This past summer as I rummaged through some papers (so many papers), I uncovered a beautiful journal that one of my students had gifted me. I flipped it open and saw that only the first few pages were written on. In January of 2020, my eyes bright and with a head full of dreams, I’d inscribed goals with grace for the new year ahead. Most of them were specific creative goals in writing and music.

Well, we all know what happened in 2020.

Three years later, as I stare at these carefully, naively written aspirations, knowing that paltry few of them have been reached or even started, I feel anger boiling up inside. But this rage wasn’t about the truly crappy circumstances of the past several years. I was livid with myself for dropping the ball in such a spectacular way.

I ripped those hopeful pages out and crumpled them into the recycling bin. My inner voice spewed a torrent of chastisement about how lazy, incapable and disorganized I was. To be honest, I kind of took myself aback with the strength of this diatribe. And no, it did not make me feel good.

I would never, ever use these words against someone else. Every day I dig deep to exercise patience (my husband calls me a saint) with my son and I strive to foster his confidence and positive growth mindset skills. Outside of home, I try to assume that other people are doing the very best they can in this world and cut them slack. So, why is it so hard to use this simple kindness with myself?

Possibly some of this can be attributed to my innate perfectionistic tendencies. But regardless of the cause, it needs to stop. It’s harmful. When we know better, we should try to do better. This applies in parenting and should also apply to ourselves.

Beating myself up after perceived “failures” is not helpful. In fact, it’s as counterproductive and damaging as it would be to apply this approach to any child. True, I didn’t complete 95% of the creative goals I set out for myself. But I did do other things during this period with my time and energy. I poured my essence into doing my best to keep our family safe in a difficult time. And into the great “pivot” of figuring out how to educate children and continue my music teaching job meaningfully online.

Even though lockdown is long over, my son is still being homeschooled. I continue to teach music and try my hardest every day to cultivate studio, home, and family atmospheres conducive to thriving.

Keeping all these balls in the air has come at a cost, which is my creative goals, but that is not a failure. It simply means my priorities shifted.

Now that things are (relatively) settling, I find that I miss the spark of excitement that comes with working on creative endeavours. I want to thrive, too.

My current dilemma as the new year draws closer is this. I feel like having clear goals gives me a sense of direction, yet I don’t want to set myself up for “failing” again and fall into another self-deprecatory spiral.

So this time I’m going to go about this differently.

I’ve observed that instead of writing specific goals for the new year, some people write general intentions. Some even pare it down to a single word that encapsulates their desired area of focus and growth. My word for 2024 is “grace.”

Synonymous with kindness, opportunity and understanding, “grace” encapsulates the mind- and heart-set I want to cultivate. Not only my son and others, but especially for myself. To give myself the grace in other areas of my life in order to create space and energy for more creativity. Also, to give myself permission to not always have to produce a tangible product. Small steps instead of lofty ambitions; understanding upfront that somedays I won’t take any steps or perhaps even take a few backward. And that’s okay.

I would be remiss if I didn’t include that grace also refers to gratitude. I am immensely grateful that I have the choice to even be making these kinds of goals. It is a privilege that too many in our world do not have.

My wish for all of the parents out there is that, whatever your goals and intentions for 2024 may be, you can strive toward them with energy, support and also grace. You are worth it.

The “tweens” (between the ages of 8 or 9 and 12) are rough. Carefree childhood innocence rapidly slips away as kids encounter higher expectations at school and home, an ever-widening sense of a chaotic world outside themselves, confusing hormonal and physical changes, and the increasing complexity of social interaction with their peers.

Suddenly, social spats aren’t simple: “Jane wouldn’t share the toy,” but can become complicated, multi-layered issues. “Jane was mad that I didn’t eat lunch with her, so she wouldn’t talk to me and told everyone not to be friends with me anymore. Then she said mean things about me on {insert social media du jour here} and now everyone hates me.”

How do we help our kids get through this incredibly challenging time in a healthy way that promotes positive social skills?

Apart from making sure they are secure in our unconditional love, and helping them build genuine confidence in themselves, it’s essential that kids learn how to work through conflict constructively. There are several important skills and mindsets that we can help them build that will make this easier.

How We View Conflict

Conflict is a natural and unavoidable part of human interaction, but working through it isn’t always intuitive, or easy. When I was a rookie elementary school teacher, I struggled to help my Grade 6 students sort out daily drama.

I attended several workshops on Restorative Justice and conflict resolution. There I learned to view conflict not as “right” versus “wrong” but as two people wanting or needing different things. Resolving conflict isn’t about punishment or exacting revenge. It’s about making sure that everyone’s experience is heard and acknowledged. That they find a way to move forward from the conflict in a way that meets everyone’s needs.

