God Is Still Here

When I walk through those doors I can’t help but smile. There is a lightness to the room that welcomes us in and I remember why it is I insist that we continue to go.

Last weekend I took my girls to their very first movie theatre experience. We saw the new Disney film The Star. It fills my heart that this movie exists. That the theatres were packed with families excited to see a movie about the very first Christmas. And of course, while my girls suffered with restlessness, I cried.

As a child I experienced this uneasiness  saying the word ‘God’. I realize it may have had to do with the schools I attended, the friends we had and perhaps the time but, it brings me joy and relief that my children and I do not experience that now. It seems that perhaps times are changing. Maybe it has to do with all the horrors the world holds now a days but, it feels as though people are more open to believe. If for nothing else then to have some comfort in times when it feels like there is none.

Today’s mass was the first one in almost eight years that I actually heard. They invite the children to go downstairs to attend their own version, at their own pace and comfort level. I sat in the pew alone and was able to not only take the words in but the people around me. The contentment, the companionship, the…I don’t know…the community of all of those people who get themselves up and to church every Sunday morning.

As an added treat, a retired sister sang Eva Maria. Stunning. The entire congregation sat still as her voice literally soared over our heads filling the space with silver and gold.

My Maggie ended the wonderful experience with stuffing half a dozen donuts and two cupcakes into her paws as we exited the doors. And I’m back to the reality of motherhood.

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I Fucking Fear…

My four year old told me today that she enjoys spinning in circles because she likes being dizzy. It bothered me. It starts there but next comes the grade schoolers squeezing your neck to try to get you to black out secretly…then there’s the first six pack of beer in the park, the first cigarette “for the sake of an acting role”….and then the sky is the limit.

Four years old and there’s already an opportunity and inclination to feel out of control…to escape for just a few dizzying moments. That bothers me and scares the poop out of me.

It’s scary growing up with those overwhelming urges and feelings, but even more so it is fucking scary to be a mom. Those feelings of unconditional love and needing to be left the fuck alone duking it out every single day as you watch your little babies grow into people.

We women have this idea of having babies because it makes us feel more like a woman. Like a successful woman. But there are twenty years ahead of you filled with fighting, and teeth gritting and shame and guilt…and laughter, and precious unforgettable moments that could not be written in a book. So confusing.

Recently I find my patience to be lacking. I’m constantly tired, and upset with my girls. It feels awful and shameful and I feel trapped in something that I must wait out for approximately fifteen years….which feels like forever.

And that’s the life of a mom. Lol. They may try to tell you differently…and some moms may go through a period of successfully achieving ‘super mom status’ but….no matter what we achieve…guilt and shame is still present.

We try so hard to correct everything that happened in our childhood. We want so badly to relive our own younger years…that we overlook ourselves and the example we give to our children. We fight so hard that we are unable to balance….anything. But I’ve had moments of clarity. Moments when I have taught through example and have witnessed the evidence that my girls are taking it in. So I know that it is possible.

But when my four year old wants to escape the reality I have built and sacrificed for her, spinning in the bathroom till she can’t see straight. I feel fear…..

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Confession Time

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The soft, thick, sweetness wraps itself around my mouth and drips down my throat; creating a welcoming exhale during a moment of chaos.

I am an emotional eater.

Always have been as long as I can remember.

Chocolate is definitely a favourite along with spicy sushi, medium rare tenderloin, cheesy risotto, guacamole and vegetables, candycane ice cream…and on and on.

As a child I remember running to the fridge the moment I was alone. I didn’t care what I would find, as long as I could shove something in my mouth without anyone seeing me do it. My relationship with food has always been quite secretive. That’s probably why I started running…to maintain my love of food without having to admit anything.  And thankfully, up to this point, I’ve done a pretty good job of balancing the two.

I’m not complaining…things could be worse…but still at this age I cringe looking into the mirror at times. And I know that I’m more mature than that, and I realize that there are more important things to life than having the outer appearance of what our western subculture dictates as being beautiful…but those feelings are still there.

