Listen to Lena

Perfecting the Art of Conversuasion

Lifestyle

2015: Great Expectations

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Happy New Year! 2015 is officially underway, and I am officially stoked! I have only one goal this year – make it the BEST year ever! (But no pressure, right?)
Great-Expectations_png_630x529_q85This January feels a *teeny* bit different from the past few years, in that my normal ramp-up time has poofed! into thin air. Whereas I usually have a month or two to get my bearings, send out pitches, sign contracts and line up work, I feel as though I’m already off to the races. And trust me, I’m not complaining! I’m incredibly grateful and so fortunate to know that my year is already shaping out to be a success. It’s a wonderful feeling!

So, what can you expect from me in 2015? As always, I’ll be multi-tasking to the extreme, and will be holding down a variety of “jobs”. I hope you’ll join me for the ride!

1. Mother: Employed since 2008, I will always have this role. It brings me the most joy, the most stress, and certainly the most fulfillment. (Although, I would never want to be subjected to a performance evaluation.)

2. Spouse: Employed since 2007, one of the easiest jobs I’ve ever had – but that may have something to do with the fact that I married my perfect match.

3. Writer: Oh blog, I just can’t quit you. Writing stories – right here on Listen to Lena, my favourite online space in the world – is something I can’t see myself giving up any time soon. Of course, this blog would be nothing without my readers. And to all those who take the time to stop by each day, I have nothing but love for you. Thank you.

4. Social Outreach: I belong to two amazing ambassador programs – #WalmartMomCA and #HBSocialKitchen. But, I’ll let you in on a not-so-little secret – I also manage both programs behind the scenes. Yes, they’re my babies! I conceptualized, presented and successfully negotiated the terms of both ambassador programs. And, working closely with amazing PR professionals and a talented group of online influencers, I’ll continue to lead the discussion and execute the monthly campaigns. …

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Shirking My Responsibility

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cartoonFriends, I’ve been a bit of a flake. You see, when I first set up my blog, I made a promise: that I would respond to every reader comment. And for almost six years, I made good on my word!

Alas, for the last 3-4 weeks, I’ve been travelling, attending events, hosting events, juggling two boys at home, and otherwise spending every waking moment mentally scrolling through my to-do list. As a result, my blog interaction has sucked eggs.

However, today I will remedy the situation. I don’t care if you left a comment on June 12th – today, I’m writing my response. Made a joke on June 29th? Got it. My “Hahaha! Too funny!” is on the way!

Seriously, though – I love y’all. And I love even more that you take a few moments out of your day to let me know that you’re there for me. Now it’s time for me to reciprocate.

Since I won’t be posting content today, here are a few suggested readings:

The 35 Funniest AutoCorrect Fails EVER
Top 100 Inspirational Quotes
30 Ideas For Your 2014 Bucket List
20 Things That Are Too Canadian To Handle

Or, you know, you could just go and enter some of my great contests. (Psst – I’ve got TWO more to blog this week! Stay tuned.) Have a great day all!

Bar None

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I carefully unwrapped the slippery package, pulling the fragrant bar to my nose, inhaling deeply. I recognized notes of sandalwood, citrus and musk – a decidedly masculine scent, but one I found appealing nonetheless. Placing the velvety smooth bar in its ceramic dish, I sighed with satisfaction.

“What is that?” asked Ryder, peering from behind me.
“What do you think it is?” I chided, confident he was just being silly, joshing with me.
“I don’t know,” he responded, reaching out to touch.

Playfully swatting his hand aside, I realized with a start that there was a very real chance that this was the first time Ryder was seeing a bar of soap.

Johnson’s Baby Body Wash. Bath & Body Works Hand Soap. Palmolive Dish Soap. Cars Bubble Bath.

Liquid, liquid, liquid… liquid.

Incredible! I thought. The boys have only been exposed to cleaning agents in their liquid form. In fact, the very bar of soap that I had unwrapped was the first of its kind to be displayed in my bathroom since before the boys were born. And just like that, an intriguing thought crossed my mind: one day, bar soap may be extinct.

Do you use bar soap? What are some products you’ve said goodbye to in your household? 

2014: New Beginnings. And Hats.

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Back in my corporate days, I seldom appreciated the expression, “He wears a lot of hats”. Like, what exactly does that mean? Surely the employee was hired to do one job – so why bother taking on one, two or even three more roles? I couldn’t fathom why someone would want to wear another hat, so to speak. I couldn’t understand the need to constantly be busy… working a deadline… juggling balls in the air. Or as we like to call it on resumes: multitasking. 

