It’s just a picture.

Because Mother’s Day is a beautiful thing, but only because it means I get only slightly more attention from the little beings I love the most on the planet.

My favourite Mother’s Days have almost nothing special about them. I get to linger a little longer in bed, I get handmade cards about how much my little Ladies love their Momma, I get to sit while a meal is served, eaten and cleaned up. I even get bar service that I don’t have to tip for. Who wouldn’t love that?

But don’t fuss it up. Don’t put a shine on it. I don’t need that.

The point of my Mother’s Day is that I’m a mom…just like every day. And while the extra acknowledgement is nice? I just want it to be a slightly more relaxing version of my every day life.

This year it was. Ryan got to take on more discipline procedures (and, just to test his strengths, Nik & Maë decided to ramp up their argument efforts…one involved biting. I mean…ridiculous.) and I got to fuss with my makeup and hair in the mirror for far longer than is normally tolerated.

My Mother’s Day looked like this.

My life looks like this every day.

I’m so lucky, right?

(**okay…so it was totally a Mother’s Day post. STFU.)

By now you must’ve seen the article that states three kids is THE most stressful number of kids. Huh. Well, that’s awkward. (Psst…I have three kids.)

I sympathize with other parents of three. I mean, there are certain logistical nightmares which just can’t be ignored. Two parents, three kids. I’m not great at math, but I’m pretty sure that’s a case of mathematical catastrophe. (It’s a thing, ok?!) I’ve talked before about how I manage three kids to my one person like a triage situation. If you’re bleeding, have lost a limb, are precariously dangling or otherwise maimed…you get first dibs. That means that not only are two children left somewhat to their own devices…it is also very likely that at least one of those two kids isn’t really happy with that arrangement.

In my house? That situation begets the following reaction: meh.

Though my husband would like to tell you otherwise ::side eye:: I have become semi-recently evolved from the hyper-sensitive Mom I started out being. I used to freak my freak over that hyper-escalated cry. You know the one. The one that is high pitched and basically is the auditory equivalent to that keener kid waving their obnoxious hand around in the front row of class. At one time in my early mothering career I acknowledged every one of those hand-waving moments. I was under the false impression that my children would grow to not trust me if I didn’t respond to their every need in turn. In short: I was an idiot. Life with three, at that stage, was unbearably stressful and I was lost to myself and my feelings. My feelings were introverted and miserable. I know, right?! Me!

I have had to re-teach myself how to mother the family I made. That shit ain’t easy, yo. I have a few incredibly valuable tools in my arsenal. Chief among them is a 50/50 partner in my husband. That man knows his wife. Knows she cannot do mornings because they ruin her days. Knows she adores the pockets of sisterly interaction throughout the day. Knows she can cook one hell of a meal…but those dishes will live on the table for hours before she notices. Ryan picks up all my slack…some days? That’s a lot. Another, equally important tool I have acquired is the ability to actually not let a situation become bigger than its force. Some things are a really big deal & life hits a dead stop so we can deal with those. Some are medium deals and the rest of the house can spiral slightly into chaos while we address one attitude or one misplaced word. Most of the time in my house my kids get to hear the words: that’s not for me to figure out, or: you need to walk away and deal with that on your own.

Our daughters are forced to take ownership of their actions, their words, their decisions. (Maëlle less so than the other two, lets not get crazy here…) They are old enough to use their judgement, sometimes poorly. I just cannot physically or emotionally be there to calmly usher them through every emotional dark passage they find their way into. And what would I be teaching them if I did? How would I successfully raise functioning members of society? If you’re struggling to find an answer, that’s good. Because there isn’t one.

Life as a parent of three is indeed stressful. No doubt. But to differentiate between the moments of stress & the permanence of stress? That’s where you win. The moments will beat you almost every time. You cannot see those coming. And you can’t prepare in any real way because once you get there you’re all “what.in.the.fresh.hell…?” and all logic is like Kevin from the Backstreet Boys: inexplicably gone. Those moments of insane bullshit don’t define your parenthood. No, no. Those are what your momma called “character builders” and what I call “shitty situations”. Take stock of the parts where you want to literally high five yourself for your sheer parenting prowess but instead you just go on Twitter & humble brag about it:)

Raising kids is no joke. Oprah can call it “the hardest job in the world” and I’ll scoff at her & say its the most conflicting job in the world. Today it might have been really easy, tomorrow you’re maybe in for a doozy. The win is getting lost in the easy & making the doozy blow like dust in the wind.

