My husband has jetted off to Calgary for yet another conference, and what better way to fill the void of his absence than by writing about my celebrity crushes? None. It’s either this, or diving face-first into a bag of Doritos (Sweet Chili heat is my flavour of choice). This option is ZERO calories. Win!

One thing that my husband and I often joke about is our “Top Five” list of celebrity crushes. We both know that we’ll never meet them, but refuse to laminate the list just in case. I find it amusing that his top ladies look NOTHING LIKE ME. (See: Rachel McAdams, Mila Kunis, Scarlett Johansson, Natalie Portman, and Jessica Biel.)

My list, however, are dudes with similar qualities to my husband. Tall, well-built, great sense of humor, ability to sport the scruffy look, musical talent a bonus. Let’s begin.

#1. Ryan Gosling.

I’d like to be all hipster and tell you that I liked Ryan Gosling before Ryan Gosling was even born, and that could be true because (I’m five years older, and) he was born in my Grandma’s home town (Cornwall, Ontario), but it’s not true. I can tell you that he’s hot, and funny, and one of the best actors of this generation.

Did I mention that he’s hot? And funny? And talented?

I spent yesterday afternoon “researching” him for this article, and got lost in a YouTube rabbit hole of Ryan interviews. Go, watch, and I’m sorry for the hours you will lose. But not really. Thank me later.

He’s also a musician which, well. It doesn’t get any better than that. He also sings about ghosts and zombies. For real. I’ll stop now, before I get all fangirl and embarrass myself.

(Ryan. Call me. It’s totally kosher. Not that I’m Jewish, but you know what I mean. Oh, heck. I will die a slow and cheek-burning death should you ever read this.)

Ahem.

(He’s on the Twitter, for those of you who tweet.)

(I’m finished stalking him. For today.)

#2. John Krasinski

John’s not a new crush, and even made it on my Friday Eye Candy post over at Mama Pop three years ago.

Smart, funny, witty, and an amazing writer and actor. Have you seen Away We Go? No? GET THEE TO NETFLIX.

SRSLY.

(John isn’t on Twitter. Yeah, I don’t know either.)

#3 Bradley Cooper

Rugged good looks and hilarious roles aside, DUDE SPEAKS FRENCH.

And not “English Canada French.” He lived in France and learned the language.

*Slow exhale*

(He’s also not on Twitter. Celebrities, man.)

#4 Gerard Butler

I’d say more, but I’m over here fanning myself. BRB.

(I thought I found him on Twitter! But no. Sigh.)

#5. Craig Ferguson.

Said in my best Scottish accent: “The Hell?”

What can I say? We finally discovered Craig last fall and I think that my husband and I have equal crushes on him. Not in the “I want to dirty things to you” like the four above, but in the ‘I want to have you over for dinner and laugh until I (almost) pee.’

Also. My Mom’s second husband was Scottish, so. To hear Craig say my name would be (beyond) weird. And a little bit creepy.

(Craig is all about the Tweets and emails.)

Who are your celebrity crushes?

I think I am the only person who is not shocked, horrified and otherwise offended by some aspect of the Time magazine cover. You know the one. If you’re not put off by the image of a preschooler breastfeeding, then you’re upset by the way the picture was staged. And if you don’t blame the mother for putting her son in the spotlight, then you definitely blame Time  for setting them up for attacks.

But not me. My first reaction was, Damn, that chick can rock skinny jeans while she’s still breastfeeding! And then I marveled at how brilliant the cover is. It’s pure genius. The image of an older three-year-old breastfeeding (while standing on a chair, no less) is guaranteed to cause a stir. But the cover line “Are you mom enough?” is the icing on the cake.

I knew the question would get parents of every stripe fired up, but I didn’t quite expect the furor aimed at the magazine itself. There are accusations that Time is trying to pit mothers against each other, that it is exploiting the child model and sensationalizing (or sexualizing!) breastfeeding. Some claim that it amounts to a blatant attack on attachment parenting and nearly everyone agrees that it’s a low-down, shameless way to sell magazine copies.

They may have a point, but I’m going to withhold my judgment until the magazine hits the new stands and I can actually read the article. As of Sunday evening (in Canada at least) the only way to access the article is by online subscription which I’m unwilling to pay for. Neither is anyone else, it seems, since none of the reactions I’ve encountered so far can offer more than speculation about the actual content of the magazine. It’s not uncommon, after all, for a well-researched and fair article to be out done by sensationalist headlines.

