“The Angels are here now …”

The clock illuminated 2:30am, “the Angels are here now” he repeated. He was sleeping next to his sister and the angels had come to see them. Was it because for the last two days I could see a sort of sullen return to her eyes again, the kind of glaze that only appeared when her sister was on her mind. I wanted to hold her hand for hours on end to let her know that her mother was going to be there every step of the way to comfort and guide her. She wouldn’t let me though, the moment was brief when she would show emotion, but inside I knew the missing piece was affecting her again.

I struggled daily as a mother to take away her pain and sadness, but there was only so much I could do to console her young heart. The silent tears had returned and it was as though her baby brother could feel the lonely return as he lay next to her sleeping. I watched them sleeping, hoping she could find peace while she slept. Had the angels come to wipe away her tears too, like I so often found myself doing when she would let me?

“The Angels are here” he said, and then the room was silent again.

Photo Credit

William Adolphe Bouguereau – Song of the Angels (1881) – Public Domain

Silent Tears #2 is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

My middle of the night wake-up call to nurse our eight-month old usually comes around 3:30. It’s never loud or shrill, just a little cry out to let me know a little milk and a cuddle is in order.

I tie back my hair, put on my glasses and snuggly robe and pad to the nursery where I’m always greeted with a big, loving smile. I pick up my warm little bundle and sink into the comfortable leather chair and put my feet up on the ottoman and begin to nurse. I’m awake, and I’m completely in love. I’m often asked why I don’t wean Hannah off of that night feeding. To me, the answer is simple: She’s only my baby once.

The other night, Hannah decided we should start our day after she was finished nursing. I wasn’t in complete agreement but her fussing was threatening to force my husband to also start his Saturday morning at 4:00 and after a long week of work, no amount of coffee could ever make that right.

So Hannah and I got up and quietly played in the dim lamp light of the living room. We stacked the coloured rings over and over again. We sorted shapes and we practiced sitting up without support. We even tried to encourage crawling by placing a ball slightly out of reach. In time, the sun was coming up.

I went to the window and opened the blinds and together, we watched the stars fade as the sky went from a deep to a light blue, and then became streaked with magnificent bands of pink and orange. I looked at Hannah’s face and a very contented smile. She then started fiddling with my night shirt, rooting for her first breakfast.

I made my way to the couch and put her on my breast. She fell asleep after a few minutes—something I wasn’t expecting. She hasn’t done that in a long time, but I let her. I watched her little eyes flutter as she dreamed and silently thanked her for this early morning.

This time is fleeting. I know that when I’m back at work in a couple of months, I’ll be wishing I had a few extra hours to play with her, even if it is in the dark, wee hours of the morning.

Photo Credit

© Lara Perzoff

Guest Author Bio

Lara Perzoff
As a new Mom to five month old Hannah and fairly new wife of Glen, Lara is finding her legs at balancing between motherhood and family. Her family is her true love, inspiring her to write down the many words in her head, preferably when she has two free hands to type. Lara has a background in public relations and broadcast journalism and has always been passionate about creative writing. Besides family time, Lara loves hiking, running, photography, adventure travel, a good cup of coffee with friends and yoga.

Wake Up Call is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

She sat in the passenger seat next to me, silent tears running down her beautiful cheeks and although I wanted her to tell me everything, I respected her silence.

My 9 year old daughter had endured more than any 9 year old should have to endure. There were days when I could see the child in her – happy, content, full of life, hope and excitement. Then there were the days I could see that the world was weighing heavy on her young shoulders and the only way to let it go was through her silent tears. I saw so much of myself in her, so much of my mother, so much of the strong line of women that coursed through her veins. Hers the strength to endure what life was going to throw her way and although she may not ever let anyone know day-to-day that she was in pain, when it was time she would make sure we were aware.

I held her hand through her silent tears and I wondered how could losing your sister at such a young age be a life experience any child should have to endure? I held her hand, because I wanted her to know that although she may have felt alone, I would always be there to hold her hand when she felt it was time to shed her silent tears.

Photo Credit

Photo By charmaineswart

Silent Tears #1 is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Hot topic of the week for some; hot topic of life for others.

