Archive for ‘mompetition’

June 12, 2013

enough is enough

the top blogger results are in and… i didn’t “win”.

i do, however, feel like i have won- many times over.

being noticed, nominated, and shortlisted, is “win” enough. meeting fellow mommy bloggers, building community, and learning loads is “win” enough. feeling validated, reinforced, and supported in my endeavor is “win” enough. feeling as though my integrity, authenticity, and voice are celebrated is “win” enough. placing in the top ten is hugely, massively, and tremendously “win” enough.

so, thank you. thank you for your loyalty and thank you for your support.




June 8, 2013

shameless self promotion and other personality flaws

week 2 of the blogger contest will conclude tomorrow and i have never been more neurotic (don’t worry, i have some perspective, i know that this is no where near true).

though i’ve definitely been nuttier, there is no doubt that having been named as one of vancouver’s top mommy bloggers has had me spinning. afterall, it wasn’t so long ago that i wrote this, which should have served as a warning re my general lack of ego strength as well as my flailing “blogger” identity.

i am floored by the recognition and, albeit confused, am super delighted that someone other then my mom likes what i’ve got going on (no offense little lady) and, admittedly, am excited beyond belief about having been invited into such a cool club of really, really talented women.

this said, i have found myself wondering how this came to be, considering my un-blog ways and all, and have been immersed in near-constant reflection (narcissistic, much?) re the whole she-bang- spending far too much time querying my my writing style, the intent and possible purpose of my writing, the direction of my writing, the perhaps goal of my writing, the am i even good enough aspects of my writing. so many ridiculously unimportant questions in the larger scheme of things.

needless to say, the sane person in me has been begging to be let out of this brain.

and then, a sign from the universe:

the mike robbins, well-respected author and motivational speaker, started following me on twitter. i have no idea how or why this transpired but i’ll take it. previously aware of him via work, i’m a fan, you see, as his message centers on emotional intelligence, overcoming personal fear, moving forward with confidence, and living in line with your individual and authentic truth.

you see what i see? yah, that’s right. i’m considering the timing of this to be more then ironic. i’m gonna go ahead and name it a little spirit nudge.

thank you cosmic intervention, i needed that.

i also need you. there are just a couple days left of this comp and with my new found self-assuredness, i think it might be fun to try and be a contender.

if you haven’t already, please send a vote my way and peer pressure your friends to do the same.

vote here:


as for the rest of you, many, many thanks for generously promoting me, voting for me, and encouraging others to do the same. i’m truly flattered.

peace, hh.

May 27, 2013

my mom’s got my back

today’s the day people, the day we’ve all been waiting for. today, we can begin voting for’s top momma blogger.

as you may be aware, i have been shortlisted as one of the finalists. not in the know? where have you been? afterall, i have been spamming your news feed with the good news all week. just catching up? check out my good news post here and my bio here. i’m #29, just like my years- ahem.

now, i know i don’t stand a chance against the amazing competition (these women like DO this and they are really, really fab) and i am well aware that having arrived thus far is absurd and amazing and enough. never one to listen to limits though, let’s do this. i’m pumped. so’s my mom. she thinks i’m pretty great.

should you agree with her, vote for me (me, me, me, me, me) and vote for me often (often, often, often, often, often).  i would like to be known as a top something and this coveted title works for me.

click to vote:


if nothing else, learning of the final count should be worth a laugh.

bless, hh.

March 13, 2013

hard to swallow

the truth is, i’m not much of a “mommy blogger”. i don’t do what you’re supposed to do, i guess.

i can’t stay on top of daily updates, i am not organized (or interesting enough) to list to do’s and we did’s, i lack the genes required to decorate with cute design features or photo logs. i don’t fall under the categories of creative, crafty, or custom (there is only one ‘c’ word that might apply to me and my mom reads this so i’ll spare both her and you the vulgarity).

i’m not funny on purpose, i don’t have much entertainment value, and god eff’n knows i  am not sexy (these days, in particular). i don’t blog as a way to promote my services, my business, my trade. i’ve got no giveaways, contests, or anything very merry to share. i won’t offer advice, parenting or otherwise. i don’t advertise my words any further then sharing them with my limited social network, and i’m the first to admit that i am from the dark ages with regard to web networking.

i don’t have a problem with this.

i do have an issue, however.

the thing is, i have been fortunate to have somehow established a wee bit of public interest but, because i have the emotional resiliency of a newt and am not short on the coo-coo factor, it’s causing some real panic up in here. i am

so, yah. on top of being sleep deprived, full-time harassed by my preschooler, and sucked dry by my baby, i somehow now feel pressured by unspecified new expectations of myself which is confusing, stressful, and a complete buzz kill. the flow has been officially compromised.

you see, writing is an expression of chance for me: when inspiration, interest, energy, focus, and time connect in some spontaneous and random way, encouraging and allowing me the opportunity.  these moments of fluidity are happening less and less lately and i fear that this is more about feeling pressured to perform, or my ability has been poisoned by some twisted social insecurity now that i think i am somehow part of the blogger realm.

point is, pardon the absenteeism. spare me some patience. momma’s gonna get her groove back. oh, and if you have any cures for ruminative and paralyzing neurosis that does not include heavy drinking (see above re baby and power nursing), do share. i need all the help i can get.

peace, hh.

