Listen to Lena

Perfecting the Art of Conversuasion

Reader Favourites

Their Not Interchangeable and Never Will Be

By

If you caught the grammatical error in my post title, Hallelujah! We can be friends.

I found this post from August 2010 – almost four years ago to the day!

“Lately, I’m finding more and more people simply don’t take the time to use the words there, their and they’re in their proper context. Frankly, unless you’re in second grade and have yet to learn the subtleties of grammar and pronunciation, you really have no excuse. There, I said it. It all comes down to this silly notion that intelligence is constantly conveyed in everything that we do.”

Okay, I was pretty self-righteous, no?? But you know what? I’m not going to apologize for it. I am a proud grammar cop! And in the last four years, I can only say I’ve become worse – kind of like a crotchety old man on a park bench. Back to my post –

“I wouldn’t dare insult you by posting the different uses of the three words; I’m under the assumption that we all know what they mean and how to correctly insert them into a sentence. What I am going to say, especially to the violators, is please, take a moment to proofread your work. Anal-retentive perfectionists such as myself (who clearly have a lot of time on their hands) take offense to those who don’t show respect for the English language. Some actually exhibit a marked rise in blood pressure when confronted with this popular grammatical error. Trust me, they’re out there.”

I went on to bash people like only a blogger with mildly inflated readership can do, but over the years, I’ve learned to bite my tongue and reserve judgement for whale poachers and fashion criminals.

As such, I had put the post out of my mind almost completely – until recently, when Weird Al Yankovic validated every. freaking. word with his new single and video, Word Crimes. It’s like he wrote it for me, and other grammar snobs (we tend to stick together, since few people can stand us).

Do you have any grammatical pet peeves?

It’s Time to Have “The Talk”.

By

My boys are only about a month shy of their 4th and 6th birthdays, so I’m a little surprised that it’s already time to have “the talk”.

Truthfully, I assumed I had at least a few more years. My sons are barely out of the toddler stages! I had convinced myself that the the dreaded conversation would take place sometime in the distant future, so I did little to prepare myself – I gave it little thought and importance. Let the parents of tweens worry about it, I thought, I’m still PVR’ing Disney Junior shows!

But it happened. It happened and I was caught off-guard; silently cursing the acceleration of childhood. And it happened at the most inopportune moment; I was flustered, disorganized and trying to accomplish about a thousand things at once, and there stood Ryder, hovering in my doorway. I could tell he wanted to ask me something, and I turned to him, my face dripping with annoyance and expectation. “What is it?” I snapped.

If I had known this would be the pivotal moment, the moment I had both feared and dreaded would come eventually (but not now!), I would have been better prepared. I would have had all my key points of love, nurturing and most of all, quiet authority and instruction, ready to dole out with calm, maternal intelligence. I would have called out to my husband, who, as the man of the family, would’ve been able to delve from his own experience.

Yet my perfect vision of “the talk” crumbled at my feet when out of mouth of my sweet, young and naive son, the dreaded words flowed: “Can we get a dog?” Unprepared, I blurted out an unintelligent, garbled response that only the most practiced ears would understand and interpret as no f*cking way.

So, my friends, the hour is upon us and it’s time to have the “No Dogs Talk”. As an aside, I blame my best friend for the premature timing of the discussion, as she recently acquired the most adorable puppy I’ve laid eyes on and I’ve been showing the boys his photos. So I suppose I’ve had a hand in this debacle after all, and now it’s time to set the record straight. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stand firm – and that troubles me. In fact, my husband is fairly convinced I’ll eventually give in. But for the time being, I will only take care of two babies, dammit.

Do you have pets? Were you convinced by your children – or, as a child, did you convince your parents? 

#ThrowbackThursday #tbt: The Front Porch

By

In 2014, I will be participating in #tbt courtesy of the Epson Expression Premium XP-810 Small–in–One printer, the ultimate choice for scanning and printing. Ultra powerful and ultra slim, it produces stunning borderless photos and documents quickly and affordably. Featuring the ultimate in wireless printing, the XP-810 makes it easier than ever to print from your iPad, iPhone, tablet or smartphone, whether in your home or out and about.

August 1979. I have no memories of the first home I lived in, as I was barely 18 months old when we moved from Toronto to Mississauga. Back then, Mississauga was nothing more than suburban farmland, but at a population of 294,331 strong, Toronto’s neighbour to the west was already showing much promise.

