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?

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.