Urban Suburban Mommy

Category Archives: The Struggle is Real

And then it was HIGH SCHOOL!

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First day of school Fall 2012

It was just his first day of kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN! I’d worried and stressed about the right school. I’d checked out all of the local options and lost a lot of sleep trying to make the right decision.

I landed on an alternative school that was run by the public school board in our area. With its outdoor program and left-leaning values I was sure this was a perfect match.

And it was, for quite some time.

I put in time parenting my baby, nurturing, growing, daycare, school drop-offs, concerts, plays and field trips. I was class parent, student council member, made costumes and cakes and sent in treats for parties, bake sales and movie nights.

And now it’s over.

He graduated from Grade 8. My Little Bunny has reached the next level. He can roam free on his own without supervision. He makes mature, sometimes wildly inappropriate jokes. He might just be a bit smarter than me, I’m ready to admit it.

And I need to stop calling him Little Bunny. (Out loud, anyways, in my head I will NEVER stop!)

When I was pushing the boundaries of teenagerdom my mom realized she wasn’t done with having little bunnies around, and at 35 she had my sister. My parents were definitely considered “older” but having more children in your 30s wasn’t terribly uncommon in the ’80s.

As good girls did in the ’60s, my mother got married at 21 and had me – her first – at 24, with my brother following along 2 years later. By the time my parents got around to having #3, my brother and I were old enough to help with the new kid. We diapered, and fed, and babysat and helped with it all.

But that’s the thing with starting a family at 40-ish. By the time I realized that I wasn’t done with baby bunnies, my body was like “sorry sistah, that mall has closed.”

There would be no second act, no time to add one more. In your 20s and 30s it’s more often an active decision you make about whether to have more baby bunnies, but when you start pushing 50, it’s not terribly likely that you have any say in the matter. Even looking into adoption, while there is no upper age limit, the hoops can get harder to jump through. And as any 40-ish parent knows, the ‘grandparent’ comments do start. Babies at 50? I know people who have had surprises at 50+, and the ‘grandparent’ comments just don’t stop.

So what I’ve been wondering is, do we “late maternal age”-ers hold on tighter? Because we can’t extend the baby time, do we impose our emotions on our young adults? I feel like I’ve had to work extra hard to loosen the reigns and lengthen the leash and let them fly on their own. I even romanticize those days of extra bedtime stories and snuggles, looking back longingly – when, in actuality, I just wanted them to go the f#$% to bed most nights, and was exhausted beyond all reason by the time their nighttime routine was complete.

Last day of school Summer 2022

We went to his Grade 8 graduation and I loved every minute of it. I love that he didn’t want to fall in with the troops and get formalwear, because it’s just not him. I love that he rolled with it and went for me, even though he didn’t see the big deal about grade 8 graduation. I loved all of it.

What I didn’t love was accepting it all. He’s no Little Bunny, he’s a big kid. A teen. A high schooler. He’s making his own decisions and cooking up his own plans.

At 50 with children that are really starting to flex their independence, I have this constant feeling like I’ve got handfuls of sand. The more I try to hold onto them and keep all the moments and memories of sand wrapped up safe and tight, the faster the grains of sand slip through my fingers and into the past.

So onwards and upwards to high school, but I’ve decided that he may have to put up with me calling him Little Bunny just a little longer.

Lovie love lost

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I don’t remember who gave me DBB (Dr. Bunny Bear), I just remember that this particular blue plush bear with long ears was a baby shower gift and that he was discovered by my eldest son at a very young age.

DBB instantly became his suffie, his lovie, his constant companion.

DBB

The attachment to stuffies and lovies is intense – and we know it because we had our own. I had Tina. She was a Rushton Co. doll with a yellow snowsuit, plastic hands and a face to match. My grandmother bought her for me and, for about a decade, I couldn’t sleep without her. My cousin had one which I secretly (or maybe not-so-secretly) named Tanya, and when my cousin gave Tanya to me my night-time routine was complete. They were twins and I couldn’t sleep without them – one safely tucked under each arm like some mini-mama with her twins.

When my son glommed onto DBB I knew the love he felt. I identified with it and was happy he’d found his guy. My younger son discovered Russ – a red tabby stuffie that my husband had bought me many years prior when we first started dating.