I was a nude model for painters in NYC for a couple years back in my twenties. It was terrifying and self image boosting. I’ve always forced myself to take those kind of risks, to challenge my perception of myself. Most of the time, I have felt successful.

So now comes the time of year when the most food is enjoyed, the least of your body is seen, when the stress is high and the schedules are frantic. I am confessing this to keep myself accountable. I believe that when I throw my energy out there, honestly…I am more likely to be successful.

So now you know.

I will probably still be secretive with my self perception, and will feel guilty after moments of bingeing…but hopefully I will think before I let either of them get me down. I have two little girls learning by example after all,  and I need them to not inherit this trait of mine.


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I Miss You.

We all miss.

We miss opportunities, appointments, and meetings. We miss certain flavours, activities, routines, and smells. We miss loved ones, friends, even sometimes people we have never met. We miss a simpler reality, a younger age, a moment in time….

What makes us yearn for something other than right now? What is it that makes us feel unsatisfied? Missing the connection with someone in particular, or being so independent that we purposefully miss someone who is right here in front of us. Miss the connection, miss the disconnect.

It’s a tricky little emotion that can be all encompassing.

I miss running. I miss giving into the motion of my body until my mind sinks down into my feet and I want nothing more than to continue. I miss those moments when the pain has evolved from overwhelming to comforting.

I miss my solitude. Struggling to not lose myself within the black silence. Walking the streets hoping to find adventure. I miss that feeling of not being able to control my daily adventures, of not knowing what was around the corner, of being open and ready and willing for something new.

And I miss you.

I miss everything that is not now. Only when it was, I had no clue and missed it. So I miss everything that is not now and I’m missing here right now.

It’s what songs are written from, and where inspiration lives. And perhaps that is why so many inspiring artists live unhappily…the missing continues even when your creating has been completed.

I wonder if accepting is the key. To understand that to miss, is to love, is to express, and to breathe. I’m still breathing…so let the missing continue….

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Till Next Time

Today was a beautiful day. It’s been twelve years since it was this gorgeous on November 28th in Kitchener Waterloo. And as I think back over the years…most of the days that I remember most because of the weather are in November and December. When we expect it the least. When we are prepared for the worst but are blessed with small gems of sunshine.

I remember December 5th 1999 I was walking along the beach in Long Island in a short sleeved shirt. Just before the new millennium, in a city that was not mine, in a relationship that was not right…I remember the beach.

As autumn grows on us here in Canada, any day that contains sunshine and mild temperatures is a gift that we seem to cherish. Those days are like quick winks of reflection after the main event; in this case being summer. Those after shock moments are ultimately better than the headliner because they are unexpected. And we drink those moments in, holding on to them for as long as they will let us. With such definitive seasons, I find that we tend to take summer for granted and enjoy the biggest love affair with autumn mainly out of desperation because we know what’s coming up next. Not that autumn isn’t beautiful…but if it’s sunny and mild even the bare bones of the trees can look luminous.

We are holding on tight. Holding on to the euphoric state of the summer months. Those memories and adventures. The love affairs both enjoyed and missed. Like running into a past lover when we are both unattached; the autumn’s sun is a last hurrah, the last chance to warm our skin before hibernation. Before our bodies become accustomed to being brittle and chapped.

Any time I hear from you I will celebrate and hold on IMG_6918as if it might be the last. I will drink our memories in, enjoy the unexpected and glow from your rays…

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Penises continued….

So if our generation’s mothers taught us in even the slightest way that we are more attractive when we are agreeable. When they suggested that we should dress more ‘respectfully’ for or to attract our spouses. When they encouraged us to spend more time in the kitchen, learn more recipes, find joy serving our families….Technically it could go as far back as how they treated their female babies verses their male babies. Did they dress us in “feminine colours”? Encourage others to handle us more gently than our brothers? Did they feel the need to praise us when we looked pretty, acted pretty, coloured or sang pretty?