A bully is a regular person who has no one to share their feelings with. It is someone who feels so much pain that they feel the need to put it on others. Feeling small and powerless is no fun, and to a child with rudimentary coping skills, making someone else feel the same way gives them a temporary sense of relief. It is perhaps the only way they have learned how to share.

In most cases, bullies are created by other bullies.

I have felt the sting of beat downs, harassment, teasing, racism and sexism. Every time it happens, I feel what the bully feels: scared, helpless, weak and dominated.

I have insight enough to know that to some extent, the bully is a victim of circumstance. Through no fault of their own in many cases, a child is forced into this redundant cycle of abuse. But to look the other way is to accept it. To think that it’s not our problem if it’s not happening to us or our children makes us part of the problem. We must instead be part of the solution.

Children should not be left to heal and deal with the wounds of their predecessors. Passing on our wounds to our children, even if by accident or circumstance is unacceptable. It’s hard to do, and takes real courage, strength and self-confidence, but we must heal and deal so that we can teach our children to do the same. We are the ones with the supposed ‘grown up skills.’ We have to invoke them.

We have to face our own demons; be them adult bullies, the scars childhood bullies left on us, or the challenges that our far too apathetic society imposes on us. In the privacy of our own minds, we must feel all the things that we are lead to believe are too hard to feel. We must see our own ‘flaws’ and accept who we are before we can demonstrate real leadership.

Everyone feels insecure sometimes, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this. Feeling insecure is a way for us to measure our progress. It allows us to ask ourselves, ‘What can I do to change how I feel?’ It is not a weakness to feel unsure; it is a powerful tool.

We can use this and other tools by simply seeing that they’re there. No one – no matter how badly they beat you up, or call you down – can touch what’s inside you. Only you can. We must be kind to ourselves when we go inside ourselves and others. We must use gentle hands and an open heart. What’s inside when we look with innocent eyes is a secret toolbox designed just for us; to build beautiful consequences, good feelings and memories, and to tear down whatever does not serve us.

But what of a child who is bullied by a parent, step-parent, or other grown-ups because the adult believes that ‘it toughens you up for the real world’, which in a roundabout way, is a way to show love? Or worse, perhaps they are mean or abusive because their own heart has been ripped apart and they don’t care anymore. What does a child do in this situation? The last thing in the world a child in this situation is likely to do is tell anyone. It is so embarrassing to be targeted. So embarrassing to feel ‘chosen’ in this way. It shouldn’t be, but it is.

To all parents, I say this: there is enough inevitable pain in life. We do not need to ‘toughen up’ ourselves or our children for it by creating an artificial sense of security; by hiding in pain, burying feelings for fear of seeming weak, or by trying to steal strength from others. Children will become strong and confident if they know through experience that people care for real. It’s that simple.

As for ‘the strong survive by eating the weak’ concept, survival requires good overall physical and mental health, which cannot be gleaned by stealing it from others. It comes from inside; from feeding good stuff to what’s good inside. Bullying promotes weakness and nothing more. We become what we practice everyday.

To the children, I say the same thing.

I also say that this too shall pass. Breathe in your own quiet center and wait for your patience and calm to rub off. Do not follow out of fear of others. Lead out of honour of self.

Be the toughest person in the room: Be kind.

Image Credits

The Cycle of Bullying @ www.ksde.org 

Be The Change@  www.universityymca.org 

“My Luke at Petting Zoo with a dear goat” by Mary Rose

Bullying is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

“She’s just 17 if you know what I mean…” The Beatles, the epitome of youth, their song capturing for all time the loveliness of being a woman and being 17.

My daughter is 17 and she is all that and more, a girl, a woman, about to emerge into the world with her opinions, her joys and her strength of character. She is someone I am proud to know: not only as a mother but as another woman.

I wished for her from the moment she was born everything that is good and just and honorable. I wished for her happiness and success. She has managed to fulfill these wishes and from the time she entered high school, one of her biggest hopes and wishes was to go on the Europe trip. I encouraged this dream, this wish, from the start. What mother wouldn’t, right? Then the day finally arrived — Megan was in grade 11. The grade 11 trips are a time honored ritual. In October we signed up parent and child for the Europe Trip. We had a meeting and were given contracts to sign about behavior and no alcohol. We were given an itinerary of where the young adults would be going and of course we were given the bill.

