The romance of Costco

It could have been the paper towel or the fragrance free laundry detergent.  Actually maybe it was the organic olive oil or the ketchup and mustard.  Or the bottles and bottles of Peligrino?  That lovely blood orange organic soda? Even just softest case of toilet paper?  

It's hard to pinpoint which item did it.  All I know is that your latest visit to Costco was one of your most romantic gestures to date. I'm seroiusl 

You didn't buy the fancy stuff. You knew better, and left that job for me. You didn't buy anything fresh or perishable. After all these years, you knew this would totally piss me off.   Thankfully you didn't buy huge vats of spices or mayonnaise. I would have gone crazy ape on you.  Big time.  You knew I had already spent hours sourcing the perfect vessels for our pantry, and how much I was looking forward to filling those said jars. By myself. 

What you did buy was the heavy stuff.  You dragged in all the things that I'd hate to schlep. And you did it without asking. You ran to Costco before it even opened and you loaded our car with it hundreds of dollars worth of stuff. The basics.  Things that bore me to tears, like soap for the dishwasher.  And the washing machine. And toilet cleaner.  Spare me...

The gesture was sweet and delicious. Better than any five carat ring or fancy car.  You were like an old world hunter, facing the wild and coming back to our home with the goods for our family. 

And together, for the first time since our new home was built, we filled our sparkling pantry with all of these items. Although I'll end up reorganizing everything, perhaps time and time again, at that moment your work was seriously perfect and romantic.  

Standing in our pantry together, planning out our shelf space and design, I could have cried.  Who knew how exciting this could be? Perhaps not as fun as a trip to Paris, but strangely a close second. (What has become of me))))

As we unpacked our car I realized that together, this life we have made. One day at a time. Meal by meal, child by child, moment by moment.  Lots of laughing. And even some crying.  But it's been many years of togetherness.  Countless trips to Costco to feed our seemingly always hungry kids. 

Twenty eight years of friendship and it hasn't always been easy.  There were months I wanted to run away. Months I wanted to be done. Weeks when I dreaded seeing you. And certainly days I wished us not to be so.  And then all the resentment that came with living in Canada.  I missed my family.  I missed old friends. I mostly missed me. 

But you've kept your word.  After all these years.  And now we are back in America. Four miles from my childhood home and a few more minutes into my favourite city. Though I miss the urban life, im happy. And I'm grateful. 

I'm thrilled our kids have adjusted so well to this crazy transition. I'm over the moon to be so close to my sister and our family again. And most of all, I'm happy for our new home together. 

This morning we will receive 20,000 pounds of stuff we do not need. Things we haven't seen since we packed that truck up this summer. Our belongings are en route from Toronto, and by noon they'll all be at our new door. 

 And like eating an elephant, we'll get through this one bite at a time. 

We'll make the move in fun. I know the kids will have a blast. I'll serve pizza and ice cream and we will celebrate our new life. And I'll be all smiles tonight,  grateful to have a pantry full of plastic recycling bags and all natural glass cleaner. 

Can't wait for this next adventure to begin.  Ps. Thank you also for my new car tires ;)

I'll need a scissor

The other night my husband needed scissors.  I guess a knife would have worked as well, though I shudder at the thought.  

I was lying in bed with my nine year old, helping her to fall asleep. Maybe that was my first problem...

Since it was 9pm, I was in my comfy clothes, a black tank top and black drawstring pants. We're staying with my parents and my girl is sleeping in a tiny twin bed. To save space, I cuddled her while on my side.  It was dark. 

Warm and cozy, we were chatting about the day and getting sleepy as my darling husband entered the room. He sat beside me and rubbed my shoulder.  Such a sweetie pie, I thought to myself. And then with no warning, he says, out loud, "if only we could just cut this off mommy, she'd be good".  I gasped. Audibly.  Cut what? 

My long hair? Nope. 

I'm afraid he was referring to my post two  kids overweight weight, non flat belly.  It was sad and shocking. And mostly completely egregious. I'm 41, I can mostly handle it. But my precious girl is only 9. And she can't. 

Instead of decapitating him, I kissed my baby doll goodnight and walked away. When I got downstairs I cried my eyes off.  The next day I ignored him entirely. How does one deal with those who are less bright?

My daughter never spoke of this night. I'm hoping she was so tired that it flew over her head. Maybe she didn't hear it at all as she fell into slumber?

I'm a mother who doesn't use the word fat or skinny.  At least not around my kids. Ever. I don't talk about diets or treadmills, carbs or protein. Yes, my kids know all about living healthy, but only in a positive way.  From butter chicken and naan to crepes and sushi too, they're good eaters and live to eat. They also love to be active. 

But just  last year I pulled my kid from both ballet and gymnastics. Too many other mothers kept praising her for being so skinny. "You're so skinny, you're a perfect ballerina". "You're so skinny you look great in that leotard". Really?  How about strong, graceful, fit?  Same thing happened at gymnastics. Yes, my kids are thin. Skinny even. But they eat everything. They eat nonstop. But both are also extremely sporty and most likely they have good genes. MY genes!

My entire life, I was the skinny one. The perfect ballerina. The girl who ate everything. I was the five foot 9 girl who could wear a size six or even a four. I was comfortable at 128 pounds.  Lord help me. 

But with both kids I gained an insane amount of weight and  I'm struggling to lose it. And when I say STRUGGLING, I mean that honestly.  It's a battle. Every. Single. Day. Pizza and cookies literally speak to me. And the thought of grilled chicken over romaine lettuce makes me want to hurl. Twice. 

While it's a battle I'm fighting each day, it's certainly one I didn't plan on sharing with my loving spouse.  And yes, would cutting off my gut make me skinnier, sexier and more attractive?  Seems he would believe this to be so. And perhaps he's right?  But then I'd have to hear about the nasty scars.  And believe me, those would run deep. Very deep. 

Actually, come to think of it, they already do. Namaste 

Different days

 You chided me.  "You and I have different days". 

What?? It was like a brick to my gut. I felt angry. Demeaned. Sad. Do you really notice nothing that I do? Is my contribution to our home and family worth so much less than yours. Or maybe nothing at all.  

So I turned away and clutched my iPhone and thought about my day

My Thursday started at 4:30am. That's the time our precious 5 year old decided it was time to wake up. And since he didn't want to be up alone, he found me. Sadly he didn't want to cozy in my bed and gorge on Netflix. He had a different plan. He wanted to plan his upcoming birthday.  In detail. Right down to the loot bags. And it is still September. His birthday is in December.  Once he and I agreed on a theme (he wants a hockey skating party) we went onto the menu, snacks and he even convinced me to let the boys sleep over.  

