Imperfect action is a lot better for my mental health
Perfectionism is not altogether a bad thing. It's good to have high standards.
But it's doing me more harm than good.
I think I may have unwittingly passed my perfectionism on to my kids.
I realized this playing catch with my son. He was way too hard on himself because he wasn't catching every ball.
One of my simplest pleasures is a game of . . .
Manor Park School's production of The Lion King Jr was magic
One part art. One part story. One part love. Mix together: The result is magic.
Kids from Manor Park Public School in Ottawa brought together a community with their production of The Lion King Jr.
I once told my children to think of school as a community. Instead of the physical building and walls that surround . . .
I wonder why I put myself through the mental wringer
Depression tracks me like a ninja, quietly plotting his course in the dark; muted footfalls, cagey eyes.
Living with it requires constant vigilance, self-care. Ignoring the signs can lead to disaster. I constantly calculate the costs and benefits of disclosure. I'm afraid of appearing weak.
I push through.
Deep down, I know something's . . .
I talked about Jesus, but my kid's focus was on the Easter bunny
I'm not a religious person. But I know there are forces I can't even begin to understand in this universe—forces greater than anything I can ever fathom.
I'm a non-practising Christian, but I always reflect around Easter. Good Friday, especially. I was going through my journals and came upon a passage. A discussion about Easter, when . . .
A con artist left me feeling grateful and betrayed
I have to give her credit, she told a great story. Before my son and I realized she scammed us, we felt pretty good about ourselves.
We were enjoying a nice father-son walk around the neighbourhood. Came across a woman near the end of our street. She was hard at work, chipping away ice on her driveway.
A bit rough around the edges, her face . . .
I called him back—find out what happened
The call came at 5:09 on a cold January morning, waking me from a sound sleep. It was a text-to-landline message.
"Goodbye Nicole, I love you," the robotic voice said. An obvious wrong number.
I thought about the message. Maybe it was a husband sending a sweet message to his wife. But I felt a finality to it; five words can mean a lot.
I . . .
A holiday story
Fuzzy Bunny was very excited to open his gifts on Christmas morning. Every day in December, he counted how many days were left until the BIG day. He wished very hard for an iPod, so he could play all his favourite games without having to share with his brother, Fuzzy Hoppy.
It was Christmas Eve. Fuzzy Dad worried about paying the credit card . . .