– Read all Talking With My Toddler posts here. –

But right around that time, we went from one kid to two and I quickly understood why moms lower their output expectations once they are outnumbered.

Here’s the thing though. I now feel terrible I haven’t blogged as much of Cole’s life as I did Lilly’s. I know it’s normal. Kind of like completing a baby book, or getting the nursery decorated before their first birthday. The odds of completion drastically decrease with each kid.

Well, it’s time I give this little guy his portion of the spotlight!

Cole had initially been slower to talk, but we have seen huge improvement in the last 8 months. He has always been very talkative and clearly had a great vocabulary, but no one could understand him except me. He officially started speech therapy last summer, which we opted to move forward with, since he still struggles with pronunciation. Plus, everyone told me it’s better to be proactive. I’d rather be working ahead on developing his speech now, than risk him struggling when he starts school.

Fast forward to now and he is mostly understood by many people around him. He occasionally still needs his Cole-to-English translator (me), but he can hold his own quite well. It’s been incredible to see his funny personality come alive.

I foresee many, many humorous additions in this round of Talking With My Toddler. For starters, I think he works the word penis into at least one conversation per day. More on that in the future

For this edition, I thought I would start off sweet. For out of all the things Cole has learned to say, this one is the most important. Last week, he and I had a little conversation in the car on our way back from speech therapy.

I mean, it is really hard to kick him out of bed when he’s this damn cute.

Prior info needed – Since December, I can almost count on one hand the number of times he has slept in his own bed all night. We thought it started as teething, then it was a cold, then more teeth and now? Well, who the hell knows. Either way, he starts off in his bed and winds up in ours hours later. So I decided to ask him why.

Me: “Hey, listen bubba, I wanted to ask you a question.”

Cole: “A keston?”

Me: “Yes, a question. Where are you supposed to sleep at night?”

Cole: “In my liten queen big boy bed” (Translation – Lightening McQueen bed, because we’re kick ass parents.)

Me: “That’s right. In your big boy bed. So bub, why have you been crawling into bed with mom and dad?”

Cole: (being sure to lock eyes with me in the rear view mirror to really drive home the melt…) “Because I miss mommy and daddy. I wuv mommy and daddy.”

He said this last line with such a sweet, sincere and almost sad tone. Tears immediately hit my eyes and I had to hold them back so I didn’t really upset him. Cole has said “I love you” in response to having it said to him, but this was the very first time he had said it on his own initiative and he used the right context.

Me: “Oh baby. We love you too. I love you so much.”

Cole: “I wuv you too much!” (his typical excited response to that statement)

With this conversation, he effectively melted away whatever parenting concerns I had about him crawling into bed with us. Once I repeated the chat to Adam, it did the same for him. I know the issue of independence and co sleeping can divide parents into one of two camps, but frankly, I don’t care. At this point, we are neither for or against it. Our toddler wants to cuddle for the last half of the night because he loves us. That’s all the information we need.

That being said, ideally speaking, he will grow out of his before he’s 18, or it might be a bit awkward. 

The post Talking With My Toddler. Round 2. #1. Learning the language of love. appeared first on Ideally speaking....

Over the past couple of weeks, our family has been dealing with a series of head colds. Come to think of it, we may just be dealing with one never-ending cold. The good news is we seem to finally be coming out of it now. However, for a while there, I was feeling nothing like myself and wanted to do nothing more than sleep the congestion away.

Like most people, when I’m feeling under the weather, I crave comfort foods. Most often, I long for a thick and hearty chicken noodle soup. There is just something about it that warms me up and makes me feel cozy from the inside out.

A pot full of comforting goodness.

Ingredients:

4 cups of chicken broth
1/2 cup of butter
3 Tbsp. oil
3 cooked chicken breasts, diced
1 carrot, peeled and diced
2 stocks of celery, diced
1 onion, diced
3 tbsp parsley
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 tsp oregano
1 tsp thyme
3 cups Chickapea penne pasta
Salt and pepper to taste

In a large pot, heat oil and add carrots, celery and onions and saute until veggies are soft and onions are translucent.

Add garlic and saute for 1-2 minutes.

Add chicken broth, parsley, oregano, thyme, salt and pepper. Add in butter and stir until melted and well mixed.

Add diced chicken and parsley and simmer gently for 5-7 minutes.

Stir in pasta and simmer approximately 7 minutes, until pasta is cooked.

And just like that, you have a buttery, creamier version of a typical, everyday comfort food.

So delicious.

We’ve used dozens of gluten free pasta brands, but Chickapea Pasta has quickly become a favourite for our home. Made from organic chickpea and organic red lentil flour, this blend is packed with protein and fiber and full of essential nutrients: complex carbs, thiamine, folate, niacin, magnesium, B vitamins, iron, zinc and antioxidants. It truly takes the everyday staple of pasta and turns it into a superfood. It is also has no added sugar and is made in a nut-free facility.

We have been enjoying both the spirals and the penne, but now we have even more options with the addition of shells! Chickapea Pasta has changed their packaging to move into boxes and added a third shape to the product line.

The whole Chickapea line up!

Chickapea Pasta Giveaway!