The lovies were part of our family. When one went missing it inspired panic. When the boys were sick, the lovies helped them feel better. When the boys were sad, the lovies were their confidantes.

Lovies and stuffies become important members of the family for years, and then one day – just like Puff The Magic Dragon lamented “Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys.”

It broke my heart when I’d come to say goodnight and DBB was on the floor. I’d go to tuck him in and my son would say thanks – as if sleeping with DBB were just an afterthought of mine.

Then DBB showed up in the stuffie bin.

Now that was cold. Heartless.

Who was this not-so-little boy and why was he relegating his bestest friend to the stuffie bin? It was morning when I discovered the banishment and thought maybe his dad did it purposely, wanting his manchild to stop sleeping with stuffies. In my mind my husband was to blame. He wanted to make a man out of my baby and he was rushing things. I was fuming.

(He’s 12, hubby isn’t rushing a thing. The kid is almost taller than me and I’m 5’9″.)

But just as quickly, I realized I was in denial. I was hurt on DBB’s behalf – indignant in fact. Why would DBB be treated this way and how could we break DBB’s little heart??!!

And then I realized whose heart was breaking. DBB is a stuffie, he will be okay, but this mom-heart – it’s much more delicate.

Trying to hold onto their littleness is like trying to hold onto a handful of dry sand – and just when you’re getting good at having a little boy, the big boy shoves him right out of the sandbox.

Poor Puff.

Poor me.

Poor DBB.

It’s not so easy to accept they’re getting big. It’s hard loosening the reigns and letting them grow up. Day by day it happens and it becomes so tricky to navigate. I know I should be happy to see the efforts I put in paying off in maturity and growth, but it’s hard not to try to hold on… and then my hubby reminds me about Norman Bates, and I dust DBB off and stand there, the internal struggle between returning DBB to the stuffie bin or back to his place of honour in my son’s bed I realize what I have to do. Yes, I put DBB right back in that bed! He will end up in the stuffie bin soon enough, but not today. Nope. One day soon, but just not yet.

The next age and stage

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Just when I got good at being mom to babies, they went and became toddlers.

Just when I got the hang of two pairs of grabby hands and irrational demands, they went and became boys.

It’s the wildest thing, but somehow I don’t see it coming, and then Whamo! it hits me like a sack of LEGO, they need me less and less; they’re closer to being the people they’re becoming.

Now, at 9 and 11, my boys are kids. Tweens. Big boys. Big enough for a lot of independence, young enough to need guidance. But they’re 5’4″ and built like battle ships. They don’t exactly look like little boys – so I don’t know why I didn’t see this coming.

They just don’t need me the way they used to.

It became apparent this weekend when we went to the Santa Claus parade. One of them kept using air quotes every time he used the word “Santa” – I’m glad he didn’t ruin it for the little kids around us, but it’s that year. After more than a decade of brunch followed by 2 hours in the cold watching the same floats go by, I think we may have watched our last parade.

Toronto Santa Claus Parade 2019

The boys have made it clear that Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and all of the other childhood magic is a sham. And they’re okay with it – just so long as Mom and Dad keep on buying the Easter chocolate, the Christmas presents and pay up for the last few teeth the younger one still has to lose.

Actually, I knew it this past summer while on a road trip. I found myself asking why they no longer shouted MOOOOO! when we passed by a farm field full of cows and didn’t shriek CHOOOO CHOOOO when the train went by. Of course those are long gone – but dammit – I’m not ready to move on yet.

So that’s the rub. As soon as you feel comfortable and confident in your ability to parent, your children go and grow older.

How is that even fair?

When are the “too old” for…

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I don’t know when it happened. They were just so small. I was buying strollers and navigating solid foods and trying to decide which schools and which daycares – and now they’re 8 and 10 9 and 11. Wow, it’s been a year since I’ve tried to put these thoughts into words.

What a difference a year makes. Every year is an entire lifetime. And now they’re not just little kids. Both boys are around 5’4″ and they’d weigh in as welterweights – they’re big little big boys!

But they’re still 11 and 9. They have nightmares and want to climb in bed for a snuggle. One is more brave while the other is still apprehensive about doing things alone and I still have a hard time letting them run free and untethering the leash and having them out of my eyesight. I’ve been eagle-eye for a decade and I just can’t stop myself!

