So I managed to do my ankle in, which landed me in an Aircast and crutches. I know what you’re thinking and for the record, I was not walking and texting. In fact, I was attempting to walk and talk at the VERY same time and managed to go over on my ankle. It’s a good thing I wasn’t chewing gum or I may have ended up in a full body cast.

Clearly this cast/crutches thing is not an ideal situation for a multi-tasking mama. To further complicate the matter, Daddy-o was out of town for the week and the affected ankle was attached to my driving foot. The already difficult task of getting various children to various activities at the same time reached a whole new level of crazy.

It was an interesting experience for me, and this is what being on crutches taught me:

- My friends who deal with real-life chronic pain, illness or disability – I know you find it annoying and even a little condescending when people tell you how amazing and brave you are, but yeah, that. I am not amazing or brave – mostly just whiney.

- Six-year-olds can pack their own school lunches and will include fruits and vegetables. They will also feel proud. Kids step up when they need to.

- Crutches take the focus off a sore ankle by causing excruciating pain to your armpits. Did the people who made the crutches plan it that way? Is it some twisted method of trying to distract from pain by creating new pain?

- Not being able to drive was like a forced holiday. I contemplated prolonging the appearance of injury, but convenience and reality won out.

- There are friends and family members who are extremely helpful. But when help is offered, I must be clear with instructions. I should specifically say, for example, that “picking up bread” means a minimum of three loaves in a family of our size. That one loaf that was dropped off lasted 20 minutes.

The top lesson, of course, is to watch where I’m going. Curbs have a way of jumping out at you when you least expect it. Have you had an injury or illness that has caused temporary disruption to family life? How did everyone manage?

My "Number One Son" with his life-long buddy. They met at "Moms group" when they were a couple of weeks old.

Twelve years ago I gave birth to my first beautiful baby. When he was a few weeks old, I was invited by a local midwife to a neighbourhood centre to meet other women who had also just had their first babies. It was my introduction to the “moms group”.

Moms groups get mixed reviews. Some say that having a same-aged child in common is not enough to form a social relationship. Others report that these organizations are a breeding ground for competitiveness – whose kid is rolling over, who toilet trained first, which mom has already lost the baby weight…Sometimes people have different expectations around what the group will provide for them.

These are only things I have heard. From that first moms group and through the following years I’ve spent completely immersed in the mama community, I have never experienced these things. Instead, I have been supported by other moms who want nothing but my kids to flourish and succeed. They have been my cheerleaders, friends, confidants, reliable advice-givers and opinion sharers. We have laughed and cried together, us mamas.

There is one less mama to laugh and cry with now. One of the beautiful and talented mamas I met in my very first moms group passed away on Christmas Eve. I still picture her as I saw her that very first time – sitting peacefully at the neighbourhood centre before our first meeting, nursing her beautiful daughter, Harper, with a look of love and adoration in her eyes.

You share something special with the mamas you have travelled the whole journey with – those in that first moms group. These are the people you filled the days with – walking the neighbourhood together with your strollers, chatting as you pushed toddlers on the swing at the park, taking care of each other’s kids when a sibling arrived. For over a decade we have watched each other’s children transform from newborns to pre-teens.

Of course, I can’t stop thinking about my friend’s now motherless children and what that will mean for the rest of their lives, but this passing has been a reminder to me of how special our mama relationships are. I am thankful that she was a part of my amazing introduction to the mama community, a community that will never be the same without her.

Her loss also made me think about moms groups and the very different experiences we all have. What does “moms group” mean to you? What was your experience?

Good big brothers don't expose the Santa lie to little brothers.

I spoke last year about the difficulty of outing Santa to my son. He was at an age that most kids no longer believed, so he needed to know – I didn’t want his ‘believing’ to potentially embarrass him among his peers.
I took the opportunity to spill the beans about Santa to him last June. The timing was good since absolutely no one was talking about Mr. Claus. My son was shocked, but generally it went over well. I positioned it in a way that he felt a part of the inner circle of maturity – he now had the responsibility not to ruin it for his younger siblings. He was on the same team as us parents, and it seemed to have some legs.

Not long after that, my 10-year-old daughter came downstairs one morning in tears. Apparently that slacker of a Tooth Fairy had forgotten to visit for the third night in a row. I guided her into the mud room, shut the door and said: “OK listen, I’m the Tooth Fairy and I suck at it, so (reaching into my pocket) here’s five bucks. You’re getting a couple of bucks extra as hush money”. She started laughing hysterically and asked who else was in on it. I said her big brother knew so she sought him out for a quiet meeting for those “in the know”. Big brother assumed she knew about all of the parental lies so blew the Santa secret. No great surprise for her – she admitted to having some suspicions on the Santa front.