Two months after we moved, the great Mississauga Train Derailment occurred, forcing us from our new home for three days as the entire city was evacuated. But the disaster was contained, the city was restored, and it went on to become one of the most vibrant cities in the world.

But before Mississauga, there was 133 Norseman Street in Toronto, and the porch where this photo was taken. Me and my brother, the two original curly swirlies.

(Is there any doubt we’re related?)

Years ago, I drove by the home, situated on the corner of Norseman Street and Islington Avenue in Etobicoke. I tried to form a connection with the house; the place I lived as a newborn and infant. I pictured my mother walking up the porch steps holding my brother’s tiny hand. I saw my father pulling into the driveway after a long day at work. I wondered how different my life would be if I had grown up in this corner house in Toronto.

Through the magic of Google Maps, I can show you what the house looks like today. 35 years later, it has resisted most attempts at modernization and retained much of its charm. Though sadly, it appears that the porch has been renovated. Perhaps my brother and I will have to take new photograph :)

Bar None

By

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.

By

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.

Life Hacks: Disney Cars Diecast “Parking Garage”

By

Since I have two young boys who have an affinity for everything related to Disney Cars, I can pretend that their Mattel Diecast Collection is… well… theirs.

Truth is, I am a 35-year old woman who collects small cars with faces on them.

In fact, the only thing that keeps me from signing up for one of those online trading boards is the realization that I am in fact a 35-year old woman and perhaps I don’t need the Doc Hudson diecast car (even though every fibre of my being is telling me that yes, I really do).
Anyhoo, we have reached the point in “our” Disney Cars collection that we sorely need some organization. At just shy of 100 cars, I’ve been relying on the boys to keep the collection together in a neat and (somewhat) orderly manner. However, I’m constantly finding errant cars under the couch, in the clothes hamper, and my personal favourite: “Mom, can you pull out the fridge? Holley Shiftwell is under there.” Uh, never again.

Alas, finding a carrying case for a large collection was proving to be much more difficult than expected. Most Cars-branded cases available in Canada only hold about 10-12 cars, and regular diecast cases just won’t cut it for the many oversized cars we have. So, I decided to get creative.

First, I found this 39 Drawer Storage Bin at Home Depot Canada. Sensing that our collection would grow over the coming months, and that it was marked “Special Buy” (translation: get ’em before they’re gone), I decided to pick up three. We’ve opened two for the time being, pictured below.
I love that the Disney Cars diecast cars are a great fit in the storage drawers; lots of room to move back and forth and just the right amount of space on the sides. Plus, since they’re clear, I can peek through to see what’s inside….

Read More

Tales of Embarrassment: The Ex-Files

By

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….

Read More

Excuse Me Miss…

By

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….

Read More

The Bad “F” Word: Flats

By

Years ago, I subscribed to the following belief:

“Any shoe that doesn’t have a 4-inch heel is called a sneaker.”

Obnoxious, wasn’t I? Yeah, I was that 20-year old who teetered to work in stiletto heels, never stumbling or wavering. And after 8 hours at the office, I’d party it up at the club in a different pair of cute stilettos. Did I feel pain? Meh, I don’t remember. It was all about the shoes.

Well, I’ve since learned another saying. And it includes something about eating my words. Because the truth is, after five years, two kids and a work-at-home job (where I’m literally barefoot for 23 out of 24 hours each day), I’ve developed an aversion to anything that doesn’t feel completely, absolutely, persistently comfy. Reality: sneakers are my preferred mode of fashion these days.

So, rather than deny my need for comfort, I’ve decided to embrace it; setting aside my heels for special occasions and rocking flats whenever socially acceptable.

Which brings about another problem. It’s called #ShoeShame.

Shoe shame is a feeling most fashionistas have when they enter a room and are immediately confronted by a sea of stilettos – while they stare down at their frumpy, chunky flats. To experience shoe shame, one must be a) a former heels wearer, b) incredibly vain, or c) a combination of the two. Guilty.

Of course, there is a remedy to shoe shame. And that is to buy a few pairs of FUFs – also known as F-U Flats. FUFs are generally designer shoes that are sleek, sophisticated and convey a very strong message: “I didn’t feel like wearing heels today so F-U, I decided to throw on my (insert frivolous designer here) flats that probably cost more than your monthly car payment.”

I know, it’s silly. But there’s a reason why Tory Burch’s Reva flats are $225, no?

Hence, I decided that if I wasn’t going to put out, I might as well ante up. So I bought my own FUFs.

Sleek and sophisticated? Check. Frivolous designer? Check. Monthly car payment? Not nearly as much, but in the ballpark, so check. And the best part? I feel confident, put together, and most importantly, incredibly stylish when I wear them. However, there’s just one small problem……

Read More

Random Milestones on a Wednesday Morning

By

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.

A Mom by Any Other Name…

By

*EDIT – JULY 1st, 2013*

Sometimes, I’ll look back on an old post that I published years ago, and chuckle to myself – thinking about the “problems” I once faced. In this instance, I was going through a phase (a terribly long one, mind you) where Ryder referred to me by my first name. Yes, it bothered me. Enough to write a blog post! He called me “Lena” for much longer than was tolerable, and at one point, it really, really hurt me.

But just like that, he grew out of it… and has called me “Mommy” ever since. Often hundreds of times per day – in a raspy, whiny voice that from time to time, grates at my nerves. “Mommy, Mommy, MOMMY!”

(However, I won’t complain. I’ve earned my title, and I cherish every single “Mommy” that leaves his sweet mouth.)

And so, won’t you take a trip down memory lane with with me? This blog post was originally published on September 6, 2011 – so Ryder would have been just about 3.5 years old; his little brother, 1.5 years old. Is it strange that I have a hard time remembering this phase? I fear that life is speeding by way too quickly. Sigh.

Readers, I have a problem.

Now I suppose I should toss out a quick disclaimer: I have my health, my kids are well fed, and for the moment, we do have a roof over our heads. So in the grand scheme of things, perhaps it isn’t a biggie.

An inconvenience? A concern? Regardless.

Ryder calls me “Lena”. And I can’t get him to stop.

I know, I know, I know it shouldn’t bother me. Not much, anyways. Many friends and family members actually think it’s kind of cute. And for a while, even I thought it was rather enduring: Ha ha, my son calls me by my first name.

Now, it drives me crazy.

I’m not exactly sure why he prefers addressing me as “Lena” – after all, it hardly has an interesting ring to it, right? Let’s be real, it’s not “Desirée” or “Katerina” and furthermore, I spend the equivalent of 6 hours per day rambling off phrases such as “Give it to Mommy,” “Mommy said NO!” and “Come hold Mommy’s hand”… so… what the hell? And I AM his Mommy, right? I pick out his clothes, kiss his boo boos, cut his grapes in half and jump on Google for every symptom he’s ever had (or I’ve thought he’s had, which includes, but is not limited to, shingles, bee stings and leprosy).

So… what the hell?

It’s been getting worse, friends. Last week, while taking a Popsicle out of the freezer for him, he looked at me pointedly and said, “Don’t lick it, Lena. That’s MY Popsicle.” Sure, I can deal.

Later that day, I accidentally spilled milk all over the counter due to a milk bag malfunction.

“What the hell, Lena?” he observed. (Yes, it’s indeed horrible that those exact words came out his mouth, but I will be the first to admit that I burst out laughing when he said it. I think this Mommy needs to watch her own potty mouth.)

But my absolute breaking point was while we were in Gymboree last week. Sorting through some of their cute fall merchandise, a salesperson sidled up to me.

“He’s so cute!” she gushed.
“Thank you,” I crooned. “Do you like this top, Ryder?”
“I don’t like it Lena!” he screamed. “Let’s go home Lena. Want to play cars.”
“Oh!” the salesperson gushed. “Are you his nanny? Or an aunt?”

Great.

No, I’m his mother,” I retorted tersely.
“Ah, a stepmom. I thought so… I didn’t want to say, but I was trying to find the resemblance.”

B*tch….

Read More

When the Pill is a Pain: Birth Control After Birth

By

I’ve been wanting to write this post for some time now; in fact, it’s been on my mind literally every day for the past two weeks. I need to write the birth control post, I’d remind myself every morning. Alas, life happens – and my motivation to write the post fell by the wayside. However, in light of the recent media coverage in Canada about Yaz and Yasmin birth control pills, I figured that maybe it was time to bump this post to the top of my “to-do” list.

Health Canada has received reports of at least 23 young Canadian women who have died while taking one of two commonly prescribed birth control pills, Yaz and Yasmin. More than half the reported deaths were in women younger than 26, including one who was 14.

Here’s my disclaimer: I’ve never taken Yaz or Yasmin, and clearly, I am alive and well – hence, have not suffered any lasting or debilitating effects of taking birth control pills. However, I was on the pill for exactly half my life – 17.5 years – with breaks in between for pregnancies and breast feeding. For the most part, it was a wonderful relationship… but when the pill became a pain, I knew I had to stop.

It all started when I was 18 years old. I had a boyfriend… use your imagination… I went on the pill. << I actually feel incredibly awkward writing that because my Mom reads my blog every day. But I was EIGHTEEN, Mom! An adult who was capable of making informed decisions. And when faced with the choice between teen pregnancy or popping a tiny pill once per day, it was an easy one for me.

I’ll never forget the little informational booklet that came with the pack of pills. I was quite certain I had never seen anything so intense in my entire life. The health precautions, the instructions for use, the dedicated section to Oh sh*t I forgot to take a pill now what do I do?. I had that pack of pills for three months before I felt comfortable taking my first – always contemplating if the benefits outweighed the risks.

And for the most part, they did. My body loved the birth control pill (good old Marvelon back in 1996!) and I honestly can’t say I experienced any detrimental side effects at all. My periods – previously highly irregular and crampy as hell – were now on a perfect 28-day cycle, manipulated to start every fourth Monday so I never lost out on a weekend of fun ;) If I had a big event, no biggie – I’d just take the pill straight through to avoid menstruating that month. My periods were lighter, I knew when to expect them, and most importantly, I was fully protected from an unwanted pregnancy.

Life was a bowl of cherries!

Somewhere along the way, I was switched from Marvelon to Alesse. I didn’t question the substitution because a healthy, non-smoker in her twenties had no reason to. However, when I was 26 years old, I experienced my first migraine. I’ll never forget that day; sitting at my computer, trying to put together a slide presentation, I suddenly couldn’t focus on the screen. Bright, jagged, zig-zag lines appeared in my line of vision and suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of malaise took over. I was nauseous, felt a wringing in my ears and was utterly disoriented. Thankfully, a caring co-worker instantly recognized the signs of a migraine “aura” and asked to drive me home. As we waited at a red light just before my street, I jumped out of her car and threw up on the side of the road….

Read More

The Not-So-Viral Picture You Loved

By

There are so many buzzwords in social media today: trending, clickability, engagement, advertainment… I could go on. And on.

But the single most overused buzzword? Viral. As in, “My Facebook post went viral! It was liked and shared a gazillion times.”

Amazing! And having a “viral” post or picture is certainly a measurement of success – one that should be both applauded and respected. (Unless you’re spamming people with voting requests, “earn $100/hour” ads or funny animal pictures. Then you’re not a viral success; you’re a douche.)

Unfortunately, I’ve never experienced the high of having a viral post or image, but I have received amazing feedback and engagement from a few posts in particular. It’s a nice feeling! Of course, when I published the following picture last Thursday, clearly I had no idea it would be received so well…

It’s just a photo of me and the Director of Menu Management at McDonald’s Canada, Anne Parks – from the post They Came. They Tasted. They Savoured the Flavour. I didn’t think much about it until over the course of the next few days, my inbox was filled with questions about my hair, beauty routine, makeup and wardrobe. Er… I’m flattered, friends!

And while I would normally just respond to e-mails individually, I thought this was a great way to share the “secrets” of my beauty routine. (Prepare to be underwhelmed. Seriously – I’m pretty much no-frills and no-fuss.) Below is a collection of questions I received stemming from the photo I posted on Thursday – except the first, which I received a few weeks ago and just had to include!

Hi Gorgeous – Do you do botox?!? Your skin is flawless. Secret safe with me if its a yes – please tell me where you go! xo – R

LOL! I wish I was interesting enough to have a reason to botox, but alas, the kindergarten carpool in sweatpants does not necessitate a smooth and wrinkle-free forehead. I am, however, blessed with good genes – and I do use a “miracle” cream called Olay Regenerist Micro-Sculpting Serum. It is seriously the best thing you can ever put on a problem area; just a few dabs on fine lines and they disappear like magic.

Since I only use it from time to time (usually for big events), I’ve had the same bottle for almost three years! A little goes a looong way.

Love your orange dress! Where did you get it? – A

It’s my “little orange dress” from the Old Navy Fall/Winter 2013 collection. A steal at under $30; it originally came paired with a black belt, but I swapped it for a pink belt to add a punch of fun colour!…

Read More

Oh Brother. How Do You Choose?

