Why Waking Up?

I was telling my husband about the idea of this blog a while ago and I told him what I wanted to name it. He said “Waking up 30? But you are 32 – what does that mean?”

I find it a bit difficult to describe what Waking Up Thirty means to me without absolutely blowing your minds with dullness, so I will try to be as clear with as few words as possible.

There is a legend that says that a woman awakens on her 30th birthday. She is more sexually aware, self-aware, worldly, her true self, blah blah blah.

Well, what-the-hell?

I feel like 30 was probably the least favourite of my years, even 31 was not that great. Yes, I had a lot of wonderful life events going on –  we had a baby, moved – fun things happened… but I wasn’t fully there. (I did/do have some health issues that caused some problems. They are getting better, so let’s just leave that there.)

I just didn’t feel fully connected. I had really felt grounded and awake in my late 20’s when I was focusing on myself – getting healthy and being a bad-ass-bitch all around.


Then 30 came and went. Pregnant as fawk.

Then 31 came and went. Post-part-em bullshit.

Then 32 came and I was like,


I have slowly been poking that Dirty Decade in the ribs for the past few months. It isn’t easy. I have almost forgotten some of things I once loved. No wonder 30 didn’t want to come out to play. I was boring.

I think women are often bombarded with feelings that once your 20’s are behind you, it is time to shut up, sit down and eat the pasture grass. Beautiful and talented actresses get less leading roles in movies. Models basically retire. Working women often have to make the decision to either have children or keep their high-demand jobs.Generally we are told that our fun days are over.

I ain’t down with that.

I have come to realize that passions don’t just die with age. You can be in your 30’s and still learn. You can still discover something new within yourself, or you can ignite old flames.

So, I said – always the rebel – that I am going to do what I WANT. Screw society’s ideals. Screw the notions that 30 is a downhill ride in the back of a semi.

I started painting again. I started playing music again. I started letting go of my reservations that make me feel like I can’t accomplish something I have a passion for.

I started waking myself up.

I started a blog too.

I am learning new things:

  • How to keep my mind in tact while being a stay at home mom. (My kids are relatively easy, it is the day in and day out that drives me off the edge.)
  • How to make time for myself even when the guilt tells me not to.
  • How to love fully and not be resentful for the things I lack.

I don’t have it all together. I have none of my shit in the same wheelbarrow. I make rash decisions – like buying chickens when we have no mother-effin clue how to raise those. I paint over perfectly good paintings because even though I liked them yesterday, I didn’t like them today.

I am working on my patience, honesty and judgmental tendencies.

I am working on it. I am working on everything. I am a work in progress.

I don’t want to be satisfied with just being. I want to learn and I want to grow daily. and the only way I know how to do that is with practice and time.

I have eight more years with this 30 thing. I call it the Dirty Decade because I like playing with words and I feel like the 30’s can be such a time of self-reflection for so many… and that self-reflection can be freakin’ terrible.

Here is to laying it out, not letting any fear of failure take away my passion and just keeping it real.

Love yourself,


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Tired Eyes

You like the closeup of my eye up there?

That’s full makeup me – ready to take on the day!

Taking a picture of myself really puts my ego in check.

I can look like a million bucks in my bathroom mirror and then I take a natural light selfie and all my Lookin Good Bubbles deflate.

 I think I have been tired for going on 3 years now.

 It started with insomnia during my last pregnancy.

Pregnancy induced insomnia happens to a lot of women. Allegedly it is a way of preparing us for the sleepless nights that our spawn bring with them.

 Once I had our last babe, I thought I would at least be able to sleep when she slept – and I tried.

What I didn’t know was that I would develop a different kind of anxiety that I had ever experienced before.

Of course, I had the usual, “OMG I need to check to see if the baby is breathing! She slept for two hours!” type of panic moments.

This anxiety was not that.

I wanted to be perfect. Perfect Mom.

It never happened.

However the desire to be perceived as having all my shit together caused me great panic and it was a lot of effort! It was so much effort that I didn’t want to leave the house.

