Category Archives: Parenting

Do you “Fakebook” too?

Parenting is hard work. And when you have a child with special needs, the job becomes that much tougher. So forgive me if I only post the happy moments on Facebook, a practice that’s been dubbed “Fakebooking.”

Facebook posts celebrate the exciting milestones, like a birthday.

Facebook posts celebrate the special milestones, like a birthday.

Instead of telling my network of friends, acquaintances, fellow writers and PR associates how my autistic son had two night terrors last night resulting in a terrible night’s sleep for both of us, I post the video of him skiing at COP. Instead of complaining about my daughter’s hazardously messy room (a going concern), I post a cute picture of her making a Valentine’s Day craft. The posts, of course, reflect well on me: rather than coming across as a tired, nagging mom who loves a good pity party, I project the image of a tireless, together mom who has all the time and desire in the world to take my tykes skiing and then tackle crafts with them (I die a little inside every time the finger paint comes out, truthfully).

The posts are true, but they portray the smoke-and-mirrors version of my life. A day in my real life involves tears, tantrums, stress, worry and fatigue. As a family therapist I interviewed recently said, “Life is always way messier than we’d like it to be.”

Ah, the Christmas cuties. Seriously, who's going to post about how their kid threw a tantrum when he didn't get a Furby from Santa?

Seriously, who’s going to post about how their kid threw a tantrum when he didn’t get a Furby from Santa?

Bloggers have been calling out the guilty (me!), accusing them of airbrushing and Instagramming real life in an effort to get “likes” on Facebook. But instead of condemning Fakebooking, a story in the Huffington Post asked, “Is putting your best parenting foot forward really so wrong?”

I have to agree, and defend my position. Just as I don’t want to read about my friends’ parenting or personal challenges in such a public and impersonal forum, neither do I want to share my daily struggles and become the virtual equivalent of a Debbie Downer. There’s a time and place to confide in close friends about life’s lows, and that place is not on Facebook.

So, until the next girls’ night out with wine and whine, I’ll keep posting the cute, the funny and the inspirational. Parenting is challenging for everyone, so why not get a virtual high-five to celebrate its successes?

Date night fails

The last two times my husband and I have tried to go out as a couple have ended in failure. A week ago we booked a sitter so we could go see The Hobbit while it’s still in theatres, but an hour before she arrived our daughter whacked her head on the bed frame necessitating a trip to the emergency room and three stitches.

Bandaged in triage, my daughter's head injury killed what might have been a romantic night out. Nevermind, hobbits  kinda kill romance too.

Bandaged in triage, my daughter’s head injury killed what might have been a romantic night out. Nevermind, hairy-footed hobbits kill romance too.

Then, on Saturday, our son spiked a fever five hours before the babysitter showed up. We cancelled. The really annoying part of this particular date foiling was that I’d spent three hours at the salon that morning going back to blonde. My new lustrous locks and subsequent blow out was wasted on a sick five-year-old.

My new hair. Well, not exactly. Dare to dream!

My new hair! Well, not exactly. Dare to dream…

It’s all very deflating and makes you wonder — what’s the point of date night? Should we make an effort to get gussied up to go out on the town (and spend a bunch of money) when we might have to cancel at the last minute? Or, should we just lounge around in our P.J.s and watch Breaking Bad together after the kids are in bed and call it a date? Romantic, I know.

A recent story in the Globe and Mail lambasted the concept of date night, calling it a forced domestic chore that puts added pressure on couples. After our last two sad attempts, I can relate. In the run up to date night, you invest a lot of energy into looking forward to it, relishing (and idealizing) the idea of time away from the kids. But sometimes the movie sucks, or dinner is just okay, or you have to cancel and then imagine that you are missing out on the best night of your life.

On the other hand, there are times when date night works and you return home feeling reconnected with your partner after talking about things other than the kids and schedules. I wrote about date night’s benefits in a Calgary Herald story awhile ago.

Personally, I’d skip the date nights altogether if Blake and I could have regular date weekends. You know, dump the kids off at Grandma’s house and hop a flight to San Francisco or Montreal for a blissful escape exploring a new city. After all, the Globe’s argument wasn’t that couple time isn’t important, but that it’s better spent discovering something new together, or being spontaneous.

Enjoying a weekend in Montreal sans kiddos.

Enjoying a weekend in Montreal sans kiddos.

What about you? Date night — yay or nay?

Snow plow parenting? Seriously?

While skiing in Fernie this past weekend my Google alerts brought me news of the very latest trend in parenting: snow plowing. Yes, this dreaded manoeuvre from the bunny hill has become a technique that some parents are using to help their children succeed — they simply sweep all obstacles out of their kids’ way like a snow plow.

The snow plow is painful enough with skis -- let's please not do it while parenting.

The snow plow is painful enough with skis — let’s please not do it while parenting.

For example, parents might bribe a coach with cupcakes to ensure their son gets a spot on the baseball team, or poison the competition so their daughter is chosen for head cheerleader. Really, there’s no telling the lengths modern snow plow parents will go to to clear the path of least resistance for their progeny.  As one blogger lamented, “Snow plow parenting will ruin the world.”

What strikes me as funny about this parenting label is the name. Have you ever watched a little kid learn how to ski (see photo, above)? It’s painful. The snow plow (or “pizza” as it is now called to get kids excited about doing it) takes a lot of muscle co-ordination and is fairly exhausting for little legs to execute down the mountain. It’s why tiny tots take innumerable breaks mid-run and can only ski for a half day tops, or risk putting their legs into the “French fry” (parallel) position to rest their screaming quads, at which point they get out of control and crash.

Sometimes I am forced to snow plow when my daughter takes me on tree trails through the woods. I do this only to check my speed so I won’t end up wrapped around a giant cedar tree with damage to my internal organs. Let’s call the snow plow an emergency position — it’s  not a move I want to transfer onto a groomed run, ever. Or do day after day (I wouldn’t have the energy for it).

As another blogger pointed out, perhaps there’s a little tiger mom, helicopter, free range or snow plow parent in all of us. The trick is knowing which parenting hat to wear, when — and only becoming a “snow plow parent” to keep your kid from crashing into a tree, chair lift tower or other life-threatening obstacle.

What are your thoughts on the latest parenting “trend”?