February 14, 2013

february: the final frontier

this is how it all went down.

i’d just given birth and, because my son was 11 pounds, i delivered my dignity along with him, leaving me disabled, for weeks, unless heavily medicated.

it was a preschool morning and i, somehow, managed to get dressed, as well as the kids, and then made my sore ass and their cute butts down the stairs, out the door, and in the car. we even made it there on time. it was amazing.

unfortunately, there, after all this effort, instead of a cheer squad ready-set to celebrate my achievement with high fives, was the parent sign up sheet for the halloween party that was scheduled for the following week. this is not the stuff that dreams are made of: i fail miserably at cute mom. the very mention of pinterest gives me anxiety and, on occasion, makes me hostile (you’ve been warned).

i began to sweat but, fortunately, was quickly pulled from my place of fear by my unreasonably competitive spirit (thanks, mom). damned if i’m gonna opt out like some flake, my inner monologue asserted, and i approached the sheet, handwritten in perfect preschool printing, with my head held high.

i scanned the options (cupcakes, cookies, other things that required skill) and, then, relieved, my eyes zeroed in on the cheese and cracker platter. it was a cop-out, but it was a deal. we always have cheese, we have a pantry full of crackers and i felt that regardless of my current state (i.e. inability to perform basic bodily functions), i should, at least, be able to manage that.

no one will even think less of me, i thought, considering it was pretty obvious i had bigger issues to contend with (as evidenced by full brief adult diapers visible above the waist of my sweatpants).

as it turns out, i managed to forget that i’d committed myself to the easiest contribution and on the day of i noticed on the calendar that i had scribbled: “be cute for preschool”, in what looked like a menacing, drunken script. with minutes to spare i mad-frantic hacked up some cheddar and threw it in, of all things, a zip lock bag, complete with a paper plate (admittedly, weak choices) and a bag of stone wheat thins. not quite what i’d envisioned providing for the merriment of my son’s first preschool celebration but i, delusional, assumed it would be good enough.

needless to say, whilst funneling into the classroom i couldn’t help but observe the amazing spread of wholesome and delectable treats also making there way in, held proudly above the makers shoulders as they unzipped the coats of their children with one hand. i cringed, my entire body shrunk, when i saw the other mother’s cheese platter complete with a variety of fromage choices cut out in seasonal shapes and figures (we’re talking about pumpkins and acorns here people) with a wide selection of cracker pairings attractively displayed on a carved wooden serving dish.

head down, i slinked to the food table, infant car seat bumping along my shin as i shuffled my pathetic remains forward. i casually placed my offering on the table providing no eye contact and no conversation, so not to draw attention to myself and in hope of it all going unnoticed.

i left embarrassed and upon return home, i debriefed with my father, who had arrived for his shift as assigned support person, present to intervene should i fatigue, hemorrhage, or melt down to the point of being unable to parent. another mother failure, i reported. sucked it up hard at today’s cute mom attempt, i confessed. patiently, he heard my ridiculousness and shallow musings about the mom race.

fortunately, by pick up time, i’d snapped out of it. eff it, i’d decided. in the classroom i confidently collected my child and scanned the food table to see if any leftovers required gathering. there it was: my ‘effort’, untouched. even the children knew it was a flop. i shrugged it off and then marched over, scooped it up, and made our way to the car.

my father, having accompanied me for the ride, was still in the car with baby. he wisely remained silent as i wrestled my sugar-high boy into his car seat and then collapsed into the driver’s side with a whine- rejected snack in lap.

a few minutes later he broke the silence. “so…”, he began, tentatively, “it all came back”.

just then, before i could reply, the big boy asked for a snack.  “well, looky here son”, i replied, “i happen to have some crackers and cheese ready, just for you”.

my dad and i, delirious, laughed all the ride home.

so…. it’s valentine’s day. you’d think that months later i would be healed from the ego wounds i suffered so many months ago. well, perhaps i have. this said, the depths of my vanity are profound and i have been waiting for months to redeem myself.

and, now that i am continent, can walk with some grace, and generally function like a regular woman, i did. i participated in some role play and put on the ol’ apron. i read and re-read the recipe. i measured, mixed, and swore. i created havoc, and cookies. i dressed myself nicely, walked my son in proudly, placed the platter down whilst engaging as many people as possible. i returned, sure that my treats would have been well appreciated.

and, they were. that’s right, bitches.

p.s.- i realise that my cookies looked like pinterest cookies after they made friends with the blender. whatever. the point is, i baked something, all by myself, the end product resembled a valentine’s cookie, and they were full of sugar. the good moms might scorn me behind my back for not making something with whole grains or a super food but the kids apparently liked them and i got a story out of it. frankly, this adventure turned out better than the last vanity fuelled activity i shamefully participated in i.e. forcing my engagement and wedding band on my sausage of a ring finger trying to prove to myself that i’d lost enough baby weight to get away with it. in the end, my finger went numb, purple, and swelled up until it looked like an angry penis. the rings had to be cut off. no word of a lie.