And suddenly it was five am. This felt like a more appropriate time to get up. So I did. Slowly I went upstairs to begin breakfast. My boy requested eggs, sunny side up. With toast. And the toast needed not to be too crispy. Loads of butter too. For sure at 7, my girl would come down with a completely different breakfast idea. 

And then for a little lunch magic.  I gathered all of our sustainable containers and began to create two perfect lunch kits. She prefers hot food like pasta or chicken and rice. He won't eat hot food at school because he doesn't believe it will stay warm enough for his gourmand self. 

Healthy snacks. Beautifully crafted carrots and cucumbers that will probably never be eaten. I always add in a fruit or two. This day was mango and berries. 

Then we'll go through our morning dance. Did you brush your teeth?  Brush your hair. "But i did". Brush it again. You need running shoes for gym. With socks. Why are you wear sweatpants? It's 95 degrees. 

And then inevitably as we are heading towards the door, there will be an assignment to sign.  Money needed for class pictures or a project. And so ill scramble. Surely they didn't know about this the night before?

In the car ride over to school I will blast music. Their music. I'll suffer through Beiber and Demi Lovato so I don't have to hear them fighting about nothing. 

I will kiss them goodbye and wish them wonderful days. And I always mean it. 

My first stop will be to take your clothes to the new dry cleaners. Apparently the old place isn't up to snuf. 

I'll drive over to our new house which isn't complete yet.  I'll check on the workers. Some days I bring them coffee and donuts. I'll deliver whatever i purchased the day before. Light fixtures, knobs. Whatever.  

I'll run to the grocery store to buy acceptable food for lunches.  When I come up with an interesting dinner menu, I'll purchase whatever's needed. 

This week, our girl has been invited to a bunch of birthday parties. I find a fun local store that wraps gifts and in the name of efficiency I buy all three presents at once. I'll have to remind our daughter at least four times to write a card. 

With the last hour and 1/2 I have before pick up, I'll zip over to the wallpaper store.  I'll pour through countless binders of papers to figure out what works for our new home. 

At 2:30, I'll race to pick up the kids.  I'll have their Swell bottles filled with fresh iced water. My head will be pounding and 

it's at that moment I'll realize I've forgotten to have lunch. Not even coffee. When I see my little ones running toward me, I'll forget about my aching head. And  I'll put away my iPhone to listen to their days' tales.  

My girl will chat it up about her new friend Charlie.  I'll giggle and call him her boyfriend. My son will remind me that all of his friends know about his imminent party. He'll beg me to charge a fee to his guests. I'll try in vain to explain how that's not acceptable. And I'll silently laugh about his budding business skills. 

We'll arrive home and tackle the evenings' routine. Dinner, showers, homework, books, bedtime. 

By the time they close their eyes I wil have been awake for 17 hours. 

On this particular day, I didn't get a manicure. Or a pedicure. Or a massage. I didn't meet a friend for lunch or coffee.  I didn't find anytime to write. I didn't watch tv. Or read a magazine. I'm sure I did talk on the phone while in transit. 

I had a wonderful day. One that started and ended with my family.

 I didn't sit in an office. I didn't use much of what was learned in MBA classes. I didn't get to laugh over a lunch meeting with colleagues.  

But what i did was valuable. What i do each day holds worth.

 Yes I'm grateful I don't have to slug it out in the rat race.  I'm glad I don't have suffer a sticky commute.  I'm glad you effortlessly handle all of the bills. And while somedays i long to wear a pencil skirt and heels, I know my current uniform is exactly as it should be. 

And I know the choice to manage my family was mine. And there's no job I'd rather have.  

Breathe. Drink water. Namaste

Dear husband

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

So actually, this didn't start as love at all. In fact that would have put you in jail. If you recall, I was 12 and you had just turned 18.  I was a fresh faced (brace faced) preteen with long hair and olive oil legs. I was tall, nearly 5 foot 9, but still yet to weigh 125 pounds. Shy, awkward around boys, yet utterly infatuated with you. 

After all you were a Canadian college kid. Or, as you people say "university" kid.   Tanned, toned and totally hot. That's my memory of you circa 1987.  You rarely smiled, you never wore shorts, and in your Benetton striped blue and white rugby I was smitten.  From that first canoe ride, I knew you were the man I would marry one day. 

And much to your chagrin, I made that no secret.  I told everyone.  When you were on canoe trips, I dragged my friends and raided your cabin.  I stole a robin's egg blue Beaver Canoe sweatshirt from your cubby.  And your pillow case.  I slept with both every night. 

I still have your sweatshirt.  And your pillowcase.  And they are both 28 years old today. 

Canoeing quickly became my favourite sport.  Going on an overnight with you was pure heaven. 

Your Canadian accent made the girls swoon and I cried as you dated 1/4 of the female staff. Including my cousin. 

And then I cried again when they chose to close our summer camp.  Cried for the friends I wouldn't see again. And mostly I bawled because I knew I'd miss you. 

But i was then close to 13 and an avid writer. You received nearly a letter a day. I think you wrote back twice...

So, who would have guessed that all this time later we would be married and the parents to two near perfect babes? 

Yup, I got you in the end. Persistence and mad good penpal skills made me the lucky winner. 

I even moved to Canada for 14 years. People around here say I sound Canadian. My kids were both born there...

And though there have been some tremendous ups, there have also been a few gut-wrenching downs.  Sometimes I bet you wished you never agreed to spend 8 weeks teaching Jewish kids from Nyc/nj how to canoe in the wilderness. 

I'm sure some days you dream that you just married some normal Canadian girl and not some wild and crazy American. 

And believe me, there are days I wish I never met you at all. 

But for the most part, I thank my lucky stars that I was a precocious and probably obnoxious kid with a crazy crush on the Canadian counsellor who taught canoeing. 

Here's how i count the ways I love you:

1)you are the most fantastic father. Loving yet stern.  Involved in everything.  You're the one who always takes them for Baskin Robbins. Even when it's snowing. They certainly think you're the fun one. 

2) I love that you taught both kids to ride bicycles. And they learned immediately. Before all their friends. So then you taught their friends...

3)because you love to cook.  And not just bbq.  You're a master in the kitchen.  This is where your creative side shines. Your presentation is always flawless.  I love your salmon ceviche on shrimp crackers the most. 

4) because after you cook (or while you are cooking) you clean up. You never leave the kitchen a mess. 

5) you never leave a mess anywhere. Ever.  In fact, one of your nicknames for me is pigpen, because mess follows me everywhere. You hate that about me. I'm sure. 