Now that the holiday season is upon us, my son said to me last week “Mom, I’m really mad at you for telling me about Santa, but thanking you since no other kids my age believe in him. But, it’s still OK for me to believe in the Christmas spirit, right?” Yes son, permission granted.

And so, I have four believers in the big guy left and suspect by this time next year I’ll be down to three. The good news is, the two biggies are a great help. I can take them shopping and not worry about buying presents for the other kids. Also, they are in charge of relocating that ridiculous Elf on a Shelf every day. If you think I’m a bad Tooth Fairy, that’s nothing compared to when I had Elf-moving duties. Let’s just say we had the laziest Elf in town – and that’s exactly what I’d tell the kids.

Do you have a houseful of believers?

It's a sad day when you sit your kids down to warn them about being too trusting of coaches and mentors.

Last weekend, the whole family was in the truck and Daddy-o needed to dash into a shop. The rest of us waited in the vehicle, talking about capital cities. By the time he returned, we were in a big conversation about Penn State. He shot me the “How the heck did that happen?” look. As it turned out, the conversation went in a direction that provided an opportunity for this discussion. Besides, I had the undivided attention of all of them and had to take advantage of that.

I tried to explain the situation in simple terms – it was discovered that a trusted and loved coach was touching children in their private areas over many, many years. The point of the discussion was three fold; it was a chance to:

- remind them that people we love and trust can hurt us;
- once again say if an adult ever tells them to keep a secret from me, unless it has to do with a gift, it’s a red flag. Adults don’t ask children to keep secrets from their parents;
- re-state that no one is ever allowed to touch them or make them touch. If there is touching of any kind that makes them uncomfortable, they are encouraged to speak up and self-advocate, knowing that they will be supported by their family.

Then came the question period, and boy, did they ever do a good job of it. Three questions were particularly difficult and I was completely unprepared for them. I fielded them with honesty and think it went as well as it could.

Question #1:
Why would a grown-up WANT to touch a child like that?
(Insert my sad explanation about creepy pedophiles and the things they will do to “groom” a child).

Question #2:
What if the kid didn’t tell the coach to stop? What if the coach didn’t know the kid didn’t want to be touched?
(Insert my explanation that adults KNOW it’s wrong. Even when kids don’t speak up, adults know it’s against the law).

Question #3:
What if the coach didn’t actually “hurt” the child?
(Insert my explanation of different kinds of abuse, and how the ones that don’t physically hurt can be just as/even more damaging).

How did you deal with Penn State? Did you use it as an opportunity to speak with your kids about the hard stuff, or was it just too difficult to go there?

Just prior to taking this photo, someone may have attempted a triple back flip off of the diving board....

I’m all about dads playing hard with the kiddos, but around here I’ve noticed that “playing with” the kids has a tendency to transform into “showing off” for the kids. Unfortunately, when the showing off starts, the risk of Daddy-o injuries increases. That famous quote from Top Gun often comes to mind: “Your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash”. I must admit that when such adult injuries happen, I’m not exactly sympathetic.

One particular incident occurred a few years ago. Daddy-o had the kids outside to demonstrate some bike tricks. Before long, he entered the house, bracing his arm and saying I had better drive him down to the hospital. I quickly determined that the arm injury was the result of falling off his bike – the bike that he was standing on… while riding down a hill. I suggested that rather than have me pack up all six children for some quality time in the ER, he use his good arm to get himself to the hospital. My compassionate nature does not always shine when our family experiences a showing-off induced injury.

I know other families have suffered such mishaps as well. I recently ran into an old high school friend shopping with his family. When we were kids in the same neighbourhood, this guy lived on his skateboard – riding it everywhere and doing impressive tricks with all his boarding buddies. As we stood chatting in the shop, I noticed his arm was in a brace. When asked about his injury, he told a tale involving breaks in several locations, hospitals, surgeries, pins and rehabilitation. Curious, I asked about the cause of the injury. His wife sighed and rolled her eyes. Yep, you guessed it – he’d dusted off the skateboard to show the kids a few of his old tricks.

Other injuries we’ve encountered have come from lifting heavy items, and an unforgettable one involved wood chopping and an axe. How about you? Has the show-off injury phenomenon made its way into your home? Who do you take to the ER more often – your kids or your spouse?