To celebrate the launch of the new packaging and new shape, Chickapea is giving away and entire basket of delicious goodies. One lucky reader from each blog will receive a gift basket full of goodies, valued around $75. The contents of the gift basket are as follows:

• 1 box of Chickapea Spirals
• 1 box of Chickapea Penne
• 1 box of Chickapea Shells
• 1 bottle of Kiki Maple Sweet Water
• 1 container of Teatulia Chamomile Tea (30 bags)
• 1 bag (142g) of Neal Brothers Montreal Steak Spice Kettle Chips
• 1 jar of Neal Brothers Organic Roasted Garlic Pasta Sauce
• 1 package (225g) of Budding Nutrition Gut Busters
• 1 package of (84g) Rawnata Vanilla Saskatoon Flax Crackers

In addition to Chickapea Pasta products, other items were kindly donated by Neal Brothers, Avid Gourmet and LCG Foods.

Enter below!

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The post Creamy Chicken Noodle Soup with Chickapea Pasta appeared first on Ideally speaking....

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I don’t have to address you by your name because you know who you are. Not that it really matters because I’m sure you’re never going to read this. I would love to have the courage to send this to you, but the truth is I don’t. I am a confident, strong and determined woman, in spite of you. Yet somehow, I still carry a six-year old’s fear with me every day.

I want to start with this: I have a great life. In fact, I have a really fucking amazing life. I have an incredible husband, two beautiful children, a wonderful home, a good career, and a bright future ahead of me. I have worked hard to beat every stereotype you signed me up for. I make conscious decisions every day to fight the statistics of girls like me.

Girls like me.

Physical and sexual abuse survivors. I belong to that group because you put me there. I identify with those girls because of you. I relate to those girls because of what you put me through.

Other people label me in that group. They rationalize my behaviours and problems based on the statistics of that group. Therapists, counsellors, friends and family are all quick to excuse away my flaws and struggles because of your choices. I hoard childhood belongings because of my past. I have insomnia because of my past. I have anxiety because of my past.

It has been over 17 years, and yet what you did to me is still deeply ingrained in so much of my daily life.

There is no doubt in my mind you are blissfully ignorant of all of this. I am sure you are as selfish and self-centered as you always were. I’m sure you told yourself that you were happy to be rid of us. Rid of that woman and her brats. I’m sure you imagined that we were happy to be rid of you. And we were. I’m sure you thought that was the end of it.

But it wasn’t the end.

As we walked away from you and closed the door on the nine years of living in hell, we realized it was the beginning. It was the beginning of the aftermath. It was a beginning of coping. It was the beginning of figuring out how to live the rest of our lives with the memories of our past. It was the beginning of wondering if we would all be ok.

And we are. But we’re not. I’m not.

I have spent nearly 2 decades trying to move past you and I have faced hurdles continuously. Our time in that house with you maybe just distant memories on your end, but they have impacted so much of my life since then.

And I think it’s time you learn that.

You spent most of the nine years we lived with you being a mean and violent bastard. Everything was our fault and you never let us forget it. I spent years cowering at the sound of your voice, while simultaneously trying to figure out how I could make you happier.

But you found your own way to be happier in the final three years. After you had started to touch me and to asked me to kiss you like I kissed my boyfriends. Only then were you kinder to me. At the tender age of 12 years old, you instilled in me the notion that men will treat you better when you let them do what they want sexually. You made me believe that your happiness and perverted desires mattered more than me. They don’t, but it would take me until my early 20s to fully understand that.

Someone ran away with her innocence. A memory she can’t get out of her head. I can only imagine what she’s feeling when she’s praying. Kneeling at the edge of her bed. – Holy Water, Big & Rich

Every so often I worry that I making too big of a deal of all of this. That I am playing up the part of the broken girl. Or worse, that I actually enjoy being the broken girl. In these times, I have to remind myself that what you did is a big deal. There is no playing the part of a victim here. I am a victim. You terrorized us. You victimized me. You tampered with my innocence.

Look what he’s done to you. It isn’t fair. Your light was bright and new, but he didn’t care. He took the heart of a little girl and made it grow up too fast. – Broken Girl, Matthew West

I don’t want to be a broken girl. You turned me into one when you, at age 40, decided to molest your 12-year-old step-daughter. When you, a middle-aged man, looked at me with sexual thoughts when I had only ever had one kiss from an actual boy. You sexualized me in your mind before I had even begun to understand what sexuality was.

 – Read my full story of sexual abuse here. -

Do you remember the day that I told you I had tried to kill myself? I was 13 years old. You stood in front of me as I screamed at you in the middle of a fight and outlined exactly what I had tried to do. You had a look of shock on your face as you asked me why. My answer was simple. You. You are the reason. I wanted to escape you. You had literally trampled my soul and ruined my life. Standing in the doorway of my bedroom, you wept. You openly cried and apologized repeatedly.

And then less than a month later, you molested me again. Because you are nothing but a fucking monster and you couldn’t help yourself.

There’s a part of me I can’t get back. A little girl grew up too fast. All it took was once, I’ll never be the same. Now I’m taking back my life today. Nothing left that you can say. Cause you are never gonna take the blame anyway. – Warrior, Demi Lavato

I live with the memory of trying to hurt myself every day. I carry the guilt of what I almost did and how badly I would have broken the hearts of the people I love.