They’re so big and tough – until they get a boo-boo, and then they want mommy.

So when is too old? Is 9 and 11 too old? I don’t want it to be too old!

My husband and I were on the same page up until now. I still love the middle-of-the-night snuggles – he thinks it’s high time we get to have a decent night’s sleep. I can’t fathom sending them back to bed alone – yet he doesn’t see it.

Dad thinks they can be left alone at home, I stress and have a “no eating” rule when I leave for any length of time because I’m sure they’ll choke and the house will melt and the kids will be beamed up by aliens. And the dog… oh the dog…

Double digits is a weird time of life. The 11 year old definitely shows signs of puberty. That squeaky voice is dropping, his sillies are getting silly on a more mature level, he’s starting to talk about the future in terms of his own interestst that go beyond “I want to dwive a po-lice car and a choo choo twain when I grow up” to what he likes about math and where he wants to go to university. When did this start??

The little one isn’t far behind. They’ve got chores and responsibilities, but how many chores and what kind of responsibilities are appropriate?

And now I wonder – there are 50 million baby books out there. Babies are easy. The doctor and every mom group on the planet can tell you when to starts solids and what the safest car seat is, but where is the help when you need to let your kid take the bus alone or when they start asking questions like “Why do people do sex when they don’t want to make a baby.”

I’m not sure I’m ready for this age – but I’ll let you know how it works out!

Boobies and brows

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It’s Breast Cancer Awareness month. And this year it means so much more to me.

When someone I love dearly came to me recently and told me she had the big C, I lost it.

She was actually quite calm and poised and matter of fact. She understood what was wrong and understood what the next steps would be. I, however, was a full-on mess and she apologized for upsetting me.

Of all the things that were troubling her, the one she was really aggravated about was the fact that she’d probably lose her eyebrows while undergoing chemo.

Now, you’d think she’d have bigger fish to fry than worrying about her eyebrows. But when you think about it, that’s a pretty significant issue. We all hear about hair loss, but hats are in style and the wigs out there are nicer than natural hair, so that’s easy. But a face really does look odd without eyebrows, and she was really bothered by it.

So I asked her why she didn’t just go ahead and get microblading.

“Micro-whaaaaaat?” was her answer.

Apparently, not everyone is aware of micro-blading. And while it’s actually quite a cool cosmetic procedure for those that want the perfect arch and tail, for someone undergoing chemo, it’s a minor procedure that brings a modicum of normalcy back to a situation which is anything but normal. Both men and women can do microblading.

Part of cosmetic tattooing, microblading is essentially much like tattooing, giving long lasting – but not permanent – results. The shape is outlined, the colour is chosen, and fine, hair-like lines are inked in, creating the shape, fullness and brow style you desire. This is done with a pin-like instrument and not an ordinary tattoo gun, though there is a specialized machine that is used for micropigmentation, which is more of a permanent procedure.

The first thing to note is that, like a tattoo, microblading needs 7 to 14 days to heal. When you’re about to start chemotherapy, this is an important detail. It has to be done at least a week ahead of the start of chemo so that the healing can be complete by about day 7, before the body’s white blood cell count starts to drop. Otherwise it will interfere with the healing, and that is not a complication that anyone undergoing chemo needs.

Some microbladers won’t perform the work without clearance from the oncologist.

But my friend had the all-clear. She had 12 days until the start of chemo and was ready for brows.

We checked with several shops. There is a wide range when it comes to microblading. But what it comes down to is, it’s very important to go to an experienced microblader with the credentials to prove it. Plus, a referral from someone with nice brows goes a long way!

We looked through a number of them, even got some recommendations on Facebook (which was nice, because then we got to look through people’s profile pics, heavily judging their brows).

I’d interviewed the owners of The Good Geisha, a shop in Toronto, a few years ago, and I liked them. It’s not a salon, it’s got the aesthetic and swagger of a tattoo shop – it’s where the cool girls go.

I knew The Good Geisha was the only place for my friend’s brows to happen.

And so it did.

Owners of The Good Geisha: Amber Gotzmeister (l), and Anna Chow (r)

Owners Amber Gotzmeister, who holds the designation of CIDESCO in medical esthetics, and Anna Chow, a trained and expert cosmetic tattoo artist, took care of her. She left quite satisfied with the results.