As the year progressed it was my job to make sure the cheques went through and of course making sure all the other “stuff” was organized as well. Small things like a “passport.” Every time something was accomplished on the “to do list” for Europe I would check it off.

Eventually the “to do list” was done. I had to realize that Megan was going away for the first time, for more than a week, and she wouldn’t be with her Aunt and Uncle. She would be with people I didn’t know in countries that were foreign to me. It kind of sat funny in my lap, that little tid bit, that my daughter was going to be quite literally on her own far, far from home.

It was spring and there was a sense of everything about to blossom and burst to life. That sense of spring was now seen on the face of my baby — my baby to me, a 17 year old to the world. We were waiting, my husband and I, to take her to the airport. It had been a long time coming but now it’s a reality. There was an excitement and nervousness that Megan expressed. From me there are last minute instructions about how to be vigilant on this trip. I repeated myself like a broken record over and over again. “Remember keep that money belt hidden,” I said to her. And of course being 17 my daughter thought I was completely over the top. I may have been, but Megan was flying off to Rome and I wouldn’t see her again for another 11 days. That is a lifetime for a mom whose child has never gone as far as Toronto and then is with family, and has access to a phone. The flight to Rome is 8 or 9 hours that my husband and I tracked from start to finish on some web site called Flight Tracker. I felt like an interloper, a crazed stalker of sorts.

When I woke up in the morning I saw on the computer that the plane has landed. Phew, that’s good. So I knew in my head the plane had not been taken over by hijackers, or blown up in mid air, or crashed into the ocean. Another crisis averted in mom and dad’s world. Now what?

We had no communication with our daughter. After hearing horror stories about the cell phone bills some parents received from the trip the year before, we felt we could go 12 days without contact. So we went about our daily routines and wondered aloud what Megan was up to today. I had her itinerary and so I followed along with her on the trip via Facebook. I would Google pictures of the cities she was in so I could feel as though I was there with her on this incredible journey. It helped, it made me feel a little closer to her and I have to say I was quite awe struck at where she was traveling.

She landed in Rome in the morning and right from the start the tour took in The Vatican, The Sistine Chapel, St Peter’s Cathedral and the Coliseum. From there it was off to Florence and Venice. She then traveled on and saw Innsbruck and Munich, Zurich and finally Paris and London. A whirlwind tour of Europe, visiting most, if not all, of the sights in each of the cities, Megan experienced what European life was like.

Her parents meanwhile back at home managed to get by without their little girl at home. I missed her at suppertime, when she and I would sit down to dinner and discuss our day together. Since my husband worked nights and my son also worked, supper for Megan and I was a time when we could chat and catch up on what’s going on with each other. I missed that a lot.

It’s not easy when a child leaves the confines of home. People will say to you “don’t worry, she’s fine.” Sure, I know that in my head and thank you very much but I am a mother and I worry, I’m allowed. That’s what you get for having a child, wrinkles and worry lines. So what, let me worry. It’s a privilege to do so, to worry about your kids. God, it’s so often you hear such horrific stories about parents and neglect and abuse. You would think a little worrying wouldn’t get under anyone’s skin, but apparently you shouldn’t worry when your child is miles and oceans away. Well, I don’t like to listen to what other people say so I worried anyway and it made me feel better. I know my daughter, I know her very well, and in my mind I knew she was fine and having the time of her life. She absorbs everything and loves to learn and is fascinated by art and by people and by experiences. So this trip would engulf all of those amazing things for her. She is also funny and fun to be with and was with lots of friends so I knew she wasn’t lonely or homesick. But I was homesick for her. Our home lacked something when she was gone. It lacked a laugh, a smile, a pleasant hello coming home from work, a joke. It just didn’t feel right without her here.

I know she will be gone in a blink of an eye. Graduation from high school will be the last bastion of teen angst for my daughter I am sure. She is, I tell her sometimes, more mature than most people I know. So it won’t be long when she tells us she is moving out, or moving away or going away on a trip somewhere or doing some work overseas. She just has that zest, that spunk, that drives people forward. So she should, and I hope she takes full advantage of her outlook on life and runs with it to wherever her heart desires.