“Job incumbent XYZ has a keen ability to multitask and take on new responsibilities.”

And so, I was happy to fly under the radar; being outwardly ambitious while biding my time, knowing it was time for a change. And that change came in the form of maternity leave – in addition to being awarded a sweet little baby, I had twelve long months to care for him… and reinvent myself.

For a while, I wore two hats: mommy, and blogger.

Then, slowly but surely, I began to gain a new respect for multitasking. I began to look at my new hobby as a career, and my new career as a challenge. And I acknowledged that I didn’t graduate with a Bachelor of Commerce, and I didn’t toil in an office cubicle for nearly a decade, to simply wear one hat. For the first time in my life, I was ready – and excited – to take on more.

And then it clicked! All the times I’d regarded managers with disdain – all those times I’d rolled my eyes at those directors who wore “hats” – perhaps it wasn’t because they were overworked. Perhaps they weren’t taking on more work for the same pay. Perhaps they were simply ambitious individuals who loved their jobs. Who loved their contributions. Who loved life.

I’ve realized that you all know me at www.listentolena.com, but you may not know about some of my “side jobs”.

This year, I will wear the following hats:

1. Mother: Employed since 2008, I will always have this role. It is the “job” that brings me the most joy, the most stress, and certainly the most fulfillment. Although I would never want to be subjected to a performance evaluation.

2. Spouse: Employed since 2007, one of the easiest jobs I’ve ever had – I could actually do it with my eyes closed. But that may have something to do with the fact that I married my perfect match.

3. Writer: The truth is, I used to refer to myself as a “blogger”. I mean, this is a blog post I’m publishing, no? But as the years went by (employed since 2008), I realized that with the high caliber of my writing, professionalism and ability to consistently produce stellar content, I was actually selling myself short. Hence, I’ve now embraced my new job description: writer.

(Of course, as my blog – and writing – provide a vehicle for online influence, you may also find me as a Brand Ambassador/ Spokesperson for many of the products I love.)

4. Social Strategist: This year, I’ll continue working with Chatelaine to develop their Tasters and Testers panel. Cultivating the influence of bloggers across Canada, we’ll build a group of ambassadors that are passionate about food, fashion and lifestyle.

5. Social Outreach: In 2014, I’ll be heading up the #HBSocialKitchen blogger panel for Hamilton Beach Canada. Working closely with a talented group of online influencers, I’ll lead the discussion and manage the monthly campaigns.

6. Social Outreach: I’ll also be managing the blogger outreach for Werther’s Original, a new (and decidedly delicious) client. With tasty new offerings this year, it’s a treat (pun intended) to work with them.

7. Social Media Consultant: Once again, I’ll be partnering with PR companies and brands to develop best practices for working with bloggers. (This is a continued role since last March, when I was asked to speak on a panel at the Canadian Public Relations Society’s #PRBootcamp.)

8. Twitter Party Host: After hosting / moderating over 50 Twitter Parties in 2013, it’s safe to say that I may have a party (or two) on the radar this year. And, this year I have an exciting new collaboration: I’ll be co-hosting a monthly #FamilyTravelCA chat to discuss all things related to family vacations. Tune in on the last Tuesday of each month!

Okay, so eight hats. But you know what? It doesn’t feel like multitasking. It doesn’t feel like work. It feels awesome.

Tales of Embarrassment: The Ex-Files

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I’m a woman. I’m a woman who has dated men before meeting the love of my life. I’m a woman who has not moved from the town I was born and raised in, and therefore, I allow myself the opportunity to have inopportune run-ins with ex-boyfriends. So really, I shouldn’t have been surprised that eventually, I’d cross paths with a former flame.

Except, my former flames sure know how to stay hidden. I’ve had two long-term relationships before meeting my husband, and both men still live in the city. Yet, neither of them are on Facebook, Twitter or any other social media sites that would allow for mild cyber-stalking, which is of course completely acceptable and arguably a right as an ex-girlfriend. Of course, you’ve probably guessed by now that we do not stay in touch, which on some days is a shame, as it would relieve me from my online-creepfests and the disappointing results.

So I guess you can say that even though I have ex-boyfriends, they are somewhere in the city – doing their thing, living their life – just as I am. And as such, they are normally the furthest thing from my mind, and I’ve learned that the odds of a chance encounter are very low. Low, but not zero.

