I’m not always completely honest with my kids, and it is done in the best interests of all parties. It’s not like outright lying to them – more like faking it. These top the list:

1) I fake that I like food.
Don’t get me wrong – I like food, but not the way most people seem to. For example, I would never in a million years cook myself something to eat. You see, the work involved is not worth the result. I’m quite happy having a bowl of cereal for dinner. But, I feel like I have to be a good food role model for my kids. So, I may tell them that I had a soup and salad for lunch, when in reality it may have been a Kit Kat.

2) I fake that I was good at math in school.
When someone asks a math trivia question, I have an easy out. I just say I don’t know because I suck at math. It recently occurred to me that I don’t want my kids to hear me say that. Why? Because it’s an excuse not to try. Accepting how much I suck at math has somehow given me a free pass from having to do anything mathematical. I don’t want my kids thinking they can have free passes. Not yet. They don’t think they suck at anything and I’d like to keep it that way.

3) I fake that I think the Olympics are super exciting.
Other than some recent hockey excitement, I generally don’t get all that jazzed about the Olympics. My total watching time included only one period of one hockey game. Even if I was terribly interested in the Games, I’m not sure where I’d find the time to commit to watching them. I mistakenly told the kids they could stay up for the Opening Ceremony without knowing anything about the start time being a full hour after bedtime. Regardless, I mustered up some fake excitement, got out the craft supplies, dressed in the appropriate colours and cheered the kiddos on as they created a medal count chart and drew some flags to hang around the house. Certainly watching them get all excited helped out where I was lacking.

One day my kids will realize that they have a mother who will call chocolate lunch, is mathematically challenged and athletically uninspired. But that day does not have to be today. What are your dirty little mama secrets?

50 years ago my Aunt Joan was born. Hers has not been an average life. She arrived prematurely, possibly having an unfortunate run-in with the umbilical cord on the way out. Regardless of the cause, she has had a special place in our family because she did not develop in a typical manner.

From all accounts, it was not easy in those early years. The doctors made grim predictions about Joan’s future based on what they thought her IQ was. Grandma once threw a social worker out of her house for suggesting that Joan should be removed from the family and raised elsewhere.

She was the seventh born in a big Irish family and everyone rallied around their baby Joan, sharing feeding responsibilities and surrounding her with love and support. Joan was a part of that family and although it was a family forever changed, from their enlightened perspective, they were better for it. To this very day she lives with my grandparents who are in their mid-nineties.

Joan is a remarkable person. Embraced by a supportive school and staff, she has spent the last 25 years working as a classroom helper in a centre for children with special needs and who are medically fragile. Joan has a special place at Mabel’s Labels as well. She helps out when brochures need to be stickered, she decorates posters and cards for special events and contributes her famous brownies for staff functions. Most of all, she is our biggest fan. If you’ve ever been on a city bus and had the woman next to you ask if you have Mabel’s Labels, chances are it was Aunt Joan. She hands out her Mabel’s Labels business card to anyone and everyone – a business card which appropriately lists her job title as “Superstar”.

To get the full picture of the positive impact Joan has on those around her, let me tell you how her 50th birthday was celebrated:

- The school board threw a surprise party for her. 50 staff members and retired staff were in attendance to celebrate;
- Our family had a surprise dance party/open house. More people than I could count were in attendance;
- Of those people at the dance party, a ridiculous number of us were wearing t-shirts featuring Joan’s picture and the words ‘Joan is a Superstar’;
- Even the babies in the family got involved. They all wore custom-made shirts that said “Great-Aunt Joan is a Superstar”.

I know when we all have babies we want them to be perfect in every way. However, Joan has taught me that sometimes it’s only when they are not “perfect” that they are able to become Superstars.

So we’ve made it to February, which is usually the time when folks have either fallen off the New Year’s resolution wagon or take a step back to assess how they are doing.

I am happy to report that I am doing great! OK, it might have something to do with the fact that I don’t really do resolutions. My theory is that I suffer enough. So, while I’m raising small kiddos, I get a resolution “free pass”. Do we mamas really need extra stress and self induced pressure?

