Dear Brother,

*for those who grew up with a sibling that was your best friend and confidant....you may not understand the following. Read at your own risk, and....you missed out. 

I am the big sister. I am the only sister. And my little brother is the only brother. For the mathematicians: that means there was two of us. 

Dear brother, 

I remember when you were born. I proudly announced to the world that 'I. Was. A. Sister!'....(no mention that I had a brother)...up and until this point in my life, I was the centre of the universe, why should things change now? 

Being nearly 4 years apart and of the opposite sex, you had very little to offer. You monopolized Mom's time,...you had my room moved to the attic,...and you were perfect. Ugh. The worst little brother. Ever. 

Although I gave you several examples of behaviour to emulate, you chose a different path. The slamming of doors you changed to quiet, forlorn exits. The screaming back, you substituted an agreeable response. The imbalanced personality, you presented an even, congenial temperament. YOU. WERE. IMPOSSIBLE. 

Lucky for you, I read my sibling handbook and ensured you got the full treatment. Imagine if you made it to adulthood without experiencing freshly ground pepper in your nose? Or what if you never were locked out of rooms? Or, henpecked!? To you, my dear brother, I say: YOU ARE WELCOME. 

You see, what you brought to the table, was sweetness. Your even keel personality and easy-to-get-along-with attitude was boring. Knowing what to expect from you and you delivering exactly the expectation....pfffft. Amateur. 

I ensured both Mom and Dad had someone to direct their discipline. I gave them reasons to try new approaches. I drew the line in the sand (or pushed the envelope...semantics). YOU ARE WELCOME. 

And now as adults, you don't hold any of that over my head. In fact, you are even quiet about being Mom and Dad's favourite. What's with you? Have you no shame? 

And now we are the parents. Your children are sweet.  Kind.  Conscientious. Where as mine...well, let's just say they don't fall far from the ol' tree. So ha! Who's laughing now!? 

With love, 

Sar 

*p.s. You may not make up for opportunities lost as a kid when you are an adult. It's considered a criminal offence (in most cases). 

xo

Dear Children,

*Reader: you may disagree with the following, or even think I am being critical of your own personal parenting approach,...and I suppose this is where I ought to apologize ... But I won't. If you disagree, that's your prerogative, if you feel picked on, oh well. 

Dear Children, 

I am not your best friend. My intent is not to have you like ME, but rather to ensure that the rest of the world likes YOU. My job is not to shower you with gifts and be your personal entertainer....I am not your maid, butler or chauffeur (although it appears that way a significant portion of the time). 

My job is dirty. 

When they say 'this hurts me more than it hurts you', I think the 'theys' who coined that phrase were moms like me. 

I can't catch you every time you fall. You need to learn how to fall on your own. And more importantly how to get up by yourself when you do so. Trust me, failure is part and parcel of life and how you manage it, is what separates the wheat from the chaff. Yes, I know 'Johnny's' mom swoops in and "fixes" things with the teacher, coach, and boss...but here is the scoop:  they are not helping Johnny. You, my dear child get to practice navigating your own speed bumps. You get to have the uncomfortable conversations. You get to be responsible for your actions.  You get to do the leg work.  You get to own your mistakes. Because when you do, you also earn the bragging rights for your accomplishments. 

My job is not easy. When you fall I want nothing more than to make it all better for you. I would love to shield you from every broken heart and painful moment....but that is an impossibility, so what I can do...what I must do, is give you tools to navigate solo. 

When you fall I am close by. I am here to aid in problem solving and to coach and cheer you on.  My job is to ensure you will be successful at getting back up when I am not an arms lengths away to extend a helping hand. 

Those "A's" you received on your report card, you earned. I did not do your homework for you, I did not talk to the teacher/principal, I did not remind you to do homework or study. You did it all on your own. Those "A's" are yours. Well done. And NO, you don't get $ or a gift for earning them, you get pride. 

That team you want to play on...you found out when registration was. You put in the work at practice.  You practiced in the driveway/yard/basement and got better. I didn't get you a sport specific tutor. I didn't speak to the coaches.  You earned your spot on the team because it was important to you. And from the sidelines, where I watch you, I too have pride...pride in YOU. 

My sweet, sweet kiddos, I know it would seem I am not helping....oh but I am. One day, perhaps in the distant future, when the world is in utter like with you, you will see that all the times you didn't like me, I was loving you in the biggest way. 

Love, Mom. 

Team player

I have been lucky. I have had the opportunity to play on MANY teams. Some as a kid, others as a teen, and then as a young adult. Soccer, ringette, hockey, basketball, volleyball, handball, badminton (well, that was doubles and all I really did was take up space..)..and through it all I have learned some valuable lessons. 

You win as a team, you lose as a team. A victory shared is twice the accomplishment and a loss shared is half the set back. 

Being the all-star is a great time to recognize those that aided in your success. Spread the wealth. Be gracious. Raise up your teammates.  Thank your coach. Be classy.  Always. 

Being on the bench sucks. Never be happy to sit.  Be hungry to improve. But don't let that sour you.  Be supportive of those on the court. Everyone has a role. Do yours as best as you can, and then... DO IT BETTER. 

Don't practice so that you can get it right.  Practice so that you can't get it wrong. 

Wear black bottoms (be it shorts, sweats, tights)...you will eventually pee your pants. Big effort = greater likelihood of leakage (learned this lesson in bright red shorts...). 

When your coach says hit it as HARD as you can, you may fart. Or in my case, you will...(DID). Other than wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole, I understood how hard, 'hard' was. 

Mostly it is in your head. Being mentally tough will make the physical mountains smaller. Whether you think you can or you think you can't ... You are right. 

Play every game like it may be your last. Because one day it is, and we often didn't realize it would be.

