Happy Birthday to you


Today is a very special birthday.

A day does not go by when I don’t feel grateful for having you in my life.

You are the most amazing woman I have ever met. You are strong, loving and brave.

For as long as I can remember you have been a constant in my life. There whenever I need you. And it seems the older I get the more I need you.

Your words of wisdom.  The way you back off when I don’t want advice, just to vent. The way my children light up when they see you and hearing Ben call you his best friend.

Watching you teach your daughters and grandchildren how to make lefse.

Your brown sugar in the old peanut butter container just like grandma Alice had.

Hot chocolate and marshmallows for the kids in the morning when we have sleeepovers.

Shopping, pedicures and wine.


So much love.

Happy 70th birthday to you Mom.




Over the past 10 years I have watched you strive to provide an amazing life for your family. I’ve watched you work late hours and spend hours on your phone.  I’ve watched you struggle with career choices trying to figure out what would be best for our family.

I’ve watched you still make time to play with your kids and make me feel loved.

I’ve watched you bathe babies, throw a football, wipe tears, blow dry your daughters hair, sit on little beds at bedtime and talk about life, pour wine late at night and cook amazing meals for two.

I’ve watched you love and care for this family for 10 years. I’ve watched you make me feel more and more loved every day.

I can’t wait for the day when I’m old and fat and wrinkled and can barely see.

I’ll hold your big crooked hand and we’ll sit and watch the sunset and you’ll tell me I’m beautiful.

And I’ll believe you.

Happy Anniversary.  I’m so glad I found you.





When I woke up this morning I assumed it would be a completely normal, busy day. I assumed it would end like every other day. Football, kids in bed, laundry, dishes, lunches.

Not for a second did I think that at 5.21 pm I would be standing in front of my daughter, clutching an Epi-Pen and promising her she wasn’t going to die after she inadvertently was served a dessert made with milk. I didn’t think I would be giving her Reactine and holding my breath, waiting to see if that would be all she needed, watching her red puffy lips intently in the hopes that the swelling would go down before I was forced to stab her in the thigh with a huge needle. I didn’t think I would be calling her dad and telling him to get in his truck and get to us asap. I didn’t think I would be looking into her trusting eyes, knowing she was waiting for me to make the right move to make her all better. Nor did I think I would find myself in the passenger seat of my car, staring at my daughter while my husband raced down the highway to the Stollery.

But I did do all those things tonight. In the blink of an eye my pretty girl went from giving her brother guidance on good school behaviour to being afraid for her life.

And now that I’ve showered, cried and tucked all my babies into bed, I am thankful.

Thankful that when my child looked at me with fear in her eyes and asked me if she was going to be ok, I could answer yes. I was holding her Epi-Pen in my hand, the phone was beside me in case I needed to call 911, her dad was on his way to her and I could answer yes, she was going to be ok. And the small what if that is always at the back of my mind in these moments was quickly and forcibly silenced.

Thankful for my mother who took my boys to football and then home to shower and go to bed. I didn’t even need to ask. If I’m a good mother it’s because I have a good mother.

Thankful for my dear husband who came the second I called because he would never let our children go through anything scary without him.

Thankful again and always for the Stollery. And for the new children’s emergency with clean large bathrooms where I sat on the floor and cried for exactly two minutes before pulling myself together again to go back to my child.

Thankful to my daughter, who really is the bravest person I know.

That Epi-Pen that I held clutched in my fist for what seemed like forever never did get used. In what was nothing short of a small miracle, the Reactine that I gave her worked and after being examined we were told we could go home.

And the smile that spread across pretty girls face in that moment, sitting on an ER bed wondering what was going to happen, lit up the entire room. And that was the very best part of my day.




I forgot I liked my kid.


Sometimes parenting sucks.

It might suck because you have a newborn who won’t sleep and a toddler who hates the baby and tells you so by pooping all over the new big kid sheet set you bought to “celebrate” taking away the crib.

Maybe you have a preschooler who refuses to brush his teeth and your only options are holding him down and doing it by force or paying the dentist to berate you for your kids plaque and their high potential for cavities. Who really flosses their kids teeth anyway?

Or you have a pre-teen who hates you, loves you, hates you again.

But sometimes, it really sucks.