6) because after 14 years you moved me back to America. More specifically back into my parents' house!!! You took a huge job 6 months ago and left us to pursue this position. We joined you two weeks ago.  I'm still pinching myself. 

7)because you work tons but do it with grace. 

8) because you're my behind the scenes producer. You take care of the stuff no one sees. From dealing with the bills to checking on the electrical outlets, you take care details i would otherwise ignore. 

9) because you love to see the world with me. From Canada to India, Africa to Iceland,  travelling together is our happy place. And now our kids have the wanderlust bug too!!

10) and I'd be remiss if I didn't say you're also my guardian angel on earth. While I'm quite the catch myself, I'm not always the easiest person with whom to live. You have seen me at my worst and saved me from myself.  I know  you worry about my well-being  more than you worry about yourself.  

 

I'm forever grateful, even if i don't always show it. I cherish all our moments together and I'm excited about our new adventure.  This phase of our life is going to be the best part of the story!!

After all, we are team Mayer Sugarman and together we can take on the world. 

With love and respect,

Laurin 

And today's that day

Today is September 8. Aside from being the day before my birthday, it's also the first day of school for many of my friends' kids. We started last week, but in Toronto today is the day. 

And I can't help but feel sad. Homesick. Left out. By 9am I will see more back to school pictures than I ever cared to.  I'll see kids lined up in front of their perfect houses, holding chalk board signs in their ever growing hands. First day of grade one, two, three.  There will be close ups of backpacks and lunches.  By 9:15 I'll see lots of smiling faces.  Beaming about going back to school.  These faces will all belong to my girlfriends. Actually by now,  even the kids will be happy to get back to a routine.  

But first we will see the end of summer pics. A few last camp shots, barbecues, and definitely a s'more or two. There will be beach photos and bikinis too.  

I'll pour through tons of these memories in the making and I'll feel left out and empty. It's the first time since we've moved back to America that life here will feel real. 

We've truly left our home of 14 years and it seems the city is functioning without us. My kids' school bell in toronto will ring at its regular time. Kids will run down our old street. They'll pack into that overcrowded building and my two will be absent. Today and everyday. 

While I'm so grateful to technology for keeping us connected, I can't help but feel lonely. And upset that I won't be there at drop off.  I'll miss the walk over to our favourite coffee shop.  And then at 3:10 today I'll miss my favourite time to catch up with the mama drama. The playground politics.  

Don't get me wrong. I love my new town school.  I already adore a big bunch of the new parents. It's just that I had built those friendships for 7 plus years

So when I come home for a visit Toronto, please don't take me to the CN tower. I'm not interested in the latest restaurant. Or the coolest stores. 

But please let me back in the circle at the playground.  Let me catch up with you about quick dinner and lunch prep ideas. Tell me your new crockpot tricks.  Invite me to grocery shop with you again. I loved it and I'd take it over a fancy dinner out any day...

I only want to be part of your ordinary. Your everyday. Even though I'm so far away. Today and always. 

Miss you loads. 

Stay at home.

Dear family,

Since you're all still sleeping, I thought I'd use my free time to send you a thank you note. A love letter, if you will.  After all, the whites are washing and there must be at least 32 minutes left in the cycle. 

Speaking of which, I love to do your laundry.  Yes, I really do. Some days I remind myself how lucky I am to have a masters degree and a private school education. Surely all my knowledge of art history and psychology gives me a leg up with stain removal and the like.  

Not only do I love the act of doing your laundry, but I enjoy scanning the house searching for your dirty clothes.  This is most fun before a school day when you desperately need your black sparkly leggings. I search and search and then usually find said item in a ball. Crumbled. On your bedroom floor. 

I also love to wash towels. Especially the ones you use once to shower.  Or to swim. Don't even get me started on water preservation. Planet  Earth be damned. 

I also really enjoy packing your lunches. I love the high of running through various grocery stores to find the items you happen to love this week. A specific kind of Turkey for sandwiches? Nitrate free.  A Portuguese bun? Organic milk boxes? I'm on it.  

And because I'm so good I'll be sure to wrap everything in sustainable packaging   Mostly because i live to wash lunch containers after a long school day.  What I love even more is finding the containers at the bottom of your bag early the next morning. Cleaning out moldy peaches starts anyone's day with a smile. 

And your water bottles. I love that you're all so environmental. I love that you look down on plastic water vessels. I'm happy to buy you multiple new clean and green bottles. Sigg, swell, you name it, you have it. And don't worry if you lose my favourite bottle. I'm good with the old bpa ridden plastic ones. 

I also enjoy that you have so many hobbies. What with guitar and skiing and singing and tennis, you'll be the most well rounded kids in town. I enjoy shuttling you from place to place. Actually I do. Because while I loathe to drive, I love the time to hear you chat about your day. I honestly do. 

And then comes dinner.  Because I do virtually nothing all day while you're at school, I have plenty of time to meal prep. I'm happy to go to whole foods for your organic salmon and then run over to the Barns for that sauce you like so much. And then because I love you, I'll also stop at Shoprite for those mini ice creams you seem to adore.  Don't worry that they're three times the price of the normal stuff. 

  And I'll always have avocados on hand for a last minute guacamole.  I'll always stock your flour tortillas in case you fancy a cheese quesadilla or a fish taco.  One of you will only eat whole wheat bread and sadly the other only white. I vow to keep plenty of appropriate bread in the house at all times.  Because that's the kind of mom I am. 

And last but not least (i could go on all day) please be sure to always give me the stacks of school paper work as we are rushing to school in the morning. I don't mind filling out the contact information, emergency numbers, etc all while trying to scramble your eggs. Two ways.  

So my angels, I thank you for keeping me busy. Thank you for keeping me in yoga clothes.  I never liked dressing up anyway. And showering is for the weak. 

And most of all, Thank you for keeping me out of the workforce.  What would I do with a hefty pay check anyway?   Love you to the moon and back. 

Your mommy

Ps. My birthday is in 6 days and I want a Cartier watch and a vacation 

Lady of the house

I never aspired to be a wife. Certainly I wasn't one of those girls who had vivid dreams of a fancy wedding. I never contemplated a cathedral veil or a 12 piece orchestra. (Years later I'd be obsessed with these things)

 Never did I imagine a house with a white picket fence. Or any fence.  I wanted to live in an apartment in Nyc forever. 

 Kids weren't really on my radar. Sure, i found them cute. From afar. And babysitting certainly wasn't my bag. Hated it actually. Save for the homemade chocolate chip cookies the lady of the house made for me, I dreaded the job. I used to pray the kid would sleep. I died whenever I had to change a diaper. 

