Last Friday, as the work day came to an end, I found myself once again romping around in my pyjamas, stuffing my face, and drinking oodles of delicious wine. I know, I know, sounds like pretty much every other night, right? Well, it was and it wasn’t. This time I wasn’t sitting on my couch with my hubby, sleeping baby upstairs, and remote in hand – I was at the 3rd annual Black and White PJ Party, held in support of the Milton District Hospital Foundation and surrounded by (this is the best part) 250 other women. One night of testosterone-free frivolity and an all-round wicked- fun time to be had.
Read the whole article at thehousemom.com!
I still give my husband crap whenever he drops the ball on Valentine’s Day. Is it a holiday invented by retailers throughout North America? Yes. Do I still want to see flowers and chocolates waiting for me downstairs? Absolutely! But this year is different. This year, I’m not just cooking up heart-shaped chocolate chip cookies for when hubby gets home. This year, love takes on a whole new meaning; this year, I’m a mom.
As we get older, we learn quickly that blood isn’t always thicker than water and that every single time we love, it feels different. There are the loves that fade in and out; those that pop in quickly but last a lifetime; and inevitably, the ones you just didn’t see coming. There’s the passionate love you share with your partner. Or maybe it’s a simple sort of love that swells in silence, a feeling of belonging in a life shared with your better half. There’s the protective kind of love you have for your pet, and the adoring love you have for your mentor, and a million other types of love that will make grand entrances and subtle exits over for the course of a lifetime, but nothing – and I mean nothing – is as fulfilling as the unconditional love shared between a parent and their child.
Read the whole article on momstown Milton!
So, at 6 months pregnant (and counting), I’ve finally come to the conclusion that, equipped with an added 20 lbs packed on and an increasingly temperamental bladder, I needed an alternative to running (sigh). While I can still mount an elliptical and break into the odd jog, with mini-giraffe sitting so darn low in my belly, the bouncing – more often than not – quickly ushers me into a brisk-paced walk and, after weeks of denial, I’ve admitted defeat. Nay, not defeat, more the need to stretch my horizons and explore the world of… power walking. Continue reading “Power walking: Not just for the geriatric”