I get that everyone wants to be healthy and lose a few pounds. I’ve got a postcard on our fridge that has an illustration of a goddess woman, with the words “Can you pinch an inch? Do you give a shit?” It’s just a reminder that maybe mamas need to cut ourselves a bit of slack – a few pounds and an extra inch or two is a small price to pay for getting to grow humans in our bodies.

Rather than putting pressure on myself this year, I am relieving myself of it. I have two examples:

1) My photo dilemma: I had five years worth of unprinted photos hanging around my neck like an albatross. I finally admitted that there was no time in the foreseeable future that I could dedicate to this project, and it was only getting bigger with each photo taken. A quick Facebook status update asking if anyone was up for a project put an end to my photo woes. Project has now been completely outsourced. The weight that has been lifted from my shoulders is indescribable.

2) The next outsource came in the shape of a teenaged homework helper who has a 95% average in French Immersion. My son’s FI was causing me an incredible amount of stress. My lack of French rendered me useless – throw in the fact that I don’t really get Gr. 5 Science either and I was a complete waste of space. Now, three times a week my angel teenager relieves me of that aggravation. My son does well on his homework, understands the material and I am no longer pulling my hair out every evening.

Outsourcing these little projects certainly ends up costing a mama a few bucks, but I am a strong believer that at whatever cost, you can’t put a price on mama’s sanity!

This week I was feeling a little glum. I had a few close calls with the kiddos that really threw me off my game.

One kid didn’t hold the bus buddy’s hand on the way to the bus stop the other day. She stepped onto the road but jumped back quickly when a driver honked. I spent the rest of the day feeling like I was going to puke.

The very next day, I left baby alone rolling around on the floor to put something in the garbage. When I returned 10 seconds later he seemed to be doing something weird with his mouth. After some serious fishing, I pulled out the remnants of an old balloon. Gasp. I don’t even know where it came from. And here I thought I left him in a safe place.

So in my world, I had a couple of near disasters, though I find it a bit weird using that word in light of Haiti.

I didn’t want to hide Haiti from my big kids. We went on the Internet and heard political leaders speak about the tragedy and watched some Haiti footage. I even told them about all the deaths. I know they will have an answer to the question “Where were you when you heard about the earthquake in Haiti?”

It was a teachable moment and if I played my cards right, they would experience appropriate empathy and feel empowered to help without being totally traumatized. We made a family plan about how we, as a family, were going to response to this tragedy. Our plan included a donation made by me and the Daddy-o. In exchange, the kids had to decide what they were going to give up so that we would have the funds available. It was important to me that they had to do without so that we could give. In addition, each child contributed all of their “donate” money. Each week the biggies get allowance and it is divided between their “spend”, “save” and “donate” piggy banks.

It all ended in tears (by me) when my 10-year-old son asked if he could be a rescue worker and go over the Haiti to help out. Maybe one day.

Did you tell your kids? How much information did you share? Do you worry about protecting them from such news? Does your family plan to help in any way? Please share!

Around our house, we have great fun celebrating Christmas. This year was also fantastic, with one exception. Nagging at me all day was how baby boy was breathing. Not good.

At 7:30pm I couldn’t take it anymore and made the trip down to the hospital. Before getting admitted, they put us in the trauma room to get him on some oxygen and begin other treatments.

I was sitting there holding a ventolin mask over his screaming face, telling myself that the situation sucked. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, and a lot sorry for my baby boy. It was no way for my little man to spend his first Christmas, thought I.

Then I had a quick reality check. The guy on the other side of the curtain, who seemed to be getting treatment for pain of sorts, started speaking:

Guy: “Nurse? I kinda feel like killing myself”

Nurse: “Hmmm, what are you thinking about doing?”

Guy: “I dunno, maybe cut my wrists, find a gun or take some pills”

Nurse: “Do you have a gun?”

Guy: “No”

Nurse: “OK, we can have a chat with the Doctor about all this”

I looked down at my wheezing boy and thought about the guy on the other side of the curtain. What was his first Christmas like? How would his mother feel if, on his first Christmas, she knew that in about 40 more years he’d feel like killing himself on Christmas Day?