Our school formed a “Peace Squad”—a group of students, many from my class, trained to help mediate playground conflicts. This wasn’t a miracle cure for conflict and, obviously, there were issues (physical altercations, and bullying, among them) that mediators had to refer to adult supervisors. Sometimes students weren’t interested in participating when they realized that the other kid wasn’t going to get in “trouble.”

However, anyone involved in the process, whether as a mediator or someone in conflict, came away from it seeing that there is an alternative to the pervasive idea that if someone “wrongs” you, they need to be “punished.”

Over the year I noticed more students solving their own conflicts within the classroom, as well as increased empathy towards others, evidenced in their personal writing and even the way they spoke to each other.

Perspective-Taking and Conflict Resolution

Helping kids more fully understand how their actions affect others is something that can be practiced at home.

Books. When reading, you can discuss the characters’ feelings, and point out how several characters can feel differently about the same situation. Powerful “tween” books, told from multiple perspectives, are R.J. Palacio’s Wonder and Rob Buyea’s Because of Mr. Terupt.

Authenticity. Give them feedback when their words or actions have an emotional effect on you, positive or negative.

Drama—the Good Kind. Role-playing is a great tool for helping us see and understand peoples’ emotions and motivations. Act out social situations and discuss what you are thinking and feeling when, for example, your best friend decides to sit with someone else at lunch. How might you react? What are some alternative ways of handling the situation?

Boost Emotional Awareness

Being able to describe how someone’s actions make you feel is an essential key to finding satisfying resolutions to conflict, but many kids struggle with a limited emotional vocabulary.

Labelling. We can help our kids develop and expand their emotional awareness, starting with labelling and talking about our own emotions. We can also provide a safe space and opportunities for them to practice.

Visual Aids. My four-year-old has a calendar with emotion magnets, and every day when we change the date, weather, and day of the week, he also takes a moment to think about how he’s feeling and picks a face. Sometimes we get into the “why” of his emotions, but just labelling them is a great start.

Shared Journal. If your tween isn’t yet comfortable with verbalizing their feelings, you could try keeping a shared journal (with a list of emotion words taped inside the cover for easy reference). There are some beautifully-designed journals out there for this purpose, full of creative prompts. Some are even fill-in-the-blank.

Games. Emotion charades and other activities derived from theatre sports can help your child develop and strengthen their ability to read facial expressions and body language.

A lot of kids have difficulty with tone and emphasis. They might repeat something funny a TV character says and not understand why their classmate finds it hurtful (it might be said with a sarcastic tone). You can make a game of saying the same sentence in different ways and trying to guess the speaker’s intent or emotion. For example, “What are you doing?” vs “What are you doing?” communicate different messages.

Calming Strategies

Learning and practicing calming techniques (mindful breathing, counting, visualization, positive self-talk) helps us be rational and receptive instead of reactive. You can help your child to determine which strategies are most useful for them and encourage them to practice when you see they are agitated.

Acknowledge Mistakes… and Grow

When conflict occurs, it’s important to work through it so that everyone can move forward peacefully. We can’t change what happened, but we can decide to learn and make different choices in the future. To do this we need to acknowledge our own part in conflict.

No one wants to believe their child is capable of causing hurt to another, but it happens every day. Not because they are “bad,” but because they are learning. If your child is involved in a conflict, take time to hear the whole story of what transpired. Encourage them to own their actions and be part of a solution. Just as in any new subject, they are going to make mistakes and that’s when they need our support the most—to help them grow positively from a negative experience.

Schools are beginning to teach emotional and social skills more explicitly within an evolving curriculum, but developing empathy, emotional awareness, self-regulation, and problem-solving skills starts with parents. They watch us for cues, and if we negotiate our own conflicts constructively this goes a long way to helping them get through the trials and tribulations of Tweenhood.

Let’s imagine for a minute: What would it be like if this holiday season and beyond, into 2023, we all collectively let go of expectations—those we have of others and, especially, of ourselves. Now I don’t mean expectations of good behaviour and basic responsibility, being kind and courteous, following safety rules, etc. I mean all the extras: the unspoken “shoulds” and the blatantly broadcast Insta-impossibilities.

Pressure to over-perform, whether at work, at home or socially is real, and it can be suffocating. The feeling is especially profound at this time of year.

Before every holiday season I try to give myself a little pep talk, reminders that the most important “things” are not things at all, and that it doesn’t need to be about endless baking or crafting or shopping.