Twelve days went by slowly but finally the day arrived when Megan would be coming home from Europe. My husband couldn’t sleep that day; he was so excited to see her. Both of us arrived two hours before the plane arrived, anxious to see Megan come through the gate. When she did I was almost stunned that it was actually her and Megan grabbed me and hugged me so tight and I hugged her so tight I thought my ribs would crack. And everything felt right, and then she grabbed her Dad and hugged him! Phew, she made it. Now what?

Well, as I said earlier it’s graduation, that’s what’s next. Her Convocation, then the Prom, and then preparing for CEGEP. Now what? Why do I keep saying that? With children there is always something. What would life be like without the trials and tribulations of children? Without their curiosity, and rebellious behavior? Where would we be as parents without the worry and the heartache and the absolute joy? My daughter’s wish came true, she went; she saw, she conquered and I like to think I conquered something too. I conquered the loss of my baby girl for 12 days. I survived and now feel as though the next step she takes won’t hurt so much. Now I know that this young woman who is only 17 has the panache and the smarts to manage her way through Europe can surely manage anything in the future. And I will yell from the rooftop “you go girl cause 17 doesn’t last forever.”

Photo Credits

Thumbnail – Michelangelo’s statue of David  – The Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection

Vatikan & Colosseum Panoramic Views – Wikipedia Creative Commons

Guest Author Bio

Martha Farley
I am a Daycare Technician at the Lester B. Pearson School Board. I am also a freelance writer in Montreal. I have had several articles published in the Montreal Gazette and the West Island Gazette as well as a story published in an anthology celebrating the 100th anniversary of Pointe Claire.

Follow Martha: Facebook

A Mother’s Wish is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

In the Beginning.

To truly understand this new dad’s perspective on parenthood, it’s necessary to go back almost a year. You need to understand how my wife and I went from planning for a child to being the proud parents of a beautiful baby girl.

The first time I was awakened at 3 a.m. by the beeping of a thermometer was a clear sign that life was about to get very different for my wife and me. Bleary eyed, I looked over and gave my wife a quizzical look. “I’m charting,” she said. I groaned and drifted back to sleep.

Like most men, the idea of conceiving a child was exciting – who doesn’t get excited about the idea of sex. Foolish me, I thought it was that simple. That was until my wife began reading every book, magazine and Internet article on conception. Soon my wife was punctuating my days with all sorts of facts on just how difficult it is to get pregnant – thus the charting exercise.

Fortunately for us, we apparently managed to defy all odds and within a month my wife was pregnant. Hooray! No more daily facts on the fine and delicate art of insemination. No more charting. All we had to do now was get through the next nine months and, presto, we would have a child. Yes, I can hear all the parents, especially the moms, out there laughing at my naivety.

In all seriousness, the first three months of my wife’s pregnancy were fraught with angst and anxiety. I won’t go into the details, but our OB/GYN told us that he had some serious concerns and my wife was put on bed rest for six weeks. It was only after my wife was in her second trimester that the doctor told us he hadn’t expected the fetus to make it that far.

Speed up the clock to the due date, go time. Due date comes and goes with no baby. The next day it’s the same thing. Wash, rinse and repeat for two more weeks.

By this time, my wife is freaking out. Her daily mantra has become, “When is this baby going to come out?” My daily reaction: roll eyes, groan inwardly and bite tongue. Wash, rinse and repeat.

Mothers, I can hear you screaming at me, and I’m sure your words are none to kind. Before you start gathering up the pitchforks and torches, understand that my outward reaction and my inward reaction were completely opposite. During my wife’s pregnancy, while inwardly I was going crazy, outwardly I was doing everything I could to make sure my wife was as comfortable as possible. I digress.

Suddenly, the big day finally arrived! Actually, the big day took two days full of labour pains to finally arrive. But when it did and our baby girl came into this world, wow! I like to think of myself as a manly man. I eat red meat. I use power tools. I sometimes grunt to communicate. That veneer washed away in a sea of joyful tears the very moment I set eyes on my daughter.

It didn’t take long for me to recover my emotions and start thinking of the new reality I was facing. Dear Lord, I have a daughter. One day she’ll be a teenager. One day she’ll be dating. One day she might date a guy like me. Time to start stockpiling the guns and ammunition.

