Here’s this big fat awful truth: I’m friends with my daughter. It isn’t my fault she’s the coolest person in the world (well, it kind of is.) I know you’re not supposed to be. But my wonderful life has been built upon what isn’t supposed to be. I shouldn’t be here today, but I am, that’s how Di Menna Grrrls work.


The only way my life has gotten to the fantastic spot I’m in right now, is by ignoring every rule. I tried to follow the rules once: Get engaged, stand by your man, and stay together for the kid, work as much as possible. It didn’t get me anywhere. Well, that’s a lie. It got me my daughter, and that is why I am alive today. However, it also got me zero financial help during court, leading to poverty (I saved a lot of money by working three jobs) it got me abused in every way, and it got me down on myself. I don’t deserve all that self-hate, and my daughter doesn’t deserve a mother like that.

So, I broke the rules. I stopped giving a damn about getting married and having a nuclear family, I followed my passion and now I’m a working writer. I am in love with someone who is the perfect partner to me. My daughter is amazing, and continues to grow accordingly.

I am a friend to her. It was she and I for a long time. She was my only roommate, she’s always been my rock, she is my absolute drive and the one I’ve passed my last name on to.

When her teacher complains that I need to be more of a disciplinarian (after meeting me for five minutes- can’t help but think the turquoise hair and tattoos influenced her comment) because my daughter hugged a crying friend in class when it was quiet time, I laugh. Most obviously, I am constantly playing mean mommy, it isn’t fun, but also I am proud that she is compassionate. That’s how she is raised. As for being friends, it is inevitable. It isn’t our only relationship with each other, what relationship isn’t complex? Not only do I want to foster our current friendship, I look forward to where it is going.

Trust me, if you knew her, you’d wish you had this kind of friend too.

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Fuck it

Screen Shot 2015-08-26 at 6.52.31 PMYesterday, I said, fuck it.

Nothing was going right. The bus was late. I hadn’t eaten. I forgot an assignment. My work lost my pay cheque. If I took her my daughter to karate it would mean three more buses and little time to go to the dinner we had scheduled. So I said fuck it. It felt amazing. She didn’t parish, I didn’t, the world didn’t- she didn’t even mind.

There’s this pressure to be it all (I wrote about this way more in depth and eloquently here) and it is a ridiculous, but easy, pressure to succumb to. Right now I raise my daughter, shop, clean, cook, work for three different magazines, attend university, stay active with my daughter’s school/Sparks/karate/daycare, do freelance work, maintain this blog and there’s, as of quite recently, a diabetic cat to care for. It is OK to say fuck it.

I mean on top of my personal list – which is similar to many other parents out there – we are still supposed to engage in luxuries like showering (not so much a luxury but a need not to spread diseases, also it is always easier to have the little one with you, who really takes away the luxury when they ask what those lines on your thighs are)

It is OK to get take-out for dinner; it is OK to be late, it is OK to skip an extra-curricular altogether. It is OK to cancel plans. It is OK to say, “No.” It is OK to play a stupid game on your cell phone because fuck it, it is all you have sometimes! IT IS OK TO ASK FOR HELP.


I really hope you do. It feels magical

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