Cue the embarrassment.

It happened last week. I was rushing around, trying to juggle a thousand things like I always do. And, I was particularly stretched thin as I had been sick the week before – hence, I was in catch-up mode for everything from blogging to grocery shopping to getting my hair done. Last Wednesday, I was scheduled to host a private shopping event with AIR MILES for Toronto’s top influencers, and I sorely needed to have my roots touched up. So, I did something I don’t normally do; I scheduled a hair colour appointment for the very same day as the event….

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Excuse Me Miss…

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This past weekend, while out and about running my errands, I met a very pleasant fellow mom as we waited in an endless grocery store express checkout.

(Truthfully, I noticed that she was totally breaking the “10 items or Less” rule, but I decided to turn a blind eye.)

However, in turning a blind eye to her grocery offense, I zoomed in on another offensive predator. YES, I am calling it a predator because I swear this thing had stalking abilities. And even though I inwardly cringed and outwardly took a small step back, I didn’t have the guts to say a word.

Wondering what the heck I’m referring to? Allow me to acquaint y’all with a post I wrote back in September 2009. I’ve decided to republish it because my attitude on the matter clearly hasn’t changed a bit. And, brownie points if you remember reading the post the first time around. Congratulations, we’re both 4 years older. Ugh. Read on…

It happens to everyone.

You’re speaking to a colleague, acquaintance, or someone you’ve just met. The conversation may begin with a simple “Hello!” or “Did you catch MasterChef last night?” – or perhaps you’re already deeply invested in a comfortable, amicable chat. And that’s when IT happens.

You notice an astronomically gigantic booger hang gliding from the person’s nostril.

ZOMG.

Now I’ll be the first one to tell people “Let me know! Don’t leave me looking like an idiot… it’s MORE embarrassing if you let me walk around with a mucous bomb on display!”

And you know what? That’s truly the way I feel. I WANT to know if I’ve got unruly hair, broccoli in my teeth, snot on my face, runaway eyeliner, a shiny nose… in essence, if I in any way fall short of perfection, you’d better speak now and for-NEVER hold your peace.

Don’t you agree? Yes? Yeeesss? Sure you do.

Then why do I stop and stare like a deer in headlights when I am confronted by a rebel booger? I immediately tune out of the conversation, mesmerized by this new discovery. I begin to strategize exactly how I will tell the person of their unwanted foe. Should I say, “Excuse me miss, you’ve got a little situation in your nose?” Do I discreetly hand over a tissue? Or do I point to my own nose, make a small wiping motion, and nod curtly while my eyes silently communicate “WIPE THAT GREEN SHIZ OUT OF THERE!”

Of course, the most simple solution would be to lean over and whisper “You may want to give your nose a little wipe” and then, if available, offer a tissue. Simple… yet ridiculously difficult for me to execute. I’m a hypocrite….

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Random Milestones on a Wednesday Morning

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Last night, I was tinkering around my website trying to adjust my security settings. (Side note, when was the last time you refreshed your passwords? I do so at the beginning of each quarter – it’s a good habit to get into!)

Anyhoo, I came across an admin setting which showed that I had published 2,499 posts. Hence, this post… the one you are reading at this very moment… is my 2,500th post. Woo hoo! And since my 5-year blogiversary is just around the corner, my elementary school math skills tell me that I publish just over 500 blog posts per year. Crazy, right? That’s a LOT of words on paper. Er, on screen.

So I began thinking that this post should have some significance; I should write something heartfelt and poignant in an effort to immortalize this milestone. But when it came down to it, the only thing I wanted to write about is how proud I am of this little guy.

My Ryder, who grabbed his lunchbag off the kitchen counter and fearlessly jumped in the car. My Ryder, who when we reached his school, waved goodbye without a backward glance and followed his teacher inside. And when school was over, my Ryder greeted me with a smile, running down everything he had accomplished that day. He was happy.

This is the same little boy who cried hysterically on the first day of school last year. This is the same little boy who has crippling social anxiety. This is the same little boy who is growing up.

And… this is the same little boy whose grandma had to let out the hemline on his pants by two inches. Two inches of growth since the same time last year. Two inches of growth, measured in maturity, emotional development, an evolving personality, and a morph into boyhood.

My 2,500th post is dedicated to Ryder, who inspired the creation of this blog in the first place. Because if he hand’t been such a great napper when he was six months old, I’d never have had the opportunity to begin putting thoughts on screen.