Every detail of my day and every decision was like a life or death situation.

I negotiated with voices in my head.

“Are you sure that is the right decision?”

  — “Well, it is better than the alternative.”

“But you could be doing so much better.”

“You need to try harder.”

It got so bad that my anxiety kept me awake at night. Being kept awake at night while you have a non-sleeping spawn is not the best cocktail for saneness.

One night in particular I remember getting up for the eleventieth time to get the crying babe from her crib and I completely collapsed.

I fell into the overflowing laundry hamper in our bedroom. Thank mother-eff I wasn’t on top of my laundry game.

I was exhausted.

I am not sure why I did this to myself. I am not sure even when I started getting better, but things are better now.

I don’t freak out if my child is given chocolate. Hell, she eats a cookie before 10am some days.

I am able to leave her with other people for a few hours – that was a huge milestone for me and she is actually going overnight to my sister’s tonight while we go out on a date. HOLY EFF.

In retrospect, I should have asked for help. When I say help, I mean professionally.

I already had a history of anxiety and depression. I think it was aggravated by post-part-em hormones and the stress that comes from being responsible for a fragile new life.

There are so many of us who go through issues like this alone.

We may or may not have a significant other who helps us raise our children – we might even have extended family that helps here and there- but we keep our mental states to ourselves.


 Why is it so taboo to tell someone how we are feeling?

 Is it because we feel like a nuisance?

 I feel like I would be much healthier right now if I had of gotten help earlier.

I am finally feeling better with some time and other health issues are being addressed, but I wish I could have taken a look at myself and pushed my pride away and made a doctor’s appointment.

 If you are feeling overwhelmed, it is normal, but it is also completely OK to tell someone.

If you feel even more so that shit is not good – get help. Please.

 My body is still catching up.

To go from hyper-alertness compounded with less sleep for a couple of years, I think it is going to take quite some time to feel 100%.

I am going to have tired eyes for a while.

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Is it Just Me?

I have a severe affliction of the mind.

At night, almost every night actually, I lay in bed and rehash my highlight reel of “Allison’s Worst Moments.”

They are those memories which make me squirm and hide my face under the blankets and sometimes wish I could have a do-over.

I have the craziest long-term memory. I may forget my belongings in weird places, I might forget to text you for 10 months, but I can remember who sat where in my Grade 2 class.

I can also vividly remember all the horribleness that came from me. Sure, I remember the good, but it is the not-so-proud memories that resonate with me.

I was never really a bully. As a matter of fact, I always tried to stick up for people who got bullied in school. However, I am a girl that had girl friends and what happens when a group of girls get together?

Back in my day before the internet was available to entertain our closed-minds, we would kind of be awful to each other.

Instead of encouragement, we infected each other with self-doubt.

Instead of trying to understand our differences (or heaven forbid embrace them), we tried to unify our clique. We didn’t want each other to have a skill or knowledge the other didn’t possess.

We were almost like one walking, talking blob of sameness. We sucked.

Thank eff we grew up and out of that shit.

Or did we?

Even as a young adult I kind of thrived off my “I am a bitch” attitude because I thought it let me get away with some things. I also felt like I needed to have a cold shoulder in order to protect myself from hurt.

I was the main bitch, no one could out bitch me.

That got pretty tiring. I still have the uncanny ability to say exactly what is on my mind and I have a general feeling of “I don’t give a fuckedness.” But is it wayyyyyy different now.

I was posing before. I cared a lot about how people thought of me. Now I don’t care so much about how others perceive me, but how I make myself feel.

(That highlight-reel. Oi. It makes me cringe.)

I kind of feel like that clique mentality shifts as we get older- like the same stupid “cool kid” requirements of the right shoes, clothes etc.  Hell, now you have to have the car, house and job to go with that. HELL, now you have to even push this crap onto your kids.

Remember that little online shopping problem I told you about in the previous post? This really flared up when I was preparing for my last baby. I bought everything I could that was “in” and would make me a trendy mom.

