Life Love Mom

Category: About Me

  • Breaking The Bias

    Breaking The Bias

    March 8 is International Women’s Day. The day was set aside to celebrate women and all of their accomplishments across the globe. Women are a powerhouse force to be reckoned with – and I’m not just saying that because I AM one. I am incredibly honoured and humbled that I was approached to speak at a Woman’s March on that day. However, due to a scheduling conflict, I am unable to do so. As a compromise, I have written this for them.

    I want to start with the obvious – there is a reason that a day needed to be set aside in the first place. Is there an international men’s day? No, because they don’t need extra recognition. When I was a kid, I used to ask my parents why there was a Mother’s Day and a Father’s Day, but no “kids day”. My parents always replied that it was because every other day is kids’ day. I think the same sentiment can be true in this case. We need a day to recognize women and all the good they do because otherwise it’s not readily celebrated. Society has put women in a situation where wrongs need to be righted, and inequities need to be managed. So a day is set aside in an effort to fix it – to make it okay. The danger in doing so is the need to applaud and recognize women on one day, and unfortunately, allow them to fall by the wayside the other 364 days of the year.

    The theme of this year’s march is “break the bias”… which got me thinking about which bias(es) we need to break. What are the tangible, actionable items we can pinpoint to change our outlook and our worth as women? And the most important thing is about our worth. What we bring to the table, and what we can offer, matters more than our anatomy.

    We should not be limited based on our sex but based on our own parameters – our education, our imagination, and our motivation.

    The number one thing I want to teach my daughter is how strong she is. How limitless her future is. And how the only person who controls that is HER. Ironically, as I was writing this post she approached me and told me that she was thankful for me and that she was so proud of me for doing so many things a the same time. I wish I could say that it was scripted, or that it happens all the time, but neither of those things would be true. It was just good timing and a reminder that I am on the right path with her.

    That being said, I am not here to nag on society about how much women should be appreciated. As a society, I would like to believe that we have been working hard, ensuring that women receive equal pay, equal rights, and the same responsibilities as their male counterparts. The concept of the glass ceiling, and how this is not reality right now is a topic for a later discussion. Today I want to focus on what CAN be changed, and that is the change we can all make from within. It took many sessions of therapy to come to the understanding that you cannot change other people’s actions, thoughts, and limiting beliefs. You can only change how you react to them. The truth is, how you react will not necessarily have a direct impact on those beliefs, but it does have a direct impact on your mental health. You can be upset, mad, and frustrated at people’s biases towards you, but the only one who will be directly affected is you. It won’t change the other person’s feelings or beliefs. As much as these biases sit within society, they also sit in our own heads. I know that is not what we want to hear – because it is easier in some respects to think that these are only external thoughts. But the truth is, we need to be introspective and find our power from within.

    So how do we do that, as women who have to constantly fight an uphill battle? How do we find and celebrate our worth? If we wait for society, or the patriarchy to do so, we’ll have to wait for generations to come. The best way is to celebrate each other. Somewhere along the way, women decided that we needed to compete with one another. We have to be there to build each other up when no one else will. Celebrating each other’s successes, and being there when we fall, is what makes us stronger.

    It shows our daughters that being kind, supportive, and caring produces much better results than being jealous of others. There is a reason the saying “power in numbers” is used so often – because it’s true. We are truly stronger together.

    My message for you today is to be strong enough to build someone else up instead of tearing them down. Let’s not wait for others to recognize our worth – we need to do that for ourselves and each other. Not just today, but every day. In doing so, we will be better. Together.

    This is life. Love, Mom

  • Resolutions: The Promises We Love To Hate, And Hate To Keep

    Resolutions: The Promises We Love To Hate, And Hate To Keep

    Happy New Year! I cannot believe that another year has flown by. I know it is cliche to say, but it truly feels like we blinked and the year came to a close. I think it’s because we spent so much time inside, and crossing our fingers that things will improve. Cheers to making it through the past year, and getting ready for the one ahead. I have a lot coming down the pipes. A lot of change is happening this year, and I am looking forward to some amazing opportunities. I can’t wait to share as things unfold.

    A new year is synonymous with our resolve to do be and be better. We often talk about our resolutions to make this year the best one yet. Resolutions are a funny kind of magic. Every year, on January 1, we make a promise to ourselves to change something. Whatever it is, it is usually something we have been thinking about for quite some time. Resolutions aren’t decisions we make on a whim. They are the “thing” that we most want to change about our lives: get healthier, work less, find more balance, do yoga, travel… the bucket list goes on and on. These are the things we want to do but are being stopped from doing in some way, shape or form. Maybe the timing is wrong, maybe the motivation just isn’t there, or there are too many work commitments. There is always a reason why it can’t happen in July, October, or December.