Like mom, who was beyond devastated when I admitted my attempted suicide more than a decade after the fact. She endured so much pain, guilt and heartbreak when we each finally admitted the things you had done to us kids. The worst part is, you had been hurting her too. You used fear and threats to divide us for years, leading each side to believe the other was happy, when in reality, you controlled a living nightmare for everyone in our home.

Oh mother, we’re stronger from all of the tears you have shed. Oh mother, don’t look back ’cause he’ll never hurt us again. – Oh Mother, Christina Aguilera

I don’t know if you’re aware, or even if you would care, but she died last year. I was 31 years old at the time. I only got three decades with my mom. That’s it. And just over nine years of that, nearly 1 decade, was spent living in terror with you. Nearly 1/3 of the total time I had my mom is overshadowed and painted by the horrible memories that you caused our family. I’ll never get that time back. I don’t have the chance to spend few more decades erasing bad memories with great ones.

Three decades is all mom and I got together and you destroyed 1/3 of it.

These are just a few of the ways that you have completely and utterly fucked with my psyche. Leaving me with emotional scars that I will forever be repairing. See to you, I am likely just one of your ex-fiancé’s brats, who you have distant memories of. But you are the monster who will haunt my mind for the rest of my life.

What I didn’t expect, when we called the cops all those years ago, was to have lasting physical ramifications of your choices.

First, it was learning about how my body didn’t develop right because of you:

At age 24, we were preparing to start a family. I’ve always had a lot of joint and muscle pain and decided to start seeing a chiropractor to help with my alignment before pregnancy. After a few visits, she wanted to talk about some of the issues she noticed with me. There were lots of areas where my joints don’t line up right or things don’t quite connect as they should. She asked if I had suffered physical damage during my developmental years, maybe from sports.

I took a deep breath and started explaining how I did have a piece of shit ex-step-father who was cruel and abusive. I had to describe how you regularly tossed me into walls and dragged me aggressively by the arm. How you hit us and left bruises everywhere. We both had tears in our eyes as she explained that trauma like that can cause a growing body to set incorrectly and that I may always have some chronic pain.

Then it was learning about how the scar tissue you caused gave me early arthritis:

At age 28, I had a terrible pain in my left hip. It felt like something had exploded. I spent the next several weeks seeing a physiotherapist, to determine out what was happening. Within a few visits, the doctor discovered that I had arthritis in my left hip. I thought this was a little unusual for 28. Just as the chiropractor before him had, the physiotherapist asked me if I had ever played aggressive sports as a kid or if I had ever been in a car accident. He explained how scar tissue can cause early arthritis. I said no.

Again, I had to explain you. I told him about the time you ripped me off the top landing of our stairs and pulled me down to the bottom by my hair. How my left hip and shoulder had banged off each step as I tried to loosen your grip on my head. The doc looked, shock on his face and muttered, “yeah, that will do it.”

When I was thrown against cold stairs. And every day I’m afraid to come home in fear of what I might see there…And I still remember how you kept me so afraid…Every morning that I wake I look back to yesterday. And I’m Ok. – I’m Ok, Christina Aguilera

And scariest of all, discovering that at the tender age of 10, you caused me to have a stroke:

Fast forward a few years, I am 32 years old and experiencing some mild stroke-like symptoms. This time it is several months in and out of labs and offices, while they try to figure out what is wrong. Luckily, all of the results come back clear and the doctor tells me I’m healthy. So I ask him about my symptoms and the fact I had failed a very specific motor skill test, which is almost always a clear indication of a stroke. The doc replied by telling me he is certain I had a small stroke at some point in my life.

Then he proceeds to ask if I played aggressive sports as a kid or had ever been in a car accident. Once again, I had to lay out my sorted life story, in the middle of a doctor’s office. I explain the kind of man you were; How you once smacked me across the head with a wet leather baseball glove so hard, blood pooled in my left ear. Once again I had to watch a look of horror flash across the face of a medical professional, as he realized any damage done to me was not caused by something as innocent as sports, but rather by the horrific actions of a grown man.

I feel like every few years they find some sort of physical challenge for me to face and so much of it is the fallout that came from living with you.

I know you might be thinking that I need to get over it. All of it. Maybe I need to move on and leave the past in the past. Every once in a while, someone in my life today will tell me just that. That I need to leave all of this behind me and just be happy.

I am happy. I am very happy.

But I will not forget and quite frankly, I will never forgive. Not you. You don’t deserve it. Just as you don’t deserve the grace of my silence for even one single day.

I want to hold on to some of those memories because they give me strength. They fuel my hate fire. I don’t want to let go of that little bit of anger that motivates me to speak up and lend my voice to a conversation that nobody likes having. Because without this conversation, monsters like you exist in silence.

In an ideal world, people like you wouldn’t exist at all. You would have never gotten to a point of hurting other people. But you did, and I wish you could feel even a fraction of the pain I am left with for the rest of my life. Sadly, you never will.

——————————————–

For my fellow survivors, all of the songs highlighted above are ones that I listen to when I am feeling weighed down by my past. I created an Apple Music playlist with these songs, along with others, titled I’m Ok. You can listen to it here. I hope it helps you find strength.

The post Open Letter to My Abuser: These are the lasting impacts of your actions. appeared first on Ideally speaking....

