For the love of books

My husband looked at me the other day and said "How old was Anna when we started reading to her?"

We both looked down at Lauren, sitting on the floor in front of us and smiled at her in a "I'm sorry we keep forgetting to do all the things you're supposed to do with your baby with you" kind of a way.

I've said it before. I'll say it again. The poor, poor second child.

Boynton really understands
the complexities of language.

I can't tell you the number of times we've been holding Lauren, playing with Lauren, changing Lauren, when all of the sudden, Andrew or I will look at the other and say "How old was Anna when we... <started brushing her teeth> <encouraged her to feed herself with a spoon> <put her in swimming lessons> <read to her regularly>?"

And while she's still not in swimming lessons or using a spoon, I'm happy to say that this Mom of the Year has begun reading to Lauren each night.

Therefore, in honour of my awesome parenting abilities, I bring you the following list of: My Ultimate Favourite Lines from Kids Books.  These books and these sentiments never fail to make me smile, weep, laugh and remind me of the happiest time in my life so far.

• "Mama's right here. And I always will be. You are my shining star. Mama's right here. Through the rest of your life. My love is wherever you are!" – Mama’s Right Here

When I first read this line, I was pregnant with Lauren and was looking for a book that would let Anna know how special she was, even with a new baby arriving. I started weeping in the middle of Indigo.

• "I love you right up to the moon - and back" - Guess How Much I Love You

I literally cannot read that line without my eyes welling up. Gets me every single time I've read it for the past 3 years.

• "Once there was a tree... And she loved a little boy." - The Giving Tree

I know there's debate on the sentiment of this book, but I love it. I remember it so fondly from when I was a kid.

• "The moon is high. The sea is deep. They rock and rock and rock to sleep." - The Going to Bed Book

I've read this one over and over and over again to Anna. Partly in hopes that she would get the hint and start sleeping through the damn night - and partly because I just love Sandra Boynton.

• "Sleeping in that cave was a very cranky… BEAR!!!  ROAAAAR went the cranky bear. ROAR, ROAR, ROAR!" - The Very Cranky Bear

Anna loves to "roar" along with this book. And it makes me laugh every time she does it. So cute.

And one of personal favourites from my (a little bit older) childhood...

• “Are you there, God? It's me Margaret"

What are your faves?

Mama hates the cold

I’m sitting in the office I currently work in wearing my winter coat. My nose is freezing. Hands like ice.

This is wrong. Just plain wrong.

I am a firm believer in the idea that winter must end now.

My poor 3 year-old is going stir crazy from being inside most of the day every day. This kid loves to be outside. She loves to go for walks, play in the park, kick the ball around the back yard. The great outdoors is her holy land. Her happy place. Her home base.

And while we still try to get outside with her often no matter what the weather, my poor little 15 month old isn’t a fan of being chilly.

So I find myself spending a lot of time inside with the girls, attempting to keep up with a toddler’s energy. We play and play and play and play. I crawl around on the floor. I do puzzles. I pretend to be “the customer” and place my order with Anna, over and over again. We go camping. We pretend to be horses. We dance. We sing. We make muffins. And then, eventually, I end up feeling guilty at the amount of TV she watches, because I can only do so much of the above.

When we’re outside, the kid can run wild, while I watch. I keep up with her, of course. But for the most part, she just wants me to let her do her thing while I stand by and chat with her.

(And by “chat” I mean tell her I’m watching when she yells, “Watch this, Mommy!!” over and over again.)

Therefore, I hereby declare that the winter must end.

It must end so that I no longer feel old and like a bad parent.

It must end so that I can get outside and air the stink out of my kids and myself.

It must end so that I can feel warmth on my skin again.

It must end so that I can get a bit of exercise, chat with fellow Moms and reenter the land of the living, rather than feel like a recluse.

And it must end so that Anna can wear her favourite shirt, her “Super Girl” t-shirt, without freezing her cute little skinny buns off.

So says Hez.

On being a woman

I, by and large, led a sheltered adolescence.

I like to joke that I was a nerd, in hopes that it will be sufficient explanation as to why I didn’t really drink underage. Why I never wanted a fake ID. Why I didn’t do drugs (much). Why I waited to have sex. Why I didn’t dress “promiscuously” or disobey my parents or sneak out of the house or get in physical fights.

The truth is? I don’t know why I was sort of a good kid.

I could attribute it to parenting. My parents were open and honest with me. They made sure I knew that I was loved. They always told me I could go to them if I was in a tough situation. They also let me know that drinking and sex at a young age was not acceptable. And disobeying them was met with utter disappointment. (A fate worse than making your parents mad).

They were what my husband and I hope to be. Good parents.

But is that enough?

I know I’ve already discussed the joys of having girls. But, at the same time, I have to admit that I’m terrified because I know what females have to face.

Becoming a woman is a hard, hard thing.