However, as the season nears, I inevitably feel my anxiety stirring: “Am I doing enough? Have I put enough thought and effort into this gift to make up for the fact that it isn’t expensive? Will there be enough magical moments and core memory-making for my son?

Will it ever be enough? Will I ever be enough?”

Spending any amount of time-consuming modern media can certainly trigger and amplify these doubts. I know I’m a good mom, and my son’s safety, growth and happiness are my top priorities. I work hard to make sure he thrives and knows he is loved. My family and friends know I love them and I am here for them. I am kind and as generous as my means allow.

But even if I try to look at this objectively, all it takes is a few minutes on social media seeing what other moms are doing and I’m chastising myself for not doing more, more, more!

These are challenging times. Many are cinching financial belts a little tighter, and the pandemic has also inspired a lot of us to re-examine where we spend our soul-energy. Do we grind ourselves to death to do All. The. Things. or do we give more time to the experiences and people who bring us joy and recharge our batteries instead of draining them?

And do people we care about need us to turn ourselves inside-out to produce tangible “proof” that we love them, just because it is a particular time of year?

Absolutely not.

When I look way, WAY back to when I was my son’s age, my best memories are not those of how many “must-do” activities we crammed in over the holidays, or how perfect the table settings looked at Christmas dinner, or whether the Elf-on-the-Shelf entertained us sufficiently with its nightly hi-jinx. No way. I remember my grandpa’s jokes, my family’s laughter, my mom’s delicious baking (that she made because she actually loves baking), the comfort of recycled decorations and familiar rituals and the warmth of being together.

I don’t remember many of the presents I’ve received during my life, but I definitely remember how people have been present for me, with me. It’s such a clichéd statement: “Bring your “presence,” not “presents,” but I think a lot of us (including me!) need to re-examine this idea, that we don’t have to show up for people with all the doo-dads, bells, whistles and trimmings. We just have to really, authentically show up. And not just for the holidays, but throughout the year.

For me, this means checking in with people I love and spending time with them. Not having to have “something to do,” but just being there, together, doing everyday things or even nothing at all. This means listening to each other and helping where we can. This means not making myself cranky by overburdening myself with extra things I think I “should” do because everyone else is and instead soaking up the moments I have with my family and friends as they are, right now.

My son would likely not remember the hours of planning and work I could put into craft projects or perfectly colour-co-ordinated decorations. He would remember that Mama was busy and stressed out and doing things that he couldn’t be a part of.

Instead, I believe (and hope) he will remember all the games I play with him (that he usually beats me at), our rock-hounding adventures on the beach and hopefully our nightly stories when he snuggles in and we go on adventures together within the pages of a favourite book. These things don’t get as much of a chance to happen when there is too much doing, doing, doing and stuff, stuff, stuff.

This year I remind myself that going overboard does not make someone feel more special, or more loved. Connection does. So we might not have a Pintrest-worthy holiday display or piles of gifts, or particularly remarkable adventures to recount, but we will have laughter, and joy, and lots of love with our special people. And I think that is absolutely enough.

As surely as the seasons cycle, September means back-to-school. The abrupt change from long, care-free days of summer holidays to rigid schedules, bag lunches and homework can be stressful. Here are some suggestions to help make this transition—and the school year—more positive for kids and parents.

School Supplies

1. Reuse, Reuse, Reuse—It is shocking how many barely-used or new school supplies end up in school dumpsters in June. Make sure your kids bring everything home, sort through it together and reuse what is salvageable. It will save you money in the long-term. Bonus, it helps kids learn to take care of their stuff.

2. Label, Label, Label—When I was in elementary school, one of my August rituals was to label my supplies. I still have pencil crayons from 30 (cough cough) years ago. In busy classrooms things fall on the ground or are misplaced all the time, but at end-of-day cleanup, kids with labelled supplies usually get them back.

3. Quality Over Cool—Trendy gizmos come and go (and often break shortly after purchase). Better to stock up on quality-but-plainer supplies on sale and let your kiddos personalize them.

4. Dole it Out Sparingly—Fact: classrooms are crowded places with minimal storage. Only send your child with what they need to start and send more as necessary. Less will go missing into The Void.

Clothing

5. “New” is So Passé—Thank goodness “thrifting” has become a cool thing to do. You’ll save dollars, help local charities and keep clothes out of the landfill.

6. Label, Label, Label some more!—Before holidays, school classes participate in a slow procession through the halls: the “Viewing of the Lost.” So. Many. Things. You’d think children would recognize their possessions. Nope. Most end up being sent to the thrift store. Unless, of course, they are clearly labelled.