I had originally posted this article on an incredible site called Violence Unsilenced. It was a safe space for victims of abuse and sexual assault to share their voice. The site allowed victims to share their personal stories, anonymously or not, so that those stories could be used in the fight for the rights of victims and to raise awareness to the pain being inflicted every day.

The VU homepage.

Sadly, the site is no longer running. I had shared my story on there, openly, in a way that was more graphic than I ever had been on here. My hands were literally shaking when I hit the send button to submit my article and I cried when they called to say they wanted to run it the next day.

I had called my mom and dad to warn them it would be going up. I prepared myself for the anxiety that came with posting such great detail of my assault. However, once it was live, I felt empowered and strong.

With the site being down., I wanted to run my story here and now, on my own blog. I want to repost it because I think it is important to be outspoken and to shed light on a disgusting and traumatizing epidemic.

And so, here one part of my story:

Crys.

Once upon a time there was an idealistic little girl. Her parents had separated when she was 6 years old and her mother moved on with a new man. This man did everything he could to ruin the idealisms of this little girl and her two brothers for many years. He used his words, his fists, his strength & his authority to try to tear them down. This little girl was me and this one piece to my story.

Years passed and I started to change into an idealistic young lady. One fateful day when I was 12 years old, I came home to find that the house was empty for my stepfather and me.

I had been in the house alone with him many times before, but lately, I was growing more and more uncomfortable. It had started a few months prior, innocently enough. He would ask me to sit on the couch and watch TV with him.

He gradually began to ask me to lie down and cuddle with him. Caught somewhere between a little girl wanting to feel close to a father figure, and a young woman terrified to anger an abusive man, I obliged.

However, on this particular day, our cuddling took a turn that I would never be able to erase or brush off.

“Come lay with me,” he said. I began to walk over, quietly saying “okay.”

As I started to lie down in my usual spot beside him, he grabbed hold of my hips and lifted me onto his body. He held his arms tightly around my wrists with his hands resting on my lower back. My legs were left to dangle between his legs and my belly rested on his.

I could feel his arousal hard against my leg, although I barely registered what that meant at the time. He began rubbing my back and stared at me.

“Do you love me?” he asked. “Yes, of course,” I said. As mean, abusive and hurtful as he could be, he had been a father figure in my life for nearly 6 years and we had shared some happy memories as a family. He seemed pleased with my answer and rested for a moment.

Taking a deep breath and looking noticeably nervous, he looked up at me again and said, “Kiss me.” I leaned down and gave him a quick kiss, no different than I had done many nights at bedtime for many years.

He laughed lightly and said, “no, kiss me like you kiss your boyfriends.”

Not fully understanding, I leaned down and kissed him exactly as I had before and said, ‘that is how I kiss my boyfriends.’

This was true, since I had only had one or two boyfriends at this point and had only made it to holding hands and chicken peck kisses.

When he realized that I wouldn’t or couldn’t give him the kiss he wanted, he looked upset. Sensing and fearing a shift in his gentle approach, I quickly told him I had a lot of homework to finish and that I needed to get started.

He hugged me to him again, then pulled back and asked, “Do you still love me?” I said yes again. I didn’t want to anger him.

This level of confused intimacy, with gentle kisses and caressing, carried on for 3 years before I had him arrested for physical abuse. I didn’t told the police at the time about the sexual assault. It would take me 2 more years before I ever shared it with a few close friends and I was nearly 20 years old before sharing the details with my mother, father, and brothers, at the suggestion of a therapist.

Although the acts never escalated too much more than his arousal and some physical movement with clothes on, his kisses became more determined and he would hold me tighter against him. As I grew older, I became more aware of the inappropriate nature of these moments. I grew increasingly distant while it would take place, abandoning my body to fend for itself as my soul went somewhere better.

Looking back, I often wonder what he was taking from me saying that I still loved him. I still wonder if he would have pushed the sexual acts further if I had fought him off with more force and aggression. The fear of what could have happened & the memories of what did, cast a small shadow in my resilient idealistic nature.

At age 25, 10 years after having him arrested, I did finally give a statement to the police, when I heard his new girlfriend had just had another baby. It was too late for charges, but my statement is now on record, incase I ever need to be called in as a witness for someone else.

I haven’t spoken more than a dozen words to him since he was arrested. I wish I were brave enough to confront him. To tell him that he didn’t ruin my life. He overshadowed many good memories for nearly 10 years of my childhood, but I get the rest. I have a wonderful life and he is just a mean old bastard living in the same small town.

I win. I am happy. I am loved. I am endlessly idealistic.

The post Violence Unsilenced: Crys appeared first on Ideally speaking....

Halfway through a great hike with my hubby a Blue Mountain last month.

Disclaimer: I was compensated for this post through my relationship with the YMCA Simcoe Muskoka. However, as always, the thoughts and opinions are my own.

I have never, in my entire life, been a natural athlete. I was the kid who begged my parents to let me stay home with my books when my brothers wanted to go tobogganing or skating. However, as I entered my early 20s, I developed a love of fitness. I got a gym membership, and I started working out regularly with the equipment and with fitness classes.

At age 23, I used to wake up at 5:30 each day, drive nearly an hour for a workout at the Barrie YMCA and then head to work. Sometimes I would even join an evening class before heading home to Penetang.