The rush to grow up. The sexuality. Emotional bullying. Pressure. Not to mention the bigger, weightier issues like love, work, children, choice, our rights, our physical safety.

I’m constantly amazed that I made it through adolescence. And I’m constantly racking my brain to try and figure out how I navigated those extremely tough years and came out on the other side happy, healthy, unharmed.

Was it solely good parenting? Is it a gene I just happened to have? Is it the environment I grew up in?

Sometimes I think it was just dumb luck.

And that’s what terrifies me.

How do I protect my girls? How do I prevent them from being that innocent girl on the subway platform, minding her own business before being assaulted? How do I keep them safe?

Maybe having a discourse about it will be part of the solution. Maybe telling them what I believe to be the difference between right and wrong will help. Maybe I just need to try my best to model good values and respect and then let them navigate for themselves.

I don’t know for sure.

But I do know that at some point, they’ll be too old to just accept my answers at face value. They’ll need and want to grow and explore. They’ll have to be set loose into this often-frightening world.

And I’ll have to be okay with that.

It will be at that moment that I will truly be tested as a parent. As a woman. As a mother.

It will be at that moment that I will close my eyes - for just a brief moment - while I hope and pray that my love and guidance is enough to keep them safe.

And then? I will open my eyes and hope that my daughters turn to me.

Because I will always be here for them.

That's right my loves, I'm talking about you.

What would you tell your younger self?

While perusing Twitter instead of working this afternoon, I came across a headline from an article that said, “Five things I would tell my 18 year-old self”.

Good lord, what I would tell my younger self if I could go back in time.

Knowing what I know now, as a Mama of 2 beautiful, wonderful fantastic little children… what would I tell my younger, pre-baby self?

Here are just a few pearls of my own personal wisdom:

Heather, you need to relax.
It’s okay to try hard and want the best and to do your darn-dest to make sure the kids turn out okay. But, sometimes? You’re going to fail a little. And that’s okay. You might be disorganized. You may tell the garage door opener to fuck off in frustration in front of your baby because it won’t work when you’re already late for work. *cough – this morning - cough*. And you might feel massive amounts of guilt at how little you see them when you’re working. But you really need to relax. It’s okay. They love you. They know you love them. You’re not scarring them. Try to be calmer. Try to be happier. Things turn out pretty amazing. In spite of the damn garage door.


You and the hubster will have some rough times.
But he’ll still love you. And you’ll always love him. Even when his idea of romance is smacking you on the bum and pretending to hump you while you’re attempting to make lunches and you’re knee-deep in dirty diapers. He means well. And when you get those rare moments to talk – without any distractions – you two will remember all the reasons why you dated so long and fell in love and got married. You will talk. And gripe. And share. And laugh. Man, how he can make you laugh.


Get over your damn boobs. They’ll never be the same.
Sure, they’re soft and floppy now. Sure, they totally pass the pencil test (when just a few short years ago they were too perky to do so). Sure, there’s probably only a few years left before they reach National Geographic standards. But they fed your little ankle biters into existence. No matter how “weird” the whole concept seems – it’s pretty amazing work your girls did.


Things get better and better – all the time.
Yes, your life right now is pretty awesome. You’ve got disposable income. You and the hubster can fly off to the Galapagos Islands or Italy for a fabulous vacation. You can sleep as much as you like, work out whenever you want, dine out at great restaurants, spend an ENTIRE SUNDAY on the couch watching movies if you so choose. But eventually, when you give that all up, you will find out who you were meant to be. You will love your husband in a new way. You will adore your life and feel this incredible amount of pride when you look at your kid (even if she’s picking her nose at the moment). You will know joy and fulfillment like you’ve never known before. And you will think things like, “My life will always be okay now because these two little girls are in it.” You will be a Mom.


Enjoy it.
The hard times are REALLY hard to enjoy. I know. But when you look back, it’s so much easier to remember the fun times. So be silly. Laugh with your kids. Hide under the covers and make a tent out of sheets. Chase each other down the street on the way to the park. Take lots of pictures. Hold your husband’s hand. Tell your Mom you love her. Enjoy a glass of wine with your Dad. Life is pretty fantastic, Heather.

You are one of the lucky ones.

Girls vs. boys

I love that I have daughters.

Don’t get me wrong – if Lauren was a Larry and Anna was an Alan, I would adore them to itty-bitty pieces too.

But I’m really glad they came out with the lady parts.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard someone say the exact opposite. There are many parents out there who count their blessings that they won’t have to deal with drama related to raging hormones, the desire to grow up too soon and horny little boys trying to deflower their little ladies.

Yet I would argue that I’m glad I don’t have to deal with tube socks behind closed bedroom doors, never knowing what he’s thinking and inevitable daughter-in-law drama.

When I found out I was pregnant for the first time, I kept saying the whole “It doesn’t matter if the baby is a boy or a girl… they’re equally amazing… blah diddy blah… yackety crap”.

But secretly? I really wanted a girl.