And as for the righteous indignation about Time‘s attempt to stir up a new kind of mommy war? Puh-lease. We eat this shit up, don’t we? Those of us whose social media is teeming with all manner of parenting types were inundated with responses to the cover image by mid-morning on Friday. When has a cover ever generated that much interest? We love this stuff. It gives us something to get all worked up about.

And, besides, how we parent is now cover story material. That’s a good thing, if you ask me.

Seven summers ago, we had a house fire. It was … well, it was horrible. It could have been so much worse than it was, but we all made it out safely and (bonus that I didn’t care about at all once we were outside and alive), we only lost one rocking chair and a baby quilt out of our material possessions. That’s it. Mostly because we called friends and about a dozen of them came in the middle of the night to move everything outside so that when the water that doused the roof came down, the only damage was to the walls. They also packed up toothbrushes and other toiletries and changes of clothes and baby chairs and DVD’s and dropped them off to where we spent the night. We got back from being checked out at the hospital quite late, and to wake up to so many things that are essential to (me feeling human, and) a one and two-and-a-half year old was such a blessing. I hadn’t thought about any of those things when we left the house, and seeing them in the morning was proof to me that having people in your life who care about you and take care of you is so important.

We live in a community that is small (about 10,000 people) and is quite close-knit. You know everyone through school and soccer and swimming and skiing and whatnot. We know even more people through our church, which is a good size and is heavily involved in the community. I am surrounded by women whom I love, and who make my laugh, and cry, and whom I can talk about anything with. We have couples in our life with whom we get together with and talk about everything from hunting to shopping, and who are invested in the lives of our kids as well. It is not uncommon for us, now that our kids are older, to invite ALL THE KIDS over for a play date. Two weekends ago, I had kids from three different families over. Combined with my three kids, there were ten minions versus me. But it was no big deal. The kids played in the tree fort and swung on the swings and dug in the sandbox and played street hockey and built with Lego and they HAD FUN. Better yet, their parents had a break.

They’ve all done the same for us.

This past week has seen my sister-in-law taken out by the stomach flu and so many of us took turns dropping kids off at school, picking them up, having them over after school (my kids LOVE their cousins, and it’s reciprocal). Another friend’s husband had shoulder surgery and we’re all doing what we can to help out with their four kids.

Yes, life is busy, and yes, there in no time, but … there kind of is. It really is so much better to give than receive. (I have a hard time accepting help, but I want to HELP EVERYONE.)

I am so glad for community. For my village. A lot of us don’t have grandparents around to pour into our kids, so we do what we can to help each other out and build our kids up. It’s kind of awesome.

Do you have a good “village” or community? Or do you want more?

There is nothing more important than the safety of our children, but omfg, car seats are THE WORST.

Maybe I’m only saying this because I spent over five hours wrestling with car seats today, but that doesn’t make it less true. I spent FIVE HOURS wrestling with car seats in one day. It doesn’t get much worse than that.

I figured out how to fit three seats across my backseat after months of research, shopping and plotting. I installed them halfway through my last pregnancy just to make sure they’d work and then left all three in the car because there was no way I ever wanted to do that again.

But baby Mary is outgrowing her infant seat and Colum is more than ready for a booster. So all I needed to do was turn Colum’s old seat rear-facing and put the extra-narrow booster that finally went on sale in place of the baby bucket seat. Easy peasy.

Two hours, a bag of garbage and a seat full of crumbs later, the fancy-pants new booster didn’t fit. It wasn’t even close. Colum was late for his t-ball game and I was standing in the driveway amidst $900 worth of child safety seats that couldn’t keep my kids safe. My husband wound up driving Colum in Irene’s seat while I walked with the girls.

Then, since the car wasn’t doing the kids and I a whole lot of good, he took the car for the rest of the afternoon. I then walked all three kids from the baseball diamonds to my parents house, but told the husband to please bring all the car seats there because I had a new plan.

Over an hour later I’d managed to cram the booster between the two car seats and even installed the rear-facing seat without the manual. Woot! Things were looking up … until someone actually tried to sit in the front seat. Damn, that rear-facing position takes up a lot of space.

We drove home like that anyway, but as soon as the kids hit their pillows I needed to be back out there.  This time I was going to turn Irene’s seat rear-facing for Mary, move Irene to Colum’s seat and Colum to the booster. We’ll just put the booster in the middle, no, try that side, no, try the other side. Okay, perfect. Wait. What’s that? You want to be able to close the door? All the way? Fine. I’ll try again.

