Author: Rebecca Cuneo Keenan

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

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In case you need another reminder of how precious life is. RIP, Adam.

Adam and CherAdam Gilbert, as a groomsman at my wedding in 2002. RIP, you beautiful soul.

I can hear his voice behind me as I’m washing the dishes. “If you put a glass on a tea towel to dry, you know how you get all that condensation,” he said. “That doesn’t happen when you use one of these drying mats.”

It’s like something out of a soap opera. It’s like when a character who has passed away keeps appearing to a living character and passing on important life advice. Except this is no soap opera. And the memories that keep dropping before me are mostly of pleasant chit chat instead of profound admonitions.

My husband’s family unexpectedly lost a wonderful man this weekend far before his time. He left behind two children, a step-daughter, a co-parent, his own parents and step-parents, a sister, many aunts and uncles, like a million cousins, and innumerable friends. Adam radiated strength, love and joy. I never saw him without a huge grin, full of love and laughter, always happy to see you and always the first one to help out wherever he could.

Those few sentiments don’t even begin to describe how much Adam meant to so many people. And this isn’t the space for a proper eulogy anyway. But how can I write about anything else? How can I carry on with the funny little rant about feeding kids that I’d been planning to write? Or should I devise some sort of snarky numbered list designed to elicit the quick laugh, the Facebook like and the social share, but is ultimately completely forgettable? How can I do that when there’s so much to remember?

The truth is that reality hasn’t sunk in yet. I am struck again and again by the suddenness of our loss, almost as though I’m learning about it for the first time. It keeps washing over me when I least expect it: washing the dishes, brushing my teeth, on my way somewhere or during any number of mundane chores. I’m still reeling and I expect we all will be for quite some time.

And it’s not as though we really needed another reminder about how precious life is, but I guess some lessons are harder for some of us to learn. Because, for the first time, I am really feeling my own mortality. I look at my three kids and my home and the life I am still trying to build for myself and realize I need to get on top of shit, like right now. That means preparing for the worst case scenario by making sure things like life insurance and wills are up to snuff, yes.

But it also means remembering that life happens now. Plan for tomorrow, for sure, but live for today. I’ll be trying to fill my days with more love and patience and gratitude. I want to work harder, play harder, give more, love more and laugh more.

At the very least, when I wake up cranky and tired, like I did today, I’m going to try to look out the window and think, “What a beautiful day to be alive.”

But goddamned, fuckity fuck, some shit still isn’t fair.

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7 New Year’s resolutions I’ve already failed at

Here’s a fun and festive idea. Let’s take a look at all the things a modern woman and mother is supposed to make a priority according to the mainstream media.

1. Time to myself.

Time to yourself: Impossible resolutions

We work too hard. We always think about others first. Shouldn’t this be the year we finally carve out time to just relax and do something that makes us feel better? Now, why didn’t you think of that before, silly lady?

2. Exercise.

woman exercising

Because we need to invest in our own health if we want to have the energy to invest in others. I must be doing it wrong because exercising only ever takes my time and energy, leaving me panting, red-faced and completely unable to focus on anything other than where my next glass of water comes from. And also, is this happening during my “time to myself” time? Because that’s a rip off.

3. Healthy food.

Veggies and Hummus

I am right there with you at first because as long as we are cooking and eating anyway, then it might as well be healthy, right? But then I start reading those health food recipes and meal plans and I realize they want me to spend an entire Sunday in the kitchen batch cooking things like millet, beet soup and lentils and I’d still only have enough food to feed Ariana Grande for maybe three days, tops, forget about my entire family of five for a week. I’m not even going to talk about how much this health food will cost.

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Best ever chain of distractions

Seriously, you can’t beat this.

It was around 1:30am on Sunday night and I was curled up with my laptop on the living room couch writing this post about New Year’s resolutions. I got a low battery warning on my laptop, so I went down to the basement office to get the power cord. I stopped in to use the bathroom on my way back.

When I was in the bathroom, I decided to remove my Diva Cup. (You can’t make this kind of thing up.) Remembering that I keep some pantyliners in this bathroom, I thought I might as well wash the Diva Cup and put it away until next month. I washed it thoroughly with soap and water, dried it with a paper towel and thought I’d better bring it right up to the second floor bathroom cabinet before I forget.

Returning to the main floor of the house I wandered into the kitchen and put on the kettle for tea. But I really wanted some orange juice. I had a bad cold and I wasn’t the only one. It would be a good idea to have some juice and fresh fruit in the house anyway. I looked at the car key hanging on its hook. Screw it. I was going out for juice.