Photo Credit:

From Parenting Advice for New Mom and Dad

Guest Author Bio

Glen Plummer
Glen Plummer is an extraordinary civil servant for the Province of British Columbia. But, more than that he is devoted husband to our Guest Author Lara Perzoff and shell-shocked father to the lovely 7-month old Hannah. Glen is not fazed by much, is the person you want at your side when you’ve had terrible customer service and need to give someone a piece of your mind and he has the muscular physique of a stoic warrior. But, Hannah at 17lbs soaking wet reduces him to a puddle of mush. When he’s not working or hanging with his family, he can be found in only good coffee shops or in his kitchen cooking up something marvellous.

Parenthood: A New Dad’s Perspective is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

My husband and I just received a quote for landscaping and masonry to completely overhaul our mess of a front yard. This quote, which is out of our price range, upset me and as a result I lay awake most of the night. And then today, while out walking, I remembered my first baby group meeting and the quote and our front yard slipped back into a part of my mind where they exist in a less grating way.

On our first baby group meeting, a box containing random objects was passed from Mom to Mom. We had to blindly reach into the box, pull out an object and tell the group what the object meant to us in our lives at this moment, now that we had babies.

I pulled out a packet of seeds. Dahlias. One of my favourite flowers. And it took me no time to think about what I was going to say to this group of complete strangers nursing or bouncing their babies.

To me, the packet of seeds was the perfect way to represent priorities.

About two and a half years ago, my husband and I bought a house that had been renovated by a contractor who failed to tell us he had encountered flooding in the basement during construction. The listing realtor also chose not to tell us about this problem. The proper home inspection didn’t suggest any problems with flooding. Had we known at the time of the sale there had been a water issue, we wouldn’t have bought the house. Oh well. Caveat emptor.

A little over a year later and one week before our wedding, we watered a flower bed and unexpectedly caused a flood in the basement. The result was disastrous. We had to evict our very likeable tenants from the rental suite and demolish the basement. Worse, the incident wasn’t covered by insurance. And, part of the remedy involved a bulldozer romping all over our front lawn to dig a deep trench around our house to replace the perimeter drains.

A year and a half later, our basement is a dusty construction zone and our front yard is a field of weeds worthy of a rough plywood sign spray-painted with “no dumping.”

This brings me back to that packet of seeds. I would be so happy to have a lush front lawn again and to plant those dahlias in beds of soft black earth in front of my house. I would love to see Hannah try to perfect her first steps in thick green grass this summer. My husband and I have pride. We would love to restore our house’s curb appeal.

But now that we have a sweet baby girl, the yard and the basement are less of a priority. Our little Hannah started out as a little seed and now our priority is to care for her so she will blossom and grow.

It was kismet that I pulled that packet of seeds from the box at baby group that day. In the face of the quote for the yard work, I am grateful for the reminder of what those seeds mean to me. I will continue to put my heart and soul into caring for Hannah unconditionally. To see our little seed turn into a beautiful flower would be my proudest achievement and will hopefully make our home—and this world a more beautiful place.

Photo Credits

“Untitled”  Flickr Creative Commons.  Some rights reserved by Chu❤

“Dahlia”  Flickr Creative Commons.  Some rights reserved by Carol Green

 Guest Author Bio

 Lara Perzoff

As a new Mom to five month old Hannah and fairly new wife of Glen, Lara is finding her legs at balancing between motherhood and family. Her family is her true love, inspiring her to write down the many words in her head, preferably when she has two free hands to type. Lara has a background in public relations and broadcast journalism and has always been passionate about creative writing. Besides family time, Lara loves hiking, running, photography, adventure travel, a good cup of coffee with friends and yoga.

The Packet of Seeds is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

When I went to use the bathroom in the dead of last night, I stubbed my toe on the infant swing that has taken up residence in the washroom. Instead of cursing out loud—the last thing I want to do is wake six-month-old Hannah—I snickered to myself about how every room of our house has been taken over by some sort of plastic baby gear.

My snicker smacked of irony, because I remember telling my sister, back when I was deeply single and light years away from having children, that when the time came for me to have kids, I would NEVER have plastic, midi music making toys cluttering up my house, taking away from the adult décor. Back then I thought pots and pans could round out a baby’s simple toy selection, but if my husband found Hannah banging away at his (and I say “his” because he’s the head chef in this household) pots and pans, I’d probably find myself with one on my head and my husband beating it with a wooden spoon.