    And then comes magical January 1st. The shiny date of eternal optimism. The promise of a new year and all the potential that it holds. We can do anything on January 1st! We can accomplish all our goals! Anything we set our minds to! We are SUPER PEOPLE! January 1st makes things easy – we can eat all the kale, do all the push-ups, and dream-board all the vacations.

    January 2nd, however… that is a whole other story. This is when our reality sets in, and we realize we are in it for the long haul. Those bright shiny goals and dreams begin to turn into work. We have to hold ourselves accountable to the goals we set just a day before. We cannot give up so soon.

    Now before you stop reading and think that this is the most pessimistic blog post ever, hear me out. Where you think this is going is not necessarily where we will end up. Which, ironically, is exactly what happens with resolutions. By designating a specific day for change, and hoping that we will maintain a new mindset for 365 days, we are setting ourselves up to fail. I’m not saying change isn’t possible, or that goal-setting isn’t important, because neither of those things is true. But don’t forget – the definition of insanity Is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. If, historically, we have trouble keeping our resolutions why do we set them every year? Why do we think that somehow THIS January 1st will be different?

    Instead, I propose a different mindset. Do you. Be you. Do what makes you happy. Endeavour to better yourself physically, mentally, socially, or academically. But don’t tie it to a magical date and expect to follow it for 12 months. Instead set short-term goals with attainable timelines. But don’t wait for the beginning of the year. Start any day! Strive to vision-board your long-term goals and do all the things. But don’t set a year-long timeline. Make them any length! Goals are meant to be ever-changing, evolving, and growing with us. We don’t need to put ourselves in the “new years resolution” box. By doing so, we set ourselves up to be disappointed. There is too much pressure tied into these resolutions, and we simply end up waiting until the following year to start again.

    So for the next 12 months, in a year that is already setting up to be a doozy, let’s take it day-by-day. Let’s set goals that are meaningful and attainable, and work towards them one day at a time. Let’s be kind to ourselves and give ourselves grace. Will I be doing this all the time? Absolutely not. Is this easier to type than follow through on? You’d better believe it. But I’m trying, just like everyone else.

    This is life. Love, Mom.

  • Lest We Forget

    Lest We Forget

    This past week was Remembrance Day. The day we set aside to thank those who have fought for our freedom… those who have survived, and those who have sacrificed. As Canadians, we are living in a free, democratic society, as a result of what others before us gave up. When I think about Remembrance Day, my mind automatically goes to World War II. As the granddaughter of a holocaust survivor, the atrocities of the past weigh heavily on me. The holocaust was something that robbed us of our heritage. It took away family members I would never meet. It put scars on our hearts as we heard stories as if they were movies. I am part of the last generation who will hear, first hand, what occurred. They say that the most powerful way to learn of experiences is to hear from the mouth of the person who experienced them. My children will never have that. Generations after them will never have that.

    I understand how those who have family members who went through earlier wars must feel. First-hand accounts of those experiences are few and far between. We must rely on books, movies, and second-hand stories. It is important, but never the same. This is even more prevalent for me as I raise my own children. I want them to understand their history – the events that shaped their ancestors. “Lest we forget” means we must remember what has happened. It cannot be forgotten in hopes that history will never be repeated. It isn’t about holding a grudge, but about honouring what our ancestors gave up (willing or not) in order to give us a better life.

    Part of honouring that is allowing their voices to be heard. Years ago, before his death, my sister interviewed my grandfather for a school project about the holocaust. I am forever grateful to her for doing this. At the time, I don’t think we understood the true gift she was giving us. So today I wanted to honour his memory by using this space to share his story, unedited and in his own words.

    How was your family affected and where were they sent?

    I don’t know where they went. The last time I saw them was in 1942 right after Yom Kippur night. My father got up in the middle of the night and he saw guys in black uniforms standing. In the morning everybody had to go out. We went out and I remember this was my cousin Morris’s sister, my brother my sister and myself. My mother divided us and she gave a few bucks to everyone to put away because we were thinking that we were going to a camp. There were standing there Germans from the German S.S. and they were directing one to the left and one to the right. I didn’t know where I was going and I didn’t know where my father and sister were going or where my brothers were going. We went and they sent us to a factory and this was the last time that I saw my parents. This was the day after Yom Kippur. Later on, we went to an ammunition factory. When I was there it was 1942. They took us in some cars or wagons. They put us in and they disinfected us. Later on, they sent us to a garage on top where everyone was sleeping together- all the men. I hardly ever saw a woman at this time. What happened next was I had been there for about a month and a half and I didn’t know anything and I met another guy. We decided we were going to run away. We ran out and it was at night and the doors were open. This was a big factory and we came in. Trains were going out slowly. Later we jumped off one of the trains. We jumped next to a small ghetto. As I went in there were barbed wire fences and Polish police.