So I’m presenting this mostly without comment except to say that this all happened last week & as much as I try to ignore the kind of Tony-Robbins-style message I had happening here…I still feel it.

So.

What little thread of shame I had is forever frayed after the posting of this glorious vlog:

This is a post about Maë. Specifically about three-year-old Maë. Which is very specific.

She’s three today. Born three days before her due date. My third kid. The last of three Higgison girls.

You can’t understand anything about our family until you know Maëlle. Who we were three years ago is a shadow, an enigma, a fleeting memory of a past wholly unprepared for its future. “What’s one more?” we said.

“Oh I’ll show you…” Maë answered.

She will do great things, I honestly believe this. I am, like the world, unprepared for Maë because I believe there’s never been a Maë before. I believe she has within her a spark, one that dims but never goes out. When she feels a feeling, it pulses out & lights up everything around her. This happens in plenty and in want, you are never spared her experience. She has an energy and a pull about her. So intense & so focused that she needs you to notice, to understand, to empathize…and at this early stage, to just fix it already.

I don’t care if she ever becomes anything, as long as she’s fulfilled. I don’t dare proclaim to know a thing about what she will be when she grows up. In these last few months, Maë has aged about 5 solid years, I swear. Grown leaps & bounds & added vocabulary & inflection & feeeeeeelings…all the feelings. I don’t know what kind of parent I will have to become to be a warrior for her but I’m working on learning that. (In all honesty, she’ll be looking at Ryan for direction first because that’s the kind of kid she is with him. She craves his presence. She needs his brand of love.)

She changed the way I mother, like I believe all children you add to the fold are apt to do. What is unique about Maëlle is how she changed the way everyone else exists as well. She changed how sisters are, she changed how we perceive the strength of our marriage, she changed the interactions of every outsider that graces our household.

I hear you call her difficult. I hear you call her “spirited” with a wink on the edge of your voice.

I hear that. And I raise you a: she’s nothing you’ve ever seen before or will again. You’re welcome.

“I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she’s just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I’ve done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I’m starting to see
Maybe it’s got nothing to do with me”

- John Mayer

I know you guys barely even care.

I know my work life is a figment of your imagination & something that exists only because I tell you it does.

But I have to blog out here, the feelings that I have about the two days I’ve just been a part of. My department was part of a conference on the future of University teaching & learning. And while that sounds incredibly dry to you…please think of your favourite teacher growing up & trust me when I tell you I met a lot of those kind of people this week.

My name, in the official conference program, was featured (along with my boss) beside the title: Social Media Team. I spent two days getting paid to do a thing I love to do in my spare time. My boss let me run wild with all of my ideas, didn’t squash even one of them, let me dream it and do it and watch its growth. And all the while told me how great he thought it was. I got to Facebook and Tweet and then broadcast all my good work. This feed, this hashtag…is like my baby. I created it, I grew it, I nurtured its growth. And it grew so big that it effectively influenced Day 2 of our conference. And THAT? Is something I’m allowed to be proud of.

My message is this: do that thing you’re afraid to do. Do that thing that gives you butterflies & says to your brain: I just don’t really know. My love of TEDtalks is apparent by now, and perhaps my very favourite one is by Sir Ken Robinson. (I highly encourage watching it. He’s funny. He’s smart but not stuffy, he’s very engaging & it’s as entertaining as it is brilliant.) The one quote that still rings in my ears & indeed propelled me in every step of my role at this conference is this:

“If you’re not prepared to be wrong, you’ll never come up with anything original.”

Whoa. Deeeeeeeep, yo.