To avoid becoming a stay at home mom, I dated often. No way I was going to become a lame statistic. Friends were getting engaged and I dreaded each invite that arrived. A ruined Labor Day weekend. Another wedding over Fourth of July.  It was awful and I wasn't having any part of it. 

I lived and loved abroad.  A lot. I worked. I volunteered. And eventually I went back to school for my masters. I figured that when I did eventually have kids, at least if have a good degree. Perhaps that would make me more marketable post mat leave?

I worked my butt off all through mba and began to dream of my immenent six figure income. My mind was filled with holidays i would take.  Turkey, Morocco, India. Life would be glamourous.  Life would be grand. 

And then my boyfriend proposed. With an ice skating rink of a ring. I was shocked. I hardly knew what to say, so I went with "yes". And then for two years I questioned my decision. Who wanted to get married anyway. 

I graduated from school at the end of May and started my dream job right away.  A June 21 wedding followed.  

As I walked down that aisle in my cathedral length veil, I saw my dreams fade away.  And that 12 piece orchestra played on...

I felt the depression start to sink in and the ink hadn't yet dried

Now it's not that i didn't want to marry my husband. I just didn't want to marry him right then.   A few more years single would have worked for me. 

And as I predicted, my dreams started to evaporate.  Everyone around me was falling pregnant.  Talk of breast feeding, spoon feeding and diapers filled the air. With a bit of peer pressure and my quickly increasing age,  i decided a baby would be a welcome addition to my life as well. (I was 30)

Within 38 weeks I went from being "wife" to "mommy".  I was 31.  Gone was the girl who travelled everywhere. Gone was she who took courses whenever she could. Gone was the chick who ran to 6am hot yoga. Every. Single.  Day

And while I loved my daughter more than words could ever explain, I felt like I was losing me. I knew I was.  Gym classes. Swim classes. Music lessons. All for her. And she was 6 months old.  I shopped nonstop. For boots and skirts and dresses.  Again, only for her. 

As she grew more gorgeous i still looked pregnant. Or worse. 

My husband had began to workout feverishly.  He was addicted. To the gym. Certainly not to me. Or to what I'd become. Who had I become? More importantly, where did I go?

And his life carried on. All I carried was my baby and the groceries.  Every day. Every damn day. 

Actually his life did more than carry on. He flourished.  Each year or two he'd start a new job. Each job was better than the next.  He was climbing up the corporate ladder and I was ready to climb out the window.

From business meetings to work drinks and dinner, he was enjoying the good life. And I was living the housewife life...  Who would have thunk it?? 

 While I was and am so proud of his accomplishments it still saddens me not to have "work dinners" or drinks with friends from work. 

But today  my daughter is nearly ten. We've added an awesome animated boy to the mix.  He's loud and smart and handsome as hell.  These two kids rock my world. They also rule my world. And my days. And usually my nights too...

The youngest is 5 and I've yet to lose the baby weight. I cringe when someone asks if  I'm pregnant. 

 And we've recently moved countries and my husband started his biggest job yet. He's in charge of 400 people. 400 family's lives. Their well-being is in his hands. And he loves it. 

And me? I'm still left carrying groceries and often a kid. A very big kid. 

But I'm also buying  rain boots and sports bras.  Leggings and ice skates. Bike helmets and rollerblades. Uggs and umbrellas. 

Last week i was asked to buy deodorant.  And I cried.  But i digress. 

I've trolled the malls for back to school clothes. And backpacks.  And lunch bags.  That perfect first day outfit?!

But get this. Together with my girl, I've created a dinner menu for the month. We perused the food network and found tons of interesting meals she agreed to eat. I made a fabulous spread sheet. And to think I was kind of excited to use excel again?!  And a little shocked I still knew how. 

It's not all doom and gloom.  My biggest achievement lately is that my kids love to eat. Thai food, Indian, Mexican, sushi. They have wonderful palates and even better manners.  They make me proud at least 13 times a day. 

But I'd be lying if i said this is what I always wanted. My dream come true. A suburban housewife with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of education in my pocket.  And no full time job in sight. No tailored suits and designer heels.  No nanny to watch the kids and clean up their mess. 

No. It's not what I wanted at all. Never. Ever. Not on any planet. But it's the life I've chosen. My path for now.  And truthfully I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.  

Breathe and drink water. Namaste

what it feels like to die

Not to be morose, but this week I'm learning what it feels like to die.  What's it's going to be like when I'm no longer here. No longer around. 

I'm not actually sick.  As a matter of fact, I'm feeling quite well. 

I haven't been given a terminal diagnosis or even a bad blood report.  Truthfully I've been eating nicely and working out a lot. 

But this week, I'm packing up my home of more than ten years and preparing for a move out of this country.  Leaving where I've lived for 14 years. 

It's a lot of work and I'm quite exhausted both mentally and physically.  There's a ton to do. Cancel NY times subscription.  Re-route our mail. Cancel gym memberships. Notify the doctors and the schools and the camps that we are moving this weekend.  Drivers license reports. Medical exams. Donation bins. Lots of stuff people need to accomplish before they move or die. 

But the worst part is the stuff I have to sort, and I have so much stuff.  Stuff I haven't touched in 10 years. From books to knitting needles, I'm packing up boxes with things I don't need.  Things I'll never need. Items I didn't require in the first place...

I did finally manage to finally donate all the clothes that currently don't fit me.  That would include my size 6 citizen jeans and all of my Theory suits.  Talk about depressing.  Like cleaning out the closet of a dead (and skinny) aunt. Awful. 

Most recently I've been disposing of things I don't want the movers to see.  Or touch.   Ever. 

I've been wrapping up things that are precious to me. The memories. The moments. My life. 

And then there was last night. A last minute impromptu "drink the house". A small gathering of close friends to come and drink our liquor and eat our pantry's remains.

Dare I say it felt like a shiva?

For my non Jewish friends, a family sits shiva after someone dies. It's a time to come together. To mourn. To celebrate. To eat yummy food. People cover the mirrors and sit on boxes. No one is comfortable as they discuss the departed.  Everyone reminisces. 

Last night at my home, we did just that. Old friends told stories. They ate tasty foods. We remembered what life was like when we moved here. There wasn't much music playing. Some were more upset than others. There were some tears. When everyone went home, I was left crying.

People joked that we should have told the new owners our friends came with the house. Our friends loved to party with us and we were alway keen to host.

But soon I'd be gone. No longer a fixture on my warm street. No longer the mom at the playground taking home gobs of kids. I wouldn't be a part of the book club I created. Someone else has taken over my business.  My favorite coffee shop will still be busy without my iced coffee orders daily.

