This is what parenting books don’t tell you—talking about sex with your kid isn’t a rehearsed thirty-minute speech but a fun, ongoing conversation.
This is what parenting books don’t tell you—talking about sex with your kid isn’t a rehearsed thirty-minute speech but a fun, ongoing conversation.
We booked an appointment for Mark when Health Canada approved the Pfizer-BioNTech Comirnaty vaccine for 5 to 11 years old.
If Mark’s corner of the Internet was just “too silly” for 38-year-old me, I’ll be fine with it. But online, there’s a fine line between “silly” and “sinister”.
We did this crazy thing again—we sent Mark to school. Yes, in-person school.
Mark is chatty. When he starts talking about movies, bad guys and other favourite topics, you’re in for a monologue—he could write a longer The Lord of the Rings trilogy.
Two cakes, seven presents, six balloons, two cards, two songs and many pictures later…
I bet I’ve never mentioned that Mark’s real father is a superhero and that my other child is a world-famous YouTuber.
Throughout the school year, shortly before 3 p.m., I would often receive short, cryptic emails from Mark’s school about a “delayed badger” or a “cancelled dog.”
That’s pretty much life with kids. When you least expect it, you get completely overwhelmed by love and a primal instinct to protect, hug, and kiss them.
Tuesdays are now known as the “six mots” day, a weekly homework writing exercise a native French speaker and skilled translator/copywriter/proofreader is struggling to complete.
I take full responsibilities for many parenting mistakes. But Fortnite and Momo? Blame the school.
What are the odds! Every time Mark plays Parcheesi against Bat-Bear, he wins. Crazy.
Parents are often asked if they start feeling like a mother and a father the second they see their newborn—does a kid feel like his parents’ child the moment he is held for the first time?
Parent-teacher meetings are this week. We have the 9:00-9:10 slot. Should be a fun 10 minutes.
My friend's kid is going as a giraffe. Mark is "Georgie", the first kid murdered by Pennywise the clown in "It". Clearly, I failed at parenting.
Happy birthday, Mark. You’ve been looking forward to being 6 for almost a year now. No, we can’t pretend you’re ten. Sorry.
Who are those people who look back at their school years with nostalgia?
I check the lunch box to see if Mark enjoyed his “nutrition break”—no kidding, that’s how the school calls it (classes are “instructional blocks”). There are a couple of flyers inside.
If Mark’s wobbly baby tooth was going to fall out, I was fairly sure it was going to happen at camp.
Mark gives me a weird look, one that says, “I can’t take you seriously as a mother if you’ve never had a freaking marshmallow”.
Thanks to me French upbringing, I’ve been blessed with the ability to say “penis,” “vulva” and “vagina” without giggling or blushing. I can answer any question.