As time passed and treatment got underway, my friend lost her hair – brows included. But her eyebrows still look great.

One thing to note about microblading – it’s often done in 2 sittings: The first is pretty comprehensive, and then the second sitting is to fill in anything that may be missed. But with chemo patients, often treatment has to start quickly, and though there may be enough time for the first sitting, often the second sitting can’t be done. Going to a professional who understands this specific situation will help the outcome.

It’s also extra important to seek out someone with a great personal referral, lots of experience and a great portfolio because, as you lose brow hair, the technique and quality of microblading will be more prominent. Good technique is key to natural looking brows.

Microblading lasts anywhere from 18 to 24 months, long after treatment is complete. My friend will be going through the ringer, with many more months of chemo, treatment, poking, prodding – and major surgery. But at least we were able to fix one single, small issue on the long list.

And it’s made a difference.

 

Mom Vision

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I booked the family’s annual eye exams – and when we saw our optometrist, I asked her to explain why my eyes work so differently than the rest of my family. She laughed and handed me a pamphlet on Mom Vision.

Apparently something happens to our eyes when we have children. It’s like our super power. It’s not a fun super power like flying or super speed. Now those would be useful. No, it’s more of a bummer super power, actually the top of the pile of rejected super powers in my personal opinion.

Mom vision is that uncanny ability we have to see things that are right in front of us. Not only the ability to see things that are there, but the ability to see the things your kids are doing behind you.

I’d first realized I was experiencing vision issues when I’d look at my kids’ messy rooms and tell them to clean up, only to hear “Mom, they’re clean!” How can they see a clean room when I can see dirty clothes on the floor, toys on every surface and a hoarder’s supply of gum wrappers behind one of the beds. (Seriously, I don’t recall even buying that gum.)

How, when we are looking at the same room, do they not see the mess – but I do?

Mom vision.

How can we go to the same bathroom and they don’t see the empty toilet paper roll that needs changing – but I do?

How come they have to ask where the orange juice is, and can’t see it on the middle shelf of the fridge where it always is?

Mom vision.

Mom vision enables us to see the dirt on their favourite shirt even when they put it on and think it’s fine to wear. It enables us to see their beds are not made. Mom vision is why we’re telling them to wash their hands all the time – how do they not see when their hands are covered in mud or paint or spaghetti sauce???

The pamphlet on Mom vision was very helpful. If you have any of the above-mentioned challenges, you’ve got mom vision. The pamphlet described varying degrees of mom vision.

I have a severe case.

For example, I’m able to tell one of my boys not to touch the other, just mere seconds before he does – even without watching him! I’m able to say “Put that down right now!” without turning around and actually getting a visual of my little darling trying to abscond with my iPhone. When my mom used to do that to me I’d wonder if she really did have eyes in the back of her head. And then, with the arrival of my first child, my mom vision came in.

The bad news is that there is no cure for Mom vision. The good news is, it may become less prominent over time. It seems to linger for the first 15 to 20 years of your child’s life, though it does tend to improve significantly when your child moves out on their own.

The pamphlet does warn, in the fine print, that the time period is per child, and restarts with every new member of the family. It also warns that some spouses and neighbourhood kids may cause symptoms to worsen significantly.

Temporary relief may be found by ingesting wine, utilizing the services of a babysitter or treatments at the spa. It is not recommended to use Mom vision in other people’s homes or on other people’s children, though it may be necessary to explain the findings of your Mom vision to your children several times for best results.

 

 

Back-to-School: Bliss or bittersweet?

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Something happens around this time every summer. Summer camp wraps up, bathing suits are looking worse for wear, Halloween candy starts appearing in the grocery store and back-to-school shopping and lunch ideas overwhelm Pinterest and Instagram. Whether you’re a stay-at-home or a working mom, there’s no denying it, summer is coming to a close. Labour Day weekend will be the last hurrah, and then school routines will start up.

But is the start of school bliss? Or is it bittersweet?

Ah yes, the fond/painful memories of drop-offs and pick-ups, the struggle of coming up with lunch ideas the kids will eat – and the expensive lunchware to send it in. The school supplies, the long pants, the battle-cry of homework challengs and the indoor/outdoor shoes – is it all rushing back in one shot?