But now, the infant swing sits in the bathroom, there’s a baby gym in the home office, an exersaucer travels between the living room and the kitchen and the living room itself has been taken over by a Bumbo chair in a shade of blue not found in nature, a bassinet and a multicoloured foam play mat littered with toys of all shapes, sounds and sizes.

My sister raised a surprised eyebrow and clucked, “my, how things have changed!” when I excitedly showed her Hannah’s Christmas gift from my mother—a dizzying, noise-making, light flashing, over 50 midi musical tunes playing activity station which I tell my husband in jest that he’ll probably start a support group over (but I’m kind of serious).

You see, this “gear” is all part of what I’ve come to learn from other wise moms to be “baby rotation”—where you move baby from station to station during the day to keep them stimulated but to also gain yourself a good 15 minutes of “hands free” time. These days, I’m blown away by what I can accomplish in 15 minutes!

But really, the stimulation is the best part. There’s nothing quite like watching your baby learn new skills every day as they play with toys— whether they’re simple toys made of wood or the colourful plastic annoying musical variety.

Yes, things have definitely changed. Toys of all types are now part of my home décor. I can proudly say that our house has been fully “babyfied” and the gear I once swore I’d never own is now as welcome an addition to my home as is our sweet baby girl.

Guest Author Bio

Lara Perzoff
As a new Mom to five month old Hannah and fairly new wife of Glen, Lara is finding her legs at balancing between motherhood and family. Her family is her true love, inspiring her to write down the many words in her head, preferably when she has two free hands to type. Lara has a background in public relations and broadcast journalism and has always been passionate about creative writing. Besides family time, Lara loves hiking, running, photography, adventure travel, a good cup of coffee with friends and yoga.

Babyfied is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

It’s really different here on the little piece of land that fell off the west coast of Canada. Different in a good way, like we can buy vegetables outside all year round and take the dog swimming in the ocean on New Year’s Day, and wherever we look we can be pretty much guaranteed to cast our eyes on something breathtaking in the way of scenery. But it’s also different in ways that make a mother’s guts get all knotty.

I’m not talking about how easy it is to buy high-grade organic marijuana or psychedelic mushrooms here in the world capital of pot and ‘shrooms. I think you can actually purchase them at most of our local farmers markets if you know what to ask for (which, for the record, I do not.)

Nor am I referring to the ever-present high alert we’re all on for THE BIG ONE, although it was a real eye-opener when I got a note home from school right after we moved here asking me to place some very specific items in a Ziploc bag and send it back with my child to be placed in the earthquake kiosk out in the playground. Oh, the thoughts that went through my head and the horrible feelings I felt, imagining that something geologically devastating would happen and our family would be separated. I think my son’s earthquake kit was the last one handed in because I couldn’t quite manage to draft the optional “comfort note” without melting down. I mean, what do you say to your child when all he wants and needs is the reassurance of a parent’s presence and there’s a split-wide-open fault line between you and him? A glib “Keep Calm and Carry On” stuffed into a freezer bag with a McHappy Toy and a granola bar ain’t gonna cut it.

No, the churn is to do with wild animals roaming the streets. I did hit this deer one time, on an ordinary weeknight while driving through a residential neighborhood minding my own business – this crazy leaping creature crazily leapt in front of the Impala (ironic, no?) and I nailed him pretty hard in the hindquarters (the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes and hammered the brake pedal).

But it’s not about the free-ranging ruminants. It’s the cougars roaming the streets of our city – that’s what’s giving this mom the heebie-jeebies. Five warnings in the last two days, the most recent being at the nearest intersection to the lads’ school. They’re bold, these urban cougars – wandering across the main highway, hanging out at the high school, loitering in the backyards of ordinary law-abiding citizens, quite possibly bumming cigarettes from some of the kids who hang out by the video store. Just for clarity (because the reference to approaching teenage boys may mislead the reader), I am not talking about big-haired divorced women with salon nails and pants that are a little too tight. I refer to the literal, actual large member of the cat family with massive deadly fangs and claws…

I don’t like it one little bit. My only consolation is that the warnings usually caution folks take extra care with their children and pets, and my children are a beefy 6′ and a fast-moving 6’4″. I did warn them to watch out for their more petite friends though. It doesn’t matter where you live: size matters.

