The Neon Pink Backpack.

About seven or eight years ago, I was diagnosed with a life threatening illness. 20% of Canadians will be diagnosed with this in their lifetime. 100% of Canadians will be affected either by friends or family who will be diagnosed with this. It's one of those illnesses that doesn't discriminate based on age, economic status, gender, or culture.

Treatment is pretty simple. Medications control the illness and its symptoms. Effective treatments and consistent follow-up with my medical team help keep the illness in check and avoid major complications.

But there is one huge difference.

People run away from people like me.  No one is lining up to offer me or my family support, keep my kids busy, visit or call or bring meals.

If I had cancer (and this is not at all to say that cancer in and of itself isn't serious), the amount of support my family would be offered would be immeasurable.

But I don't have cancer.

I have depression.  It can affect every waking moment of every single day.  It can leave me exhausted by simply getting out of bed in the morning.  There can be days where just getting a shower or making a meal feels like a gargantuan feat. 

And there are the good days.  The days where I practically spring out of bed, ready to face my day, fight the good fight, and feel like bedtime can't come soon enough because I have been so busy and productive that I have exhausted myself, but I feel ready for more. 

Thankfully, there are more of those days than the former.

The thing is, the stigma of mental illness is such that while 100% of Canadians are going to be affected by this disease, those that are lucky enough to not have the disease do not understand what their actions do to those who do. 

When you have a friend who is diagnosed as depressed, deciding that it's too hard for you to deal with is probably the most selfish and hurtful thing you can do.  Depression is isolating.  Depression can be all consuming.  The person with depression might come off as angry and rude, but the reality is, they are - they are angry that they are feeling so low, and they (we) don't know how to handle it.  We push people away because we don't want to be with ourselves.  When you have a friend who seems to be pushing away, you should be pulling them in closer.  Not accepting that they are pushing you away.  Once you've isolated that friend, or rather, once that person has isolated themselves from you, your response, or lack of response, simply solidifies in their mind that they are the worthless piece of junk their brain has told them they are. 

When a depressed person feels abandoned by her friends, not reaching out simply tells that person that she is indeed abandoned.  That the people she thought cared, really don't.  Because if they did, they would not have abandoned her.

It's a state of mind and it's cruel.  Chemical imbalances that require medical intervention are cruel. 

Imagine, for a minute, that you had a 100 pound weight on your back.  You cannot put that weight down for anything.  It's already on you when you get up in the morning, and you can't take it off to shower, use the toilet, brush your teeth or cook breakfast.  You can't take it off to drive to work, or do your grocery shopping.  You can't take it off at work at your desk, and you must absolutely carry it around everywhere you go.  It goes to bed with you, too.

But you can't tell anyone about it either.  Because people don't want to know about your 100-lb  backpack.  They would much rather ignore it and pretend that even though it's neon pink, doesn't match with your outfit, and sometimes even has a flashing light and siren that will go off at intermittent, unplanned intervals, we just don't talk about pink backpacks.  Your pink backpack is your problem to deal with.  No one else wants to know about it. 

Chances are, they have their own backpacks.  Some of them are heavy, but match well with their outfits, so they're hardly recognizable, and often, they are someone else's burden, that they are carrying for that person.  Or that they have taken on of their own accord.

Sometimes, the backpack looks like your neon pink backpack, but it also has a sign on it that says "cancer", and people are drawn to helping them with their backpack.  Or trying.  They'll offer to take a few things out of their backpack in an attempt to lighten their load.  Sometimes, their backpack is much bigger than yours.  Sometimes, their backpack is so big, it's only a matter of time before the backpack takes them away.  And those people struggle if not just as hard, sometimes even more than we do with our intermittent-siren-and-lights backpack.

Sometimes, people have a big pink backpack, but all they carry in it is one or two small things.  They think their backpack is the same as your backpack, but they need all the attention.  They've found a way to trip the siren and the light so it goes off all the time.  They get the sympathy you crave, even though you haven't told anyone about your backpack, and have tried to hide it by covering it with something that makes it look like everybody else's backpack.  You force yourself to stand taller and not bend over the weight of your backpack, so you can look like you're not carrying a 100-lb noisy and light emitting backpack. 

And just when you think you've got a handle on the weight of your backpack, something inside shifts and the weight is once again unevenly distributed.  Now you have to find your balance again with this shift.  See if you can figure out what shifted and whether or not you can get it back in place, or if you have to find a new way to cope with this new distribution.  There are professional backpack packers.  They can help you pack your backpack in new ways and even help you get rid of some burdensome items.  Buy they won't come to you.  You have to find them.  And sometimes you may not like the way they pack your backpack, so you have to try another one who will help you, and not tell you how to pack your backpack.

Everyone has a backpack.  They're all different sizes with all sorts of different items in them.  You can ask for help, but your friends should realize when your backpack might be getting too heavy.  As people with depression, we need people who will be there when our backpack gets too heavy or the load shifts.  We already recognize that other people's backpacks are also heavy.  And because we don't want to add the weight of our backpack, we pretend our backpack isn't as heavy as it is.  We carry ourselves and hide the weight of our packs.  Just so our friends, the people we are supposed to turn to when our packs are heavy, won't feel burdened by our loads.

Don't be that sort of friend.  If you have a friend with a neon pink backpack that intermittently sounds a siren and flashes lights, ask them if they need help with their load.  Sometimes, that's all they need.  To know someone recognizes they have a heavy load and are willing to help.   Don't stop calling and inviting them or excluding them because their backpack is a garish shade of pink.  Remember, they didn't choose to have this neon pink backpack with the lights and sirens.  This is the backpack they were given. 

10 Questions Parents of Twins Get Asked, and How to Answer Them.

It has taken me nearly twelve years to have the strength to write this post.

For those of you who don't already know this, Banana and Squish are twins.  They came into our lives five weeks early at 35 weeks gestation, on July 10, 2003.  They spent three weeks in the NICU (Special Care Unit, actually) and were not in incubators for more than 24 hours after birth.  Except for Banana, who has always played to the beat of her own drummer.  She had some jaundice so went into an incubator for another 24 hours for phototherapy.  But other than that, both girls were breathing just fine on their own and though they were five weeks early and needed to learn how to suck properly, they were pretty healthy (if you consider Squish's constant projectile vomiting of every feed 'healthy').

When we finally got to bring them home (three weeks after they made their entrance into the world), we began to get inundated with the multitudes of questions that people seem to feel they have the right to ask.

You see, having twins is like instant celebrity.  People seem to notice twins and they just have to stop and ask as many questions, as they can.  Not as many as they feel is appropriate, because apparently nothing is off limits when you're asking a mom of twins about her twins, her pregnancy, her fertility, her feeding procedures, and her justification for said everything-related-to-babies.

God help the people who got to me before I'd had my morning coffee (just ask my sister-in-law.  She was often present when this happened)

Some of the answers I'm going to post I wish I had thought of (I'll qualify those ones).  And the ones I actually did.

1.  Q: "Are they twins?"
 My Answer: (with confusion on my face): Yes (while thinking 'Why on earth do you think there are two of them?!')
What I wish I'd answered: "No.  I found one in a parking lot and figured 'Meh, why not?'"

2: Q: "Are they natural?"
My answer: "Ummmmm? Yes?" (while thinking "WTF does that mean?!")
What I wish I'd answered:  No.  We commissioned them.  They are made totally of recycled parts.

3. Q: "Did you use fertility treatments?"
My answer: "Ummmmm?" (while thinking "And this is your business because?")
What I wish I'd answered: "Do you want the name of my doctor?  Shall I have my medical records forwarded to you?"

4. Q: "How do you tell them apart?"
My answer:  "I'm their mom.  I don't really have a problem telling them apart.  They don't even look the same."
What I wish I'd answered: Well, my answer above is pretty much it.

5. Q: "Are they boys?"
My answer (usually): No.  They're girls (usually while thinking "did the pink blanket, pink shirt and flowery pants throw you?"
What I wish I'd answered: Oh, did the pink blankets, pink shirt, flowery pants throw you?
My husband liked to answer: "Why?  Are you going to buy them a present?"

6. Q: "Are you breastfeeding or bottle feeding?"
My answer: "Bottles"
What I wish I'd answered:  "I can't really see how that's any of your business, but since you asked, based on how they eat and the fact that one likes to throw up every time I feed her, I wasn't in the mood to be a cow and be feeding 24/7 since they don't eat at the same time."

7. Q: "Which one is the evil twin?"
My answer: Blank stare
What I wished I'd answered: Blank stare pretty much covers it I think.

8.: Q: "How do you manage with two?"
My answer: It's not that I have much of a choice.
What I wish I'd answered: "I pick the one I like best that day and take care of that one." or "How do you manage to get up everyday?"

9. Q: "You must have your hands full!!" (Okay, not really a question)
My answer: Yep.,.  both of them.  And my heart, too.
What I wish I'd answered: See above.

10: Q: "Are they identical or fraternal?"
My answer: Fraternal
What I wish I'd answered: "Sororal. Get it? Cause they're girls."

It has never failed to amaze me, even now, how much people think they deserve to know about you, your children and your medical history when it comes to twins.  I swear, it makes me want to go up to them and say "is that your child?  Is it a boy or a girl? Did you have it naturally or did you need fertility? or did you adopt it?" Noone ever goes up to the parent of a singleton and ask any of the above.  And if the kid doesn't look like the parents?  Well that's a whole 'nother ball o' wax (such as Asian children adopted by North American parents - my friends adopted their daughters and I have heard that people ask white couples of Asian children how much their children "cost".  WTF!?)

One thing I will say: I would never ever change the experience of having my children the way I did.  Everything was new, and even though we spent 3 weeks in the Special Care Nursery, I still wouldn't trade our experiences there for anything.  We learned so much, met some incredibly fantastic (and one or two not so great) nurses and doctors.

Why Honeymaid Graham Crackers are The Only Graham Crackers We will buy

http://youtu.be/2xeanX6xnRU

On March 10, 2014, HoneyMaid put out a commercial celebrating families. 

In this advert, we see a father feeding his baby a bottle. Pan out, Dad kisses baby on the forehead. But it's not the dad feeding the baby. It's his/her other father. Yep. A gay couple. 

Further families portrayed are a family where the parents are tattooed and playing drums (gasp!!  Their child might learn to enjoy music!!!). And an interracial couple and their children. They had the audacity to - are you ready for this? - HOLD HANDS IN PUBLIC!!!

What is society coming to?  All these different types of families?!  My goodness. 

All of the families portrayed in this ad had one thing in common. For as different as each family was/is from each other, they all love each other. 

And that is what HoneyMaid is trying to convey. That families are different. But they all love. 

The backlash they received was probably not unexpected, but what was even more impressive, was that the messages of hate and intolerance were outweighed 10:1 by messages of love and tolerance.

This is a business, a company, that I can happily buy products from, knowing that they value love and family, not what type of family.  Unlike an unnamed (as in I will not name them) pasta company that have made it clear that they support ONLY the traditional heterosexual, monoracial family. 

I am only one voice, but hopefully, more people will hear the messages and pass them along. 

To the cashier at Metro

Thanks for the compliment that at least I "knew what was for dinner" when I was in last week picking up ingredients for that night's dinner.  We were talking about how I couldn't find a certain type of noodles and how your family (your siblings) are so picky. 

The thing is, I don't always know what's for dinner. Most of the time I get home from work and think "we have to be out the door for {insert program here} by 5:45. What the hell am I going to feed the kids?"

Funny thing is, I have a crock pot, a full fridge and freezer and pantry, tons of ingredients, a good imagination and access to a few really good apps for cooking. Yet most days, I can't figure out what to make. 

Often, we have leftovers available to eat. But my kids usually won't eat leftovers. They have to REALLY like what was for dinner the night (or two) before to deign to eat *gasp* reheated pre-cooked leftover food.  

I have a finite amount of time from Monday to Thursday to get food stuffed in their faces, homework done (or at least started), piano practiced, swimsuits, towels and karate uniforms located (still can't find Banana's karate belt. Let's hope she grades for her yellow and we won't have to look for her white one anymore), art supplies gathered, music binders collected and somewhere in there I have to manage to feed myself or get some housework done. Usually it's one or the other. 

I'm not complaining, and I didn't feel your  comment was insensitive. I just had to laugh a little because you thought I had it all put together, when in reality, I'd only picked the recipes a couple of hours earlier to complement the one dish I knew I was going to make. 

At least I can pull off the illusion of pre-planning. 

That said...

What am I going to make for dinner tonight before we run out the door for swim lessons?