This is the first time in 16 years that I’ve spent a summer not working (aside from mat leave, which really doesn’t count – it’s a haze of new motherhood that I can barely remember). Most years I didn’t feel the summer/back-to-school shift as significantly as I do this year. My boys were always in daycare through the summer, so the routine didn’t change much and the hours didn’t change at all.

But this year is different. There are two types of moms in this world: The ones who are grateful for the return to school and the ones who are sad to see September come. I can’t decide which team I’m on.

It’s a serious “You know I love my children, but…” moment. So many moms feeling they survived another summer, glad to have made it to the first-day-of-school finish line. Truth is, it’s not easy to look after your own kids 24/7, having to decide the programming, the meals, the outings, the playdates, the structure and unstructure of two hot months of summer.

It really isn’t easy.

Kids like routine, and the freedom that summer brings is a bit overwhelming. Some weekends are more than I can handle, so doing it for weeks and months at a time?

Exhausting is a word that comes to mind.

And then there are the other mothers – those sad to see it end. Maybe their kids are easy, or maybe it’s that the dynamic works for those moms. They genuinely look forward to the two intense months of summer fundom. Maybe they’re better planners? Maybe they just groove more smoothly, roll with the punches more elegantly or are able to tune out the whine of a kid who has too many toys yet still can’t find anything to do.

Maybe it’s magic. Who knows.

I don’t mention this as yet another form of mom-shaming. Quite the opposite, actually. I mention it because the mom I aspire to be and the mom I am are not quite the same thing, and I’m okay with it. There’s nothing wrong with having survived a summer and happily sending your child off to school, and there’s nothing wrong with lamenting the end of family fundays either.

In this, my one summer of stay-at-home-momness, I enrolled my boys into 6 weeks of summer camp, however, I let them stay home two or three days a week. I let them sleep in and go late. I picked them up early. Some days we had fun and some days they had fun without me. It took the pressure off of having to plan and program, and added balance to my time with them – and their time with me!

Apparently it’s not easy on the kids to be with their parents 24/7 either.

So I lament a little. I have put off buying that second pair of “indoor” shoes, and won’t pull the backpacks and lunch boxes out of summer storage until Labour Day weekend. I’m hearing the rumblings of back-to-school, and as it approaches, I’m trying to figure out which team I’m on.

Coping

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Tragedy happens.

It happens every day. There are some cities, some towns, some countries that live with tragedy as a daily occurrence.

How do they cope?

As a mom, I’ve started to realize that I have been living in two worlds. In one, I’m this strong woman who won’t let haters, terrorists, villains, criminals and “The Man” get me down. In the other one I’m a mom. I want to run away and live in bubblewrap, where my kids are safe from violence, guns, drugs, peer pressure and The Man.

Where they’re safe.

Sometimes I feel like I live with my head in the sand, straddling the line and trying to believe everything will be ok. But the latest neighbourhood violence has left me a bit damaged.

Did it hit too close to home?

Yes.

Did it make me have to take my head out of the sand a little and realize there’s only one ‘me’ and I am both strong and afraid?

Yes.

How do you cope? I don’t know how – I just know I have to keep them safe and loved.

It’s for them.

Things like being exhausted, struggles with the laundry and parenting fails seem to be inconsequential today, when I think how, after an incident of violence, there’s another mom out there that won’t get to fuss over these struggles any more. How she’d give anything to still have these *first world* problems instead of her new reality.

I’m tired of “thoughts and prayers” and if I hug my babies any tighter tonight I might squish them irreparably.

So, as the two sides of me have been forced to become one, and my new identity includes a painful dose of reality, I want to know – how do others cope?

I was taken down by the Elf-on-the-Shelf

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I want my kids to believe in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny – and all of the magic surrounding holidays.

They’re getting older. They’re seeing things. It’s starting to be a lot of lies – and yesterday just made it So. Much. Worse.

When my boys were babes, it was never a question. I didn’t mind lying to them about the magic of these childhood beliefs. I figure they’ll get jaded as they get older, develop the healthy cynicism of adulthood soon enough – but they’re just fresh little kids who can have fun enjoying the magic – plus they get money, chocolate, gifts – seriously?