Here’s the deal: I’m not a social media expert. I have no skills other than the mediocre ones that got me a mediocre Twitter following. What I DO have? Passion. A vision. Enthusiasm. And a balls-to-the-wall demeanor that makes it nearly impossible for me to stop forward momentum. I was prepared for it to go bad. I had terrible visions of a lonely feed & a failed mission. But I didn’t care. I had an incredibly enthusiastic support system, a great team to help me, and the idea that I COULD DO THIS. I would. I could see the success. I already knew how to do it. (No, I didn’t. But I was sure gonna pretend to everyone and myself that I did.)

And now? Now I scroll back through the #TLConf hashtag I created & I get a thrill. I can pull up the photo of our growing tweet topic wall that had the conference buzzing and I am so proud. I said to Ryan the other day that I never thought I was one of those people that cared about having a job they cared about. I’ve always wanted to like my job. But I didn’t really need to care much beyond that. This job? Game changer. This job amps me up. This job fires my brain on all cylinders. This job makes me think & interact & grow. And do you know what that does? That comes home with me. That filters itself into my away-from-work life. Those dynamic thoughts don’t stop when my office doors close behind me. That feeling of empowerment, of pride, of enthusiasm & appreciation follows me through my front door. Wouldn’t it be a tremendous thing if it translated that way into my daughters’ lives? Into their heads? Wouldn’t it be great if they remembered the energy & light their mother had when talking about her job & so they will never settle for a job until they replicate that in their lives?

They implored us at the conference to articulate a “takeaway”. A thing which we resolved to do because of what we learned. I panicked & could come up with nothing because my boss was sitting there imploring me to be brilliant and if that’s not intimidating I don’t know what is. But the longer I sat there in silence (thanks David Scott!) an idea started to build. BRAVE. I wrote it down. I’m going to be brave. Brave in my decision making. Brave in my ideas. Brave in my approach. Brave in my mind. Think big. Believe I can do big, exciting, brand new things…and do them well because I have passion.

And that night I scrolled past this photo on the Internet & a lightbulb went: “ping”. And I knew I was right.

In what is perhaps my most enlightened mothering moment to date, it came to me one day a few years ago to start reading a series of books with my Ladies. I wanted something that could grow with them and a series that was long enough to ensure me a solid few years of excuses to get my daughters to enjoy spending time with me. Right now sure it’s not an issue and normally I have to request time to myself or they would monopolize every second of my time and every inch of my space. I’m not so naive to think this will last forever…or even much longer, in Isabella’s case. In a household with two working parents, it’s sometimes hard to carve out 20 minutes a day per kid to read, as the school board consistently reminds me I must do to prevent my offspring from becoming drains on society.

I have wanted to read the Harry Potter series for years. Wanted to watch the movies & see what all this fuss was about. I was pretty into Anne of Green Gables when I was growing up and felt like Harry Potter was maybe the 21st century version of that. (And also maybe that I didn’t want to explain to a 7 & 5 year old why strawberry cordial made Anne giggle so much…scandalous!) I waited about as long as I could stand to start a little Mommy-Daughter Reading Club. The challenge was I didn’t want Bella to grow out of it before I had her hooked, but I couldn’t really be certain I’d catch Annika at the right age where she wasn’t still easily distracted from books without pictures. For the record, Annika at 5 years old isn’t fully there yet. The chapters are slightly more descriptive and long than her little buzzing brain can handle. But she tries.

Isabella? Oh homegirl is hooked. HOOKED, I say!

Here is what I pictured when I thought of reading these books to my girls… I thought we’d gather upstairs in or around their bed and the girls would gather their blankets and pillows, shifting and throwing blonde hair around until they were comfy, the air filled with giggles and the buzz of anticipation. I would read each book one chapter at a time. I would pause for effect at all the right parts. I would give the characters their own unique voices, maybe even act out mannerisms. The girls would grow more quiet and still as the pages floated on and their eyes would widen at the peak of the action. When we reached the end of the chapter they would moan and flop backwards onto their pillows, exclaiming “Nooo!! Just one more chapter! I need to know what happens!” and I would chuckle and tell them, “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow…” and wink as I kissed them each goodnight.