That’s all. Random milestones on a Wednesday morning. And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

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Years ago – half a lifetime ago, to be honest – I started dating my first serious boyfriend.

We were seventeen and high school sweethearts, so of course I had already tacked his last name onto mine in my diary; dreaming of the days university would be over and he would seek my hand in marriage. I was mostly in love and terribly committed as only a teenager can be.

Three years into the relationship, and it was painfully evident we were hanging on just for the sake of hanging on. We fought constantly; had bitter words to say that were never totally forgotten after each passing fight, and the truth is, he was not growing into the dedicated paramour I had dreamed of, and I was not the free-spirited, easy-going girlfriend he had counted on.

We were doomed.

And so we would break up and make up – on and off for almost a year. Our first “official” break-up was in September 1999, but then, we could be seen going out here and there and even spending a long weekend together right up until August 2000.

Just before our final seperation in the summer of 2000, I began having a recurring dream.

It made absolutely no sense to me (and yet haunted me with a frequency of at least 1-2 times per week): in the dream, I would be working, driving, shopping, walking along a beach at night – really, insert any life scenario here – and I’d be licking a blue lollipop. But not just any lollipop; a big, round one… I suppose it would be slightly bigger than a Chupa Chup but smaller than a Big Mouth. It was hard to handle once in my mouth, but I kept at it just the same, trying to make it fit. I could taste the sweet, blue raspberry stickiness and just about get my teeth around it for a bite. But in the end – always, in the end – I’d pull it out of my mouth in frustration, and start smashing it against a hard surface until it shattered into pieces. And once among me, the sticky, blue mess, I’d feel a lot better.

After my boyfriend and I broke up for the final time, the dream stopped.

At the time, I didn’t pay the dream very much mind. I didn’t have to – this was before the days of Google Search when I could simply have an armchair analyst decode the dream in an instant.

However, as luck would have it, one of my friends was very much into “spiritual introspection” and had long since befriended an impressive assortment of tarot readers, Reiki massage therapists, psychics and of course, a dream interpreter. And that’s how I found myself at the home of a renowned spiritual healer who happened to specialize in dream analysis….

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They’re Actually My Favourites Too

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This morning, I was up at the *enviable* hour of 4:30am. I know, you’re totally jealous, right?

Truth is, I made the colossal mistake of falling asleep after reading Ryder a bedtime story (turns out the Three Little Pigs can induce slumber in 34-year-olds as well) and so, felt very refreshed after 8 hours of sleep. Ack! I was wide awake. And so I had nothing to keep me company but 7-hour old status updates on Facebook and a plethora of auto-tweets on Twitter.

(Seriously, don’t schedule your auto-tweet for 4:30am. You know you’re not tweeting, I know you’re not tweeting, and it somehow feels cheap to read computer-generated “interaction”. If you’re going to pre-schedule promotion for your company or blog, at least do it at an hour when you can respond to follower feedback.)

So right about now you may be wondering… if you’ve been wide awake for the last 5 hours, how come you couldn’t be bothered to come up with a post? (Technically, THIS is the new post so I did accomplish something.) The truth is, I spent my time reading through my “Reader Favourites.” They’re the posts listed on the ride side of my blog; just scroll down for about 2 seconds. These are little snippets of my life that recount my journey as a mother, woman and human being who is far from perfect. For the most part, I’ve written them on a whim with little thought into the direction of the posts, or how they would be received. Nevertheless, as much as they’re reader favourites, they’re my favourites too.

And so I think I’ll take a break from blogging this morning and indulge in a trip down memory lane. Want to know me better? Just scroll down the right sidebar, or click here, and read some of the posts that define me. Have a great day!

Another Year…. Another Chance.

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This is my very favourite time of year. On the cusp of a new beginning; a chance to pause and reflect on the past little while. The memories made; new friendships, old habits, the same old slippers and robe. But I rarely spend too much time thinking about the past – even a year as awesome as 2012 – because I’m always too excited for the road that lies ahead.

And here we are… Another Year… Another Chance.

Another chance to say I love you.
Another chance to forgive and move on.
Another chance to lose five pounds.
Another chance to learn to love yourself just the way you are.
Another chance to try something new.
Another chance to try for a baby.
Another chance to swallow your pride.
Another chance to phone a friend.
Another chance to tuck them in bed.
Another chance to let her go.

Another chance to believe.

Another chance to eat dessert first.
Another chance to give to the poor.
Another chance to smile at a stranger.
Another chance to mend a broken heart.
Another chance to set a goal.