Feeding Bodies and Minds:

7. Plan Ahead—Two words: meal planning. It saves money, time and the daily stress of “What’s for dinner?” When my step-kids were school-age we sat down as a family every Sunday for 15 minutes and planned out the week’s meals. The kids loved having input and it made shopping super easy. You can do this for lunches, too!

8. Beat the Lunch-Time Blues—Depending on their age, many kids can make their own lunches. If you’re afraid that these lunches might consist of last year’s Halloween candy or dry slices of white bread, set some guidelines (ex. one item from each food group) and make sure there are healthy choices on hand.

9. Bulk vs Snack Size—Individually portioned snacks for kids are marketed as a time-saving godsend, however, they are expensive and create piles of garbage (that, in turn, decorates school playgrounds). Small re-usable containers or snack pouches can be filled from a bulk or family-sized box, saving money and packaging.

Keeping Everyone Happy

10. Family Calendar—Invest in a BIG family calendar and keep it in a central location. This helps with planning, logistics and also shifts the family knowledge-keeping burden from one person (ahem, Mom) to everyone.

11. Less is More—When adults spread ourselves too thin we get tired, cranky, overwhelmed, etc. Kids can feel the same way. Instead of doing all the activities, choose one or two per season. Life won’t be as hectic and everyone benefits from breathing space (especially in September!)

12. Foster a Growth Mindset—Instead of focusing on grades, encourage your child to reflect on their own learning. What can they do more confidently than they did before? What makes learning easier for them? How can they extend themselves? If a child is stuck on “I can’t,” try using psychologist Carol Dweck’s technique of tacking on a “yet”: “I can’t YET.”

13. Sleep Hygiene Saves Sanity—Schedules and sleep get out of whack during summer. That first week of grumpy tumbles out of bed and grumpier after-school restraint collapse might be more manageable if you start easing back into a bedtime/wake-up routine a couple of weeks beforehand. A good night’s sleep makes everything easier. For everyone.

Communication is Key

14. Teacher = Partner—Many parents wait for official conferences or when a problem arises to meet their child’s teacher, but a friendly intro during the first week (even via email) is a great idea. Establishing a positive connection early on leads to clearer communication and helps everyone to remember that we are all on the same team, your child’s.

15. Lecturing Isn’t Listening—Parents are problem-solvers and behaviour tutors, but sometimes our kids don’t need us to offer advice or constructive criticism. Sometimes they just need to be heard and accepted, no matter what. September is a doozy of a month with so much change and new expectations. You might have to adjust your own expectations a little, at least for the first couple of weeks. Kids adapt quickly, and knowing that they have your unconditional love and support makes all the difference.

I never thought I would be one of those parents. You know, the distracted parent, engrossed in something on their phone/tablet/laptop while their child is trying in vain to capture their attention. And then it happened. My 6-year-old son totally called me out on it.

“Mama! What is more important? Me or your phone?”

Yikes. Now, granted, my son is quite impatient when it comes to getting my attention, and I knew I hadn’t been ignoring him for an inordinate amount of time, but his words gave me instant pause.

No matter how much I tell my son I love him, if my attention is so often focused on this little gadget in my hand that he thinks it is more important to me than him, ever—well, something needs to change.

In the cold, dark, winter months it was definitely more tempting to scroll through Instagram or Marketplace when I had spare moments. It’s been a source of mental respite during long days of homeschooling and pandemic isolation with my delightful-yet-intense son. We can’t be “always on,” it’s exhausting. But as the world wakes up and summer holidays approach, I feel like it’s going to be easier to put the Google machine down and reconnect with everything around me, including connecting in more meaningful ways with my son. I don’t ever want to take his presence for granted and I certainly don’t want him to think he comes second to a machine.

I also know that kids learn profoundly from observing what their parents do, and I want him to make healthy lifestyle choices that don’t revolve around a screen. Electronics are already so alluring, I need to reinforce that there are many, many alternatives he can choose from besides passive entertainment. And to do this effectively, I need to model it myself.

So, I’m making myself a list of resolutions—ways I can cut down on my own screen time and alternative activities with which to replace it. My intention is that this summer we can create some good habits that will stick with us throughout the fall and winter.

#1: Schedule time away from my device.

I find myself wishing we had a landline again. Because then I wouldn’t have to constantly have my phone nearby for people to contact me. Out of sight, out of mind, right? However, with senior parents and a young-adult stepson with a chronic disease, I need to be reachable. And landlines are expensive. Since completely divorcing myself from the smart phone isn’t possible, I need to set (and keep) some boundaries for myself. Giving myself set hours when social media, news or Marketplace scrolling are “no-nos” sounds like a good start.