I gave my baby boy an extra squeezy hug and decided my Christmas didn’t suck after all.

So this baby of mine has been a chronic bronchiolitis guy. I’ve never had a bad breather so it’s all new and exciting. In fact, I’m just home from a few days in the hospital with him. Throw some pneumonia into the bronchiolitis mix and you’ve got yourself a weekend pass to paediatric paradise. Baby and I have had the pleasure of spending quality time together wrestling ventolin masks and guzzling pediapred.

Being such a chesty baby, both his sleep and mine have been pretty dodgy over the last few months. Baby’s breathing antics paired with the shenanigans of some of his finer siblings has seen my usual 5-6 hours of sleep a night dwindle to the 3-4 hour mark. It’s not much, but we all know that mama steps up to the plate when she has to, and we can’t underestimate the power of a bit of adrenaline.

Last Saturday night Daddy-o announced that I was to go to bed, shut the door and have a night of uninterrupted sleep. He was volunteering for night duty – sleeping elsewhere and ready to respond to each and every night-time disturbance.

Imagine my shock (OK, pretend shock) when at 4:00am Daddy-o comes bursting through the bedroom door. He was all disheveled with red eyes and crazy hair. He looked as though he’d been sleeping in the wilderness for days. Out of his mouth came the words we mamas have often felt but rarely said: “I can’t do it anymore! Help me!”

Uh dude, you know I do this every day, right?

Since I had already had more sleep than I’m used to and was feeling as fresh as a spring morning, I let him off the hook. He settled into bed feeling all defeated and in awe of me.

I’ve got some mama friends who are exceptional at making milk. I’ve got other mama friends who are incredibly skilled at tricking their kids into eating veggies. It would seem my specialty is getting by on very little sleep. It is a talent that serves me better than any musical or artistic genius would. So what are you good at? Can you predict and intercept a toddler fall before it happens? Perhaps you breastfeed, dress a toddler and get ready for work all at the same time? Do you have some ridiculous mama talent that in any other circles would not exactly count as “talent”?

Picture of SIL and business partner, Julie Ellis, teaching me the ropes. She has survived parenting two chesty babies.

There are a few things that are irresistible about the Holiday Season:

1) Dressing your kids like idiots. Yes, I dressed my daughter in a Santa suit dress for her violin recital. Why? Because I can.

2) Elf Yourself – really, we can spend hours doing this using different combinations of family members. Go on, have a look: http://elfyourself.jibjab.com/view/XIf7mBPW2SSHOgIG

3) ‘Tis the season to throw all parenting rules out the window. The notion of Santa watching for good behaviour is really just a combination of bribery and empty threats.
Bribery: “If you are good, Santa will bring you presents.”
Empty Threats: “If you are naughty Santa won’t bring you presents”.
Yeah right, I know some pretty naughty kids who have never woken up to lumps of coal in their stockings.

So go on, take advantage of your bad parenting free pass and be sure to engage in what at any other time of year would be considered cheesy behaviour. I’m enjoying every minute of it!

Today marks the 20th anniversary of the Montreal Massacre.

I was 18-years-old when the 14 women were gunned down. As an earlier adopter of feminism, I had already done much of the reading required of a budding feminist and had some very decent mentors in place.

When the Montreal Massacre happened, it rocked my young world. Twenty years have gone by and never have I forgotten that day. Throughout my life, I have remembered.

I remembered the 14 women the year after the massacre, as I sat in my first year university lectures, imagining what it would be like for someone to walk into my lecture hall and kill me – because of my gender.

I remembered the 14 women as a graduate student working with women’s groups – planning memorial services for December 6th.

I remembered the 14 women when I was at law school, choosing subjects like Feminist Legal Theory and writing papers that focused on gender, violence, Battered Women’s Syndrome, etc.

I remembered the 14 women when I worked at a women’s legal service, having to go through security to get into the building and working behind bullet proof glass. All that because of the men in the lives of our clients.

I remembered the 14 women when I gave birth to my first daughter on International Women’s Day in 2001, wondering what her life would hold and what the women of her generation would face.

And how do I remember the 14 women now?

