I deliberately avoid using the term “staycation.” I don’t like it. It feels like a lame attempt to cover up the fact that my family’s not going away on vacation (which we aren’t) because it’s too expensive (which it is). Am I so desperate to feel like I’m part of the “vacation” scene that I’ll use a made-up word that rhymes with it?
There’s a refrain my kids often hear when I drop them off at school, summer camp or a play date: You’re a good kid. Make sure you remember your manners and behave yourself.
We all know that having a baby and sleep deprivation are synonymous with each other. But I’m sure all new moms can relate to – at some point – having felt serious frustration and resentment towards their partner for what feels like a serious inequality in loss of sleep.
Canada’s Food Guide has had an extreme makeover. Gone are the colour-coded food groups, age-specific recommendations and complicated serving sizes. In their place is an image of a plate, with the left side filled with fruits and vegetables. The upper right quadrant is reserved for “protein foods” (especially plant-based ones), while the bottom right section is for “whole grain foods.” There are no numbers or percentages anywhere. It’s a qualitative, not quantitative, approach.
It’s hard out here for a mom. Even the most basic of beauty routines can feel like an impossible task when you hardly get an uninterrupted moment in the bathroom.
Our family is becoming more aware of the impact that we have on our environment. We can’t help but hear the stories of the damage that we are inflicting on our world. Global warming, climate change, oceans filled with plastic and overflowing landfills are making headlines everywhere. The truth is we have to make some changes. We are starting to leave permanent scars on the earth and it’s not acceptable. We are not naturally a very environmentally savvy family, but it’s important to us that we learn ways to be better. So we’ve started researching ways that we can make a positive impact and it turns out it’s not that hard.
When it comes to driving, I was a late bloomer. As a teenager and throughout my twenties, I had zero interest in owning a vehicle or even getting my driver’s license. I did get it eventually, but it mainly served as identification to get into bars (classy, I know). The subway was my best friend – even when it smelled vaguely of pee – and I was content to walk anywhere within a few kilometres of my home.
About a week after my first baby was born, we were sitting on the couch in our living room and heard a loud noise from outside. Our second-floor apartment overlooked a busy street and when my husband got up to investigate, he saw that a dog had been hit by a car on the street below. He bounded downstairs to help. I stayed put; my newborn daughter resting skin-to-skin against my chest.
It’s easy to find things to dislike about winter. There are the obvious ones, like the bone-chilling cold, the ever-present germs, and the dry, cracked skin. There are also the smaller insults, like unexpectedly stepping in a puddle of melted snow that the kids have tracked in.