#2: Have alternative activities conveniently located.

A good portion of what I consume on my device is writing or art-related. Unfortunately, phones are a very private type of consumption—it’s hard to share what you’re looking at or reading with someone else. But if there are books, poetry, puzzles and magazines etc. lying around, chances are higher that, if I’m looking at something with interest, my son will join me.

#3: Creation vs. Consumption

I want to make more art. Be it visual, written or musical, putting down my phone will free up more time for self-expression—and hopefully model for my son that art isn’t just done in art class. We can live creatively every day and actively make meaning, rather than passively watch someone else’s products and thoughts scroll by.

#4: Spend more time in nature

Now that my son is older, he can walk further and tackle new physical challenges. During the summer, unencumbered by busy schedules, we can stretch ourselves to go on more outdoors adventures on this beautiful Island we get to call home. Beachcombing has the same mind-calming effect for me as phone-scrolling. Therefore, I should do it more! And we’ll pick up some litter while we’re at it. Even spending more time together in the garden will be a good start.

It feels like the world is getting ready to turn a page and start a new chapter. I feel confident that making these small changes in my relationship with my device will add so much to my life, my son’s life and our connection with each other. It’s so easy to zone out on our phones, but time already passes by far too quickly, and I don’t want to miss out on what is truly important because I’m staring at an electronic screen.

The decorations started appearing during the lazy, hazy days of summer—glints of tinsel and multi-coloured lights, side-by-side with water toys and Halloween candy, a chilling reminder that “winter is coming,” and with it, The Holiday Season.

But isn’t it, “the most wonderful time of the year?”

Well, not for everyone. For many people it can be an incredibly stressful, triggering, and even grief-laden ordeal to be survived. Even those of us who don’t have any specific dark or sad association with The Holidays can find it anxiety-provoking to see our social schedules fill up and to-do lists grow. And, of course, this whole global pandemic situation isn’t helping stress levels!

Over the years, I’ve felt myself grow cynical in the face of rampant consumerism and the artificially inflated expectations of this time of year. I know I didn’t always feel this way, and while my son was younger and experiencing many “firsts,” I reconnected with a sense of magic and wonder through his eyes. But now he’s reached an age where he’s focused on toys, toys, toys. I feel like any kind of meaning is slipping away, chased out by an avaricious Gimme Monster.

I can’t let that happen, so I’m digging deep this year, trying to reclaim some meaning (and hopefully, joy!) in the season that is fast-approaching, for myself as well as my son.

December and early January host important celebratory days for a number of religions. My family is not religiously affiliated, but there is still plenty to celebrate, and ways to help my son learn to embrace a sort of magic that brings even better gifts than Santa. This magic includes the tenacity of hope, new beginnings, connection with others, comfort during uncertain times, the pleasure of giving, and the nostalgic continuum of collective family memory.

Winter, as the literal (and often psychologically) darkest time of the year, actually heralds brighter days ahead—the return of the sun. Acknowledging the Winter Solstice always reminds me that, as dark as things might seem, better times will return, as surely as the sun rises and sets. Festooning our home with bright lights and colours both celebrates this and makes the dark days more bearable.

Several years ago we had a beach fire on the solstice. A lady walking by asked us if we were letting go of things to prepare for the new year. We were, in fact, introducing my son to the culinary brilliance of S’mores, but it sounded like a great idea. We each wrote down several feelings, circumstances, or ideas that we wanted to leave behind and threw them into the flames. It felt wonderful! A solstice beach fire this year is definitely in the cards.

Another thing I genuinely look forward to is decorating our tree. Not the putting-up-the-lights-part (gak!), but the annual reunion with our lovingly stowed-away ornaments and their attached nostalgia. Sharing these memories with my son passes on family culture and history, and also presents an opportunity to remember loved ones who have passed on. I eagerly anticipate the moment when he holds up one of the ornaments to which he has an attachment and says, “Mama, I remember….”

Decorating is one of many winter rituals in our home, undertaken in a similar way each year. There is something deliciously comforting about knowing what comes next, even for a short time. Other family rituals at this time include baking cookies, snowshoeing, reading certain stories, sharing yummy food, and watching favourite seasonal movies (Christmas Vacation, anyone?).

Engaging in these activities together triggers memories of happy times past and creates new memories for the ‘bank’ that we can draw from in years to come.