Because sometimes, you have to sit your kid down, look him in the eye and hear him tell you he believes he is a bad kid. Because this kid gets in more trouble than the other kids. Because you are hard on your kids because you know the world is hard and you want them to really be the best they can be. Because you don’t believe in “boys will be boys” or “kids will be kids”. You believe in “if you screwed up, you will be accountable and you will fix it”.

And then, with that admission, you realize you’ve been so busy trying to stop the crappy behaviour you’ve been forgetting there’s a really awesome kid in there too.

You concentrate so much on the negative you forget how amazing he is.

You see that in trying to get your kid to shine, you’re dulling who he really is.

And then you find yourself sitting down, trying to figure out how to let your kid be his funny, quirky self without managing to piss off every adult within 10 feet.

I’ll let you know when I find an answer…..



Happy Birthday to you


Today you are 5.


When did this happen? When did the baby become the boy?

Somewhere between diapers and dirt, you grew.


I see the toddler you are leaving behind and the boy you are becoming.

The boy who will watch a movie and then spend hours acting it out.

The boy who still wraps his arms around my neck when I carry him to bed every night.

The boy who is counting down the days till he gets to go to kindergarten while I’m counting the minutes I have left before that day comes.


The boy who loves life every day with a passion that is amazing.


Don’t ever stop saying croc-a-dialer.


And don’t ever stop making this face.

Don’t ever stop being you.


Because you are spectacular.

Happy birthday to you Benjamin.

We’re all gonna get worms….


Back in December we had our cat fixed. The vet called us after the operation and said she had a really bad case of worms.


And then she told me kids can get it too.

Umm..are you kidding me?

And then she told me we had to treat all our animals (2 dogs and 2 cats) and also watch our kids for signs of infection. As in..if our baby gets an itchy bum and there are worms in his poop see a doctor.

Seriously. Are you kidding me?

Damn it Fern why do you have to catch all those mice? This is way more work than telling Brett to check the traps and checking my basement for poop.

So anyway, we dewormed them all and I vowed to make sure to never listen to my cheepo husband again when he says we don’t need to do it every three months and the vet is just looking for money.

He’s a liar. A big stupid liar.

Now its been three months so today I spent the afternoon wrapping pills up in cheese slices, again barf. Who actually eats these things?

Then I hunted down two dogs and 1 cat and watched them eat their cheese wrapped pill that would magically make me never again have to worry about worms coming out of my baby’s butt.

Ok really. Actual throw up in my neck.

And then I had to find the asshole cat. The one who doesn’t care if we live or die as long as she can snack on our skin to keep her fat body in tip top shape. The one who will not let us pet her unless she decides it’s ok.

I love cats. Pretty bitches who just don’t care.

I sidle up to her, all smooth talking and slow. I get ahold of her. I offer my cheese/orange plastic wrapped snack and she won’t take the damn thing.

What? You want me to eat out of your hand? So beneath me. Piss off giant human.

So I put the sticky cheesy crap on the ground and slowly pet her, trying to get her to eat the damn thing so she does not infect my babies with her disgusting mice catching diseases.

Then…Rachel comes stomping over. I CAN HELP! She “helpfully” hollers.

No Rachel. That’s not helping.

Shut up Rachel you’re spooking the cat.

Go away Rachel, she isn’t eating the damn cheese and my back is cramping from hunching over her crooning that it’s ok to eat the damn cheese.

So I pick up the cat, head to the garage and then have to try to shove the pill down her throat. In the middle of this exercise Rachel yells out “YOU’RE HURTING HER! STOP!” and then the damn cat ran away.

And no. I did not throw a broom in the general direction of my kid in frustration.

And yes. I’m still looking for the damn cat.


After sneaking around our property last night for at least 1/2 an hour and not finding the damn cat we decided to hide the pill in Brett’s tin of fish snacks (seriously, why do I surround myself with such grossness??) and put it under a tree for to her to eat. She ate around the pill. I caught her this morning, hid in the bathroom with her and shoved the now wet, fishy smelling pill down her throat.

And then I spent 10 minutes dry-heaving and made everybody late.

Cat 1. Andrea 0.

And I deleted my f-bombs because I kept picturing my mother reading them and shaking her head.

Yup, I’m almost 35 and my mom managed to make me feel guilty without even talking to me. Or looking at me. Or even knowing she did it.

Well played Mother.

Well played.