If I had One More Day

If I had one more day, I would tell you a million times how much I love you.

If I had one more day, I would hold you for the whole 24 hours.

If I had one more day, I would tell you I am sorry. Sorry for all the times I was mad, for all the times I was frustrated and maybe not so nice. I would tell you that you are the most special person in the whole world, and hold you to your promise to never grow too big for me to cuddle.

I would let you play in the rain. I would roll around in mud puddles with you, and smear ketchup all over our faces. I would have a food fight, and leave the mess until the morning so we could watch a Star Wars. I would give you ice cream for breakfast (more than just once), and let you eat cake for lunch – with vegetables for dessert. I would play dress up and Lord of the Rings and have sword fights. I would build bed-sheet forts in the backyard, with the good sheets, and tear them to pieces in an instant if we needed costumes.

If I had one more day, I would try to tell you all the wonderful things about the world, and but not about how dark they went when you left it. I would carry you around all day, and not care how heavy you were. I would spend (more) time making silly faces and drawing on the walls.

I would show you all the things, 873 times over if you wanted, and answer every single question with a real answer. We would eat  popcorn in bed, and go to the park whenever you wanted.

Because of you, we do those things, your dad and me, with your baby sister. We know the value of an hour, a minute, a second. I wish we never had to learn the value so acutely, but we did. You are there, with us, in her eyes and her giggles and squeals, and the ridiculous way she holds her spoon. You two would have had so much fun driving me crazy. The holes in our hearts will never heal, but are held together by our memories and the love for you that will never, EVER, die.

If only we could have just one more day…just one.


Football Heartbreak & Ray Rice

A lot of stuff has been swirling around about Ray Rice and the NFL this week.

I don’t know how to process my feelings.

As a female, I am disgusted and outraged at his behavior, and Roger Goodell’s lax response, until yesterday, about it. I am sad for Janay Palmer (Janay Rice? They married a month after the beating, after all), and, enmeshed in sympathy, more than a little anger with her for staying with him.

As a football fan, more specifically a die-hard Ravens fanatic and (former) Ray Rice devotee, I am heartbroken. Disappointed doesn’t even begin to describe it.

To think that I revered so much someone who is capable of such appallingly violent behaviour sickens me.

The career of an exceedingly talented running back is in the toilet, and I hope it remains there. 3-time Pro-bowler…. the only player in Ravens history to rush for 1,000 yards in four consecutive seasons….leader in yards from scrimmage….second-leading rusher in franchise history.

That is some serious football promise right there. All killed by a penchant for violence, and what I am sure is an enormous ego – only someone with an ego the size of the fields he plays on can expect to get away with behaviour like this.

As far as the team is concerned….I don’t know how to feel. I am proud that they (FINALLY) terminated his contract.


But after the tweet heard ’round the world, I am not sure how to move forward. I have loved the Ravens until now, and I don’t know that I can continue to support a management team that would back a message that essentially lays at least 50% of the blame for Rice’s violence at Ms. Palmer’s feet. I am sure she has her part to play in the argument they were clearly having, but nothing she could have done can justify Rice’s actions.

Playing in any professional sport is a PRIVILEGE, not a right. I am heartbroken that this talent will be missing from the game I love. I am overjoyed that the game I love has taken a stand (again, FINALLY) against domestic violence.

I have a daughter. I am going to raise her in sports, and hopefully with a love of football, which both her father and I share. I am also going to teach her that no amount of violence is acceptable, from any person – not me, not her father, not her husband, not her friend – ANYONE.

They have a daughter. And if Ms. Palmer stays in the relationship, she will raise yet another woman who will accept violent behavior from a man. Sad.

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Dear Internet: It’s Not Me, It’s You

I used to love the internet. You know, before my baby – when I could look at cat videos, peruse useless websites for rabbitholes on end….sigh. We had such a good thing going, me and the Internet. It was a mutually supportive relationship, and I bathed in the glory of my excessive and procrastinatory hours spent doing “research”.

Shortly into my maternity leave, the Internet turned on me. Sure, it was still a useful tool to search for information, provided you were looking for ways to imagine your baby had an incurable disease, and/or diagnose that headache as an embolism. All of a sudden, the Internet’s sole purpose was to make me feel like the worst mother in the world. I always believed the Internet loved me back, until I saw the relationship for what it really was, and all the ways the Internet was killing “Us”.

Pinterest. I could end this post right now with that one word. You know what I mean.

Bento Boxes. Separate all the lunch ingredients….wait, there should be more than one ingredient?!? Ain’t nobody got time for that.

“Time-saving” Meals. No, they are not. Kraft Dinner is a time-saving meal. So are waffles. Spending 6 hours on a Sunday separating dinner ingredients into ‘convenient baggies’ to toss into my slow -cooker at 4 a.m. is not saving anyone anything.

Repurposing. Actually, that one is kind of cool. Just this morning I had to use my husband’s toothbrush in a pinch to comb my daughter’s hair! All over this one.