The holidays are known, and often disparaged, for their excess, especially at a time of year when those who struggle to get by are really struggling. I am so grateful for what we have and try to vocalize this often in front of my son. I want us to exercise the ethic of gratitude, and pair it with the spirit of giving.

I’m not sure exactly how it will look this year, but I think it’s important to include my son in the planning of how we can share some of our abundance. How we can give to others to help make their lives better in some way, even for a little while? I have a feeling that even considering this question together will be a powerful exercise, and I’m looking forward to hearing some of my son’s ideas.

In fact, after writing this, I find that I’m actually looking forward to the upcoming holiday season. After all, experiences are what we make of them.

Recently an anonymous poster in a mom’s group spoke of feeling lost in motherhood and craving something outside of the domestic realm through which to find and express herself. The acute need behind her words resonated with me.

I think that many parents, and especially moms, experience a kind of disconnect from themselves amidst the daily trials and tribulations of parenting. The challenges of the past year have undoubtedly amplified that feeling for countless people, and I’ve heard and read more than one person drearily anticipating “another COVID summer with the kids.”

I wonder how many of us stare into the mirror in the mornings and wonder: Who is this frazzled, exhausted person?

When my husband and I decided to have a child, we knew our lives would change. I experienced quasi-parenthood when my step-kids lived with us for four years. However, they were older (9 and 10) and independent in many things so I still had space and time to pursue my self-fulfilling passions of music and writing.

Currently, I’m lucky if I get 15 minutes to myself to play the piano, never mind compose anything. Writing happens in fits and starts, ideas jotted down on scraps of paper and promptly forgotten about, pushed to the farthest, most cobwebby corners of my too-full brain for someday when I have more time and energy. Someday, someday…

The expected shifts brought with my son’s arrival coincided with other, unexpected, transitions and challenges for our family. Even when I occasionally had time, I was too burned out to do anything with it besides veg out in front of Netflix.

I’ve definitely experienced many morning Mirror Moments, studying my expanding network of grey hairs and my tired eyes, wondering: Where did the person go who had all these dreams and goals, who got so much satisfaction out of creating and sharing? Where is she? And who on Earth is this?

Eventually, as it does, life settled into a more predictable routine. There was more breathing room and I started finding my way back to my artistic self. When my son turned four he attended an outdoor preschool. I used this time for “me” and really began to hit my creative stride again. My first journal entry of 2020 was full of artistic and personal goals that I was excited to strive toward.

And then along came COVID. We opted for distance learning for kindergarten, since we have immunocompromised family members. Homeschool, unexpected though it was, has been a good fit for us, and my son has thrived so much that we’ve decided to keep him enrolled in this option. I’m grateful for our privilege in being able to do it (and the lucky fact that I was a teacher in my previous career!).

However, it also means that the “me” time I was temporarily gifted is gone, at least for a few years until my son becomes more independent with his learning (and can be left to his own devices for more than a few minutes without fear of household disasters and traumatized pets).

But you know what? I’m OK with this.

Every season has different priorities, as well as lessons and opportunities for growth. Possibly due to the roller coaster we went through over the past five-and-a-half years, I’m learning to accept that now is not forever.

When I look in the mirror, even though I don’t immediately see her, I know that Creative Me is still in there, observing, processing, storing, and dreaming. But it’s not her time right now. At the forefront of my reflection is Mama, a strong, resourceful, empathetic, calm (usually) presence who is showing up for her son and family in the best way she can, in this here and now.

I do let Creative Me out to play every now and then. I join my son in journaling each morning, I’m learning violin alongside him, we make up silly songs together in the car, and I do different voices for every single character in my nightly read-aloud of Harry Potter. This is how she manifests right now, and I’m content with that. What I produce has changed, but it’s still an outlet.

There will inevitably come another time when our lives are different, when there are plenty of hours to spend lost in creative flow because my son is off playing with friends, or working, or going to university (gulp) in a post-COVID world. Perhaps I will look back on this season of intensely shared time and space and I will miss it. So I’m soaking it in. This Covid-summer is going to be amazing.

“Tomorrow is a new day.”

My mom has often used these words (memorably uttered by the irrepressible literary heroine, Anne Shirley) to placate and comfort me when things get to be too much.

Throughout the gong show of 2020, and still today, I find myself using these very same words as a mantra—sometimes hopeful, sometimes desperate. But lately, as I continue to navigate this new reality of homeschooling, working from home, and pandemic restrictions with an increasingly headstrong 5-year-old and chronically frayed nerves,“tomorrow” often doesn’t feel soon enough.