And I did. I tried again and again until I finally came up with a configuration that works. It’s a squeeze, but all the seats are safely and securely installed and they are NEVER coming out.

Also. The car seat safety police will be happy because baby Mary will be rear-facing until Colum no longer needs a booster. There is no way I’m ever moving those seats again.

What are your worst car seat stories? I know you have some.

I have three children, two boys and a girl, ages nine, seven, and five. My seven-year-old son has been popping wheelies on his bike since he was three (He’s our Sporto), and my five-year-old daughter mastered the bicycle last year, when she was four. No wheelies, but she can bike without falling. My nine-year-old son … has had zero interest in riding a bike WHATSOEVER.

When we’re at home and his siblings are doing laps around the circular driveway, he’s usually writing stories and illustrating them, or reading, or building monstrous Lego creations that are more intricate that any of the ones that you buy in the store. We’ve tried (half-heartedly) for years to get him to ride his bike. He’d ask to play hockey (because his friends play, not because he loves to play) and we told him to learn to ride his bike first. We offered to pay him cold, hard cash, which he knows the value of, and always wants more of and … nothing.

It’s been a bit of a family joke, and we tease him about it, and that’s been that. I own a bike, but so rarely use it — I’m more of a runner/boot camp girl. My husband doesn’t even own a bike, unless you count the motorcycle (Kawasaki Vulcan) that we share. He’s a runner/gym guy too. It’s not like my son is not active or anything. He’s in soccer, a running club, and we all took up skiing this past winter as a family. He’s healthy, he’s happy, he’s fit. He just couldn’t ride a bike.

Until this week.

My son has a new (girl) friend, who is the sweetest thing ever. She also rides her bike to and from school, and he told me that he confessed to her that he didn’t know how how to ride his bike. She was “OK with it”, apparently. And then, while at the end-of-tax-season party this past Monday, my son called me because he had something exciting to tell me. He had been riding his bike.

Tuesday afternoon after school he kept practicing and was so excited to show me his new skills.

The things we do for (young) love, hey?

When my oldest kid turned four years old I packed away the stroller. Well, I put away the sit and stand-type stroller and moved his toddler sister into a Maclaren, anyway.  At the same time, we moved around the corner, just a couple blocks further away from everything.

It doesn’t take too many foot-dragging, 45-minute ordeals with a stroller full of groceries and a whiny preschooler before you just start driving. We’d walk to the local park and to the school bus stop and take the wagon every once in a while, but for the most part I started driving places I used to walk to. The twenty minute walk to my parents house? With a four year old? Make that an hour long walk and forget about it.

Then last summer I was massively and painfully pregnant. My pelvis seemed to just kind of fall apart one day about halfway through my second trimester and that was the end of walking for me. I mean, I was still mobile, but I had to be slow and deliberate and not overdo it.  I was driving everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I basically had to.

And I’m sick of it. Spring weather has finally arrived and I’m still packing an extra 25 pounds worth of baby weight. I wanna walk!

This is how, just days shy of his sixth birthday, two years after our final stroller farewells, I wound up pushing my son to school. And I don’t care what people think … or say or post to their Tumblrs. We already missed the bus, so I put the baby in the carrier, the three year old at the front of the sit and stand-style stroller and my son stood on the step as I hauled ass to the school. It was actually awesome.

Hey, if having three kids is a pretty good way to put on some extra weight, then maybe pushing them all around will be a good way to lose some of it.  And if taking along a baby carrier to make a spare seat (or step) for a six year old means I get to walk around my city again, then I’m all for it.

Because explain to me again how driving my kid from place to place makes him less lazy than if he walks one way and then hops on the stroller on the way back? Hell, forget about him. My kid is too big for his stroller so my ass won’t be too big for my jeans.

What do you think? Should there be a cut off age for strollers? What age should it be?

I haven’t had a lot of “free” time on the Internet for far too long, thanks to my job at ‘The Firm’, what with it’s long hours, daily commute, and decision to block/monitor the Internet. It’s totally their prerogative, and I didn’t abuse the Internet like others did, but I used to use my lunch hours to get some freelance stuff done, or reply to emails, or read/comment on posts. I have no desire for them to know how I spend my free time, so I’ve stayed offline until the evenings, which means that I’m trying to meet deadlines between putting my kids to bed and taking my husband to bed.

