this will all be a distant memory.

I started working out. Yay! I have never ever, ever been the girl who enjoys exercising. Ever. And it really wasn't until the beginning of this year that I took a long hard look at myself, and realized that enough was enough. I was ready to change. I never fully had the motivation before. In March, I met my trainer, and she has completely changed my life. I am in the best shape I have ever been in, in my whole life. Which seems weird to me, because I am still 70lbs heavier than my lowest (adult) weight. But even with the extra weight, I am strong, and I am fit, and I am so, so happy. I can run over 2km comfortably before I have to stop and walk, I can walk a flight of stairs without feeling like I'm dying, everything is just easier. I look forward to working out, and I get very stressed, and grumpy on the days I don't. So much so that when I seem bitchy, Rob will say to me "Why don't you go for a run?" I actually feel good about myself for the first time in a very long time. And I just feel all around happier, which is the most amazing thing.

Like I said, I'm crazy busy, but yet, not busy at all. I can have days on end when I have no appointments, and nowhere that I need to go, but yet I can't even find the time to sit down during the day. I am constantly cleaning my house, because I cannot relax if it is a mess, my kids eat So I'm forever getting them snacks, then cleaning up after them, rinse, and repeat. I have to stop once every 5-10 minutes to put someone on timeout, not even kidding. The laundry. Oh my God, the laundry. I try and keep up with it, but there is just no possible way. Like none. The kids were at my mom's this past Friday, and Saturday night, and my house was in order for 24 full hours! My kids got home at 12:30 on Sunday, and by 12:45 I wanted to curl up in bed and cry, because it only took 15 minutes for them to destroy the house.

I really will try to post at least once a week. I was actually thinking the other day that I am probably due for another husband pet peeve post. Lol. But either way, thank you for reading, and don't be afraid to comment and let me know if there's something you want me to post about. Simply because, the less I have to use my brain, even if it's just for thinking up blog posts, the better. :)

Monday, 5 May 2014


This morning I read this article, and although it relates to the use of food stamps in the US, I really felt that it applied to assistance in Canada as well.

I can't tell you the amount of time I have heard someone talking about the people on welfare, who are "abusing the system" I will admit, when I was younger, I even nodded my head and agreed. But after I had children, got a little older, and a little bit more mature, my eyes opened up a little wider. Obviously, I don't have actual numbers. But, I'm willing to bet that the number of people misusing the system (and, I'm sure there are a few) is quite lower than you think it is.

The majority of people using assistance, no matter what type, are just average people trying to feed their children, clothe them. And maybe trying their hardest to shield their children from knowing just how bad the situation is.

I hear people commenting a lot about things that people on assistance have, or wear...or drive. "Look at that! She's driving a nicer car than I am, and she's on welfare! She should get a job, and stop having kids!" I hear that a lot, too. I usually keep my mouth shut, because I really don't have any desire to get into arguments with people, when I know it probably won't change their minds anyway.

So, let's look at it this way. Maybe that woman with the nice car, got it before she was in the rough financial spot. Maybe she realized that it would cost her more to get out of her lease, than to just try and make the monthly payments. Maybe she doesn't even pay the car payments? Either way, it's none of our business! Judging someone when you don't know their story is not only pointless, but it's dangerous. That's what leads to the ridiculous Facebook shares that I've this one. Fucking disgusting.

I think the one thing that bugs me, is the attitude that if you are struggling financially, then you don't deserve anything nice, whether that's a new pair of shoes, a night out with friends, or maybe just take out. If you have ever struggled financially, you know the stress, the absolute terror, or the panic attacks. But to suggest that people on assistance should just sit at home, eating their ramen, and reading, because you know, cable is an expense that they just don't need, is kind of ridiculous, and offensive. Everyone deserves a treat every now and then. And people on assistance, in my opinion, are no exception.

So, all I'm saying is, be aware that not everyone is out to scam you, and take your hard earned tax dollars on a trip to Disney. Treat people with kindness, maybe assume that they are nice, hardworking people that just fell on hard times. Try to imagine what it's like to live that uncertainty everyday.

Sunday, 19 January 2014

The man cold...

I know that I rip on my husband a lot, truth is he's a pretty great guy. So although this post is technically about my experience dealing with him when he's sick.....I'm sure many women will be able to identify with many aspects of this post.

The "man cold" yes, there is a label given to men who have colds. Basically because when women have colds, they are generally able to function like a normal human being, and most of the time they really have no other option but to do the shit that needs to be done. But men? They're a little different. I'll take you through the most annoying things about my husband being sick.

-He doesn't fucking move. Seriously. He's either on the couch, or in bed, but he stays there. And I'm sure you're probably thinking, "Well hey, he's not feeling good. Shouldn't he be in bed?" And, maybe you're right. But a part of me gets all, "Hulk smash!!" We have 3 kids. When I am sick, whether I have a headache, or a tummy ache, or I am violently throwing up, I have kids to take care of. I have no other options. I asked Rob to take the day off ONCE, and I never heard the end of it. It's pretty bad when I would rather ask my mom to take the day off work to watch the kids, than my husband because I know he won't shut up about it. So, yeah. I get a little cranky when I have to walk past the couch with my husband huddled under a blanket moaning.....yes, moaning.

-Constant bathing. When my husband is sick, he will take a crazy amount of baths. And trust me, I get it. When I'm sick, a warm bath always makes me feel better. But, he doesn't just take one, he takes many. In fact, the only time he gets off the couch, or out of bed, is to take a bath. That I don't get. You're sick, you have chills, yeah go lay in the tub, and you'll feel better. But, really, I draw the line at 3 or 4 baths. Put some long underwear on, wear your wool socks, and get under some fucking blankets!

-"I feel so horrible" "How can I be fine this morning, and feel so badly now?" "When you were sick, how long was it until you felt better?" "I'm so cold." "No, don't do that. Daddy's sick." I think this all speaks for itself...

-His complete inability to do anything productive, all day long. A few months ago, we were all sick. I had to take Joel into the doctor to get checked out. I was running a fever, and felt horrible, but someone had to take him in. Rob was in bed moaning. Of course. So I went in, and told him that I needed him to watch Logan, so I didn't have to take him, too. "I can't watch him. I'm too sick." WTF?? I debated on fighting about it, but there wasn't time. I debated just telling him I was leaving Logan there, but decided that I didn't trust him not to just fall asleep, and leave Logan to roam the house. So I got to take 2 kids to the doctor, one of which screams the entire time we are in the office. It was super fun. I never understand how I am able to push through whatever illness I'm in the middle of, and do what needs to be done, but he can't even move.

I swear, I have 3 children, and I have never heard this much whining, and complaining from them. I feel bad because I know I'm being bitchy. And he'll say, "Why do you always get so mad at me when I get sick?" Seriously? It's not the fact that you're sick that pisses me off. It's the fact that I all of a sudden become a mother of 4. Why are men like this?? I started thinking the other day about how much I baby my kids when they're sick, is this what the outcome is? I mean if so, I truly apologize in advance to their future spouses. Because this is ridiculous.