This doesn’t mean that I am wishing the hours away. At least, not usually, although the countdown until bedtime is more exciting some days than others. Rather, in this new pressure-cooker environment it is harder to be responsive and intentional vs reactive and unhinged, and there are many, many times when I wish there were an instant reset button so that I could handle a situation with more kindness and calm, with less crankiness and exasperation.

These are the days when my parenting falls short of my ideal. My voice gets a little louder than I’d like (usually after the kazillionth time of calmly asking for shoes to be donned, toys to be picked up, or the pets to be left alone). Or I overlook the warning signs of an impending meltdown and dig my heels in when I should be softening. Or I catch myself saying “no” as a reflex, shutting down before I listen.

Parenting is hard. Parenting under additional stress, and doing it “perfectly,” is impossible.

Like many, I struggle with anxiety, which often appears as a nagging, chastising voice telling me I am not enough, that I’m failing, that I’m letting my son down. During his first several years I let that voice lead me along spirals of catastrophic thinking and paralyzing panic. Fortunately, thanks to counseling and help from my doctor, I’m now better at recognizing the warning signs and take proactive steps to manage it. I’ve learned that listening to that needling voice does not serve anyone except for Anxiety itself.

Of course, our extra-ordinary circumstances (at least at the point of writing this) have not made managing my mental health any easier, and this pandemic doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. I often find myself drawing on the power of wisdom which has been shared in many different ways by others, essentially: you can’t always control your circumstances, but you can control your perspective, which in turn can influence your response.

Stress piles up and spills over. It happens to the calmest parents. Anxiety or not, beating ourselves up every time we get testy is not helpful and can lead to more of the same reaction.

So, here is what is helping right now:

Even though there is no such thing as an actual reset button, I’m getting better at stopping, breathing, and giving myself (and my son) the grace to try a “redo.” This perspective shift is sometimes all it takes to diffuse a heated exchange or get a bad day back onto a positive track. I literally pause and say, “I don’t like how this is making us feel. Let’s try this again.”

At the root of this grace is my love for my son and my desire to do my best for him. Shaming either of us for a mistake (a raised voice, impatience, etc…) doesn’t serve him, or me. We’re both learning to forgive ourselves (and each other) and do better next time. The redo gives us a chance to do better right away.

And when all else fails, “Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” – L.M. Montgomery

(Note: I strongly encourage anyone who is struggling to reach out for help from a medical or mental health professional. There is no shame in it, and you will probably be shocked to realize how many people are dealing with anxiety and depression, especially during these unprecedented times. You are most definitely not alone, and it does get better).

(When Small Talk Scares You)

I am a textbook introvert, with a generous helping of social anxiety thrown in that makes me cautious with interpersonal situations, especially unplanned ones. My husband is also quite content to go quietly about his business with minimal interaction. We’re both selective about with whom we spend our limited social energy and need solo time to reset when we’ve been mingling or having to make *gulp* small talk. Imagine our surprise to discover that our 4.5-year-old son has blossomed into a gregarious little extrovert!

When we are out walking, it’s pretty much guaranteed that he will enthusiastically greet unsuspecting people working in their yards from at least 50 feet away. As they look around, trying to figure out where the booming little voice is coming from, my son commences The Questioning: “What’cha doing?” “Why are you doing that?” “What’s your dog’s name?”…you get the idea.

Caught off guard by his intensity, most people answer right away, as if they’ve been hauled up in front of the principal. Thank goodness they are, by and large, friendly and good sports about it, and cheerfully engage with his sometimes intrusive enquiries. (Although, even if we meet the odd grumbly pants, my son seems unfazed.) When his newest best friend actually gets a chance to ask him a question, he regales them with a detailed story in response, often with cringeworthy personal details thrown in for extra effect.

And yes, I am dying during all of this.

Every instinct I have about steering clear of unexpected social encounters is thrown into conflict with my protective instincts—I’m not just going to watch from the sidelines or hide behind a hedge as my son walks up to strangers; I have to engage with these people with him. He clearly needs more social interaction and some guidance with the conventions of two-way conversation. These situations are incredibly powerful teachable moments; however, oh my goodness, I’m so uncomfortable. As soon as he bellows out, “Good morning!” and rings his bicycle bell at someone I feel blood rushing to my cheeks and adrenalin shooting into my extremities, a persistent voice in my head imploring me to, “Run away!”

My grandfather, after whom my son gets one of his middle names, was known for his social largesse. In his senior years he would do daily rounds of the neighbourhood on his scooter, visiting with the local businesspeople, neighbours, and anyone who crossed his path. When he passed away, many people remembered him for the jovial twinkle in his eye and his plentiful jokes, all told in a lilting Cape Breton brogue.