I also joined what I thought was an amazing local parenting Facebook group and I really enjoyed conversing with the people in it.

It was an exclusive group in which you could only join after being in another group and had to adhere to some requirements of natural parenting etc.


Adult clique.

Anyway, at the time I was put off work early for maternity leave I thrived in this facebook group. The others in the group knew all the answers to my questions, could recommend new ways of doing things and knew the best ways to go about doing them. It was great, until it wasn’t.

It was when the mood switched from general advice and fun to “I can’t believe that mom did THAT” that I realized the group was not for me. It wasn’t for the person I wanted to be.

The final straw for me was when one Member came into the group to chastise another mom she had met that day in public (at WALMART, how self-righteous).

The Member saw that Walmart Mom looking at the sippy cups and the Walmart Mom exclaimed,

“Oh I wish they had blue ones for my son, all they have are pink for girls.”

Member decided this was unacceptable and came running to our Facebook Group immediately to tell us all about Walmart Mom who “didn’t know that boys can use pink cups too and it seriously impedes the child’s development because they perceive pink as wrong and colours should be gender fluid, yada yada.”

I simply inquired if Member had talked to Walmart Mom.

“Did you tell her that a pink sippy cup was just as useful as a blue one and the boy’s male anatomy would actually stay in tact during use?” I asked.

The answer was no.

Member didn’t.

Member thought it appropriate to instead berate Walmart Mom in a private setting, behind social media’s closed doors where Walmart Mom would never know.

I left that Facebook group that day.

Those actions of Member reminded me of when I was in elementary school and I wore a dress almost every day. One day I was wearing my favourite twirly dress and I heard some girls whispering about me – it was something to the effect of, “doesn’t she know that only babies wear dresses to school?”

I never wore a dress to school again and the next time I tried on that favourite dress of mine, it didn’t fit anymore. I effing loved that dress.

The real issue is that this is not a facebook or social media problem.

It is a SOCIAL PROBLEM. This happens everywhere.

It’s the Mommy Wars.

It is the “I am more of an adult that you are Wars.”


“I-have-this-knowledge-but-I-don’t-want-to-share-it-so-we-are-equal Wars.”

The ones who behave this way are always the dicks in movies. I don’t want to be a dick.

I guess all I want is for all the cattiness and back-alley behavior to stop. JUST STOP.

I know I can’t change people, but if there is anything that I wish to do in life right now it is to create more positive energy.

If we could just start thinking and acting in a more positive manner, I wonder how that would change our outlook? I wonder if it would change the general vibe that society currently has? I know all about herd mentality. If you look it up, it is similar to when mob goes into hysterics and starts looting. Even people that generally wouldn’t loot, do it because the thought process of the mob almost becomes contagious.

Why can’t we do that with positive thought?

I think the change first has to start within ourselves.

Love yourself!


As a side note to this blog, I have created a short off-the-top list of some I would like to say “I am sorry for being a dick” to:

 – The girl I yelled at in Global History class in school. I didn’t mean to make you cry.

 – My best friend for yelling at her while I was pregnant (we could blame hormones, but I was just jealous you were continuing your young and fabulous life and I was, well… going to be a teen mom)

 – My other best friend for making you feel like shit while we were at the lake/pond thing – you got enough of that crap from your brothers, I didn’t need to help.

 – My other best friend for not being there quite enough.

 – Girl Guides – I ate the entire box…

 – My former Grade 5 music teacher –  I am pretty sure the damaged flute is still at my parents’ house somewhere.

 – The girl we gave that awful nickname to. You always bring it up, even when I see you now.

 – The girl whom I put through her own hell in high school. I am sure he hurt you, but it was my fault.

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This is an Engaging Title!

Hello to you!

This week has been the longest ever.

My car kicked the bucket on Saturday so we are in search of another that fits our “no debt” policy, but isn’t also 18 years old. It is annoying as hell because my husband and I are complete opposites.

I swear he must have been asleep since 1999. He still rocks his Nirvana shirt, plaid button-ups with Lee jeans…

…wait a second. My teenage daughter also wears clothes like this. It is quite possible my husband is “on-fleek?”