I remember them as I raise my sons and daughters. I remember them in simple ways – conversations with my children, the way I use language, through setting expectations and by bucking gender stereotypes within our home. Feminism is not a big scary word. It is founded on the basic principle that women have choice – the choice to have six kids, the choice to have none.

The choice to become an Engineer.

When do you remember the 14 women?

Within the last month, three of my six kids have had birthdays. It’s a very lean month in our household – topping up RESPs along with throwing a few birthday parties can take its toll on anyone’s budget.

In addition to not liking birthdays’ financial implications, I think birthday parties are a royal pain. I know many party mamas out there who relish in planning extravagant events, particularly their children’s parties. Indeed, I have one friend who says one of the things she loves most about being a mother is throwing birthday parties. That mama is not me. Birthday parties make the bottom of my list of things I love about being a mama. Yes, I like my kids to have fun and enjoy their special day, but all the hoopla around it doesn’t float my boat.

So when I throw a party, it’s all about keeping it simple. I thought it would be fun to compare some of my tips and strategies with those of my friend, Janine who is mama party planner extraordinaire. In September, she is well in planning mode for a January birthday. All the neighbourhood kids have fingers crossed that their name makes the list. In short, Janine generally makes me look like a complete slacker.

The rules according to me, the “Keep It Simple Mom”:

- Have a no birthday present policy.
- Have a no loot bag policy.
- Plan your parties at a time that will ensure you do not have to prepare a meal for little guests.
- Don’t over-engineer the thing – kids are old pros at figuring out how to have fun.
- Sure have a theme, but don’t bother obsessing. You don’t want to have to drive around to 10 different stores just to get the napkins that match the plates.
- Don’t have it in your house. Way too much cleaning is involved then – you’ll end up cleaning before AND after the party.

The rules according to Janine, “Keener Perfectionist Mom”:

- EVERYTHING needs to be matchy matchy – pick a theme and colour scheme and stick with it: invitations, decorations, balloons, utensils, EVERYTHING!
- Make it an event – seal invitations with a stamp monogram and mail them because kids love getting mail.
- Don’t scrimp on the cake – if nothing else is done right, be sure that you have a fabulous cake (which of course corresponds to the party theme!)
- Mind your present etiquette. If opening at party, tape a half circle in front of birthday child, have 2 chairs (one for birthday child, one for gift giver). Read card together and open gift. Take a picture of birthday child with gift and gift giver and send as a “thank you” after the party.

Janine also agrees that the birthday present thing can get a bit much and suggests donations in lieu of gifts, and also checking out www.echoage.com

There you have it – what kind of party planner are you? Apply the rules that most suit you and I’m pretty sure your kid will have a great party that even mama will enjoy.

So we finally bit the bullet and are moving house. The thought of it is overwhelming – so much crap to be sorted, packed or purged. With six kids, I know you can imagine just how much crap we’re talking here. Adding further stress is the prospect of making our current house look nice enough that some other family will want to buy it.

Getting our house sale-ready will be a big job. My kids have left their marks – on the walls, carpets, curtains and pretty much everywhere else. In addition to the cosmetic issues, we don’t really use our house in the traditional way. My dining room has been transformed into a children’s study, and the kids’ dressers are in the hallway to make way for all the beds that need to fit in the bedrooms. In short, there is a house staging expert out there who is going to make a lot of coin out of me.

We told the kids about the move and they generally greeted the news well. We’re only moving up the street to a house on a court with some more square footage.

The four-year-old was most reluctant. After some discussion, I realized that she didn’t understand what a move meant. Turns out she didn’t want to move because she would miss her bike. I explained that all our crap was coming along with us and she went through the house item by item for confirmation that it would be coming along. Yes darling, even the plates are coming with us.

So I thought she got it: we bring our stuff with us; they take their stuff when they leave.

The day came when we were able to take the children through the new house. Thumbs up all around. The sellers are empty nesters who seemed thrilled that their house would once again be alive with the energy of small children.

After having a good look around the new digs, I noticed the four-year-old had a little worried look on her face. I asked her what she thought of the new house to which she replied:

“I like it, but there’s one problem: NO TOYS!”

I’m now thinking this move is going to take more patience than I originally anticipated.