By

For the last few nights, I’ve had a particularly unwelcome habit of falling asleep for about 30 minutes around 9:00pm – then waking up and being WIDE AWAKE until, say, 1:00am.

NOT COOL.

And so I’ve discovered the exciting world of late night television; talk shows, nightly news, and episode after episode of Property Brothers. You know, those two adorably tall-but-yet-never-seem-awkward brothers who dabble in home improvement and real estate. There’s a certain thrill about watching them take a below-average home (more often than not, one that I wouldn’t set foot in without my tallest wellies) and turning it into a modern castle. How I’ve dreamed of witnessing such a glorious transformation! (On my 5-year old executive semi in the ‘burbs, of course. None of that foreclosure stuff.)

More about the show:

“Property Brothers is a real estate & renovation show featuring twin brothers Drew and Jonathan Scott. Drew’s a real estate agent and Jonathan’s a contractor – together, they find down-and-out fixer-uppers and turn them into perfect homes for their clients. To convince the buyers to believe in their vision, they use CGI technology to help buyers see the potential in two rundown, outdated, ugly homes. Once the homeowners decide which house is right for them, Drew gets to work on negotiating the purchase while Jonathan oversees the renovation. When the dust has settled, and the buyers walk through their front door for the final reveal but the question is, do they have their dream home?” – W Network

Okay, so here’s the deal. Last night while watching the show, I was immediately struck by the fact that even though the brothers are identical, they offer something very different to a woman.

Are you attracted to the “Jonathan” kind of guy – incredibly handy with an eye for design and obviously, great with his hands? This is a man who takes on projects (and life) with gusto, and when confronted with problems, normally has a fabulous solution (that may or may not involve a modern white kitchen).

Or do you look for more of a “Drew” type – a sharp dresser, smooth talker and the ability to negotiate just about anything? He’ll text you, take you to an expensive restaurant on the first date, and his roaring metrosexuality will make you question your own choice of hairdressers.

As much as the serial re-decorator in me sees the value of having a Jonathan prototype around, I must admit that I tend to be attracted to the Drews of the world. After all, a smart, successful businessman can simply hire a contractor, no? It’s like having the best of both worlds! (And, you’ll always have a shopping buddy.)

What about you? Do you love a man who frequents the Home Depot… or Holt Renfrew?

(EDIT – I’m not the only one who wants to know… Look who’s been following this post!)

 

My Brush with Fame. Without a Makeup Brush.

By

I suppose I can laugh at it all now. But let me tell you – 48 hours ago, I was highly stressed out.

It all started with my recent press trip to Visit Orlando. In exchange for a family vacation, my obligation was twofold: blog coverage on my site (a given), and media appearances to chat about our amazing adventure (a bonus).

Now you’re probably familiar with my blog coverage, as I’ve been churning out reviews of the places we visited and the wonderful things we did. But, you may not be familiar with some of my media appearances. I’ve chatted about Orlando and family travel on outlets such as Daytime Live, CH Morning Live, and this past Friday – CP24 Live at Noon.

And while all media appearances give me the opportunity to go LIVE in front of the camera (which I actually adore! Yes, I’m an attention-you-know-what) I was particularly excited for my CP24 appearance on Friday afternoon. After all, if you live in the Greater Toronto Area, who hasn’t tuned in to the all-news station? It’s like media royalty, if you will.

So, Friday arrived and I was super pumped. Because not only was I appearing on Live at Noon, but then I’d literally be walking over to the Canadian Council of Public Relations Firms PR Agency Boot Camp, where I was a speaker on the Social Media Blogger Panel. And so, I gushed accordingly –

I checked over the instructions once more. Chatting with Stephen Ledrew, segment to air live at 12:45pm. Check. Arrive at 12:00pm, as one of CP24’s professional makeup artists will get me camera-ready. Check. Need to get to the infamous 299 Queen Street West, where there is ample parking within a few blocks. Check.

Okay, I was ready….

Read More

Ryder, The Four-Year-Old Face Bomber

By

If there’s one thing I sorely need in 2013, it’s a camera with a faster shutter speed. Because really, it only takes 1/8 of a second for Ryder to face bomb our pictures, and apparently I’m not taking pictures fast enough.

