Author: Rebecca Cuneo Keenan

Rebecca Cuneo Keenan is a writer who lives in Toronto with her husband and three children.

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All our kids need to learn about Black history

Civil rights march on police line, Washinton, DC 1963Civil rights march on Washington, DC police line on August 28, 1963.

We shelter our children by censoring Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, lest they ever encounter offensive language in literature.

But Ferguson still burns.

We tip toe around ideas of race and class, forever tweaking the way we talk about these things as though some sort of semantic twist will be the key to making our problems disappear. It’s as though we believe that if we use language like “person of colour” and “economically disadvantaged” it will somehow make it less true that being a poor, Black man in America means every single odd is stacked against you.

But Ferguson still burns.

If you are a Black man in America, you only have a 54% chance of graduating high school. You have more than a 30% chance of going to jail. And you have the lowest life expectancy in the country.

If you are an unarmed Black man in America, a police officer can shoot you seven times and not even have go to trial.

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10 places to give in Toronto this holiday

10 places to give in Toronto

This is a guest post written by local Toronto mom and wonderful person, Rebecca Lee.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t need anything this holiday season. Sure, I’d appreciate a new duvet cover and I wouldn’t say no to a fancy mixer, but I don’t need these things. My kid has a list of things she would like for Christmas and as the only grandchild to both sets of grandparents, she’s bound to get most of what’s on her list, even as I protest that she’s not in need of anything.

My cupboards and fridge are full. I’m able to pay the rent each month and put gas in the car that gets us to work and school. I’ve never run out of tampons or diapers. I’ve never had to throw out anything I own because it was infested with bugs.

I am so lucky. I am so very lucky.

As someone who worked in the non-profit sector for almost 15 years, I know of people who cannot say the same. Around this time last year I helped a young mother sort through donated clothing to find sleepers that would fit her newborn. It’s not that she didn’t have sleepers for her baby; it’s that she didn’t have the money to wash the sleepers in the laundry basket.

Around this time of year, as we become inundated with commercials, I like to take some time to consider those people who wouldn’t receive a holiday gift if it weren’t for the work of an agency or organization. These agencies and organizations rely on donors, especially at this time a year, to bring joy to those who aren’t as lucky as some of us. Rather than give cash, there are a number of ways to donate that can help you – and your kids – think about the wish lists and needs of others.

1. The Shoebox Project distributes shoeboxes filled with items to women living in, or accessing, shelters and similar agencies. It’s as simple as finding a shoebox in your recycling bin and filling it with appropriately $50 of items. Some suggestions include TTC tokens, toiletries, and nut-free candies. To their list, I would also suggest a gift card to a juice or smoothie cafe (fresh vegetables and fruit are not often on the menu at shelters), and a pair of flip flops that can be used as shower shoes. The Shoebox Project happens across Canada and there is a likely a drop-off location close to you.

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5 random facts about me

I was tagged in a “5 Random Facts About Me” meme by the talented Susan Goldberg nearly a month ago. I am bad about participating in things like this, so it was only just now, realizing I have an hour before preschool pick up and wondering what I might write in that small window that I remembered about it. (Susan also tagged Sarah Gilbert, Stacy Morrison, Karin Cope and Deb Rox,by the way.)

mother daughter shot of the year

“Come on, pose for a shot with Mommy.”

Here goes.

1. I’ve lived all my life in Toronto, Ontario (Canada) except for two back-to-back years in Halifax, Nova Scotia and then the Bronx, New York.
Although you’d expect the transition from beautiful, small and picturesque Halifax to the mean city streets of Little Italy of the Bronx to be somewhat traumatic for an insecure 11-year-old girl, the original move from Toronto to Halifax was much harder for me. I did make enduring friendships when I lived in Halifax, though, and my dad continued to work in NYC (commuting back and forth to Toronto) until a few years ago. So there were always frequent visits to the Bronx and I still think of New York as a sort of second home to this day.

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Listen to me whine about how I don’t know what I want to do #firstworldproblems

#firstworldproblems #shutup

Image adapted from Flickr via the CC license.

“Focus,” I tell Colum. I am forever begging him to focus on what he’s doing, stop getting distracted and stay organized.

Holy cow, am I ever a hypocrite.

My life has been like the Russian nesting dolls of distraction for the past several weeks. I’ve lost focus on every level. Big picture, long-term career and life goals? They’ve become shattered into a dozen sparkly shards, each beckoning me in different directions. The same goes for the mid-range goals I thought I had so clearly laid out for myself. And so on, as you peel back the layers and I find myself sitting down to write a blog post, but unable to remember what it was I so urgently wanted to say.