 Stay happy & healthy

Being a Mom

Once upon a time, I thought being a mom would be a piece of cake. That belief was BEFORE I was a parent. I was one of those people who had preconceived notions of how it was to be done. I was judgey of those in the throes that appeared to be struggling. I would of course be perfect because my little love nuggets would be perfect. 

Karma is a bitch. 

Enter children. Sigh, parenthood. Fun to make, & considerably less fun to raise. 

We spend the first two years encouraging our children to walk and talk and then for all the years to follow: to sit down and shut up. 

It is a thankless job this parenting gig.

Nobody wants what is for dinner, unless it is the small leftovers that are on your plate and your plate alone. Then the food they hated last night looks delicious and they beg and scavenge like vultures because they loathe what is in front of them tonight.  

Never. Ending. Laundry. Balls of socks, inside-out jeans, shirts INSIDE sweatshirts, belts in pants...and then when it is finally washed they have outgrown it. I may be a poor laundress but these kids grow overnight. I swear. 

Speaking of swearing, child #1 was corrected and punished for using words such as dummy and stupid. By child #4, my main concern is that she is using the words correctly (which she does, I am an excellent role model) and not in front of teachers...I keep excellent mom-friends who wouldn't notice. 

Dishes. Piled ON TOP of the empty dishwasher. STACKED in the sink.  

The inability to return things to their rightful spot, but the ability to remove it from the said spot. 

Eg: kitchen scissors are always in the kitchen when they need them. When I need them, they may be in the bathroom, under a couch cushion, on a dresser, or in the sand box. At least I know where to look. 

Domestic blindness. Not being able to find what they need. Of course never making a serious effort to locate the item, but search is unnecessary when all they need to do is whine, give-up, throw a fit and basically dare me to find it. 

Since we are on the topic of a misplaced item: Footwear in the morning. Shoes have a spot when they are not on one's feet. At least in a perfect world. But every morning, after I have given a 10 minute warning for departure time, a shoe is missing. The victim of the missing shoe is so beside themself that they have not packed their backpack, grabbed their lunch, nor put on their coat within the allotted timeframe. Why would they do anything else when a shoe is missing!? More often than not the sad little shoe is hiding under the coat that is not on the shoeless party. This is only after I have given myself a headache from yelling. (Don't judge me). 

Bedtime. It shouldn't come as a surprise, afterall they have had a bedtime EVERY night since they were born, yet every night I must remind, coax, threaten, and beg. Don't get me wrong, I love my children, but I have a limit. I have mentally prepared myself for 'x' number of wakeful child hours. If a child falls outside of those hours, outsiders will question my love for these children. 

But then they sleep. The grubby, perpetually hungry, needy, thankless, little beasts catch z's and they are perfect. My little love nuggets are perfect. I must be doing something right. 

Stay happy & healthy 

Jo:Moma 

I will never be.

I will never be a super model. 

I will never work for NASA. 

I will never go to Princeton on a scholarship, be a trust fund kid, or be 17 again. 

The list of 'I will never' could be depressing. 

But it is actually, awesome. 

I will never let someone take up space in my head rent free. 

I will never take for granted how fortunate I am to be a Mom. 

I will never forget my friends past or present. 

I will never stop loving the joy of decorating a Xmas tree. 

I will never dislike sport and the lessons I learned. 

I will never stop loving stick shifts, drive-in movies, pizza delivery, and letters. 

I will never judge a friend regarding their love life, religion, or parenting approach...okay, maybe a little...but I will never let it get in the way of being a shoulder to lean on, a wall to bounce stuff off of, or a bag to punch. 

I will never stop being thankful that I get to choose who I love, how I live, and what I am. 

I will never be a super model, but I will never be sorry about that. 

Stay happy and healthy,

Jo:Moma 

I see you

Hey kid I see you. 

I see you sitting on the bench the entire game. 

I see you cheering for your teammates on the court. 

I see you volunteering to do the lines. 

I see you. 

I see you stand up at the time out and watch my face and listen to my words. 

I see you look at the line up that doesn't have your name on it.  

I see you lead the team in the cheer. 

I see you. 

I see you show up to practice on time. 

I see you giving 100%.  

I see you trying. 

I see you. 

You may not have been on the floor when your teammates won. You may not have any stats by your name at the end of the game. You may not need to wash your jersey at the end of the match. But YOU are why we win. 

You recognize that fair doesn't mean same playing time. You get what TEAM is. You, are awesome. 

In a world where most are awarded for just signing up, you do more than that. You celebrate the wins and allow your heart to break on the losses. You see yourself as a part of the whole. And guess what... You are. 

I see you. 

Thank you for being someone to watch. 

You have already won. 

Love, 

Your coach

Jo:Moma 

It's federal Election Day. For months now I have been privy to political posts of my friends and lawn signs of my neighbours. I found it eye opening to learn who has opposing views to mine and often I was irritated. How stupid could these people be? Do they not read small print? Are they sheep? Are they interested in me unfriending them? ....

But truth be told: HOW EFFN AWESOME is it that we live in a country where we can voice a differing opinion? How incredibly lucky am I to have friends who are interested in how we are governed? 

Regardless of the voting outcome there has been discussion. There has been passion. There has been thought (maybe ;) ). 

So what the heck does this have to do with health and fitness? Everything. YOU get to choose. YOU get to decide how you fuel your body.  You get to decide where, when, how you make it sweat. You get to wear whatever blows your skirt up (if you choose to wear a skirt), because YOU are privileged enough to live where 'exercise' and 'diet' can be something you worry about. 

Take advantage. 

Be your own health and fitness coach. 

Nobody's vote on your body is counted. 

Happy Election Day my lovelies. 

Stay happy & healthy

Jo:Moma