Enter Twilight Zone music and all the voices in my head going into mass hysteria.

 What a week to be without wheels. It is finally feeling like spring, my youngest child is getting stir crazy and I have a friggin parcel at the post office. Said post office closes at 5pm and Husband does not get home until 530pm.

This is my life right now.

A parcel at the post office IS LIFE.

 Since becoming a Stay at Home Mom I have discovered something amaaaaazing.


I don’t go overboard. But when I do manage to get my bank account looking decent, I splurge a little.

I am pretty sure my post office notice is a golden ticket for either A.) a new hair straightener (2 years overdue) or B.) A makeup haul!

I have never ordered makeup online, but I am seriously addicted to a couple of make up groups on Facebook and they are a bad influence.

It has been so long since I felt the need to buy new makeup – I almost felt guilty.



 Anyone who knows me in real life knows I basically look like Napoleon Dynamite when I wake up.

I have the Ginger Curse of white eyebrows and eyelashes. Waking up next to me can be quite a shock.

 There was a time, starting roughly around age 13, when I would not even leave my parents’ dooryard without full face. God forbid if some feller was driving down my road at 80km per hour and managed to glance at my translucent-non-makeup face. I am not sure if they would have even been able to see if I had a face driving at that speed, but teenager logic prevails all scenarios.

 As I got older, I definitely still kept up my “No, I always look like this” appearance.

Unless we were close friends and we either went: camping, swimming, working out , or I accidentally stayed overnight when I was supposed to go home then you saw me with foundation, eyebrows, eyelashes, blush. BARE MINIMUM.

Then I got a little hermit -y following my last pregnancy and birth.

The attire for being a stay at home mom requires little effort. My toddler does not judge me, although sometimes she does like to feel how squishy my stomach is and I definitely fabricate some sort of judgement coming from her. Self-image is a serious thang.

Anywho, cue the sweatpants and no bra, no makeup, no hair did look.

There was actually a running joke in our family that Husband would come home and I would be in my underwear.

He would say, “oh, no pants today?”

I would just look at his working-out-of-the-home ass with contempt.

Then I decided I had to do something. I don’t know what happened. Maybe I had just had enough of taking care of everyone else and decided it was time to take care of me for a while? I decided I was going to start doing more things that I, MYSELF, loved.

I love to paint, sing, play music, work-out, and I love being semi-girly.

I threw out all of my granny panties! (OK, I still keep one pair for monthly purposes)

I bought a new bra. I got a new outfit and a pair of goal jeans. My goal jeans fit now too.

Now I sit and wait for my new makeup. THIS IS LIFE. Well this is my life.

You might be sitting there thinking, “really? A bit of makeup and new Walmart undies makes this lady’s day.”

Well, eff you.

When you go so long taking care of others it is really easy to lose track of taking care of yourself.

It is a common issue amoung new parents. Hell, it is common to anyone who has to put others before themselves – whether they be taking care of a loved one, or their job is tending to others needs. That shit is tiring.

What I have learned, truly, is that when I take care of myself I am a happier person. When I am a happier person, I am a better mom, wife, friend, daughter. I have time for other people now because I am not constantly exhausted by the idea of having to take on another person’s emotions, time or energy because I have my own outlets now.

I have been working out consistently since December and man do I feel the positive differences. I have hypothyroidism  so getting started was a huge hurdle, but it happened and I am so happy now that I started exercising regularly again.

I even started meditating on a regular basis. I have never tried this before and it felt a bit weird at first, but it actually helped me learn to relax and slow down a little. I do it for around ten minutes per day. I have been lacking lately, but I am definitely going to keep this as a practice.

I hope any of you who find that feeling of guilt or shame that can come with self-importance can let go of it.

I had someone tell me I was self-important once, and I thought it was such an insult.

It is not. When you put yourself on your priority list, it has a domino effect.

Love yourself!


ps) I will update with my post-office haul once I have wheels!

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