This being said, we don’t do Elf-on-a-Shelf. It’s too much pressure – I discussed it last year in this blog post. But now that my eldest is 9-and-a-half, he’s catching on. Yesterday we were out doing some Chrismakah shopping (we do both Christmas and Hanukkah) at Chapters, he saw a sale table piled high with Elf-on-a-Shelf kits.

IN THE CHILDREN’S DEPARTMENT.

Now it’s not that he’s a wee one. He’s starting to catch on that the big guy in the red suit just may be more symbolic than real. But when started hinting at it, trying to ask-without-asking whether Santa is real, I gave him my pat response.

“You only get presents from Santa if you believe in him.”

Nobody argues with this. It makes sense on many levels.

But yesterday… Yesterday it went bad.

He saw the pile of Elf-on-a-Shelf kits, and he had questions.

“Mom, why are the Elves in boxes?”

“Mom, I thought Santa sent Elves to spy on the kids he wasn’t sure about, right?”

“Mom, does Santa sell his Elves?!?!?!?!”

I was struck speechless – which never happens to me. But what would you do? Do you tell the kid this is just a commercialized gimmick? That will just landslide into what else isn’t real.

Do you make up another lie? “Honey, they come out at night and play in the store – with all of these toys!”

Do you get much more dastardly? “Sweetheart, Santa sends Elves to the store so that parents who want Santa to spy on them can have one, even if Santa isn’t worried about those kids.”

I spent the night trying to justify the response I gave him, which was, in reality, no response at all. I tried to hurry him away from the Elf-on-a-Shelf mountain by waving some Bendi Brick in his face. He’s been dying for that brick tape that you can stick anywhere and build LEGO onto it. But even that wasn’t distracting him.

He circled the table, scratching his head. He looked at me for insight and, in my desperation, I said, “Okay, let me Google it.”

Let me Google it? That’s all I had.

Then my son has asked if we need to free the Elves. If they’re being sold like slaves. If they need our help. I thought I may have to buy every single Elf kit and liberate all the little guys in front of him to keep up the charade. I handed him the phone and told him to Google it.

iPhone in hand, he forgot his question and launched Bowmasters. My iPhone had saved the day. But for how long.

Now we’ve never had a perfect answer for how Santa is in every mall. I always tell my kids that Santa doesn’t have time for pictures, so he allows people to represent him and take pictures, but that these guys are actors. I may have mentioned that Santa’s magic helps them grow white beards and big bellies. Another lie.

But nobody ever put a big $%#@ing sign that said “Have your picture taken with imposter Santa, ON SALE NOW!

To protect the magic of Christmas, and avoid the questions I did, I’m asking for all Elf-on-the-shelf kits to be kept out of sight. You may even need a code word to ask for one so that it can be put into a dark bag and never seen by the eyes of children at the mall or toy store. Like cigarettes and dirty mags. Elf-on-the-Shelf needs to be sold on the sly! For the sake of the children!

Wishing you a wonderful season free of questions you can’t answer!

 

What’s the perfect age for making babies?

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Is there really a perfect age to have a baby? If you have your babies in your teens, you’re too young. Early 20s? You’ve still got so much to see and do – people will tell you to finish school, travel, establish your career, get some life experience. All of a sudden you cross that threshold. You’re living your life, enjoying your career – there are promotions on the horizon and you’ve developed a lifestyle.

Once 30, those that have coupled up and condo’d up are being asked when the wedding will be – how they’re going to fit a baby into their one-bedroom hip city condo. Those that are single at 30 are now feeling the pressure from friends, family and society to just find that perfect partner. Mr. Right, Mrs. Right, just couple up – you don’t want to miss out.

Those that make it childless to their late 30s are now pitied. “There’s still time” people will offer, trying to be nice, working out the timeline: Find a partner, 18 months you’ll get married, another year and you’ll have a baby, you might actually be able to fit in a second if you find one right away!” And then you hit 40 and people start telling you there’s still time. You can do this on your own. Fertility clinics, IVF, IUI, frozen embryos.

It’s too bad society can’t stop challenging people to become parents at the perfect age.

I finally figured out the perfect age – there isn’t one.

I went through it myself and I hated when people would give me their opinion. I didn’t want kids young – I wasn’t ready to settle down. I was 29 and recall a friend offering to set me up with a guy who “Wasn’t that bad.” It felt like, at 29, I’d already missed out on top tier potential partners but could still pick one out in the scratch-n-dent partner section.