Then I had kids…

After Lilly, I got back into the swing of fitness fairly easily. I was back at the gym, through the YMCA in Midland, when she was five weeks old and went typically 2-3 times per week for a few years.

Then we had Cole…

Between two young children, a busy career, a 50-minute commute and university, time to workout just hasn’t felt possible. Sure, I’ve run on a treadmill in the basement a few times, but it more often gets used for laundry.

I’m now at a point in my life where I have to shelve the excuses and get back to making fitness a priority in my lifestyle.

A few months ago I had a health scare. While it turned out to be mostly a false alarm, it served as a wake-up call. Also, having lost my mother from a heart attack last year at only 59 years old increases the chances that I could suffer from heart diseases and disorders. I want to ensure that I live a strong, healthy, and long life for my family and I understand fitness needs play a key part in that.

To kick-start this change, I headed over to the Barrie YMCA to have a chat with their Membership Supervisor, Tracey, over Facebook Live:

This decision is not mine alone. Adam and I have come to realize that raising active and healthy children requires us to lead by example. We need to become an active, healthy family. We want this initiative to be something we develop an experience as a family. I think that will be the easy part, seeing as though our children already have a membership to the YMCA… But we don’t. Mom and dad need to play a little bit of catch-up so that our children see we are just as active as they are.

I have mentioned the YMCA throughout this post a few times. It might seem like I’m a little bit biased, and sure I am writing a sponsored post for them. However, I have had memberships to and participated in various gyms over my adult life, and I always come back to the Y. Living in a small community, we don’t have many of the other chain fitness centres located in bigger cities, but the Y is such a constant even in small towns like the one I grew up in and the one I live in now. Whether it’s their childcare programs (which we also use), summer camps, or fitness centres, they are deeply engrained in many communities across Canada.

This family focussed flexibility is something that I value, and that works well for our children and us.

I love the fact that a family membership not only saves us money but allows all of us to have memberships and participate in various programs. For instance, I can drop Lilly off at Y Kids on a Saturday morning and then head upstairs to the gym for a workout. On Sunday afternoon, we can all ahead in together for Family Swim. My hope is that our children find inspiration to lead healthy lifestyles by seeing Adam, and I prioritize fitness and participate in fitness-based activities with them. It’s also incredibly helpful to know I can spend time at the gym with Adam and the kids on the weekend in Midland and yet still use the Barrie centre if I want to workout during my lunch hour at work.

Join the YMCA Now

To help other families and individuals take advantage of all the YMCA has to offer, the organization has currently waived all join fees in September and October. This adds a savings of over $84 when signing up for your membership.

Learn more about the YMCA Simcoe Muskoka! 

Ideally speaking, I hope to be writing a bit about my journey back into fitness and to share with you the many ways in which our family is getting active in the future. What does your family do to stay active? Share below!

The post Refreshing my Love for Fitness with the Barrie YMCA appeared first on Ideally speaking....

Most often, I look at him and still see the 18-year-old boy who won my heart in grade 12.

I can remember the first kiss, which technically took place before we were actually dating.

I can remember our first official date. He can’t, because it was his 19th birthday and he was hammered.

I can remember the day he proposed when his hands were shaking and he dropped the ring down the side of the car console. He stopped his proposal speech mid-sentence to utter some four letter words and fish the ring back out from under the front seat of his old Sunfire.

Most of all, I remember the look on his face as I walked down the aisle towards him.

That smile, though.

The last 10 years have brought so much into our lives. We have two beautiful children and a house that feels like a home. We both work hard, but put our family first. We take time for one another. Even if it just with something little. We are playful, loving, and so very open-hearted. I know we always will be.

Our beautiful little family.

Adam and I are solid. Even in harder times, I have always felt confident in us as a couple. However, the reality is that many people in our generation don’t see 10 years of marriage. That statistic breaks my heart. So I wanted to celebrate and reaffirm us by renewing our vows.

We didn’t have nor did we need some big party. It was the two of us, our children and our best man, with his family, as our officiant.

It was perfect. 

Renewing our vows in our best man’s backyard.

Adam was a little nervous when I told him I wanted us to actually write our own vows this time. I bugged him almost every night for the week leading up to see if he was done. To my surprise, he said yes… the night before. I thought for sure he would be winging it!

He picked on me for mine being much longer than his… but that’s what he gets for marrying a highly sappy writer.

I wanted to share our vows here, as a way of commemorating them and reaffirming to the world our commitment to one another.

————————————————-

Adam’s Vows:

Crystal, as we stand here today, I think back to all the wonderful memories we have shared.

You have given me two of the most beautiful children. You have no idea how thankful I am for them being in my life each and every day.

You have been more than I could have imagined to come into my life.

You are strong, dedicated, caring and compassionate. I admire these traits and I love you dearly for them.

These 10 years have been a roller coaster of events and I can’t imagine anyone better to have at my side.

Crystal. I love you so much. Please let me share the rest of my life with you.

My Vows:

When we were first married, I used to watch the clock and get excited when it was almost time for you to be home from work. I remember thinking, I hope this feeling lasts a few years at least. We’re now at 10 years in and I still get excited when it’s close to your time to be home. Albeit, part of that might be because I’m happy to be able to tag you into the parenting ring, but a big part of it is that I still just can’t wait to see you. I’m still excited to see that boy I crushed on for ages. The one who stole a first kiss behind the town library and swore he would stay with me until the last petal fell from a ceramic flower.

We’ve been together nearly 15 years and have now been married for a decade. In that time, I have watched you grow into an incredible man, who works hard for his family and loves the heck out of his children. You were the best choice I ever made and you make me proud every day. As we stand here today, I want to make a few new promises for the years ahead.

I promise to continue to be proud of all of your accomplishments, big or small and of the kind of man you are.

I promise to be your equal partner as we continue to grow our lives, raise our children and plan for our future.

I promise to support you through tough days at work and to listen whenever you need to talk.

I promise to continue to give you and only you my heart, my soul and my body. Well, actually, you now share my heart with the kids.

And finally, I promise to always be excited for you to come home to us.

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We used the ceremony to exchange anniversary rings. Adam proposed 12 years ago with an $80 ring from the flea market. I told him to. We had bigger things to purchase at the time, like a home So he promised to buy me a real diamond for our 10th anniversary. Mine is a beautiful 1.25 carat raw diamond. His is a family ring that reads ‘Adam Crys Lilly Cole. You make our family whole.’ I’ve never been huge on jewellery, but I’m in love with this little raw stone.

Our anniversary rings, with Colton holding our hands together <3

Ideally speaking, this is just one decade in the many we will spend together. Here’s to us, babe. I love you so incredily much.

The post One Decade Down – Our Vow Renewal. appeared first on Ideally speaking....

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Disclaimer: As a Chickapea Pasta Ambassador, I was provided compensation and given product. However, all thoughts and opinions are always completely my own.

As a celiac household, we are always on the lookout for great new gluten free products. Having an aunt that was diagnosed more than 25 years ago, I know we shouldn’t complain. The selection of products available has steadily grown over the last 10 years. However, many of the basics are still made from the same gluten free ingredients. Between our bread, crackers, and pasta, we consume a lot of rice flour. So variety and alternatives are always top of our radar.

Chickapea Pasta provides us that perfect alternative, with a gluten-free pasta made from organic chickpea and organic red lentil flour. This blend of only two ingredients is packed with protein and fiber and full of essential nutrients: complex carbs, thiamine, folate, niacin, magnesium, B vitamins, iron, zinc and antioxidants. It truly takes the everyday staple of pasta and turns it into a superfood. It is also has no added sugar and is made in a nut-free facility.

The box of goodies from Chickapea :)

Gluten Free One-Pot Chicken Fajita Pasta

I saw this particular recipe on Tasty by BuzzFeed a while back and have been itching to try it. Our household is unanimously in love with Mexican-style flavours, so I knew it would go over well.

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Ingredients:
3 Tbsp. oil
3 chicken breasts, sliced
3 bell peppers, red, green and orange sliced
1 onion, sliced
4 cups milk (use low fat to reduce calories)
3 cups Chickapea penne pasta
1 cup shredded cheese

Spices:
1 tsp salt
1 tsp pepper
1 Tbsp. chili powder
1 Tbsp. cumin
1 Tbsp. garlic powder

Grab a large pot and heat oil. Add chicken and cook through. Remove chicken and set aside in a bowl. Add the bell peppers and onion, and saute until soft. Add the chicken back to the pot with spices and stir until well mixed. Add the milk and Chickapea pasta, stirring constantly to prevent any pasta from sticking. Cook for only about 7 minutes  – thanks to Chickapea’s super speedy cook time! – until pasta is cooked and the milk has reduced to a thick sauce that coats the pasta. Add the cheese and mix until melted. Then enjoy the creamy, cheesy goodness.

The dish turned out fantastic and as predicted, the kids devoured it and asked for more.

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About Chickapea Pasta:

Chickapea Pasta was created by Shelby Taylor, a native of Collingwood, ON. She had set out to create a line of products that is truly healthy and easy for busy families. This idea was born out of her frustration in finding better food choices for her own son, but quickly grew after she talked to other families who expressed the same challenges. Shelby took her passion to Kickstarter, where she quickly met her goal with the help of community backers who shared her vision. After over a year of research and development, finding the right ingredients and testing the perfect blend, Chickapea was born.

Buy Organic, Gluten Free Chickapea Pasta:

Chickapea Pasta is already in large demand at health food stores all over Canada. Find a store near you to grab some and give it a try in your home. They will also be expanding in the US this fall through Amazon.com.

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I had the pleasure of meeting Shelby at a conference last year and have had the opportunity to get to know her over the past several months. She is truly passionate about this vision and has so many other ideas to expand her offering of healthy products.

Ideally speaking, our family will be enjoying those new products soon enough!

The post One-Pot Chicken Fajita Pasta. Gluten-Free Version! appeared first on Ideally speaking....

Dear Coffee,

Look, we need to talk. No, seriously, please put away the delicious smell of my favourite Starbucks Caramel k-cup. It’s time for us to to be honest with one another.

I’m going to get straight to the point. It’s time for us to be done.

I know, I know. This is shocking for you. And me. And literally every single person who knows me and my severe addiction to your smooth, warm, inviting energy kick. But it’s true.

Please, don’t be upset. It’s not you, it’s… Well, actually, it is you. But let me explain.

I’ve recently had a few concerns, which have left me questioning many aspects of my current lifestyle. Something is up with either my brain or my heart, and I may or may not have recently had a stroke. As if that’s not enough, since losing Mom last summer, I’ve been battling depression again and haven’t been sleeping properly as a result. Also between work, university and life in general, I have had more than my fair share of stress these days. Heavy stuff, right? You can understand why I need to take a long hard look at the young lady in the mirror.

The thing is, between you and whiskey, I drink too much chemical altering liquids. And let’s be honest here if it’s a choice between the two of you, we all know I’m not giving up whiskey.

I mean, look how great this collection is getting! Not to mention my pretty new DIY dry bar…

Yes, this is an old TV. Gutted and painted. I love it.

But I digress. I feel I have become far too reliant on you, and I’m not quite sure how we got here. I used to be a tea drinker and a snobby one at that. To be honest, and this might hurt to hear, but I’ve never actually like the taste of coffee. There. I said it.

So how did I become so utterly dependent on you? It all started about a dozen years ago, in college, when you and I were simply mere acquaintances. I handful of looming deadlines and all-nighters, and you and I got to know each other real quick. What started out as the odd couple here and there, evolved into 3 to 4 cups per day over the last several years.

I convinced myself I needed you. After all, I was busy career woman working tirelessly to launch a new company. I thought I was exhausted in those years. Then I had kids. It turns out I had no fucking idea what exhausted was. I somehow became one of those people who desperately had to make my morning coffee before I even hit the bathroom. By the time I got the kids out the door and finished my morning commute to the office, I believed I needed another. Then, as I found myself sleepy-eyed in the early afternoon, I would make one or two more.

There were days when I’m sure I had consumed more than 40 ounces of your warm, sleep altering drug. That just can’t be ok.

Dammit, Coffee. I said put down the caramel k-cup! You’re not playing fair.

Listen, I know you’re thinking. You think I can’t do this. You think I’ll come crawling back to you. But here’s the thing. As of today, I have gone one month without you. That’s right; it has been four full weeks since I’ve had a cup of coffee.

I got a tell ya, coffee, I feel pretty damn good. I am sleeping better than I have in years. I feel much more alert during the day. In fact, I have so much energy I almost feel superhuman. It’s a bit ironic given that I only embraced this relationship with you to give me an energy boost. Now I find myself far more energetic since our abrupt breakup.

I have gone back to my snobby, loose leaf tea drinking ways. My cupboard is now filled with deliciously fragrant varieties. I even found a Caramel Rooibos. So you can give up the caramel k cup already, you’re never going to break me.

If it makes you feel any better, some of the tea I drink does contain your heart and soul, caffeine. See, I haven’t left you completely. I have just moved onto your incredibly less caffeinated cousin.

That probably doesn’t make you feel any better.

But it not about making you feel better. Ideally, it’s about making me feel better. And I do. Impressively so.

The post My breakup letter to coffee. appeared first on Ideally speaking....

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About two and a half years ago, I had some scary symptoms while 30 weeks pregnant with my son. Various doctors tossed around the word stroke and had discussed the idea of taking him early. They put me on blood thinners, and the symptoms seemed to subside. Cole was born at 38 weeks, perfectly healthy. I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong.

About a month ago, I started noticing some sporadic blurriness in my eyes. I chalked it up to light sensitivity. However, a little over two weeks ago, I had an episode of blurred vision, disorientation, and numbness in my left arm. This incident was the worst it had been yet since the symptoms have reappeared and was eerily familiar to what I had gone through during my pregnancy with Cole. I wound up spending that entire Tuesday at emerge, with the team there running blood tests and CT scans.

In the weeks that have followed I have been back for various tests, more blood work, and to meet with a couple of different specialists. I’m still waiting for an MRI to be booked, which supposedly will tell us more than the CT scans did.

While we still have no definitive answers, I do know from two separate doctors, one of which is a stroke specialist, that I have a pronator drift with my left arm. Do you know what a pronator drift is? I didn’t either two weeks ago. I kind of wish I was still blissfully ignorant. Don’t Google it. You’ll spend all night doing the test on yourself and building your paranoia. Trust me.

A pronator drift is almost always a sign of at least a minor stroke, or can be due to a neurological disorder. Honestly, those are pretty shitty choices.

Now, I’m not a doctor, and stroke specialist did say that I still may just be suffering from a variant of migraines. Until the MRI is complete and follow-ups have been done I’m playing the wait-and-see game. Complete with a mild blood thinner, to control my symptoms and as a precaution to prevent a stroke.

I’m 32 years old.

I truly didn’t think I would be dealing with this kind of shit. Not yet. Sure, in looking at our family history, it’s a bit of a crapshoot as far as genetics are concerned. Both sides are riddled with some mixture of heart issues, cancers, diabetes, etc.

Me and Mama, June 2015

The nurse at the stroke clinic laid it all out for me. Having a first-degree family member suffer from heart issues or heart disease can increase my chances of developing heart disease. Those chances are further increased if the relative is a male under the age of 55 or female under the age of 65. That’s when I informed her that my mother suffered a minor stroke at 52 and died of a heart attack, just last summer, at 59.

So those are my odds.

I don’t love them, but I can do something about them. I need to stop taking my life for granted and take better care of myself. Now. If not for me, than for my children. It might be a depressing thought to have in my early 30s, but I desperately want to live past 70 and tear up the dance floor with my grandkids at their weddings.