Another chance to walk away from the situation.

Another chance to say what’s on your mind.
Another chance to do something that scares you.
Another chance to see a movie on opening night.
Another chance to ask for help.
Another chance to block his phone number.
Another chance to hold someone’s hand.
Another chance to window shop in a neighbourhood you can’t afford.

Another chance to wish upon a star.

Another chance to admit you were wrong.
Another chance to hug your parents.
Another chance to paint your fingernails electric blue.
Another chance to book that overdue vacation.
Another chance to live your life without regret.
Another chance to pay it forward.

Another chance to be the very best person you can be.

Happy New Year! What will you do in 2013?

Up For a Road Trip? Cause We’re Going to Mordor

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The problem with writing posts when you’re angry is the risk you’ll sound like a ranting lunatic.

Disclosure: Please do not continue reading if you have an aversion to ranting lunatics.

For those who’ll allow me a few moments to let off steam, here’s my story.

Since Ryder first started talking, he – like practically every child – somehow came up with quirky approximations that loosely resembled the word he was trying to say. For example, “Eleven” was “E-leggy” and the “remote” was the “o-mote”.

It’s cute! Trying to decode Ryder, and now Reid, is one of my favourite pass times. I take pleasure in knowing that I am one of the few people who understands their secret toddler language, and realize that all too soon, they’ll be speaking like little English professors. Well, maybe not quite as eloquently, but certainly you see my point.

In fact, Ryder has pretty much grasped the correct pronunciation for almost every word now, save a few he still has trouble with. But you know what? Don’t care. Every time he pronounces a word incorrectly, I do my best to repeat the word back to him slowly – with emphasis on the correct way to say it. So, if he says: “Mommy, can I have some See-yal?” I’ll respond with, “Yes, you can have some CE-RE-AL.”

And I leave it at that. No linguistic exercises, no penalties for poor language, no bug fuss.

Sounds reasonable?

I admit I’m being a little nostalgic, because both boys have lost so many of the funny words they once said, and I know that they’re minutes away from growing up too fast. So, if Reid wants to say “Frawberries” for a few more weeks, or a few more months, it’s all good.

Begin rant. …

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Thanksgiving: This Mom Stayed in the Picture

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Last week, a very poignant post went viral – one that most moms can relate to. It’s called The Mom Stays in the Picture, published on The Huffington Post by freelance write Allison Tate.

Here’s a small excerpt – be forewarned, you may find yourself nodding with emotion more than once.

I avoid photographic evidence of my existence these days. To be honest, I avoid even mirrors. When I see myself in pictures, it makes me wince. I know I am far from alone; I know that many of my friends also avoid the camera.

It seems logical. We’re sporting mama bodies and we’re not as young as we used to be. We don’t always have time to blow dry our hair, apply make-up, perhaps even bathe (ducking). The kids are so much cuter than we are; better to just take their pictures, we think.

But we really need to make an effort to get in the picture. Our sons need to see how young and beautiful and human their mamas were. Our daughters need to see us vulnerable and open and just being ourselves — women, mamas, people living lives. Avoiding the camera because we don’t like to see our own pictures? How can that be okay?

Too much of a mama’s life goes undocumented and unseen. I want them to see the way I looked at them, see how much I loved them. I am not perfect to look at and I am not perfect to love, but I am perfectly their mother.

To say that this article hit home is an understatement. I have cancelled our family photos more than once because I forgot to have my roots done – or I forgot to lose those extra 10 pounds. I’ve been a fixture behind the camera because my hair wasn’t perfect, my makeup wasn’t done or my clothes were frayed from overuse. In short, I’ve looked over photos of my children from the past four years and realize with profound sadness that I’m in less than 10% of them….

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I Am Thankful.

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With Thanksgiving just a few days away, I’ve started chatting with Ryder about the holiday and what it represents.

(Believe it or not, 4-year-olds grasp the concept of Thanksgiving very easily if we simply substitute “thankful” for “likes a lot”. Of course, coming from Ryder, one can expect cars, vacuums and gummy bears to be on that list.)

I decided that I too wanted to make a list of the things I am thankful for; but let’s be honest, you can likely guess the contents: my beautiful boys, my wonderful extended family, health, happiness… yes, it’s all terribly predictable.

And so I began thinking about the little things I’m thankful for. You know, the small stuff that in the end, somehow made a huge difference. Sometimes I laughed; often, I cried; but for the most part, I am thankful.

