family

The Women Of My Tribe

They say it takes a village to raise a child and I couldn’t agree more. But that village is also needed to keep the parents of these children semi-sane in this carnival we all willingly became a part of. I mean, let’s all be honest. Parenting challenges everything – including your friendships – and I’m lucky enough to be part of a tribe that has stuck together through it all.

My tribe resembles an old tree, whose roots are deeply embedded into the ground. With over twenty years of friendship, we are as tight as the knot we tie in our kids’ shoelaces. read more

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No Ordinary Boy: A Child Growing Up With a Heart Transplant

“I want to write about you. Do you think that would be okay?”

I asked my nephew if I could write his story while we sat together on the couch, cooling down from a blistering hot day. I’ve been wanting to write about him for a while but since he lives in the US and I live in Canada, I wanted to wait to see him before I got started. This kind of thing is best done in person.

My nephew Landon is no ordinary boy. He is a ten-year-old kid who has gone through more than any child should ever have to go through in their lifetime. His story began when he was born with half a heart; the right side didn’t work. As if being born with only half a heart wasn’t bad enough, he was also born with Hirschsprung’s disease, a disease that affects the colon and causes problems with bowel movements. read more

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How My Relationship With My Dog Changed After My Son Was Born

I’ve been a bit stumped lately about what to write about. What is important to me? What can I say? It isn’t until I call over my pup and we have a cuddle that it hits me.

I’ve written about my kid. I’ve written about my husband. I’ve written about myself. Now I am going to write about my dog. Yes, you heard me correctly.

My dog. My fist born. My sidekick.

I know what some of you are thinking. You’re thinking how silly.

So, go ahead. Laugh if you will. Shrug you shoulders. Crinkle your face. Wave your hand at me. It’s all good. Because I don’t care. Because I can handle the jokes. I can handle people thinking I’m a weirdo because I call my dog my first-born. read more

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