At 32, I started dating my hubby. The first time my father met him, he asked him when we were getting married. Before hubby could stop choking on his tongue, my father said “Don’t worry about getting married, just have babies.” Although we joke about that one to this day, it was clear that I was falling behind on the schedule of life.

When I got my BFP at 36, my doctor responded with the term “Late Maternal Age.” Like that’s the new “congratulations” of the late 30’s crowd.

Fergoodnessakes.

My friend had her first a few weeks before she turned 40. Her Facebook announcement of her pregnancy was “We’re so excited to let everyone know we’re getting #1 in before 40! Due in April!” Like 40 is a deadline. Like 39 is somehow magically much younger than 40 – but a few months more will change EVERYTHING.

Late maternal age worked out well for me. It’s true, there are concerns that come along with age – egg health, physical health. But it comes with benefits – life experience, stability and that wisdom they say comes with age. Maybe.

Is parenting at 40 the perfect age? It’s not for everyone, but it’s worked out well for me.

This year’s best Halloween costumes

Posted on by Posted in The Struggle is Real .

So you’re the mom who waited to get costumes for the kiddos?

Yah, me too. We’ve been talking so exhaustively about what they want to be, but actually braving the stores… that’s a whole other thing. I was planning to get them to decide early this year and then just order them! Cheap and cheerful without having to hit the stores.

But nope. I waited. And hubby finally got them to the store and I don’t want to see the bill.

My older son is a really cool strip of bacon. He was a hot dog last year, but the bacon beats it all. He’s been working on his “It’s sizzling in here!” line and is über happy with himself. My younger son is a Star Wars guy. He doesn’t know which guy exactly, but his costume has a cool mask and a cool gun – neither of which is permitted at school – which I don’t think he understands quite yet…

Costumes aren’t easy. Masks and weapons aren’t permitted in schools, and I get why (though it really does ruin some of the fun!). Not all of us can paint a face – and not all costumes lend themselves to that. Some costumes are too sexy, while others are culturally inappropriate. It’s really a mine field out there.

My favourites for this year? Aside from super heroes, animals and everything Harry Potter, I’ve seen a few good ideas, though I’m dying to see if there are any parents out there willing to pull one of these off with the kiddos!

Easy and on trend: Georgie from IT

If you’ve seen a preview for the movie, you know the yellow raincoat and red balloon. It’s little Georgie and it’s the easiest and scariest costume out there. Just put the hood up and tie the balloon to your child’s wrist and voila! Just tell your kid to say “You’ll float too” if asked for a trick.

Food: Pizza, bacon, hot dog – food is in! I’ve even seen matchy matchy costumes of burger and fries or peanut butter and jam.

My son has the funniest sense of humour. Last year this hot dog costume made him so happy. Those mustard and ketchup bottles were filled with popcorn kernels. He shook ’em like maracas and pretended to spray people when he was asked for a trick. I should have filled them with glitter, it would have been an even better trick – but I couldn’t have the entire neighbourhood hating me.

A meme: The get-along shirt. Instagram celeb. Grumpy cat.

If you’ve got 2 kids you can do the ‘get-along’ shirt, just stuff them both in one extra-large Tshirt. Hey, you may be able to re-use this if they need help getting along over Christmas. Or get an eyeliner out and do the No Ragrets neck tattoo. That one always makes me laugh and laugh.

YouTube sensation: Pink Fluffy Unicorn Dancing on Rainbows. Karl and Jinger. Keyboard Cat.

Come on – it’s a cat in a shirt with a keyboard. You know that baby keyboard you’ve been tripping over for years now? Tie it on. Kitty costume is cute enough – but with the keyboard you’ve just taken your parenting game to a whole nother level.

Stranger Things

Forget the characters, go as the house. Wrap a string of Christmas lights around them for good measure.

I hope we won’t be seeing any Trump masks on kids – hoping we stay away from politics altogether. There is so much fun to be had on Halloween, and so many ways to get creative. Whether it’s store bought, home made, wonderfully weird, super popular or totally unique, I hope all children have a fun and safe Halloween and that all parents get enough candy to keep them happy til the next holidays hit!

Trick or Treat!