Note: the deer lived. He was last seen limping off onto the adjacent golf course where, by the way, people golf every day all year round. Even in January. Even after a couple of big bong hits. Even with the ever-present threat of giant bloodthirsty felines lurking in the rough. I told you it was different here.

Photo Credits

Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection

First Posted At Life’s Rich Pageant

Guest Author Bio

Mary Meldrum
A transplanted prairie girl, Mary Meldrum is a mother, lover, sister, friend, daughter, singer, dieter and professional communicator, absolutely loving her new life as a mermaid on beautiful Vancouver Island.

A marketing copywriter by profession, Mary’s personal work offers an honest but lighthearted perspective on life as a middle-aged woman on the left coast of Canada in the 21st century: just trying to drink it all in, get it all done, shrink it down to size, and still get to bed by eleven.

Blog / Website: Life’s Rich Pageant

Follow Mary: Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Linkedin

Vancougar Island is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Life As A Human Likes is a feature of fascinating, enlightening, fun or perhaps just odd blogs and websites that enliven the experience of being human. 

It’s January and you’ve made a resolution to get out and exercise more, to eat right and to stop swearing in front of your kids.  But, it’s cold out, gets dark early, comfort foods are in season and somehow your kids are still interrupting you when you are trying to have a good session on the web…Below are some stellar parenting blogs that Life As A Human likes.

1.  Mommy Wants Vodka - Mommy Drinks Because You Cry

Becky Sherrick Hark’s blog is funny … except when it’s not.  One can log on with a big cup o’ java and have a good long read.  Laughing at posts like Cinnamon Girl and then tearing up at the poinant writings that describe Becky’s daughter who was born with a neural tube defect that required brain surgery to save her life.

2. Bad Mommy Moments ~ Celebrating the days of motherhood that SUCK.  Because it’s often after our worst moments that we realize how lucky we are.

The post f-ing lice is hilarious.

3. Leanne Shirtliffe ~ Ironic Mom - If you can’t laugh at yourself, laugh at your kids

In this very serious, noble and completlely daunting job of parenthood, most of us (?), many of us (?), a few of us, I hope (?) try desperately to swim upstream – defying pop culture – to teach our kids morals, values and respect.  It’s honestly a very had job.  Canadian blooger, Leanne Shirtliffe, writes about feminism, toys and how this sometimes flies in the face of environmental responsibility in this great post called International Women’s Day, Movies and Barbie Dolls.

4. stark. raving. mad. mommy - Losing my mind, one child at a time

“I write about the hilarious insanity that is my life.  This includes parenting, sensory processing disorder, anxiety, ADHD, allergies, asthma, Asperger Syndrome, and whatever else we have cooking at any given moment.” Babble named Josyln Gray number 76 out of 100 in the top 100 Mom Blogs for 2011.  She’s funny, insightful and quirky in that great way.  Just reading the description of her family members is enough to make you want to dive into some posts.  “My Excellent Birthday Adventure” is a must read.

5. Nerdy Apple

Sarah Manley has three kids.  And, one Halloween she did the unthinkable (please note sarcasm) when she ‘allowed’ her son to dress like Daphne from Scooby Doo.  The story itself is wonderful.  It is the flip side of the feminism coin that tells little girls they can play with trucks and celebrates their tom boy nature.  Only, it’s just not as OK to let a boy play with dolls and dress like a girl.  At least, not at the oh so mature age of 5.  Her honesty and unwavering support for her son landed her on “The Today Show,” CNN, NPR and blogs and newspapers around North America – at least.

6. Some Species Eat their Young ~ It’s an acquired taste.  Kick Ass Wife and I have four young children — Slim, Perpetual Motion, The Hellcat, and Tax Credit #4. I love them. They’re funny. Except when they’re not. Occasionally they make cool noises.

Chase McFadden is very funny and one of the only Father’s writing about parenthood that we’ve come across, which is a crying shame because when Dad’s write about parenthood there is a very unique and wonderful spin on things. How could there not be? And, he’s almost always very funny, except when he’s not and he writes about unspeakable things which every parent has to consider. Then he is wise, insightful and thought provoking.

Photo Credits

All thumbnails above come from the respective sites they point to.

Life As A Human Likes…8 is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN