When I was about 10, I graduated from my Brownie troop to Girl Guides. I went to two Guide meetings, never really sure if I still wanted to part of the earnest Girl Guide movement whose preoccupation with duty and order never seemed like a perfect for me. The decision was made for me when the Girl Guide leader ran off with the money and the troop took a temporary break. I never donned the blue shirt again.

This was a anti-climatic end to my life as a Brownie. My sister and a couple friends had worn our ugly brown uniforms, learned how to tie Reef knots, sang songs and did crafts every Wednesday for three years. We had diligently worked at our badge collections – but I  have to admit very few of those hard-earned skills stayed with me – earning my sewing badge may have been the pinnacle of my career with a needle and thread.

My daughter is beautiful, not just subjectively beautiful but objectively beautiful. People trip over their tongue when they see her. It’s like she is Laineygossip.com’s celebrity baby theory come to life (we are average+average except that I think that my hubby is pretty close to Hot). The boys are also very good-looking but generally boys rarely illicit the ‘Oh My God’ reactions that girls do.

I am very uncomfortable when people tell her that she is beautiful, what am I supposed to say? Thank you? Yes? Just nod in aggreement? The truth is that I wish people would stop saying it, especially as an opening gambit. Jenna knows she is beautiful (as I suppose all 4-year old girls do), she is used to hearing it.

When does beautiful become a label she has to live up to? And let’s be honest, the beautiful label isn’t usually followed by the words: smart, industrious, independent or competent and she is all those things too. You just can’t tell that by looking into her chocolate brown eyes.

I once told a parenting educator that I didn’t feel angry with my kids but I did feel a constant sense of aggravation. She said aggravation was just “junior anger”. Junior anger? Me? I avoid conflict, I’m easy going, I don’t get angry. But I do.

I remember looking at my angelic baby thinking how could anyone yell at such a sweet, perfect child. It would be like yelling at a kitten or a dandelion… and then he turned three. I didn’t even know I had a temper, until that moment I don’t think I had yelled at anyone since I moved on from the grumpy teen years.

Anger goes hand-in-hand with parenting. Sometimes it's shocking how easily we can yell at these little people we love so much. Those yells come when you feel like you’ve been ignored, disrespected and/or belittled. But it’s not just the external variables that make us angry, everyone has different triggers that set off some alarm bell inside of us. Experts say that anger is a secondary emotion; meaning that is a reaction to feeling hurt.

We moms are a famously judgy group, we can pull out a judgment at a moment's notice. This is partially because there is no group judged as harshly as mothers by both the non-procreating public and other parents. But I can guarantee that whereever a mother is on the cycle of judgment; every mother is judging herself more harshly then she is judging anyone else -- no matter what snide comments get launched her way. 

You think that mom in the supermarket doesn’t feel your pain when her kid blocks the aisle screaming? She feels it – times 100. She may look like she is ignoring her kid, and you know why? Because she is quietly muttering to herself to keep her cool and not lose it in front of a supermarket full of silent condescension. She is simultaneously counting to 150 under her breath while worrying that her child will never calm down and will never learn to control their emotions and will therefore be unable to conduct themselves in society. She is quietly reminding herself that if she gives a tantrum too much attention it just means there will be another one down the road. And she is reprimanding herself for being such a lousy parent that she created this spoiled brat.

Leave us a comment on this post for your chance to win a dog gift basket!

We  have had our puppy for three months now. And I can honestly tell you that I LOVE my dog! But I do NOT love having a dog. I am literally a dog leash away from losing my mind.

That is not to say that it hasn’t benefited my family in lots of ways, because it has. We believe that the more you have to love in a family, the better. (At least that was our excuse for having a third kid). As a friend says: a family is like a campfire and  the more logs you add to a fire, the bigger the fire (that was her excuse for having four kids).

Angel
Baby (girl/boy)
Bing Bong
Buckaroo
Buddy
Bunny/ Bunnykin
Button
Chicken Man
Cuddle-bug
Cupcake

I have a love-hate relationship with Mother’s Day. I love when things are all about me, I love presents, I love my own mother and I love my mother-in-law. But Mother’s Day – not so much.

It’s the confluence of things all on one day that causes the problems. We tend to be running from a brunch for one mother (not me) to a dinner for another mother (again, not me). My husband laughs every year as we are running out the door bouquets in hand and reminds me that my day will come. Meanwhile, on Father’s Day he goes golfing.

If you have a daughter in middle school then you have probably already wrestled with the question of whether or not to vaccinate against the HPV virus (human papillomavirus). The virus is the leading cause of cervical cancer.

The vaccinations are recommended for all girls between the ages of 9-26,  before they become sexually active. The vaccine stops four kinds of HPV, two of which lead to cervical cancer and the other two lead to genital warts. Studies have shown that 75 percent of sexually active teens carry one form of the HPV virus.

So what do we know? We know that if every woman was vaccinated against HPV then the rate of genital warts would decrease by 90 percent and 70 percent of cervical cancer would be eradicated and possibly other cancers as well. We know that cervical cancer is a terrible disease but can be treated if found early by regular PAP smears.

We know that there have been some side effects to the vaccine made by Gardasil, some of them not very serious: fainting, nauseau, soreness at the injection site. There have also been some serious side effects including blood clots in the lungs, a finding that the CDC in the U.S. is tracking. Out of 23 million doses there were 32 deaths following the shot which researchers say may or may not have to do with the vaccine. While the Canadian and U.S. governments say that the risks are small compared to the payoff, those numbers still do make me pause.

“Mommy, that man looks like a porcupine,”

“I am going to marry  my brother. We are going to live in a castle and have lots of princesses. Why are you laughing?”

"Mommy, the poop disapeared and now I only see a tail.”

“Oh, Mummy I see your hairy bum-bum”

And the family classic written in a card: “Dear Papa, Happy Dying”

And the few days that we thought my daughter was saying Rabbit with intensity. Then she realized it was Dammit...

Pajamas that look like jeans, jeans that feel like pajamas! Yes, there is a new product called Pajama Jeans, and if you order now they even come with a grey brushed cotton T-shirt. Brilliant or a sign that we  have collectively jumped the shark?  The tagline says it all: “Pajamas you live in, Jeans You Sleep In.”

How ridiculous is that? They are like pants for the Snuggie set. But then I noticed the irony of judging such apparel while I was sitting around in my yoga pants which have logged a lot of miles everywhere except a yoga class. Not to mention that I did end up driving my kids to school in pajamas yesterday. (But in my defense I sit in the car so no one sees me, and no, I did not have the 10 seconds to spare). I have only gone to the store a few times without undergarments on.

I am not alone in my shlumpy attitude towards motherly attire. I see people like me everywhere. Which leads to the question: why?