I went upstairs and nudged Ed awake to tell him I was running out to the store. Then I grabbed my purse and drove to the nearest all-night supermarket. I picked up some juice, milk, a package of fresh croissants, a bagged kale salad, one cucumber, a tray of cut-up fruit and some mandarin oranges. I drove back home and put it all away.

I poured myself a glass of juice, finished making my tea and returned to my laptop.

Oh, right. The cord. It’s still downstairs.

And then I wrote this post.

I guess I’d better go finish the other one now.

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The M Word: Best book bet on motherhood

TheMWord

Shop local, they say. Support the arts. Feed the mind.

Yet here I am shopping the big box stores days before Christmas, looking to buy as many things for as many people for as little as possible. I’m sad I didn’t have my act together sooner. I could have done my holiday shopping sooner, certainly. But, mostly, I wish I’d told you about this gem of a book when it was first released in the early spring — or at least earlier this holiday season.

The M Word: Conversations about Motherhood is a collection of essays, poems and illustrations by Canadian women, edited by local book blogger Kerry Clare and published by the New Brunswick press, Goose Lane Editions. It’ll put a check mark in most of your feel-good boxes.

Of course, that’s not why you should buy the book. You should buy it because it’s a damn good anthology. The M Word holds motherhood up and then turns it this way and that, exploring it from all different angles. The act of becoming a mother is one of the most identity-shaking experiences for most women. It is rivaled only by the decision to not become a mother. And Clare sets it all out for us here, giving voice to motherhood (or the lack thereof) in many of its myriad forms.

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Let’s remember what a royal screw up last Christmas was

Time was starting to spiral out of control last December.

I remember picking up Irene from morning kindergarten and plying her with hot chocolate and muffins at a local cafe while I frantically tried to meet deadlines. Ed was working long hours and juggling multiple jobs. There was barely time in a week to keep everybody fed and clothed and shuffled off to where we needed to be. The holidays? I couldn’t even begin to think about them.

Luckily I’d hit up an end-of-summer clearance sale and stocked up on some toys for Christmas already. They were all bundled up in a big bag that I’d stashed…somewhere. I didn’t quite remember what I bought, but I was sure it was a good start. If I could just make it to the 23rd, then Ed would be home and I’d be able to sneak off to the mall to shop for the rest of the gifts. Yep. That was a fine plan. It had to be.

Except he wasn’t home on the 23rd after all. He’d been offered last-minute fill-in work on a talk radio show and we couldn’t afford to turn it down. So, okay fine. I’d get someone else to watch the kids while I did half of my Christmas shopping. Plus groceries. Two days before Christmas. It’d be okay, right?

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a babysitter at the very last minute on December 23rd? I gotta say, it’s pretty hard.

Ed’s sister (god bless her) brought her own baby over and let me dash out for a couple hours in the evening. I did my best chicken-with-its-head-cut-off impression at the mall and came home with a bunch of stuff. What exactly? I didn’t know. I hadn’t even bothered digging out the toys I’d purchased in September to see what I already had. But I was sure it would work out. It always did.

BOOM. ICE STORM. HALF OF TORONTO POWERLESS AT CHRISTMAS.

ice storm 2013

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9 rules for shopping for OTHER PEOPLE’S kids

Oh, the crap I got for other people’s kids before I had kids of my own. “I’m sure he’s going to love this incredibly loud, battery-operated police car!” And then there’s the stuff my own kids have accumulated over the years. I mean, wow, that slime really doesn’t dry out.

Before I go further, however, let me say that any and all gifts we have ever received have always been appreciated. This is not a complaint log. Rather, it’s a live-and-learn list of tips that I like to keep in mind when shopping for others.

If I were to give one piece of gift-giving advice to people shopping for kids, it would be this: “Keep it simple.” Seriously, you could wrap a pack of crayons or a hot wheel car up in brown paper bag with a bow on it and most kids would be over the moon. And if they’re too old to be actually thrilled by that stuff, then they’re old enough to politely fake it.

Of course, I’m not going to give just one piece of advice. That would never go viral. Here’s nine other things to keep in mind when shopping for other people’s kids. (And, yes, there are always going to be exceptions to these rules. If you know a certain family loves doing crafts together, then by all means get them all the glitter glue in the world.)

1. Does this toy come with a million pieces? If the answer is yes, don’t buy it.

9 rules for shopping for OTHER PEOPLE'S kids

Of course, this is not fair because I have bought my own kids all manner of Lego, Rainbow Loom and beading kits. Then again, when I’m stepping on shards of Lego at midnight or spending the better part of my life sorting through itty bitty pieces, do you really want me cursing your name? It’s better to let the parents’ shoulder their own blame.