I imagine people will miss me. They alway miss the departed. Friends will talk kindly about me. Hopefully. Just this morning i received a text saying that i'm a magical magnate with a unique ability to bring people together and get stuff for free... People keep telling me that TO will miss me.  

The memories will live on for a time, but people will move on. It's what people do. New friends will be made.  New furniture will fill my bedrooms and my living room.  Someone else's clothes will hang in my closet.

          New laughter will enter my home. And it won't be mine

I also noted what a big effort people made to say their goodbyes. Babysitters were hired. Food was brought over. One family bought us a complete and exquisite middle eastern Dinner. One friend made chicken wings. They were a hit. Someone wrote me a poem that I'll frame right away. Nearly everyone close to me managed to show up even briefly to say farewell.

But in life, it's hard not remember those who didn't come through. Those who opted to dine with other friends instead of hanging with us. It's okay. After all, we initially cancelled the evening and then rescheduled. But still i'll love them for always, as they've been here for me many times before.

         And so, without much work, I now know what it will feel like when I die. I know who loves me and I know exactly   what they think of me.  I'm not going to to lie, I'm a pretty lucky girl. The love is huge and real and and I can't wAit to see them all on the other side...(of the border)))

ROOTS>

Have you ever plucked a vibrant flower from the ground because you thought you'd enjoy it better somewhere else?  Like maybe in your new glass floral Tiffany vase?  Or even just in your hipster little mason jar that you bought at Whole Foods.

  Have you ever driven by someone else's fluffy white and blue hydrangeas and thought how  you'd just like to cut a few and take them for your own?  Or their lilac bush? How pretty the delicate purple flowers would look and smell in your living room.

 Don't lie, it happens to the best of us.  Often we're drawn to those blossoms and believe they'll fare better where we place them.

Or displace them.

And tonight, I feel like those said flowers.  Perhaps not so lovely that you'd want to snip me up and put me in your kitchen, but i feel pretty damn close.  It's summer.  Tomorrow is august.  The sun has been shining like mad in Toronto.  Lots of us are complaining because we're so darn hot.  We're sweating.  Our AC is pumping and we still can't keep cool  So we complain and dream about fall.  When we can wear our boots again.  And our jeans.  When will our kids will be back in school full time.

But then the cold will come and we'll complain.  It's what we do.  And we do it well.

 But i digress.

Earlier today i was feeling like those mistreated flowers.  But suddenly i'm thinking about the potatoes my son and i picked this past week.  Or the strawberries? Or maybe it's a sugar snap pea.  It's hard to decide.  We've done a lot of picking lately.  All of it legal and never from a friends garden.

We've made great use of the produce we've pulled from the ground.  From their roots.  We've made strawberry smoothies and gazpacho soup.  Today i made a fresh tomato sauce and then i added the sugar snap peas to my green salad.  I roasted a few of our potatoes, but surely the other 24 will go bad.

Because bad is often what happens when you pull stuff from their roots.  You think you'll find a better home for it, for them.  You think the fruit/flower/vegetable will be great for your family.  Taste delicious.  Look gorgeous.

But then, all too often, you take stuff from their roots and later find the need to compost the remains.

So i'm not a flower. I"m not a fruit.  And i'd hardly classify as a potato, so why wax on?

Why the long face?

I'm not so sure why, but I'm sad today.  I'm sad, because  in less than 2 weeks i'll be pulled from my home and displaced.

Yes, i know i've been begging for this for years.  Complaining that i'd fare better in a different place.  I promised I'd thrive closer to my old roots.  But as i think about it, i'm not so sure anymore.

After all, I've now called TO home for exactly 14 years.  14 adult years.

I only ever lived with my parents for 17 years and i hardly recall the first 4 or 5.  So, theoretically, I have more memories of life in TO than I do anywhere else.   Sure, I've lived in Spain and Argentina and those were grand times.  I've lived in CT, MO, NY,  VT and even CA.  I loved all of my time in those places, but lately, TO is feeling like home.

Both my kids were born here.  I completed my master's degree here.  I got engaged here.  Married.

I've started businesses in TO.  I've made countless wonderful friends.  Friends who mean the world to me.  A few of my favourite friends I can be happy with while doing so very little.  A grocery shop, Walmart, Target, Costco.  Nothing fancy, but the time is precious.

But let's not sugar coat it.  I've been sick in TO too.  Very sick.  I've had visits to specialists and hospitals.  Heck, I nearly died here.  And that wasn't good.  No, those weren't good days at all.

But now as i prepare to uproot and reroot, i feel anxious.  I know i'm going home, but what have i become?  What will i become?

I'm grateful for my time here and i'm pretty excited for our next adventure.  I just find it hard to leave the roots i've worked so hard to grow.

But like those flowers, potatoes and even sugar snap peas before me, I know i'm strong.  I'll be great someplace new.  Hopefully i'll blossom when I finally plant myself again.

Namaste Toronto.
xo

i'll wear purple

So tonight my five year old and i went out for dinner with my husband's 2nd cousin.  She's an awesome older lady, though i'm not quite sure exactly how old she is.  I do know that she's lived in her current house for 45 years.  She has four grown sons.  Many grandkids too.  One of her grandkids is even a lawyer. Most of all, I know she's amazing.  She's fabulous, but a spring chicken she is not.

I've always been drawn to cousin Martha.  Her warm smile, her loving heart, her wonderfully positive outlook on life.  Her generosity.  Even just tonight, after supper, we went back to chat at her place.  Right away, she gave my boy a huge Lindt chocolate bar and let him fill his pockets with hershey kisses.  He was smitten from the first kiss.

At dinner, as we shared our classic Greek salad and brown bread, we laughed and laughed.  Chatting with her was like chatting to a girlfriend.  A contemporary.  We talked about Argentina, France and what's going down in Greece.  We discussed family and friendships and everything in between.

Martha lost her husband many years ago, but never did lose herself.  Just looking at her, you know that she's a woman filled with vim. Her hair is perfectly kept.  I know for a fact that she gets it done  with John each friday before meeting a girlfriend for breakfast next door.  Her shellacked  nails were the most lovely shade of purple.  Perhaps you'd call it lilac?  The nails matched her gorgeous purple patterned sweater and it was wonderful.  Who knew a paint choice could be so important?

While we dined, people passed by and warmly greeted her.  I felt like i was sitting with the queen.  She laughed and disagreed when i told her she was like royalty.  Never would she consider herself a queen.  Or even a princess.

To me she's a superwoman and i wish we could have hung out forever.  

She told me about how her husband fell ill with Parkinsons many years earlier.  The best part of his illness was the male caregiver, Alex, they hired to help out.  Alex cried like a baby when her husband passed away.  Martha says he was like a brother to them.