“847 Awesome Activities for Kids!” I see we’re back to Pinterest again. I definitely want to do fun and cool things with my kids, but, in my humble opinion, building a 4-storey tree house complete with Martha Stewart throw pillows does not belong on that list.

Mommy Blogs. I know, I know!!!! But I was reading all the WRONG ones. I weeded them out, thankfully, and now have a wicked network of REAL MOM bloggers. You know, the moms who drink and bitch as much as me!

Daddy Blogs. Internet was hiding these from me!!!! Outsmarted it, though, and found a bunch. Suck it, Internet – I am on to you. Hi, Dads!!

Parenting Styles. I never really actually looked that up….I never felt the need to. I was pretty sure I was just going to figure it out as I went, but then I realized I had to pick a style!! Winging it was not allowed!! Oh the humanity.

Wanting to be a Working Mom. I actually had a good friend make me feel less of a person for looking for daycare.  Yes, going back to work sucks on many levels – having to put on clothes is awful. But it also rocks on an equal number of levels – two words: peeing alone, eating ALL my lunch, eating lunch, drinking coffee while it’s hot, speaking to adults, driving alone, and peeing alone. Did I mention peeing alone? Stop making me feel guilty for wanting to pee alone, Internet.

The Internet made me insecure….it isolated me from my friends and tried to browbeat me into buying in to the ‘mommy wars’. It knew I was a rookie mom and tried to exploit me. I thought I was loving with my eyes open, but I see now that I was wrong.

Through the fog of love lost, I am slowly finding my way back to fondness for you, Internet. I have shed my web naivete, and am seeing you through new eyes. Eyes that will never, ever, ever, have time to plan the perfect playdate or to make little people out of vegetables.

Wait, is that how you get kids to eat them?? I’ll Google it.

Ice Bucket Challenges & My Two Cents

I was nominated. I didn’t do it. I didn’t donate either. I would like to thank my friend Sarah for the nomination, and for not shaming me when I didn’t respond to her nomination and didn’t complete it (I am not going to lie: there was no way I was pouring ice cold water over my head, for charity or otherwise), but I do intend to donate, when I can – some times are financially better than others.

I see people bitching about the Ice Bucket Challenges, and that it doesn’t actually benefit ALS. Of course it doesn’t! You could dump a bucket of penicillin over your head and it wouldn’t cure a cold. But that was never the point.

Someone has thought of something ‘fun’ to do (fun for who, I’ll never know – not me!) while drawing attention to a disease that needs dollars for research – and yes, all diseases need that. If that is your argument, go dump a bucket on your head for cancer! It’s not the dumping that matters, it’s the donating – just like running doesn’t cure cancer, and donating clothes doesn’t cure diabetes. It’s the funds raised from the DOING of those things that could cure cancer, and diabetes, and ALS, and every other incurable disease you can think of.

No, not all of the people who did it donated money. But you know what they did do? They donated their time to ALS. They helped bring attention to it and spread the word, which in turn probably garnered more donations. Certainly, fortunately, the letters ‘ALS’ have never been spoken more frequently in my life than it has in the last few weeks, so what does that say about the success of this challenge?

So before you go crapping all over people who are doing these ice bucket challenges for not getting serious about ALS, maybe the problem is yours. For me, there is no better way to get serious about something than getting silly over it first.

2nd baby at 39: WTF or FTW?

I don’t know how I got here – I mean, I DO, I drove here….come on, I am not that far gone.

I mean HERE – in this year, at this age, with a 14-month-old, and contemplating a second one that will be born when I am all the way down the slope to 40. I have to remind myself of my age sometimes; I certainly don’t FEEL like I am on the brink of 40. At least, not the way I thought it should feel – toothless, contrary, out of touch with today’s youth (ok, that part might be happening – what is WITH the ‘YOLO’ and duckface??). I still FEEL like one of those youths – minus the duckface – which is why I keep thinking about baby #2.

Tick, tock, bioclock; but It’s not a desperation to make babies while I still can. It’s because I don’t want my daughter to be alone when we go, it’s because I want another baby, it’s because Hubs wants one, it’s because we both wanted a few )it’s not from lack of want or trying that it took so long), it’s because we still feel invincible, even after all we have been through.

I don’t think that feeling ever goes away. My father, at 67, just had his hip replaced 5 weeks ago. My mother finally threw up her hands and let him figure out for himself that he could not move around as much or as quickly as he used to. And I find myself reminding him of that too – which, Dad, I am officially going to stop doing, and with apologies!

So it doesn’t occur to me, either, that there are things that I shouldn’t be doing at my age, because as far as I am concerned I haven’t got there yet. Until, of course, I calculate my daughter’s age in ten years AND my age in ten years. Which sucks on the face of it, but consider that she will be finishing post-secondary studies right around my retirement age…which means we better hurry up, or that nest will not be as empty as I am sure we’ll want it, by then.

So. WTF or FTW?? I’ll let you know in 9-10 months.


vodka, among other things.


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