Those mothers were also extremely nurturing and selfless. They were and are willing to do anything to make us happy, to say ‘yes’ to our requests and desires, they are all fantastic moms that anyone would wish to have….but they are passing forward what they had learned. Without question they have carried on the traditions that had been passed on to them…

We are now questioning….

It’s not their fault. It just wasn’t time yet. But it is now. And we need to make changes.

Where do we get the idea that we owe men something because they pay us some attention? And why does it always seem to come down to our bodies? We are not obligated to offer our bodies because they pay the cheque or the mortgage…it is not their right and yet so many of us feel that it is…even if our minds fight against it…somehow it is still a turn on to relinquish our power/bodies/dignity. Where does that come from? And why, after all that we question and understand and learn, do we get off on continuing these misogynistic ideas?

A week ago I wrote about penises. I was feeling frustrated with the current state of media, all of the high status men being exposed and their reactions. The #metoo epidemic that revealed the women who have experienced sexual assault and the men who still get away with it daily. I was frustrated and angry and bias.

I don’t have many followers to this blog. Somewhere between 20 and 100 is my max per entry. That’s ok…I’m not trying to make money or win a popularity contest with this thing. But what blew me away was that I had approximately 30 readers that morning and yet not one ‘like’ on facebook the entire day. That was a week ago and I still haven’t received one ‘like’ on that entry. Was everyone afraid to even slightly agree to what I said? Did no one want to ‘touch’ the penis? Cause I’m telling you, some days I don’t either. Maybe it was extremely badly written. That’s entirely possible. I don’t pretend to be a good writer. I definitely love writing…but there are times that I just suck at it. I admit it and accept it. Just like I accept that women in general seem to be more understanding, empathetic, nurturing and apologetic. Natural strengths that we have been blessed with. God’s gift to women…and also our curse.

So do me a favour…please ‘like’ this one. Not because it was well written. Not because you love verbatim what I wrote but because you support me working through these thoughts and ideas. Because you understand the questions that I pose and you’re willing to support me as I work through them. We are all in this together. Male and female. We’ve all got questions and doubts and the more that we offer voices to those…the more that we are willing to have this conversation together…the more we can learn and grow and move forward together….there’s no where else to go but UP.


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I have two little girls and I am concerned. Terrified. Paranoid to the point of paralysis. I have not been away from my eldest daughter for a night yet…and she’s almost eight.

I wonder how little boys go from playing with their penis out of curiosity at the early age of two or three to….demanding and literally expecting, or feeling comfortable owning  their need to insert their dick into someone’s hole like it is their right. With all of these accusations coming out into the open; whether you are a president of the free world, a doctor, producer, teacher, brother…what gives you the right? And what is so damn important about those few seconds of orgasm?

What makes a stupid penis so powerful that we allow it the ability to manipulate us, and change us, and dictate what we do, think, feel, be…..we give it so much power….but it’s just a stupid piece of demanding, selfish flesh that would be just fine if we deprived it of what it really craved.

I worry about my eldest. She is already showing signs of being boy crazy just like her mama. But my youngest girl I don’t worry as much. She speaks her mind and is strong and unapologetic. She will one day be ok. My Sophie will need to be guided as she goes through the same things I did.

But again, why do we need to worry about our girls like this world is filled with scary penis’s that will demand from our girls things they may  not want to give? I don’t mean to dis all men. But the majority both publicaly and privately are assholes. Sorry but true. It’s the majority that makes the rest of us afraid. So blame them.

Listen, we can all be stupid. Why else do women thrive on House Wives of….anything? We envy their money, style and opportunity to over drink, argue, purchase….we envy their lifestyles as crazy as they may be. And by watching their insanity we feel just a little bit better about our situations…and we can envy from a comfortable distance…that is enjoyable and ready for what the lifestyle throws us.

But again I wonder. What makes that oversensitive piece of flesh the ruler of male existence?


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