I wanted someone who would truly understand my feelings. I wanted someone who would one day become a friend if I didn’t royally fuck things up. I wanted someone who would let me be REALLY involved in their wedding planning.

Of course, a child is a child. They truly are equally amazing. The relationship is what you make of it and how you foster and grow and develop it. I know all this.

And I certainly don’t feel that all girls must “act like girls” or vice versa. (I’m very proud of the fact that Anna loves her toy cars as much as she loves her dressy shoes, has no clue what a princess is and refuses to let me do anything with her hair).

But I also know that it’s very likely that a girl will call me more than once a week. They’ll tell me how they feel and what they’re thinking. They’ll never make me crawl up a ladder to sneak into their house in the middle of the night to rock them back and forth, back and forth, back and forth so I can pretend they’re still my baby. (They’ll let me in the front door and welcome any and all mothering at any stage in their lives – particularly if and when they have a child themselves).

It may be wrong to admit this out there and to the open. Heaven forbid I have a son one day and he reads this and I scar him for life and he needs massive amounts of therapy and it all relates back to his bitch of a mother who never loved him enough.

For now? I’m okay with admitting that I get girls. I want girls.

I adore my girls.

The one where I force my kids to love me

Now that I’m working full time hours out of the house, I have this overwhelming desire to hold on to every moment I get with the little ladies.

The little ladies don’t always feel the same way.

Anyway, smothering aside… I find that when I am with the girls – I really notice everything about them.

For example, Lauren’s brand new top teeth are the first things I see whenever she smiles or opens her mouth.

Anna’s new little haircut comes into the room first when she gets up in the morning.

And Anna’s latest gems are always top of mind. For example, here’s an excerpt from one of our most recent conversations:

Me: Do you want to watch Max & Ruby or Bubble Guppies?
Anna: ***pause***
Me: Anna? Max & Ruby or Bubble Guppies?
Anna: I’m THINKING, Mommy!

Or, when I came home on Valentine’s Day the other night, Anna wished me a “Happy Valentine’s Daddy”.  And she told me she loved Valentine’s because it meant she got to paint and wear a smock at school. (Yet, she refuses to wear her smock at home. Naturally.)

On a side note, Andrew and I seemed to be the ONLY parents who sent their kid to daycare without Valentine’s Day cards for everyone. And I forgot to get the daycare teachers a Christmas present. I am REALLY awesome at this Mom thing.

I also overheard Anna saying “Oh come on, guys!” in a very exaggerated tone (to nobody in particular) and my Mom found her “disciplining” her little sister:  “I’ve had enough of this, Lauren!”

Again – I am the best Mom in the universe! Wee!

Thankfully, Lauren can’t talk yet. But if she could, I feel like she would only utter things about how interesting she finds me.

Ma, tell me that story again... That one about that grande latte you ordered one time, but it was too much for you, so you couldn't finish it? Yeah... that one. The story that had no point to it.

Reaching for the moon

“Look, Mommy! The MOON!”

I listen to my happy toddler exclaiming excitedly from the back seat of the car.

“Let’s try to touch it,” she says.

“Okay,” I say. “You go first.”

I hear Anna grunting. I look in the rear view mirror and watch her flailing her arms, trying to “reach” the sky.

“Now your turn, Mommy!”

So I flail my arms about in a silly way and say in an exaggerated voice, “I can’t reach it!”

She laughs. I laugh with her.

I enjoy the simplicity of our conversation. How easy it is to make her smile. How excited she is by something as simple as the moon in the sky.

And I try to remind myself to remember this. To hold onto it tightly. I know moments like this won’t last forever.

Anna is a typical 3 year-old. She’s curious. Inquisitive. Loves to “search for clues” with anything from a toilet paper roll to the top of her see-through sippy cup. The way she looks at the world constantly amazes me. Her imagination makes me smile.

But she tests me. Oh my goodness, can she test me.

On another recent car trip, she was grouchy, had a temper tantrum and screamed the entire way home from Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

The biggest, brightest moon in the world wouldn’t have brought her back from where she was. And it was all I could do not to scream back at her.

So on nights like this, when she is excited by the universe and everything in it, I try hard to remember her. My true Anna.

I try to mentally catalogue every cute thing she says and every funny thing she does.

I want to tell her about it one day.

When she’s a teen, and is undoubtedly testing me again, I want her to know all about how much fun we had together. How I could be silly, too. How easy it was to enjoy each other’s company.

I want her to know about yesterday morning, when she jumped into bed to wake me up, then insisted we hide under the covers because she could hear a “jungle bear” coming into the room.

Or the time last week, when she danced around the kitchen and instructed me to say “Woo hoo!” each time she completed a little move.

I can’t avoid the moments when I feel tested and grouchy and exhausted by her moodiness. But I promise to both myself and to Anna to remember the fun, happy, easy times.

I glance at her in the rear view mirror again, a giant goofy grin plastered on my face.

It’s times like these I vow to remember.