    So, later on, I started going to a place where they were making iron. I got a job there and I was working, coming and going every morning. I started to get restless and I was trying to run out of this ghetto. On the way back there were forty people in an ammunition factory called Hemro. When I was coming, the guy started checking and he saw forty-one people. They started asking everybody but nobody wanted to say anything. He said that if the person who shouldn’t be there didn’t come out because there were forty-one, he was going to shoot ten! So, I went out. There was a butcher shop over there. So the guy kicked me and he threw me into the butcher shop, didn’t ask any questions, this German policeman. He kicked me and he let me go.

    On the sixteenth of January 1945 they took us all out and they sent us to Germany. To Buchenvald. And I wound up there and on the way in I was looking and I saw my cousin Leon on the other side. He was going out already and we were going in. I said, “What’s doing over there?” He said it was nothing, they just put powder on your arms and they shaved your head and they let you go out. But without clothes. At this time I lost all my pictures and everything from my father and mother and my sister and brother. So they let me out and I had to throw away everything. They gave me new clothes, clothes that are like pyjamas. They are with stripes. My number was I think 150 505.

    From Buchenvald they sent us to a place called Ranenbook. This was a gas chamber. They didn’t gas anyone over there while I was there. They led us all into a place like a shower. They crammed about 500 people in. We were there for only a couple of days and every morning they would grab a lot of people and they would just take them. There weren’t only Jews. There were Germans, and Polish, I think. It was a place where they were making rackets. Every two feet there was a German soldier, an S.S., with a machine gun. 

    Next, they sent us to Dorey. From there they sent us to Rockleh Barodeh. There were camps wired around, and bunks. In this camp, we stayed for six to eight weeks. We were working in a mountain. We were digging, making factories in the mountains. We were breaking up the stones. It was terrible. We were there in couples. When you were pushing out the stones, there were pieces of wood sticking up. The stones and wood were hitting you! If they didn’t hit your head, they would break your legs. Or your arms. We were there for quite a while.

    One morning they took everybody for a march. The march was going right down the road. I think I had my father’s cousin there and he got sick. They took away all the sick and I think they killed him. We were about 30 000 people, but most people died on the way because there was no food and they were pushing us and taking us to side roads. Those people from the S.S. with machine guns and dogs. German Shepherds. They took us and we were walking for a month and a half, I think. I remember one time we were going to the water that was running on the side road. We went to drink it and they shot half the people. We were less every day. I was losing weight constantly.

    Then there were fighter planes coming down and we got shot. I got shot in the leg. After this, I dropped down to about 80 pounds. I had no food. So, the Red Cross came around with wagons and they were going to give out parcels. I grabbed a parcel because I hadn’t eaten for weeks! I started eating and I got sick. I almost died, because if it had been only bread, it would have been okay but there was meat and all kinds of things inside. I hadn’t eaten for three weeks! They only had given me a little piece of bread. So when the Americans started hitting the Germans, we were sleeping and we heard them. Leon and another guy were carrying me. They ran out and got a couple of Americans. They took me in their jeep, they took me to the hospital and they took out the bullet.

    After one or two days I woke up and I was in a white bed! I went from the mud to a white bed.  We had nurses over there in the hospital. This was, I think, May the first or the second. I was in Shvarim, and I got better and I left the hospital.

    My hope in sharing this is that his words will forever be remembered – engraved in this social space. We will always remember. Lest we forget.

    This is life. Love, Mom.

  • When Your Worst Fears Are Realized

    When Your Worst Fears Are Realized

    This post comes with a trigger warning. I am about to discuss when a child gets sick – every parent’s worst fear. I wish what I was writing was fiction, but it is our reality.

    The fall after my daughter turned two, she developed a crazy high fever. I remember she was hot and flushed, and we weren’t sure why. We couldn’t figure out what it was, and doctors threw out guesses like a virus, fifth’s disease and strep throat. She had countless tests that week and two walk-in visits. Tylenol and Advil weren’t helping but we kept at it for a few days. We waited and monitored and prayed that the fever would break. A few days in, she developed a rash on her hands and feet. Since her fever was so high, we thought it might have been a fever rash. I have a very distinct memory of sitting by the bath, looking at her feet, and being completely bewildered by it. By Friday, 5 days in, things hadn’t changed so we went back to the walk-in. By that point, her eyes had started getting very red. The doctor took one look at her and told us he was sending us to the emergency room. He said that he suspected Kawasaki disease but it needed to be confirmed by the hospital. At that time we were familiar with the disease because Hubby’s nephew experienced it a few years earlier (and made a full recovery), but we were still awestruck and shaking.

    The next week and a half were a whirlwind that I will never forget. We started at one hospital closer to our house, but quickly made the decision to drive downtown to Sick Kids Hospital. The drive down was a mix of panic and fear. I remember that it was dark outside and my first thought was that she was supposed to be in bed by then. When we go to the ER, she was almost immediately diagnosed with Kawasaki’s Disease – a very rare inflammation of the small blood vessels, characterized by a very high fever, and red palms, feet, tongue and eyes. The danger with the disease is that the vessels around the heart also become inflamed, which could lead to coronary failure, and if not treated immediately would be fatal. It must be treated in the first week to reduce these symptoms. Let me tell you – Dr. Google is NOT your friend in these times. While we were waiting to be admitted, we did our own research and read all about the countless children who were left untreated and died from coronary failure. This only fueled the anxiety and panic.

    Early in the morning on day 6, she began the treatment. The typical treatment is an infusion of IVIG (intravenous immunoglobulin) to help her body fight the infection. The typical course of treatment is half a day of infusion, followed by 24 hours fever-free. Unfortunately, she developed an allergic reaction to the infusion with her fever spiking, so they had to stop it less than an hour in. The secondary course was a synthetic IVIG alternative that works the same way but requires more than double the time to administer. We waited, patiently while she received the dose and prayed. Once it was administered, the clock began for our 24 hours fever-free. All seemed to be going well, until the 20th hour when her fever spiked higher than ever, right smack in the middle of the night. I won’t go into specifics but I will tell you that was the worst night of my 38 years of life. The second round of synthetic IVIG was ordered, and her fever began going down. Then, thankfully, she passed the 24-hour mark without fever. Then she passed her cardiac function tests. After a week in hospital, she was released to go home with an Asprin regimen and two very nervous parents.

    After her follow-up a year later, she was released from the hospital’s caseload and we finally felt like we could breathe again. We thank God every day that she does not have any lasting heart defects, as many children do. So many children die or suffer life-long issues as a result of this disease. We are forever grateful that neither of these is the case. Having a hospital like this in our backyard, especially one that has a dedicated Kawasaki’s clinic, was the greatest gift. I tell you all of this, so you can understand why Sick Kids Hospital means so much to me. So when I tell people that they saved her life, I am not being dramatic – it is the truth.

    As a teacher, working with Heart and Stroke on their Jump Rope for Heart campaign is incredibly important to me (hence the picture from a couple of years ago pre-Covid). But more than that, I do whatever I can to help Sick Kids Hospital, and encourage my kids to do the same. Toys, money, or gifts for the nurses in the cardiac ward – any way we can show our appreciation even seven years later. Because, for me, those seven years still feel like yesterday. In a blink of an eye, we are back there, holding her hand, crying together, and praying.

    This month I am participating in the Get Loud campaign for Sick Kids. They are looking to build a bigger hospital, to be able to help even more families. All September long, I am cycling, walking and lifting in honour of this campaign. If this post has struck a chord with you, I urge you to consider helping my campaign. Sick Kids Hospital is the ONLY organization I would ever ask for donations for.

    The donation link is here https://bndfr.com/QvYqY

    And in the meantime, I will continue to be thankful for the gift that we have received – the gift of life for our family and J. I pray that others in our situation have the same outcome. Hug your babies, everyone.

    This is life. Love, Mom.

  • Another Trip Around The Sun

    Another Trip Around The Sun

    Last week was my birthday… 38 trips around the sun. Would you believe me if I told you I actually had to think about how old I was? There are days where I think I’m 36 and days when I feel 45. I’m not exactly sure why that is. It’s probably a combination of mom-brain, pandemic life and sheer denial. It got my wondering when I stopped counting the days until my birthday. When I got into my 20s, aging became a bit of a scary thing. I was never one to take the day off for by birthday, or plan a large party. I can’t put my finger on exactly why, but I have never really been a fan of celebrating my birthday. Don’t get me wrong – I love celebrating OTHERS’ milestones, just not my own.

    I remember when we were kids, we would count our age by 1/2 and 3/4. Turning double-digits or becoming a teenager was a big deal. N is turning 6 in August and proudly walks around telling people he is 5 and a half. Children can’t wait to become full-fledged adults. They can’t wait to be independent, make their own decisions, and grow up to be paleontologist-power ranger-dancers or vet-baker-babysitters. N can’t wait to grow up because it means he can own a snake as a pet and ride a motorcycle. J, ever the more thoughtful child, can’t wait to grow up because it means she can become more mature and have a family of her own. As children, we race to hit those milestones but as adults we dread them. Why is that? Somewhere along the line, the idea of ageing hits us like a ton of bricks, and we no longer embrace it. Instead, we inject it with botox and fillers and hope it fades into the background.