Here is what happened now that I’m actually reading these books to my girls… all of that. And something better. I sit on the floor, leaning on the edge of their bed and the girls huddle in behind me to follow along. Bella gets more and more still (and Annika, more and more busy…) as the chapter winds on. She also gets closer and closer…and closer to me. By the final page, Bella’s chin is resting on my shoulder & my hair is usually wrapped around her finger. Which positively melts me & I’d happily stay frozen in that very spot forever and ever amen.

I need there to be more than seven books. We’re only at Chapter Five of Book One and I wish we could do this until they get married…

So this post is long, loooooong overdue.

Many years ago I met this girl, named Susie. She’s from Alberta, grew up next door to one of my closest friends growing up and I had to go halfway around the world to meet her. We were Rotary Exchange students together in Finland, in the year that turned me into the person I know today.

And many years after that I got pregnant. Susie’s mother, Marilyn, whom I have never ever met (much to my sincere disappointment), made and sent a blanket to us as a congratulations. It was the first blanket to ever grace my daughter’s crib. I have cherished it for over seven years. I like to think of it as a connection to the past that started when I learned who I was going to be as a grown up. Susie was an integral part of my exchange year in Finland, and having her close to my newborn daughter in that kind of way was amazing to me. It still is.

Over the years, I have had two more children. Each new daughter brought a new handmade blanket in the mail. I can’t even express in words the kind of feeling that tingled over my arms each time I saw the Alberta postal codes and knew just what treasure I had been given. That kind of love, for a girl whom she had never met…

If you have children, you can probably appreciate the sheer number of blankets that accompany the arrival of a newborn. Piles & heaps of them, mine were all varying shades of pink. Save for these Mattson blankets. They were colourful and creative and each so very unique. Bella’s has a black border, Annika’s is larger than the others & Maëlle’s has a blue border. The significance of this will become apparent shortly.

Isabella had a lovey when she was teeny, a bear named Gus who was much beloved & followed her everywhere. At some point along the years Gus disappeared and we have never found him. Annika has never been wholly attached to a single thing in her lifetime & if that’s not indicitive of her very personality, I don’t know what is. Maëlle? Well Maëlle has loved these Mattson blankets all of her life.

She affectionately calls them Blankie Black, Blankie Blue and Blankie Big.

She is never far from one of the three. She cannot sleep without at least one, more often it’s two or all three. When she is distressed, her first thought is she needs to find Daddy, her second thought is Blankie Black. Blankie Black is a constant favourite.

She has a ritual which involves sliding her hand along the outside seam until she finds a corner. She will then pull the corner up to her nose or the side of her face and gently run it over her skin as she sucks her thumb. Nanna plays a game with Maë where she tries to take the corners hostage one at a time & while Maë giggles uncontrollably, she’s also slightly distressed.

Marilyn, I don’t know if you ever imagined these little tokens of affection to become such an integral part of our lives, but I hope you can feel through the screen the joy they bring to my sweet youngest daughter. It always thrilled me to find these blankets in my mailbox. It thrills me more to see their contents constantly strewn about the space we live in.

Thank you so very much.

For taking the time to make these gorgeous blankets. For thinking so highly of us to send them into our care. For recognizing that while my exchange year is a life I leave further behind by the day, it still shapes so much of what I do in my life.

One day, when she’s in university and struggling with statistics homework and calls me in a fit, I will picture Maëlle snuggled up under what happens to be left of Blankie Black. And while the ultimate goal is to pass each blanket down to its original recipient to impart on their own children, I sense that Maë will trade up for each and every one.

Thank you, Marilyn, for contributing to the heirlooms that will weave into stories of my daughters’ childhoods. We are ever thankful…maybe Maëlle more than all.

I dropped down an internet rabbit hole the other day. I got reading reviews for Sheryl Sandberg’s new book, Lean In. I’m cheap & have read the sample and was intrigued. I want to read more but, is it worth it? Am I going to pay for the full book and then end up pissed off at her at the end of it? I can get pissed off for free. I needed to know. So I ended up buried deep in the blog comments of a review post about Lean In, where the commenters were raging a bit, and I found myself kind of torn. Then my boss and I had an enlightening conversation about Annika’s pyelonephritis and I had a lightbulb moment.