Inner Beauty.

I am thankful that I was never a conventionally pretty or popular girl. Being ignored for most of my high school life was likely the greatest gift ever. For when other 15-year-old girls simply had to toss their hair or flirtatiously giggle, I had to be funny, witty and interesting. Yes, I was the forgettable girl with the great personality – the one the boys didn’t want to be set up with. At the time, I spent countless nights wondering how I could make myself more popular, more trendy and definitely more pretty. But in the end, the fact that I had to depend on my wit and charm – not my looks – allowed me to develop my inner beauty. Later, when I finally blossomed, not only was I a looker – I was charismatic and likable, too.

A Charitable Cause.

I am thankful for my first boyfriend. He was a cute, popular boy and for some reason, decided to pluck me out of social obscurity. One day, huddled behind the high school portables, he asked me to be his girlfriend. I thought I’d combust with happiness! We ended up “dating” for 2 months – a lifetime when you’re 16 years old. To this day, I still don’t know if I was a “She’s All That”-esque charitable cause (certainly no on else could figure out the attraction – not even my friends!) but I’ll forever be thankful that he spent a small portion of his life making me feel so special. The confidence that ensued helped me keep my head held high when other boys rejected me (sadly, my social life did not pick up after that brief stint – see Inner Beauty)….

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Gimme Back My Coupon, Wench!

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PAGING: Mulder and Scully. 

Okay, so while this is situation does not exactly qualify as paranormal activity, something NOT normal is definitely going on here. (Insert squinted eyes and a thoughtful stroking of the chin.)

It all started last month. As a blogger who conducts product reviews, I’m often given a free product coupon (FPC) as an enticement to try a product (or as an alternative to shipping a perishable good to my door). And so, coupons in hand, I visited my local market to do my usual grocery run – which included trying two new products by way of FPCs. Once checked out, I glanced down at my receipt and noticed that the “Total Manufacturer Coupon Savings” were $3.49, when it should have been $6.98 as I had redeemed two coupons. This had happened once before – recently, actually – so I informed the cashier, she apologized and handed the coupon over, and instructed me to go to customer service to have it sorted out.

No harm done, right? Right.

Yesterday, I once again had a few FPCs to redeem – three, to be exact. I also had a $3 off coupon for a well-known yogurt manufacturer, and a 10¢ coupon for PC Canned Crab. (Don’t ask. It’s delish, though.)

The value of each of the free products was $5.29. So, redeeming 3 x $5.29 FPCs, 1 x $3.00 off yogurt and 10¢ off canned crab, one would expect my total manufacturer coupon savings to total $18.97. With me so far?

It was a crazy Saturday afternoon, the kids were whining, and I was struggling to pack up a huge grocery run while my husband lugged the bags into the cart. I wasn’t exactly paying attention to what the cashier was doing, so it was only as we were walking out of the store that I glanced down at the receipt and noticed the total coupon savings were $5.29. Say what???

My Spidey Sense started tingling….

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A Lesson in Humility

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Sometimes, it’s the parent who needs to be scolded.

This morning began like most others. Wash the kids, clothe the kids, feed the kids, keep the kids from killing each other… and so on. Except I learned a valuable lesson I won’t soon forget, courtesy of Ryder – my lovely, sensitive, incredibly perceptive little guy.

It happened while I was (trying) to help them change out of their pajamas. Reid was running around my bedroom, and I swear that kid is so fast and so small it’s like trying to catch a greased pig. As he continually dodged my advances, Ryder ran in front of me, taunting me less heartily but highly annoying nonetheless. Well, after about 30 seconds of a game that felt like 30 minutes, I’d had enough. Grabbing Ryder by his shoulders, I steadied him and yanked his pants and undies down in one swift movement, puling them from around his ankles and tossing them into a clothes hamper behind me.

And then Ryder looked at me. It was a combination of shock and pure disgust; a look reserved for someone who had just slapped you across the face. And then he began to cry – tears of frustration, shame and embarrassment. He wailed and hid behind my dresser, trying to pull his pajama top down over his torso.

It was then that I realized that by unceremoniously yanking down his pants, I had humiliated him – robbing him of his dignity as he stood there naked from the waist down.

It had never occurred to me that a 3 year old could be embarrassed.
I have never considered myself a bully.
I will never make him feel cold and shamed again.

And so today, in humiliating my son, I learned a lesson in humility.

(I’m sorry, sweet Ryder.)