Every year, in late October, I look over at my laptop and think, “this will be the November when I full participate in NaNoWriMo.”

And every year, I am wrong.

This year is no exception. I got as far as printing off my basic plot summary. And it’s still sitting on my desk, where I left it on October 29th.

My sons birthday is October 30th. Halloween is October 31st. For two days my entire world is full of chaos. I have a party that I’ve planned for two weeks ahead of time, and a fun day of trick or treating that I host every year for my son, his friends, and his friends families. I spend most of October up to my elbows in party-planning for the final two days of the month.

By November 1st, I’m so tired that I’d prefer to just sleep during the entire month instead of engage my brain and write.

Maybe I’ll create my own, personal NaNoWriMo, but during a different month. Does that count??




The irony is not lost on me that I bitch about competitive hockey parents and now my son is playing competitive baseball. 

But I will not be one of those parents. 

During tryouts – merely tryouts! – I watched and listened as one of the head coaches yelled, bitched, and complained at his own kid during every play. A coach

A couple of days later, I, as well as the rest of the spectators, very clearly heard a baseball mom screaming at her kid to “behave and listen to the coaches!” It makes me wonder if I’ll have to listen to this every practice and every game. 

Everyone is so proud of my kid for making the team. From grandparents to neighbours, everyone has asked for his game schedule so they can come watch. This is a baseball town in summer. 

But I don’t think I’m cut out to be a baseball mom yet. I’ve dealt with some pretty shitty hockey parents – and those were only house league parents (who tend to be generally more relaxed and laid back). But I’m questioning whether or not I’ll be able to handle these tiered baseball parents because I was so happy to get rid of the tiered hockey team parents. I’m just not one of them. 

My aunt grew up an athlete. She was always very active when she was young and it filtered into her own family life. She married a hockey player. And they raised their kids to be adventurous and active as well. As I type this, one of her kids is in Mexico surfing right now and the other is in Alaska looking for some snowboarding places. So I trust my aunt to tell me the truth about minor sports because she’s dealt with everything. 

When I talked to her about some of the shitty parents in hockey and baseball, her only words of encouragement were, “you need to learn how to deal with them because they just keep getting worse as the kids get older.” Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but she was honest and I appreciate that. 

So here I am, on the side of the dugout, smiling proudly as I’m watching my son playing competitive ball for the first time ever, and the coach is still yelling at his kid. 

I’m dealing…