I’m a working mom. There’s no other mom for me to be.

I think I have learned to do it well, and I think there’s a recipe for my success. I can pack the right luggage. Follow me here.

photo credit to: Katherine

When I come to work, I don’t leave my motherhood in my car. It follows me everywhere I go. I think about my kids in fleeting moments all day long. When I go home, it’s much the same as a vice versa. I bring work home, because I love my job. Maybe I don’t bring it physically home in a briefcase or paperwork. But all the ideas and to-dos and lists follow me through my front door every night and all weekend long. Now, because I love my job, it doesn’t bother me, and I do this willingly. Because I love my kids, I bring them to work with me without guilt. I mean, figuratively. Maelle in an office is like a match in a drought- POOF!

I pack the right luggage for work: I bring a mental checklist of what I’m responsible for at home and keep what mental tabs I can on it throughout the day. I text Ryan when a reminder pops up on phone that “tomorrow we’re going to Jenifer’s, don’t forget”. I also pack a willingness to multitask, which I think makes me a more valuable employee. Notice I said “willingness” and not “ability”. Some days I fail miserably, but I always show up willing. I bring the motivation that is wanting to provide for my family and wanting to prove to my daughters that motivated women are incredibly valuable. I bring excitement to my office with me every day. Part of it is fueled by the work I do, part of it is fueled by having young kids. My brain is rarely allowed to chill out. I’m severely anemic and while my body doesn’t have the constant firing on all cylinders, my brain is always moving. There’s always a new challenge at home that I need to handle, better yet if I can catch it before it comes. Work is the same. I pack in my work luggage all the tools I use at home and when I get to work and unpack them, there are things attached to them like magnets: my kids.

I pack the right luggage for home: My job is challenging in a mental way, but not draining. When I walk to my car at the end of my day, I’m still likely fired up about all I’ve learned and all I’m tasked and challenged with. I feel motivated. I feel…important. I bring that home in the form of confidence. Of authority. Of the ability to edit on command. And I’ve learned recently to bring home the ability to shut my mouth. To know I’m not always right, and to be okay with that. I’m away from my kids long enough to miss them, long enough to be able to feel unashamedly self-important, long enough to know that it’s possible to be really good at two separate things and not feel like you’re cheating one of them of your time.

I won’t comment on Lean In specifically. I will say that, from watching Sandberg’s TEDtalk (I’m TEDTalk obsessed. It’s a sickness now.) that I’m intrigued by one of her messages: don’t leave before you leave. Basically she means- don’t assume you have to step aside or give up an opportunity at work because you have a family. My boss said something very ‘inspirational’ in a way to me- he said that what happens to me away from the office is important to him because once he knows all of that he can support me better at work. That’s so simple and so genius. And it’s a way to think about it myself, as a working mom. If he can use that knowledge to support my work, why can’t I? (I digress to say: I know my boss is not like other bosses. I know I have it good. I’m not immune to the fact that my situation maybe isn’t like yours. But my point is still valid & adaptable. Take it at face value.)

Too often I think working mothers downplay their home struggles because they’re afraid they’ll be seen as weaknesses.  I say: let’s assume the opposite. Let’s assume that we’re so damn good at running two parallel and sometimes competing lives, that we’re more likely to be better at our jobs. Let’s not assume that because we’re thinking about work at home that we’re not spending quality time with our kids. I can do both. I definitely can. And sometimes I get to tell my kids about the cool things I’m doing at work and they get to see that excitement is born of many, many things and maybe Mommy is important as more than a Mommy. Maybe your thing isn’t work. Maybe it’s crafting, maybe you write, maybe you bake, maybe you run or work out. But if you’re good at it, if it brings you confidence/joy/fulfillment/peace- pack that luggage with you and bring it to your parenting job.

Don’t assume that you’re selling your kids short because your mind is happily distracted for the occasional dinner. Don’t doubt your dedication to your job because your kid is sick and needs you to pick her up at school. Do both. Pack all of that luggage which you know you’re good at and bring it with you. It’s not a burden. It’s not a detriment. It’s a skill. It’s a life.

“Go. Go back upstairs right now. …if you think I’m kidding you’re wrong. Go.”