Twenty four years later, Alex is still part of their family.  Till this day she holds him in the highest esteem because he cared for her David so lovingly.  As a recent gift, she sent Alex and his family home to the Philipines for the month.  Plane tickets and all.  Why?  Because she said he deserved it.  I think i saw a tear in her eye...

I was sad when we had to say our goodbyes, but we were getting tired.  But I left feeling enlightened and happy.  Warm and safe.  I drove home having a better understanding of who I am and what i want to be known as in my circle.

I went into my house feeling okay about the situation i'm in.  Just fine with the big fight i'm having with a friend.  As a matter of fact, now i feel totally at peace with the fact that i'm no longer talking to this said friend.  Why?  Because i wasn't impressed by how she treated people.  My cleaning lady.  My babysitter.  My son.  And me.  Unlike cousin Martha, she's not kind to others.

Perhaps one day she and I will make up, but it will never be the same.  Aunt Martha doesn't stand on ceremony with people she loves, but she only loves those who are worthy.  Life's too short and life's too long.  No time to be with the wrong people and not enough time to be with the right ones.

I'm excited about spending more hours with cousin Martha.  I think next time i'll wear purple too.
lots of love,
xo

Hashtag what?!?

So my five year old just responded to my question by screaming, “hashtag yes mom”
Seriously, hashtag??
What could he know about what used to be a number sign.
When did he start to learn about social media.
What was my world coming to and why does he constantly want an iPad in his hand.

I wonder if he’ll never learn to read.
I wonder if he’ll need glasses sooner than later.
I wonder if he’ll ever be able to engage in social conversation.

Devices devices everywhere.
Apple owns my children’s hearts.
Perhaps a bit of mine too.

Gone are the days where kids roamed the streets until dinner time.
Gone are the days when we had to stand in the kitchen to make a call.
Or wonder who might be phoning?
Gone are the days of letter writing. (except for me and a select few who adore paper and pens)
and gone are the days where kids actually looked up. Ever.
Surely scoliosis is on the rise.
Chiropractors everywhere must be buying second and third homes.

I revel in the moments when my kids want to build crazy forts.
Even outside.
Even when they’re using my Pratesi sheets…

I love when my girl sings and plays guitar.
I love when they sing karaoke.  I love when they cook.

I beam when they rollerblade all day.
I’m the mom who lets them skate through the house.
Damn those  hardwood floors from 1929.

And i hope to keep my kids as wholesome as i can.
It won’t be easy.
The other day my 9 year old daughter said the F word.
Out loud.
She told me she was just repeating what she read.
On the wall of her school’s girl’s bathroom.
Written by a friend.  About a friend.
Bullying sucks.
And in a world full of hashtags and social media blitzes, i’m scared.
and aware.

i can’t keep my kids away of issues in this world.
They know about the escape convicts in NY.
They know about plane crashes.
They know sometimes men marry men and women marry women.
They know about the unfortunate nature of divorce.
They know about racial tension-.
My five year old prince just stated, “mom, a lot of kids with brown skin are short, right”.
Um, not actually boy.
But through truth we’ll have justice.
And with an open word, i’m hoping to create kind and loving, opinionated, yet accepting creatures.
#noonetoldmeitwouldbesohard

#popitlikeaxanax

Dear Robin,

It's been 23 hours and I can't stop thinking about you.  It doesn't help that the whole world is talking about you today.  You've blown up twitter.   And Facebook.  People are even putting your picture on instagram.  More people are chatting about Mork and Mindy than they did in the 80's.
Even the president is talking about you robin.  And he has woderful this to say.  Of course he does.

Everyone is reminiscing about you.  What a selfless man.  What a genius.  They're all replaying scenes from dead poets society.  You're dinner conversation.  I loved your work, but I refuse to talk about it.  And I'm hoping you'd understand.

You knew the world loved you.  You knew you could make people laugh and then cry.  With a single smirk, you'd have the crowd laughing again.

You're a hit today.  Now people are anxiously awaiting your yet unreleased films. But guess what?  It doesn't seem to matter anymore because today you're not here. I'm not sure exactly where you are, but I know you're not hanging out in Marin county.  I know one there is one less belt in your closet today   And I know you're no longer laughing.  

I imagine you haven't really laughed in quite awhile now.  I get, robin.   I truly get it.  I'm sure you always had to be the life of the party.  As the Motown hit goes, "people say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two.  Although I might be laughing loud and hard, deep inside I'm blue.
You must have been blue.  Or  black and blue. Broken.

I hate that I get it but I totally get it. A lot of us get it. We got it.   Good.  And it sucks.  Bad.  Really bad.

But I'm hoping last night wasn't in vain, robin.  I know even like this you'll touch the world.  You'll get people talking.  Depression, bipolar, suicide won't be so taboo. I know through you the will be light shed.  And hopefully cash spent.  We won't have an issue with too few beds in hospitals.    Mothers won't have to weep while their kids suffer. Together we will support mental health.  Or lack there of.

Who knows?  I know.  Robin, I promise I know.

Why?  Because I know that feeling of wanting off. Wanting out. Wanting to vanish or hide so far away.  I know how sometimes you can try to run from the pain but then it chases you.  And sadly, it's faster.  You may be suffocating.  The feeling is toxic.  Debilitating.  And no matter what, you can't make it go away.

Robin, I've been in that dark place.  I probably shouldnt be so presumptuous to say I get it, but I swear I do.  I was close.  Closer than I'd like to discuss.  Honest.

I was so close that I didnt care what came next.  Make it go away.  Make it go away.

So close that I didn't are who cried.  Didn't care who got Hurt. It wasn't my
Problem if you missed me.

It was early spring.  Passover for my Jewish friends following along.  My life looked perfect.  I was a tall, thin pretty girl with a newly minted MBA and a fantastically sexy new job.  I had a boyfriend who loved me and a whole bunch of others who wanted to be with me too.  Life was good.  The day was sunny but the pain was real.  The hurt was intense.  It was visceral.  And i didn’t know how to make it stop.  

I remember lying on the floor of my kitchen in cut offs and a white tank top searching with desperation through the cleaning supplies.  I thought that perhaps if i drank the dishwasher soap, I’d find a way out.  What was i thinking?!  I wasn’t.  But I  managed to swallow a few sips.  As my belly started to ache, i realized I’d land up with little more than a squeaky clean gut!

Upstairs i dragged.  Into my bathroom, complete with radiant heated marble floors and whirlpool tub, and I grabbed all of my old medicine bottles.  I wasn’t sure what i had or what would happen, but it was getting late and i was ready to say goodbye.