*Ahem*

When I do sit down to read, it seems that the same debates that were out there when I started blogging seven years ago are still going strong. I know that everyone’s trying to drive traffic and I know that these may be new topics for first-time moms, but all of the judgment being flung in the name of page views makes me sigh. And roll my eyes.

The working mom/SAHM/WAHM debate. Dudes. Parenting is THE HARDEST JOB ON THE PLANET. Your work situation is just a peripheral issue. I have been all of the above and you know what? You throw little beings into your life who rely on you to KEEP THEM ALIVE and we’re all hanging on for dear life.

The “picky eaters” vs. those who are smug about how there kids eat ALL THE THINGS. My kids fall in the picky side of the spectrum, but get all of the food groups during the day. I get them to try the less “mainstream” dishes that I make, but I don’t push it. I was picky until I was in my twenties but the fact that I’m sitting here typing this at the ripe old age of 37 is a testament to the fact that, 1) I DIDN’T DIE, and 2) PREFERENCES CHANGE. (Also! 2b) My oldest (age 9) tries new stuff all of the time, and likes it. There is hope!)

Breast vs. Bottle. SO MUCH RAGE from either side. Full disclosure: I was strictly formula fed and I have no allergies or any other possible side effects from formula. Full disclosure, part two: I was the smug mother-to-be during my first pregnancy; my kids would be strictly breastfed and never have formula. My first child was great breast-feeder, but at about six weeks old I was planning for a hair appointment and he WOULD NOT take a bottle. We tried about ten different bottle nipples until he would take one. My personal belied that the spiel of “nipple confusion” is BS, unless you’re referring to my first-born. With babies number two and three, Daddy took one feeding in the night to give me a longer stretch of sleep. My kids had formula for their supplemental feeding and, hey. They’re perfectly FINE.)

Co-sleeping vs. babies sleeping in their own bed. People shout statistics from either side. Side one: Co-sleeping is better! Side two: Sleeping on their own is better! Me: DO WHAT WORKS FOR YOU. When my babies were itty-bitty newborns, they would spend the first few weeks in a bassinet in our room. Or sleeping on my or my husband’s chest. Then they went to their own room, right next to ours. My firstborn was a great back sleeper; the other two got to about eight weeks old and would wake up out of a dead sleep and WAIL if I put them on their backs. So I (gasp!) let them sleep on their tummies. Many of my friends did the same. It’s like a secret club. *whisper* My baby sleeps on her stomach.

(Related: When our kids are sick/have bad dreams/etc. we will let them sleep with us. And will wedge toes in my ribs and smack me in the face ten times and keep inching over so that I am somehow “sleeping” in a space five inches wide, while holding onto the edge for dear life so that I don’t fall to the floor. Kudos to those of you who co-sleep every night. It’s not for me.)

Are you entrenched in the Mommy Wars debate? Or do you shrug it off? Do you feel like judging me for my choices? You wouldn’t be the first.

My daughter’s seventh (hold me) birthday is coming up, and all I’ve been hearing for eight months is, ‘Mom! I want a bowling party!’ or, ‘Mom! I want a horse-riding party!’ or, ‘Mom! I want a princess tea party!’ So naturally, in the face of all of these suggestions, I have done nothing. My daughter’s birthday is now three weeks away, and I have nothing planned. Nada.

Part of the problem is that we moved just before the school year began, and my daughter, the new kid, has not received one birthday invitation to another child’s party this year. Not one. Now, there are only seven girls in her class, but I hesitate to believe that not one of them has had a birthday yet. Or that they have all had a birthday, but no party. I’m pretty sure there’s been a party or two. And my daughter has not been invited to any of them.

So now what do I do? Do I forget these small town snobs and shun the children, as I believe my daughter has been shunned (this is mainly a thought I have at 3 am, when I am my most rational)? Or do I turn the other cheek (if there has even been a cheek turned in the first place), take the high road and invite all of the girls in her class and their mothers too, as an opportunity to get to know each other better? Keep in mind that these are the same mothers that do not bother to talk to me in the schoolyard :)

We always make a pretty big deal out of birthdays, with a party and lots of friends and lots of food and games, and I don’t want to deprive my daughter of that this year, but I could do something really nice with family and offer to take my daughters and their little cousins to the movies or something, avoiding the whole, ‘school friends’ issue altogether.

Not sure what my next move will be. What do you do for birthdays around your place?

From that first gummy smile to the first time your baby looks into your eyes and say “Mama,” the first year is full of joy and excitement. But that’s not all it’s full of.

Let’s talk about milestones, bad mom style.