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Rage cleaning: It’s a thing, right?

Rage cleaning: It's a thing, right?

I can’t be the only one who needs to get good and angry, like righteously pissed off, if I ever stand a chance of scrubbing under the sink.

It all started yesterday afternoon when I pulled into my laneway parking spot with Mary. Life was good right then. I had a trunk load of fresh groceries and a reasonable expectation of where my children would be attending school for the foreseeable future. Talk about not appreciating what you have until it’s gone.

I then proceeded to get out of my car and right into a squabble with a neighbour about laneway parking rights. I was no sooner in the door with a whiny three-year-old and a heap of groceries when the school called. Oh no, I thought, who’s cracked their head open this time?

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Holiday magic is passed down from one childhood to another so let’s try to do this right

A heartfelt thanks to Sears Canada for sponsoring this holiday post.

When I was a kid, we’d lay out our Christmas stockings on the back of the living room couch because we didn’t have a fireplace. We’d put out milk and cookies for Santa (but never a carrot for the reindeer!). Then my parents would tuck us into bed where I lay trembling with anticipation, sure that I’d be lying there awake all night long.

Of course, I would fall asleep eventually only to spring out of bed at the crack of dawn. My siblings and I would rush into the living room to see what Santa brought and then go bounding down the hall into my parents room to wake them up too.

“Mommy! Daddy! Santa brought me a She-Ra doll. Can you believe it?!”

My parents would stagger out of bed, bleary-eyed, and put on the kettle for tea as we pored over the contents of our stockings.

Santa’s presents were never wrapped in our home. They were laid out in front of our stockings, the sheer number of them already making an impression on me from across the room. Santa’s magic must have been real because there was no way my parents could ever afford to buy so many toys.

Finally, we’d settle in and take turns opening the wrapped gifts under the tree. Those were from my parents, grandparents and assorted other relatives. Eventually we started to wrap gifts for one another, too.

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What do you think of those twisted family photos?

Old Habit, 2011 by Susan CopichOld Habits, 2011 by Susan Copich

Some dark and provocative photos that explore the more desperate undercurrents of motherhood have been making the rounds on blogs and social media. Photographer and mother of two, Susan Copich, found herself facing middle age with a waning acting career and a home life set to auto pilot, according to Slate. She also, like so many mothers, realized that she was missing from all the family photos.

So Copich began staging domestic scenes, many of them including her two daughters, and casting her own despair as the star element. The result is a photo series titled “Domestic Bliss” that just finished showing at the Umbrella Arts Gallery in New York City. You can scroll through several of the pictures from the series in this .

I must say, I love them. There’s a bit of dark humour to some of the pictures while others I have to keep returning to look at because they make me feel uncomfortable. In nearly every shot, Copich stares out with perfectly dead eyes, in various stages of undress. She oozes desperation and ennui; sex and violence; drudgery and despair. And then there are her children in the background. I can’t get over just how evocative these images are.

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I didn’t know holiday shopping could be this good

RBC Avion Holiday Boutique

Happy to be part of the RBC Avion Holiday Boutique Blogger Campaign with Mom Central Canada. This one’s sponsored.

What if I told you holiday shopping didn’t have to involve sweating half to death in your winter coat while you fight your way through crowds? Imagine if you didn’t have to lug all your purchases around the mall and across a vast frozen expanse of parking lot. And then picture arriving home with all of your gifts already wrapped.

No, I have not completely lost my mind. Nor am I trying to sell you on some sort of crazy expensive, luxury shopping experience enjoyed by Jennifer Lopez and Reese Witherspoon. I am talking about a holiday shopping service that is FREE to all RBC Avion Visa card holders.

I went to Yorkdale Shopping Centre last week for the opening of the RBC Avion Holiday Boutique and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. An exclusive lounge just for Avioners? Why? Am I too good for the food court? The short answer is yes. NOBODY wants to deal with mad holiday crowds in the food court or anywhere else.

My experience began with me circling around a full parking lot, dreading the unavoidable trek to the mall through bitter winter winds. Except, no! If you have an Avion card, you get valet parking. All you have to do is drive over to the Holt Renfrew side of Yorkdale Shopping Centre and show the valet your Avion card and your parking will be taken care of just like that. I have never, ever, had valet parking before in my life and, let me tell you, a girl could get used to that kind of service.

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