Within minutes, this girl swallowed bottles of old pills.  Bottles.  Irony here is that i despise medicine, hence why I had so much in my possession). Everything from paxil to prozac, lithium and lamictal.  The swallowing was hard and fast and violent and that’s all I remember, because then i passed out on my perfect bed.

My mind erased the memory of ambulances and fire trucks and police officers.  Banging on doors and yelling for me to wake up.  All that is gone too.  

Time has erased the visual of vomit and stomach pumps.  I remember next to nothing about that evening, but i do remember  my boyfriend holding me at the hospital and begging me to get up and dance.  I recall getting off that sticky hospital bed and dancing like i’ve never danced before.  With some amazing luck, the doctors took this as a sign that i was ok.  Not sure what was wrong with that doctor, but I swear i’d kiss him with gratitude if i could find him him.  With no follow up or reports written, they sent me home.  It must have been the residual effects of the medicine, because when i woke up I was happy, peaceful, and whole.

While I can’t recall the details, I do remember that was the day i got lucky Robin.  I was given a second chance.  Some days I yell at my now husband and scream at him for saving me.  I get so angry that i have to deal with the dark days in life.  

But then there are days like today Robin.  It’s sunny.  My favourite trees are in bloom Robin.  The sky is blue.  The grass is greener.  My kids are playing in the yard and having a blast Robin.  I’m hysterically crying, because i almost missed it.  Robin, I almost missed all of this.

  And lord knows that some days SUCK!  They totally bite!  But sometimes, Robin, we’re given the strength to push on.  Some days, weeks, months its not so easy.  So sorry, Robin that you had one of those bad days.  I wish i could bring you back.  I can’t and i”m sorry.  Please know that i’ll work tirelessly to make sure others are spared what we have felt.  I’ll write.  I’ll campaign.  I’ll raise money.  I’ll keep spreading your good word Robin.  Your passing will never be in vain.  Promise.

With love and respect, 

Laurin

Challah and kebobs

For lunch my Good friend and I drove 7 minutes to biyrani kebob house. It's my favorite Afganastanian restaurant in the city. Together we ate our delicious tandori wraps.  Just as the taxi drivers had promised, this was the tastiest food in town.  She and I laughed as we shared our lunch.  We giggled as we imitated different accents, hoping that no one around us could hear.  We blushed as the good looking afghanis men walked by.  She's a South African Muslim with an indian dad.  I adore her.

When lunch was over we drove to our favorite coffee shop.  Our close buddies, the owners, are a loving bunch from Jordan.  When we sit there, we feel at home.  Warm lattes, sweet almond croissants all make us happy as we enjoy together.  As a unit we let the hours tick on by.

I rush down the road to pick up my two from public school.  My son's Portuguese teacher is a doll and runs to tell me what a great day he had.  I stand with another mother friend, a lively vivacious spitfire from China originally.  Our other friend, a British dentist of Indian Muslim descent joins our chat.  Then my dearest, a gorgeous gregarious gal from Gianna jumps in mid conversation.  We laugh about the day and dread the evening routine.  Dinner, bath, books, bed.

I look around the play ground and smile. We are all so different.  Blondes, brunettes.  Asians, Europeans and every sort of background.  Together we stand. In solidarity.  Trying to slug it out. One day at a time.  One packed lunch after the other. One load of laundry and then the next.

At home, my sweet and caring babysitter is from Brazil. She adores my kids and they love her.  She shares with them wonderful dishes from her country.  Each week they beg for her tomato and onion vinegar salad. I swoon when I see them eating foods from other cultures. Sushi, indian, thai.  They're always up for a new delight. 

Our other sitter is from Eritrea.  She's a young religious Muslim girl. For months I worried about telling her we were jewish. When I did,  she embraced it.  She sked questions and was interested. Her mom cooked us an Ethiopian feast complete with goat stew and injera bread. It was amazing.  We were connected for life.  

So many of our days are enriched by the multicultural nature of our city and for that I'm grateful.  My children will never know what it's like to hate or discriminate based on race, creed or colour. They will never judge by the tone of someone's skin or the twang in their accent.  I hope they'll continue to have friends from all over the globe.  My dream is that they'll love to travel to experience the world up close.

 

I feel sorry for kids who have a different view of people.  So many people I know send their kids to religious schools and it makes me wonder. What benefit can your kids reap when everyone is the same at school?  All jewish? All catholic?  All muslim? No thanks. I just don't understand.  But then again, everyone is entitled to their opinion. 

Thankfully my husband agrees with my views wholeheartedly.  I guess in a marriage, this is a pretty important value!?  We'll continue to share Shabbat challah with our Muslim friends and we'll eat kofta and kebob with them whenever we can. Namaste. Xo

if i should die before i wake...

I'm going in for surgery next month. It hardly feels real to me, but I know it to be so because that burning pain is forever branded in my mind. That and I keep a bottle of perkaset in my purse at All times. 

So it's not a major deal, but I'll need to go under anesthesia.  I'm pretty nervous. Terrified actually.  I hate the idea of being under and unaware. Surrendering control. Out of it.  At least my doctor seems sweet. He does this all day long. So he says.  

I can't help but worry for my kids.  I mean, accidents happen, no?

So here's a letter, I hope no one will ever read. 

Dear family,

Let me first tell you that your mere existence is a true gift to me.  I've loved you from the moment I laid eyes on your perfect teeny faces.  Sure, riley, that postpartum nonsense made our first days tough, but my love for you runs so deep that even those trying days I recall with fondness.  Mateo, there were times before you were born that I didn't want you to be so. I was sure we'd be happier without you.  

Was I ever wrong.  Life is just sweeter because my babes are in this world. 

So as I prepare to go under, let me share these words with you:

1) please remember that you are amazing just the way you are.  Riley, your curls make you special and don't let anyone tell you different.  Don't be afraid to straighten them, but please don't make a habit of it. Mateo, let your shiny straight hair grow long. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't be Repunzel one day.   

2)please keep tasting the world.  Keep curious. Keep questioning. Continue to travel. By now you've been to iceland, London, Paris, Mexico, nyc, Argentina and chile. Make mommy proud. Live and love abroad. But please settle down close to daddy eventually.

 Enjoy the foods from different countries and respect the respective cultures and communities. Today we ate foods from the Middle East to Mongolia and you enjoyed every bite. Please don't stop sampling. Cheeses. Chocolate. Pita. Challa. Kofta. Cantelope and kiwi. 

3) please never forget your manners. Because mommy says manner matter. A lot. 

4) always be good to each other.  Remember you have grown up together. Shared tears, kisses and even baths.  Make sure you have the others back. No matter what. Believe me, some days will be easier than others. 