So I check Facebook and Twitter, reply to a few emails, pour another coffee, start unloading the dishwasher, mindlessly eat a few crackers and then return to my computer. The effect of all these stratospheres of distraction has me reeling. The house alone, my god. Toys, games, books and assorted craft supplies litter every surface. Yes, the floor is a surface. I just can’t keep up with the trail of destruction left by my kids — not when I can whip out my phone to quickly research every passing thought and then fall down another rabbit hole of notifications and messages until I look up 15 minutes later and walk out of the room, leaving the dishes undone once again.

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One true story and five reasons I’m addicted to the new LGG3 (plus giveaway!)

You can thank LG Canada and Mom Central Canada for this post, the giveaway and all the selfies I’m suddenly posting all over the place.

True story: when my son was born in 2006 I didn’t even have Facebook. Twitter was barely a thing and Instagram was yet a glint in some guy’s eye. I’d never heard of WordPress, I used a flip phone and I had to upload pictures from my digital camera to my computer using an actual cord.

At the same time, this was the golden age of blogging. New moms would cope with bitter isolation and anxiety by logging onto their computers late at night, during naps, while baby wearing or whenever they could. Some started their own blogs as outlets for raw and honest feelings and opinions. Others left comments, creating a new online community for moms. Still others of us, logged on day after to day just to read and to know that we were not alone.

There will always be a place for honest and timely long-form expression of our experiences — especially those of motherhood. But, to a large extent, social media and mobile technology have changed the way we connect. I love to wax nostalgic about the good old days when blogging was honest and real, before it became tainted with corporate greed and littered with sponsored posts. *Cough, cough.* I also talk about the dangers of tech taking over our lives. I worry about the lasting impact it has on my kids and how it affects our real one-on-one connections.
But, honestly? Mobile tech is more good than bad. That’s why we all have a phone fused to our hand, after all. Blogging was wonderful when I had my first two kids, but catching up with Twitter on my phone while nursing my third to sleep was a game changer. Ultimately, phones connect way more than they isolate. They make it possible for me to answer business emails while taking my kids to the park. They help keep track of a busy family’s schedule and they let me share pictures with all the important people in my life at the click of button.
And the better the tech gets, the less invasive it it. Snapping a couple quick pics with your phone is much easier than fumbling around in your bag for a camera. Quickly replying to an email from a park bench is way better than taking out your laptop. And we can put them away just as fast as whip them out. We have our phones out so much, not because we’re addicted to our phones, but because they are our cameras, day planners, computers, TVs, libraries, personal trainers, notepads and so much more.
Okay, fine. I MAY be a little bit addicted to this latest phone. The LG G3 is really blowing my mind. I didn’t even think I wanted a new phone until I tried this baby.
1. It’s so pretty.
LGG3 with case
Looks aren’t everything but good design is both stylish and functional and this phone delivers on both fronts. Love the rear power and volume buttons, the super high-res screen and the removable battery.

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So I lost my only car key … again

This car is mocking me

Here’s what I remember.

Colum and Irene were eating breakfast in the kitchen and I was letting Mary sleep since her preschool starts later than the kids’ school. I had made their lunches and stacked the containers neatly at one corner of the kitchen island. Colum’s backpack was in the corner of the room, but Irene’s had been left in the car overnight.

I remember taking the car key off it’s hook and slipping on a pair of flats to dash out to the car. I didn’t wear a jacket, but I think I might have had a cardigan on. I unlocked the car doors by turning the key twice in the driver’s side door since we don’t have a remote access key fob for our car. I then opened the rear car door on the driver’s side and saw that the backpack was at the other side of the car. I walked around the back of the car, opened the rear door on the passenger side and took out the backpack.

I remember going upstairs, waking Mary, bringing her to the bathroom and getting her dressed. Her stroller had been left outside and was wet, so I covered the seat with a plastic bag and then a reusable cloth shopping bag. We walked the two older kids to the school bus and then walked back home.

Then I fed Mary breakfast, packed her a school snack, and walked her to preschool. Then I walked back home again, tried to work for a couple hours, walked back to the preschool to get Mary and then, you guessed it, walked home. Yes, this is my life.

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Can we all breathe a great big FINALLY for our health care going digital?

