30 01 2018

It was a long day at work: a good day, but long. I worked until 5, and then headed to the grocery store for my weekly shop. I drove home in the pouring rain, ensconced in the wintery January darkness. The visibility was terrible. I puttered along behind other drivers going far below the speed limit as slushy melting snow snagged at our tires and splats of rain beat down upon us.

I finally got home to face the (endless) chore of unloading almost $300 worth of groceries (so, like 1.5 bags… hahaha, no really, I kid, but holy shit y’all, it’s expensive AF to feed a family of four these days!!). I put things away, wondering morosely what I was going to do for supper, when I looked up to see my husband’s expression. He had eagerly helped me as we chatted about our day. He looked almost guilty as he admitted he needed help with uploading a back- up for the business from our bookkeeper. I wanted to sigh OUT LOUD… but he was too sweet in his efforts to make sure I knew he didn’t feel good about taking more time away from me than necessary. I swallowed my irritation, as I have accepted my IT position in this house. And so I put the groceries away and set off to the computer to fix the issue.

During this, my daughter came to me to ask for help for choosing a book for her AP English class. I wanted to grit my teeth: the exhaustion of my day, more mental than physical, seethed and boiled within me. Like, FUCK… I just want to relax and drink some of that nice Pinot Grigio I had chilling in the fridge but nooooooooooooo, I have to unload groceries AND help with the computer AND pick a book AND deal with whatever else will be coming down to land on my lap. I glanced at the clock in dismay. It was close to 7.30 pm and I hadn’t eaten and there was still a bunch of thing to be done because there was that 18 hour long power outage that left me unable to do what I usually get done. And then I started to think about appointments I needed to book, incessant chores that nagged at me, and I could just feel that pity party wanting to start.

It was then that I realized that I was the CEO of My Family Corporation. It lifted my spirits and made me smile to myself. I felt my irritation dissipate into a level of acceptance that allowed me breath. I fixed the computer issue. My daughter told me to not worry about dinner as we chatted about books. I poured that wine and took a luscious sip, reveling in the (maybe slight egotistical and vain kind of way) fact that without me this house and home just might crumble into a moldering, smelly, slightly slimy hot mess. I fucking OWNED this shit. Hell, I run this place like a tight ship. Right then and there, I stopped my Poor Me and said Girl, you are AMAZING. Everyone is fed and happy and looked after and it’s all because of me. ME.

So, hey… All you other amazing CEOs of your own corporations….when you get irritated at everyone running to you to help solve their problems, just take a seat and drum your fingers together and laugh in a maniacal way. And repeat after me: I run this, I own this, I kick ASS at this. Pour that wine, or tea, or beer. And sit back and know how truly indispensable and integral you really truly are..

Isn’t it ironic…

23 12 2013

We were all rushing around in our urgency to be on the first chair. We’re a 45 minute drive to the ski hill, so that means getting out the door by 7.30, which allows us to get coveted “rockstar” parking, maybe enjoy an Americano from Freshies and then mosey on over to the lift for first chair.


All the while, I am in the kitchen prepping snacks and thermoses of hot chocolate and I pause to lecture my kids, who both seem to be at ease with taking their sweet time to do things in the morning. “Hey, you are all each responsible for your own gear. I’m pretty damn tired of double-checking to see if you have your mittens and goggles and poles. From now on, you get your own crap together, and I am not going to say this again! You get to the hill and don’t have your stuff, well it will suck big time!”


We all pile in the truck, excited about a day on the slopes. We chatter and laugh and reminisce about epic ski days of yore. Lo and behold, we arrive at Whitewater and get a spot in the FIRST ROW! Yeah! No exhausted 1/2 kilometer hike at the end of the day to our truck, lugging all of our gear.

The tail gate is dropped and I start handing out skis and poles.

And then I ask:

“Hey! Where are my boots?”

Everyone looks at me, and I humbly realize they’re sitting on the shelf in the garage back in Balfour.

Yup. Lesson well-learned.