Imagine never feeling well and having doctors diagnose you with a different illness each time you sought help. Imagine health providers blaming your mental state for a disease that you would later discover had been the cause of your suffering all along. And then imagine realizing that your infection had been passed to your kids, and this particular disease is so not funded in Canada, making accurate diagnosis and treatment extremely limited. Such was the case with Tanis Michelsen, who has since become an advocate for the recognition and treatment of lyme disease.
We’re in the home-stretch of summer and my kids are getting fidgety. I don’t want them constantly watching TV or allowing them to morph into screen zombies, and yet their creativity is waning. Sending them outside on bug hunts, creating forts and harvesting their gardens has come and gone. We all know how crucial toys, games and play are for a child’s development, but sometimes we all run out of ideas. Thankfully we found a way to power up the imagination!
When I was fifteen years old I met my future husband at band camp. We were married five years later and as we approach our 20th anniversary (yes—you mommy math whizzes—that makes me 40), and I prepare to send my own kids to camp, I find myself reminiscing about that momentous summer. And being pretty freaked out about what my kids are about to do.
Looking back, it’s clear that motherhood has tamed me.
Not that I was jumping out of airplanes, or burning my bra in the good old days—but I certainly wasn’t the Pinterest-loving, laundry maiden that I am now, either. Life before kids was something entirely other.
As a dedicated mother of two, my days consist of order, routine and responsibility. I bend to the will of my children, and my entire existence is spent keeping them safe, happy and healthy. But, there was a time—before the days of yoga pants and early bedtimes—that I wasn’t quite so organized and responsible.
Before mom-hood, I was a small town girl who liked beer and football on Friday nights— fancy wasn’t really my thing. I worked in a small salon and threw darts with my friends on Sundays. We preferred hole-in-the-wall bars with mismatched carpet; I’d take denim over lace any day of the week.
Like many parents, as I read about how Rio De Janeiro has been preparing for the 2016 Summer Olympic Games, I can’t help but think of my children.
Their dreams, yes. Their aspirations and opportunities, of course. But more specifically, as I find myself staring at a photo of Guanabara Bay, which bbc.com captioned a “stinking mass of sewage, household rubbish and industrial pollutants,” and depicts a Disney backpack floating among piles of fabric and filth and plastic things that I do not recognize—I see a very strong similarity to their bedrooms.
In fact, as I drink my coffee from a mug that has “World’s Gre test om” lovingly inscribed on the side, by a company that hawks them to school children at book fairs across the country, I realize that there are many crossovers between the Olympics and raising children. Except that with parenting, no-one really goes home with the gold.
I grew up in the water and for me, swimming is just like walking. It comes naturally—or I always assumed it did. As a child I took lessons at the local club, where the instructors threw me in the deep end, shouting that there were alligators under the grates. I’m sure the throwing in was done ‘safely’, but it was terrifying and to this day my heart rate goes up when I swim over filters and grates in the bottom of the pool. After that particular set of lessons, my mother apologized, she enrolled me at the public pool and I learned to swim in a fun, safe, encouraging environment.
Aaah, August – the month where summer excitement turns to ‘I’m BORED!’. CTV asked me to come up with a few summer boredom busters, and the whole family had a blast creating these experiences that not only teach life skills but create heirlooms to pass along through the generations.
There’s more to me than being a mom. Or at least, there used to be. I had a kick-ass job in which I got to travel the world and into dangerous countries. I have been to Iraq, Afghanistan, Qatar, Oman, Russia, Colombia, and further afield. I’ve lived long periods of time in France and Germany. I speak French quite well. I know how to shoot guns and how to (basically) survive in the woods. (I wouldn’t really want to test those skills, but I’d like to think if the Zombie Apocalypse ever came upon us, I could kick ass and take names with the best of them.)
But I might have been the only person in my life who cared about those things. My new mom-centric world consisted of helping my son complete his 30 Day FREE Coding Challenge, getting snacks and more snacks for my daughter, teaching my youngest how to swim, separating and referee-ing arguments, monitoring screen time (and did I say getting snacks?) These somewhat mundane tasks, added to housework, meal prep, and so forth, left me with little time for me. For remembering who I was and exploring who I would or could still be.
My toddler and I were playing on the floor just inside the door. We saw you through the glass window above the knocker and thought you saw us too. I smiled and you turned away so quickly, I guessed you were in a reverie or on the clock. Perhaps the sunlight was too strong outside, I thought.
My son was enthralled to see a piece of paper suddenly appear through the door. He grabbed it and spent several minutes trying to return it to the other side, but the protective shutter wouldn’t allow it to flap both ways. Returning to the shoe mountain he had been working on, the flyer sat forgotten on the slot ledge.
The village of Mont Tremblant is nestled in the Laurentian Mountains in Québec, Canada. It’s well known as a popular winter destination because of the fabulous Mont Tremblant Ski Resort. The village is lesser known as a summer destination, but it is a wonderful place to stay in the summer because of the numerous family activities available. The region is dotted with sparkling clean lakes, deep arboreal forests, and amazing mountain ranges.