Big thanks to the Canada Health Infoway for sponsoring this post and, more importantly, bringing digital health technology to our health care.

digital health.jpg

If there’s one place we don’t want cutting edge technology, it’s in our doctor’s offices. Wait. What?

That doesn’t make any sense. And yet all the tech does seem a little weird at first, right? I remember the first time I brought my son in for his regular check-up and the doctor sat down in front of a laptop. She weighed him and measured his height. She listened to his breathing and looked into his eyes and ears. She asked if we had any concerns and then she sat down and started typing. It seemed strange.

It only took that one visit, though, for me to make the adjustment. Entering information into a computer isn’t really any different from making notes with a pen and paper once you get used to it. And it has already managed to save my behind!

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People I won’t be giving candy to this year

Gone are the innocent days of yesteryear when you could count on young children to go door-to-door donning masks and extorting candy from vandalism-fearing citizens. Now it seems everybody wants in on the action regardless of age and proficiency in egging. There’s been a growing sense of discontent among people who have access to internet forums and advice columnists. I, for one, have had quite enough. In past years I have had a separate stash of good candy for the deserving kids and a stash made up of my kids’ last year’s reject candies for everybody else. But no more! Let’s join together and shame those other would-be trick-or-treaters into staying home altogether and save ourselves the mild discomfort of seeing them at our doorsteps.

Say it with me. “This year, I won’t be giving candy to:”

Teenagers

People I'm not giving candy to this year: Teens

Image from Flickr via CC license.

The worst! Some of these so-called kids are taller than me. What makes them think they can get away with wearing half-assed costumes and trolling our city streets for sugary treats? Isn’t it about time they grew up and started binge drinking in ravines and impregnating one another? In my day, teens were too busy smoking pot behind dumpsters to be bothered trying to score candy. Anyway, their parents should have enough leftovers to quell serious munchies for once and for all.

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“Step on the scale, Mom,” he said.

Step on the scale, Mom!

My thighs are killing me. So is my ass. And also the sole of my foot because I stepped on a stray game board-game piece, but that’s a different story.

You see, I knew I’d slipped up. The regular exercise routine I had last winter and early spring had been knocked off course by a lingering chest cold and I never really did catch my stride again after that. It was hard to find a regular time to go out for a run over the summer and this school year isn’t much better. And, on top of not exercising, I’d fallen into the habit of enjoying one or two drinks and snacking in front of the TV in the evenings.

I’d put on weight. I knew I had. I was just hoping it wasn’t that much. (My bathroom scale was hiding out in the basement so I could enjoy my trip to denial.) But then, on Thanksgiving weekend, I had a wake up call.

Now, I’m going to name numbers here because the story calls for it. Remember that what seems like a huge number for me, might be fairly healthy for somebody else. At 5′ 6″, I’m of average height, but I have a fairly slight bone structure. I was a healthy (albeit slim) 125 lbs when I got married. And when I do put on weight, there’s really nowhere for me to hide it. (This is one of the reasons people were always convinced my seven-pound babies were actually going to be ten-pound twins.)

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We ran for breast cancer and now my heart is swollen

Irene and I ran the 1K at this year’s Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation CIBC Run For The Cure. I am so grateful to have been a blog ambassador for the Run this year. THANK YOU to everyone who donated.

I almost forgot to tell you how the CIBC Run for The Cure went. And you must hear all about it because it was FANTASTIC.

First, Irene and I got to ride the subway downtown, just the two of us. One of Irene’s biggest fears about starting Grade One this year and doing full days for the first time was that she wouldn’t get enough time with me. (And now I’m getting all choked up thinking about how soon spending a Sunday morning with her mom is the last thing she’ll want to do. And wasn’t she just bouncing around in her Jolly Jumper, like, yesterday?)

How is the baby big enough to run an entire 1K?

How is this baby big enough to run an entire 1K?

We got off the subway at Museum station and got to walk through the U of T campus which is still one of my top five places in the world. I showed her Carr Hall, where my parents met in a Philosophy seminar in 1976, and where I myself took several classes. We walked across Queen’s Park and into the King’s College Circle where all the runners were gathered.

There were people decked out in tutus and tassels. There were people with pink extensions in their hair and pictures of their beloveds pinned to their backs. “I run for you.” There were speakers with moving stories and then a rock band to get us all moving as we lined up at our starting lines.

Irene was amazed. She looked around with big eyes and a bigger smile. “Look at them, Mama!” she said about a team decked out in crazy hats.

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