Introversion has its positives, but so does extroversion. I have fond memories of so many people who, like my grandfather, treat everyone they meet as someone they are genuinely happy to interact with, laugh with, and shoot the breeze with. This generosity of spirit is a true gift, and I’m happy to see it emerge in my son, even though it sometimes makes me want to run away and hide.

Recognising the joy he brings to others helps me relax in these situations. To see someone’s strained, weary face light up as my son tells them all about “My big boy bike that I ride because I’m four (going to be five in…how many months, Mama?) and I’m growing sooooo fast that Papa had to put the seat up and I don’t need the stabilisers (training wheels) any more, and listen to the bell that Mama got me for my birthday—it’s ‘bewiful,’ isn’t it?”—it’s kind of magical.

And so I grit my teeth and come along for the ride—the quiet, shy sidekick to my super social child. We talk about safety, and how we never, ever go with someone without Mama and Papa’s permission, but, for all of his outgoingness, he’s actually really careful and observant of his surroundings. I’ve learned the names of many of our neighbours (and their dogs) that I would not otherwise have known. They seem like lovely people. It’s as if my young son has pulled me into the community, like someone pulling a wallflower out onto the dance floor. I am grateful. Uncomfortable, but grateful.

I don’t often suffer from writer’s block, but I’ve certainly wrestled with it lately. After weeks of COVID-19 lockdown we’re trying to negotiate a gradual re-entry into daily life—what is being referred to ad nauseam as, the “new normal.” It’s hard to imagine what tomorrow will look like, let alone this next month. My mind discards topics as quickly as I think of them: too trite, too mundane, too irrelevant. How can I possibly know what will be useful or inspiring to parents over a month from now?

Deep. Breaths. Required.

A pause to reflect and observe. If nothing else, this virus has gifted us time for that. I notice that, despite often oppressive fear and uncertainty, our communities are responding to this crisis in many positive, heartening ways. For example, we are collectively acknowledging those amazing people whom Mr. Rodgers would have lovingly labelled, “The Helpers,” be it on social media, when we see them on the street, and even from our front porches and balconies at 7 p.m. each evening, pots and pans in hand.

People are hanging hearts in their windows and decorating their sidewalks with colourful chalk messages of peace and kindness. There is an overwhelming (in a good way) feeling that we are all in this together; therefore, we are going to get through it together, even though we must stay physically apart.

So, we’re reaching out to each other in the safe ways available to us. Friends check in (“Are you still alive over there? How’s your wine supply?”), and parents comfort their children, even as we struggle, ourselves, to make sense of how the world seems to have turned upside down overnight. I’m giving my son as many “Mama hugs” as possible without smothering him, but I am missing my own mom’s hugs in a way that physically hurts sometimes.

I can’t help but wonder, sadly, how many of us have been unable to give our moms a physical hug, either because of social distancing measures, geographical separation, family rifts, or because they are no longer with us in this world.

What is it that makes a “Mama hug” so special?

For me (thanks, Mom!) it’s the feeling of being wrapped in a cocoon of unconditional love, an unspoken promise that things will be OK, and an injection of unwavering faith in my ability to rise up and do what I think I cannot.

Right now, “mamas,” maternally-inclined caregivers, all over the world are being taxed to their limits. Kids are home from school and, in many cases, are confined to the house (or apartment!): bored, scared, and missing their friends. Mamas are juggling childcare and the new frontier of homeschooling, often with working from home or venturing into the new scariness of the world so that they can continue doing the essential jobs that keep society safe, healthy, and fed.

Mamas not only make sure their households are functioning, that there is food to eat (and toilet paper in the cupboard), but that everyone’s emotional needs are cared for as well. All this while they’re feeling the fear of the unknown, fear for loved ones, fear of lost income, fear of lost learning, fear of psychological ramifications…the list is long, and it keeps them up at night.

But, despite everything, the vast majority of mamas are holding it together. They are finding a strength they didn’t know they possessed and they share this strength with their families. They get up each morning and face another day, try to look for the good, teach their children to “look for the helpers,” and to make the best of things. And they dole out “Mama hugs” to all who need them, even if (for now) they are mimed over Zoom, expressed in emojis, or transfigured into kind words and understanding in a phone call.

So, to the mamas, I am sending all of you the biggest, warmest hug I can muster, and I know that you will do the same for anyone in your life that could use a “Mama hug” right now. I see you, I applaud you, and I believe in you—you’ve got this!