It has been nearly a year since Mom passed and I can’t help thinking about everything she has already missed. She has a beautiful new granddaughter and a fourth grandson due in less than a month. She has missed my younger brother achieving a goal in his life. She will never hear my daughter read her a book. She will never get to play cars with my son.

Selfishly, I am heartbroken that she is not here for what I am going through now. I have shed more tears in the last week, purely out of fear mixed with the anguish that I cannot call her. Every kid, no matter how old, wants their mom when they are sick. I am terrified and I want to call my Mom so she can calm me down. But I can’t, so she can’t.

I don’t want to follow in her footsteps.

Not when it comes to this. It’s time to be completely honest with myself. I need to stop talking about living a healthier lifestyle and actually do it.

I need to be more conscience of what I put into my body. To eat take-out less and fresh food much more. To cut out coffee and drink less whiskey (*tear*). To drink more water and become smarter about my food choices and how they impact my body.

I need to put exercise back into my schedule. At one point I was really into fitness, but I let it go with the busyness of life. I need to find the time to walk, jog, swim and do yoga, on a much more consistent and frequent basis. I need to feel strong again.

I need to reduce the level of stress in my life. I’m a working mom of two, with an incredibly busy career, a university degree in progress, a bit of freelance work on the side, a novel in the works and a passion for community involvement. I’m exhausted just typing that list. I need to realize that I don’t have to work every night at 9:30 pm. Some nights it’s ok to say no and leave the office for the office. It’s also ok to say no to extra projects or slow down my schooling to a pace that fits my life. Guaranteed, this will be my greatest hurdle, but ultimately one that will have a huge impact.

I need to do more of the things that make me happy. I need to find more time to write for me; to work on my novel, write long-winded editorial pieces and spill my guts with poetry. I need to read more books again, catch more movies with my girlfriends, and spend more time with my family. I need to focus little less on making a living, and a little more on living. Period.

I need to sleep more. God, I need to sleep more. I can’t stress this one enough. I’ve always been a nighthawk, and so was my mother. I need to work on breaking more than 20 years worth of a bad habit because this is one of the few traits of hers I don’t want to embody anymore. I need to crawl into bed before 11 PM, put down the damn phone, and close my eyes.

I understand that this isn’t going to be easy, and none of it will happen overnight. It will take a great deal of commitment and self-initiative. However, I need to focus on being the healthiest and happiest I can. For me and for my family. My kids motivate me more than anything, to live as long as possible and have a great life. I simply need to harness that motivation.

Here’s to me and my future heart. Ideally speaking, I will be looking back on this post 50 years from now and patting myself on the back. With my cane, of course.

The post Because I want to dance with my grandkids on their wedding day. appeared first on Ideally speaking....

December kicked my ass. I didn’t talk about it much of the time because it supposed to be a joyous time of year. Mom loved Christmas. It was her absolute favourite holiday. I’m one of those Christmas nerd types that has hundreds of Christmas songs on a playlist, just waiting for December to come around so I have an excuse to play it. I didn’t expect that my beloved holiday tunes would bring about such an emotional reaction. The truth is, I would break down into tears almost every single day on my way to and from the office in December.

Christmas without her was hard, and then my birthday followed three weeks later. It has been a lot to recuperate from and is been part of the reason I took a bit of a break on here. But I didn’t take a break from writing. In fact, just as I always have in my life, I filtered my emotion down into more writing.

Every once in a while I go through phases where my writer soul threatens to consume me. It almost always happens when I’m dealing with depression. While it can make for some productive creativity, it can also be a bit of a dangerous venture. There’ve been many nights in the last three months where I find myself pacing the living room, sipping whiskey at 1 AM, writing poetry like some sort of tortured soul. My writing has always been like this. When it comes, it comes hard, and if I don’t get it out it will haunt me. My grief over mom was a catalyst back into depression and therefore into writing.

Which leads me to this. The first poem I have finished in probably over two years. I wrote this for her. For my mama.

I wanted to share it today, on what would’ve been her 60th birthday.

I love you, Mama.

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Crippling

Mama and I when I was around 2.

I still cripple
with thoughts of you.
My breath catches
my body heaves
and I never expect it.

Sometimes it is the soft light,
pushing through the clouds,
lighting a path home.
Not my home. Not yet.
You are keeping my seat warm.
I bask in the beauty;
only a moment or two, and I am hit.
Pain replaces comfort,
running through me with force.
Sobs racking my fragile frame.
And I cripple.

Me and Mama, June 2015

Sometimes I willingly bait it.
Getting lost in your words;
Rediscovered on pages long forgotten.
Blanketing myself in old letters,
I hear your voice.
Or with the whiff of red door,
Fooling my senses into believing;
you are here, you are near.
Memories crash over me.
Bruising my soul and breaking my heart.
And I cripple.

Sometimes others drive the impact.
A kind soul asking in earnest,
“How are you?”
My small child making a declaration,
of her own heartbreak.
Their words stir in me.
Inviting an unwelcomed reminder;
you are not here, you are nowhere near.
My fingers long to call you.
My head aches for your shoulder.
And I cripple.
I still cripple.

The post Handling grief and a poem for my Mama. appeared first on Ideally speaking....