You really do forget. You forget how heavy your arms felt at the end of the day. How the sound of a baby crying could make your chest ache. How long the nights were. How you’d hold your breath, praying the baby would stay asleep just a little longer so you could rest, eat, or simply exist for five quiet minutes. You forget the smell of spit-up on your shoulder, the way the house felt too quiet and too loud at the same time, the tears that came without reason. The days that fe

Before you read this, I want to gently share that this post contains content around pregnancy loss and stillbirth. This next piece was written by our niece Hailey, and I do not say this lightly, we are so incredibly proud of her. Proud of her strength, her honesty, and her willingness to put words to something so many carry silently. There are moments in life that change you forever. The kind you don’t move on from, but instead learn to carry. This is one of those stories. Sh

We’ve been a little quieter these past few weeks. When summer finally shows up in Manitoba, you drop everything and lean in. Days get fuller, routines loosen, and before we know it, we’re swept up in the rhythm of summer: beach days, backyard hangouts, sunscreen battles, and snack requests on repeat. We wait all year for this. The barefoot mornings. The warmth. The long evenings when no one’s in a rush for bedtime. In Manitoba, summer is short, but it’s everything. And when

If we’re really honest, we’ve all been influenced more than we want to admit. Every single one of us. It doesn’t happen all at once. It sneaks in. A suggestion here. A trend there. A tiny nudge that makes us question what we thought was true. Before we know it, we’re living a version of life that doesn’t quite feel like our own. Because isn’t that how it goes sometimes? We follow the leader. We learn. We implement. We tweak the rules to fit our vibe. And sometimes… we end up

Real talk from two daughters who finally understand what our mom was carrying We’ve both said this more than once—our mom is ridiculously nice. Like almost too nice. The kind of nice that can feel annoying when you’re in the middle of a meltdown and she’s over there looking for the silver lining. She’s the one who’ll say, “It’s all going to work out,” while you’re sweating, spiraling, and swearing under your breath. But once the dust settles, we always come back to the same t

We've all put our foot in our mouth more times than we'd like to admit. It's part of being human. We evolve, we grow, we learn. What served us once might not serve us anymore. And the truth is… You don't know until you know. But for some reason, we cling to our past declarations like they're written in stone. Like changing our mind means we were wrong or weak or somehow less than. But what if it just means we're growing? What if evolving is the whole point? Take us, for examp

I used to think homeschoolers were weird. There, I said it. If someone had told me years ago that I'd be homeschooling my kids, I would have laughed in their face. Me? The mom who counted down to the first day of school each fall? The one who had zero teaching experience in a school system and, while patient, knew that working with my own kids on schoolwork was a completely different ballgame? No way. But here I am, several years into our homeschool journey, and I've never be

I need to get something off my chest. When I became a wife and a mother, no one warned me that one of the most soul-crushing questions I’d face every single day for the rest of my life would be, “What’s for dinner?” Like, seriously, who thought this was a good idea? When I signed up for the “adulting” package, where was the waiver that said: “By the way, you’ll spend the next 30 years (or more) staring into the fridge like it owes you money, wondering what on earth to feed yo

I'm standing at the sink, drying dishes, stacking them in neat piles I know will last approximately 2.5 seconds before someone decides to make a "quick snack" that somehow requires every clean dish in the house. My eyes drift to the dust on the light fixtures of my high ceiling. Cleaning it feels like an impossible task. I mean, I could tackle it now, but honestly? I don't have it in me. Besides, who's even looking up there? The kids? Yeah, no... they’re too busy leaving stic