    I think part of it has to do with the idea that we want to slow down time. As parents in particular, there is a stark juxtaposition between wanting time to stop, not believing how fast things are going, and wanting to skip to the next stage. For me, time never felt like it went as fast as when I became a parent. There is something about living your life through your children that makes things go by real fast. To say that you want to freeze time is probably one of the most cliche parental statements. We want to keep our children in these little time capsules and keep them young and innocent.

    At the same time, though, we want to skip forward over the messy stuff. There is a part of us that thinks “things will be better when……” (insert the milestone of your choosing here). We are so certain that we just need to get over a particular hurdle and it will be peachy on the other side. SPOILER ALERT! It never gets better or worse, just different. There is always going to be another hurdle, mess, or milestone. My parents like to tell me that I have it easy right now, I just have to wait until they are teenagers – just another hurdle. I’m certain there is a lot of truth to that, as well.

    The other part, I strongly believe, is that being an adult is HARD. Some days, it feels like it’s overrated. The fountain of youth and everything that goes with it exists so we can relive the days when we had no fears, anxieties, or a true understanding of what this world really is. There are still so many days when I can’t believe I’m an adult. I have these fleeting thoughts… moments when I’m driving home or doing something around the house…. where I cannot believe I am living on my own.

    I talk to Hubby about this all the time. I tell him I can’t believe we *were* children, and now we *have* children, a house, a dog, a family, and all those other adult responsibilities. There are days when being an adult seems like an impossible task. When all I want to do is turn back the clock and go back to university when I THOUGHT things were exhausting. Boy, was I ever wrong! As a society make light of it in memes and comics; because sometimes humour is the only way to make our way through.

    So what do all of these ramblings mean? What is the point, really? As Jimmy Buffett says, birthdays are for “celebrating what I should have done, with these souvenirs of my trip around the sun”. The should’ve, could’ve, would’ve will continue to live inside my head, never going away. But those souvenirs he speaks so highly of? That would be my family. Hubby, J, N, and even the fur baby…. they are my reason for getting up and adulting every day. When the days are easy, when they are hard, and when they feel next to impossible. It definitely isn’t perfect but I would take 100 more trips around the sun if I could to spend more time with them. And that in itself is something to be celebrated.

    This is life. Love, Mom.

  • Well Hello There….

    Well Hello There….

    Well, hello there! Grab a cup of coffee and let me introduce myself. My name is Leora. Being introspective and describing oneself is not always the easiest to do. The top three roles that describe me are wife, mom and teacher. So, that’s a great place to start. A little more about each of those:

    ~Hubby and I have been married for 10 years, together for 14. We had big plans for a 10-year getaway, but alas, COVID…. More on that in later posts.

    ~ I am a mom to two firecrackers and one furbaby. J is 8 and N is 5. Bella is a 12 year old Boxer-Australian Shepherd mix. They are a big source for my content, so you’ll be hearing a lot about them.

    ~I have been a teacher for over a decade. I teach grade 4 gifted students. I love the quirky, inquisitive challenge of gifted children. I wouldn’t want to work with any other age group. I have gained a lot of wisdom over the years that I can’t wait to share with you. If you want a sneak peak, check out my YouTube channel which is a Q&A all about gifted education.

    In addition, I have some loves that I am eager to talk about. Self care practices have been HUGE for me these last few years. My side hustle for years has been selling nail art for a beauty company. I love sharing ways to help women feel beautiful. I have always baked as a way to combat stress (subtext, get ready for some recipe posts!) but I have adopted other ways to manage as well. Yoga, exercise, breathing, and becoming a crazy plant lady are just a few!

    Now if you’ve gotten this far in the post, you are most likely wondering “Why a blog? Why now?” and contemplating whether I have simply jumped on a bandwagon. That, friends, is not the case. For as long as I can remember, I have felt the most comfortable writing down my thoughts. I communicate best in writing, where I can articulate my thinking. Having a blog has always been something I wanted to do, but never had the time to pursue it. Thanks to pushes from Hubby, I am officially making the time. I have so many things I want to share with you all.

    I would love for you to come on this wild ride with me. Being a woman, mom, wife, professional, and sane human all at the same time is a tall order. Join me as a navigate through them all, one musing as a time.

    This is life. Love, Mom.