(first round)

“I don’t want to hear about that. We’ve already discussed this & some choices have consequences. We’re done here. Good night. Go.”

(second round)

“If those are feet I hear on the stairs, whoever they belong to is going to be in deep trouble. March your butt upstairs. Now. Go.”

(round three)

Cut to me: camped out around the corner from the base of the stairs. Close enough to hear, just out of eyeshot. We put them to bed early. “They could use the extra sleep” we said. “It’s been a weird week” we said. “Some extra downtime for us” we said.

IDIOTS.

Tonight it’s boxed wine in my good crystal. It’s standing guard for footsteps bringing defiance with them. It’s sacrificing juuuust enough of my alone time that I’m pissed about it but still recognize the necessity. It’s beers for Ryan & tears for daughters and here’s some real life for everyone.

And now the post about a trip I took that, if you’re following me any-damn-where else you’re likely sick of hearing about and I don’t care because I will relive it every day of my life if I can. Sit back, it’s short(ish) and sweet and full of the fun. The adult kind…but not that adult kind, ya pervs.

The Thread.

These women. I am blessed to have many friends. I love them all differently and separately and together. But these women? The Thread? Oh they’re something to behold. We met…well, here. On the internet. Pro Tip: Refrain from telling the border guard that the reason you want to come into their country is so you can fly alone and meet up with three women…how long have I known them? Oh, not long…where did we meet? Oh, the internet. ::cue red flags & “oh hold up, what?!:: Perhaps I should print out this post for the future border guards I will meet with those astonished looks. And yes, there will be future.

We hatched this plan, I-don’t-even-know-how-long-ago, to meet up somewhere, alone and together and hang out somewhere other than a string of little blue boxes on our phones. Katherine’s extremely generous boss has an extremely gorgeous winter house in Arizona and offered it for Katherine to vacation in should she choose to. (So, we all love Kat’s job. Obviously.) Cue four plane tickets purchased, four collective iMessage “squee”s & just one idea of what we wanted to do with our time together: nothing.

If you came here looking for anything other than one storyline about a group of hottie women sitting around a backyard pool for 2 full days, you came to the wrong place. That’s almost literally all we did. A bit of shopping on Friday, a dinner out on Saturday. Other than that? Bathing suits & pools & booze & chatting & FaceTime & booze & chatting & OMG the laughing……that’s it. And it was PERFECT. We had no agenda other than spending time together. And how did we know we’d be able to do that? How did we know that, once we were all together it wouldn’t be awkward and painful and a struggle for 3 days? Because: we know each other. We are as much alike as we are different. We have discussed so much in our iMessage Thread that if one of us were to perish, one of the first things that gets deleted is The Thread because it’s the holy grail of truth bombs and confessionals.

Because if you wanted to see a place where The Mommy Wars do not exist? Come to the ZonaThread kitchen table. Sure, we share a lot of commonalities (working moms, young kids, equal partners in our husbands etc) but there are a host of differences in our upbringings and motivations, even parenting styles, that just aren’t issues. We see them, we acknowledge the way each woman does things a little differently & then we move on. There’s no judgement, there’s no shame, no comparing.

I love these women. I love our husbands for not only spectacularly holding down the forts for us while we got some downtime, but for each & every one of them separately asking “so when is the next one?” because they know it’s not an ‘if’. I love that it was as easy to sit in a room with them as it is to sit in my own room alone and type on my phone to them. I love that we can see the personality differences & appreciate how our four puzzle pieces fit together. I love that when I say sappy stuff like “I’m the luckiest for getting picked to belong to this amazing group of women” they’ll call me emotionally unstable while they nod and hug me and realize they feel the same.

Thank you, Internet. For ZonaThread. For the confidence to say yes to stuff like that. For the way you round out all the pieces I hold most dear. And thank you, Thread, for laughing at my jokes & for actually agreeing to disagree & for straight up agreeing & for admitting when you have no clue what to say but know I need something. Thank you Kat’s employers for a legitimately unbelievable backdrop to our indulgent weekend-long GNO.

Cheers, Thread. We rocked that motherfucker.