• Baby’s first bad latch.  Maybe some women gaze lovingly into their baby’s eyes while he suckles sweetly moments after birth, butterflies flitting in a golden ray of sunshine. But everyone I know is elbow deep in lanolin within a day or two, trying to keep the cracked and bleeding nipples at bay. Who knew side-lying with a one-day old was going to be a bad idea?
• Baby’s first scratch. Because you just can’t bear to restrain those little hands with baby mittens when they clearly want to be flailing around wildly. So you don’t and the next morning your sweet little baby wakes up looking like she’s just gone ten rounds with the neighbour’s cat.
• This inevitably brings about baby’s first bleeding finger tip. You break out the baby nail clippers, resolved to put an end to the nighttime scratching sessions, only to discover that newborn fingertips tear like tissue paper and bleed like a faucet. And the crying! That pain-drenched baby wail will be with you forever. Welcome to motherhood. Here is your guilt. Wear it proudly.
• Then there’s the first blowout. All your round-the-clock feeding efforts pay off with a giant explosive liquid poo that will not be contained by any diaper known to man. It will burst out of leg holes and up backs, soaking and staining cute little onsies and sleepers — the cuter the sleeper, the stinkier the poo.
• This is followed closely by the second blowout which also merits milestone status, occurring, as it does, mere moments after you finally get the first one cleaned up and baby changed into a fresh, new outfit.
• Baby’s first cold is a harbinger of such exciting new pastimes as trying to squirt saline solution up the nose of a screaming newborn and then trying to fit the giant, hard tip of a suction bulb into the smallest nostril known to man, holding both the bulb and the nostril still, while you suction the snot right out of your own baby’s nose.
• This will never work, but it does mean it’s time for baby’s first night sleeping upright on mom’s chest! And maybe if you’re lucky, your own sleep deprivation will take a psychedelic, hallucinatory turn.
• My personal favourite is baby’s first fall off the bed. Bonus points if your baby actually somersaults forward off the bed and lands head first onto ceramic tile, like my first born did.
• That’d be a good time for your first call to Telehealth (or whatever over-the-phone medical advice service there is in your area.)
• Then you have your first near-choking experience, food and/or found object.
• There’s also mom’s first call to poison control because someone (who was not mom) somehow dropped an entire unlit cigarette under the dining room table and the crawling baby started to eat it. (Or is that just me?)
• Baby’s first steps are always exciting until they go careening head first, at top speed, into the corner of the table.
• And that lets us wrap up neatly with baby’s first ER visit.

This is just the stuff I could come up with in a sitting! Out with it, bad moms. What are your worst first-year milestones? Make me feel better about myself.

It seems that moms — especially those with depression – just can’t win. According to a recently released study, those sleep issues that my child had — natch, HAS — exhibited since birth are probably (wait for it..) my fault.

“Researchers have now found that mothers who are depressed may cause sleep problems in their babies or make them worse, rather than the other way round.”

So instead of the baby being the cause of sleep deprivation in parents, these researchers have concluded that the mom who displays depression may be the one stealing all that precious, precious slumber from the family. Awesome: depression just loves to have some guilt heaped on it, it intensifies the flavour I hear.

And while I haven’t read the actual study there appears to be a leap in logic that I don’t quite get: how does a population of 45 Caucasian American moms – with only 14 identified as depressed - stand up to the age old #zombiemoms phenomena?

How claims can be made with any confidence when employing such a small test group and observation period (1 week. ONE WEEK) is beyond me. But what do I know? I’m just a long-time sleep-deprived parent who also dedicated the majority of her undergrad to analysing research like this for fun and good grades. And sport.

The fact that the results also relied on the mom keeping a written diary of their observations on sleep deprivation also makes me raise an eyebrow at these results. If you’d asked me to write down my feelings while dealing with a screaming newborn at 3 am, my diary would have read like the book ‘Go the F**k to Sleep‘ but with more tenderness. And swearing.

Maybe depressed moms do like to cuddle more or take more gratuitous hugs and snuggles during the night for some much needed emotional support like the researchers claim, but I’m not entirely convinced that snatching little bits of love and comfort qualify as sleep disruptions. Who here hasn’t watched their child sleep and reached out to touch a soft cheek, or kiss that dewy forehead, or just nuzzle up while their sometime hellion looks like an angel? But next time, remember: Shame on you for doing it, especially if you are depressed. You’re stealing from that elusive sandman! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT.

Commencing another guilt trip in t-minus 10.

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