5) keep active. Hard to imagine you ever being inactive?! Keep biking and swimming and skating.  Ski. Play tennis. Run.  Jump.  Mommy spent many hours watching you soar at your lessons.  It would be a shame to give up now. Find something you love and practice it.  This goes for non sport stuff too. 

6) keep cooking.  Both of you are my tiny little chefs. From omelettes to soups and everything in between, it gives me a warm heart to see you work in the kitchen.  Feed friends. Feed family. Feed the homeless.  Continue to shine on through food and cooking. 

7) finally guys, just try to be decent and love. Share your love everywhere.  Sing. Dance. Help people in need.  Never think you're better than anyone.  Please find a partner who loves and respects you and offer them all that and more in exchange.  And don't forget to take care of family first. Be good to Grammy and baboo. And aunt Jodi's gang. Cousins, aunts and the like. And please take care of daddy.  Love you to the moon and back my babies!! 

Love,

Your mommy

Instawhat?

So in full disclosure, I'll admit that I'm a social media addict. It's true. Sadly, it's really really true.  

I check my facebook as soon as I wake up in the morning. I can't fall asleep until I see what's going on on Instagram.  My husband is sure I spend more time on facebook than I do working in real life. My dad is sure my thumbs will fall off. Last spring he even wished this to be true...

When I stop to think about it, I'd say it's all a bit crazy.  Checking my phone before checking on my sweet children?  Yes. Absolutely. Perusing facebook updates while I wait at school pick up. Pretend to be busy while visiting friends instagram account.  Yeah, it's a bizarre habit I just can't, just won't shake. 

Once in a while I'll wonder what it is exactly that I'm  looking for on facebook? A birthday of a friend I haven't seen in two decades?  Photos of a friend's child's second birthday?  Frozen theme.  Cupcakes and all. Vacation pictures of all my lovely friends? Or maybe a special direct message from someone?  Anyone.

There are days when I just scroll through pictures and quotes to relax. Unwind. 

And then there are days where I'm more active.  I comment. I wish happy birthdays.   I like.  I even post. Pictures too. Lots of them.

I could pose the question, why do I post? Why does anyone post?  Sure, it's a nice easy way for me to share photos with friends around the world. Yes, it's a nice way to update and keep in touch.  But does anyone truly need to see my kids flailing around in the Caribbean ocean while they're freezing to death in Canada and nyc?  Does anyone really need to know what I'm making for dinner?  Or what I made my kids for breakfast? (Don't check this week as we're on vacation and eating copious amounts of nutella). Does anyone actually care to see all the new puppy pictures? First day of school?  Halloween?  

Sometimes I laugh to myself.  I wake up knowing there is going to be a frenzy of facebook activity.  It could be the start of fall.  End of September. A sunny and crisp Sunday morning.  I know for a fact that by 3pm there will be apple picking pictures galore.  Kids dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Crocs on because summer has just passed us.  The requisite pix include kids reaching for the shiny apples. Munching an apple that stills growing on the tree.  A young girl kart wheeling through the fields (I love this one). And then the final bushels.  The grand haul. The babies sitting on said bushels. 

By day's end there are shots of families making applesauce.  Apple pies. Anything Apple. For instagram there are closeups of the ingredients. Before and after shots make ideal material for instagram likes.  I mean really, who doesn't love apple pie ?!

But I'm not judging.  I'm an offender.  A really bad one at that.  I do all the cliche things. I post all the typical shots. Apple picking, pumpkin picking, pickle making, hockey games, skiing, skating.  You name it, if my kids look cute, I'm filming.  iPhone only.  My kids are professional posers.  They even know better than to taste their meal before mommy takes a picture. They're totally sick of me. I'm so paparazzi.  I'm so annoying. 

I'd like to think that sometimes I post things that are more interesting? A bit more cheeky maybe?  Like just yesterday I posted (to both facebook and instagram) a full frontal shot of a pan of onion rings.  They were delicious and seemed to be a crowd pleaser.  Who knew everyone loved onion rings. 

I try my best not to be overly boasty or Braggy.  Sometimes it's hard. We were lucky enough to spend the winter holidays in iceland. And then London and then Paris.  Kind of hard not to look obnoxious as your kids are posing outside the Louvre or the Eiffel Tower.  Kind of hard not to look like a show off as you celebrate your 9 year old's birthday at Disney. Paris Disney...

While we were away, I focused mostly on family experiences.  Eating baguettes until we exploded. Fondue dinner.  Awesome market shopping.   Swimming in the blue lagoon in iceland.  

I'm sure to some I seem like a total jerk from my IG feed. I must look like someone who lives for my kids, eating, traveling... And we'll basically that nails it?!

But I'm forty and I don't drink, smoke or do drugs. So Facebook and instagram are my vices.  Could be worse.  What concerns me more are my children's relationship with the online world.  My 9 year old daughter has had a gmail address since she was born and she opened an Instagram account last year.  She's not the only one.  All of her friends are on Instagram and I know this because i follow each and every one of them.  To me it's important. It's my way to keep tabs.  I remember friending my now 21 year old niece on Facebook many years ago.  It was scary to watch some of her posts.  She was just doing teenage stuff, but somehow captured online it seemed vile. I always felt torn about weather to tell her parents?? I never wanted her to hate me so for the most part I kept my mouth shut. 

But now the mother of a daughter, I don't keep my mouth shut.  I try to watch the posts my girl's friends write. Some are way more wholesome than others. Some are way more self involved than others. Some have really bad spelling and grammar, but i digress.  

As I watch these young girls share their days online I wonder.  Has Instagram become a nonstop popularity contest?  Does the kid with the cutest dog, fish, iguana win?  Do the girls feel compelled to compete? Compelled to photograph anything they feel is interesting.  And what's with the heart button? Are they (we) really only fishing to be liked??

I worry about feelings being hurt.  Groups of girls posing together.  What if your girl is left out from a gathering.  I know that can happen because it's happened to me. And even as an adult it never feels good to be left out of the festivities.  

But back to this constant quest to be liked. To be loved.  What does it mean for our kids.  What kind of world is it when my daughter poses with an awesome spider monkey on the beach and then asks me to borrow the phone to "Insta" as she calls it.  

I feel thankful that my kid isn't fully obsessed. Yet. Maybe it's because she doesn't have her own device. Maybe it's because she's really busy everyday. Or maybe because she's 9 and so far would rather play with friends or watch icarly?  I'm not sure what it is or how long it will last.   I'm just glad cameras required film when I was younger.  Especially around those prom days/nights.  I would have been haunted by that skin tight silver dress forever!l xo