Case in point: pictures from our recent family vacation to Walt Disney World. Sifting through the lot, I shuddered at the sheer amount of photos Ryder managed to face bomb. I swear it’s a skill; I’ll say, “Smile!” and I’m expecting to see something like this –

But then, the moment my finger hovers over the trigger for a second shot, THIS happens –

For lack of imagination, we call it “Ryder’s Ugly Face”. And boy oh boy, does he pull out that ugly face often. As soon as the picture is taken and I see the final result on the camera’s LED screen, I normally shriek and threaten Ryder within an inch of his life to stop ruining the family photos. He’s repentant for about 45 seconds… allowing me to snap an album-worthy shot or two. And then… BOOM! He drops another face bomb. For the love of God….

Read More

The Undomestic Goddess? #DessertMoments

By

Is it possible to leave a corporate job, stay at home to raise two boys… and become undomestic?

Because that’s exactly how I’ve felt for the past few years. Until recently, the days leading up to Christmas were crammed with eggnog swinging, tree-trimming and of course, holiday baking. Yes, my kitchen was my bakery: with cakes, cookies and confections galore, I’d stay up well past midnight waiting for the shortbread to cool or the icing sugar to set. It was my thing – friends knew that once the holidays came ’round, Lena would be baking up a storm.

And you’d think that being at home, with little children (who love the aforementioned cakes, cookies and confections), I’d increase my baking efforts – right?

Sadly, no. Since the boys were born, I’ve found myself making less and less time to enjoy holiday baking. To tell the truth, I didn’t bake at all last year – opting instead for a few store-bought goodies that worked in a pinch, but could never compare to a homemade treat.

So when Kraft Canada contacted me about doing a fun, festive photo shoot to capture some wonderful Holiday #DessertMoments, I couldn’t say no. And it wasn’t because I was looking forward to having a professional photographer take beautiful pictures of my handiwork (though that was an awesome fringe benefit) – it was so I would be guaranteed to turn out some holiday goodies this year!

And so without further ado, I’d love to share Kraft Canada’s recipe for Salted Chocolate Covered Caramels… made by yours truly!

(The photographer, Teddy Chau, is a creative genius. Look for drool-worthy pictures of the candy – plus a few fabulous shots of moi. You didn’t really think I’d let the food be the star of the show, did you?)

What You Need:

1 pkg. (269 g) Kraft Caramels
5 squares Baker’s Premium 70% Cacao Dark Chocolate, melted
1 Tbsp. sea salt
toothpicks for handling the Caramels

(That’s all folks! Just 3 ingredients and a waxed paper-covered baking sheet. Anyone can make this recipe – and since there’s no baking involved, it’s a great one to do with the kiddos.)

…

Read More

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

By

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. …

Read More

I Am Thankful.

By

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)….

Read More

Changing Room Wars: How to Come Out on Top

By

Sometimes, shopping for a new outfit makes me do a happy dance.

And other times, I break out in hives.

If you are a woman, chances are there’s been at least one time (read: many times) in your life that you’ve dreaded trying on clothes. Whether it be because you’re not at your ideal weight, have struggled with an unruly body part (sadly, my hips don’t lie) or are prone to Cameron Diaz syndrome (flat chest and butt), changing rooms can be your enemy.

(Of course, one could avoid changing room wars with diet and fitness, but… do you know how delicious a Chipotle Burrito Bowl is? Seriously, it’s life defining.)

Before having children, I had about 10 years in what I now call my Changing Room Champion phase. Yup; I could try on any outfit with some assurance that it would fit – as long as it came in “XS” (oh, to be skinny again!). However, after producing a couple of boys in a couple of years, I’m now firmly in the “M” zone and have clothing considerations I previously didn’t have to worry about:

1) Remember those unruly hips? Out of control now. I need a good pair of Spanx to get them back in line.
2) Where on earth did this boobage come from? Forget strapless numbers – these knockers need the full support of two very sturdy bra straps. Pushing them up is like trying to lift the rock of Gibraltar.
3) It’s no coincidence that I’ve been nicknamed Kiki Kardashian. Yes, my butt makes its own entrance.
4) Mummy Tummy. You know; that little bit of excess skin that just didn’t tighten up after your belly stretched out about 30 inches during pregnancy. Gah.

Now, I’m not here to counsel you on diet and exercise; I hear Jenny Craig knows a little about that. What I do want to share with you today are my tips for owning the changing the room – how to feel better about yourself when trying on clothes, and those tips and tricks that make the process less painful….

Read More