It’s 10 a.m. on a Thursday morning, and I’ve already picked out my outfit. I know what my drink of choice will be, and I’ve scoped out my appetizer, entree and dessert selections from the online menu of the planned meeting spot.
Bianca Bujan Tweets
Raised as an only child, sibling rivalry has always been a mystery to me. Now that I’m a mom of three and witness to sister-brother brawls on a daily basis, I’m more mystified than ever.
When I was pregnant with my first child, I was almost as excited about having a year off work as I was about having a new little human grace me with her presence. I was working in a full-time corporate job, and had created a list of lofty plans for my “time off.”
Everyone seems to be all abuzz about finding the “perfect gift” for mom, splurging on jewels, knick-knacks, and marked-up florals to show their mothers — and the mothers of their children — how much they care.
It’s been almost 20 years since my last homework assignment, yet I still have nightmares about the mind-numbing math equations, tongue-twisting spelling words and Encyclopedia-quoting essays of my youth. Now that I’m a parent to school-aged children, the homework hassle is slowly creeping back to haunt me.
I took my three young children out for dinner by myself the other night, and was pleasantly surprised when the server took our order and each of my children responded respectfully — making eye contact and saying please and thank you.
It’s so easy to get stuck in the crux of comparison — especially when you’re a parent. From the day a child is born, the prodding begins. “Is she walking yet? No? My daughter walked right out of the womb.” Or, “Is he talking yet? Oh he can only say ‘Mama’? Cute, ya, my son could name all of the provinces by the time he was nine months old.”
As a mom of three with a fairly robust roster of mom friends, I can say that I’ve been to my share of baby showers. In the traditional sense, they usually begin with the girls-only guests playing “guess how big the belly is” and “guess the baby food flavour” games.
April Fools’ Day was a big deal when I was growing up. Each year on the eve of March 31, I would go to sleep with one eye open, determined to wake up fully aware of the looming day of trickery.
Facebook is flooded with blue-sky photos of families vacationing abroad, splashing by the sea and adventuring outdoors in exotic destinations. And while it’s lovely to see my friends enjoying a little downtime during the two-week March break, I’m envious of their flexibility when it comes to taking time off.
While preparing for an evening away from home, it’s not uncommon for some moms to tidy the house, fix dinner for their families, and compose detailed notes on how the night should unfold — blowing kisses and saying to “make sure the kids are in bed by 8!” as they strut through the door for a little time out.
With technology more prominent in the classroom, many argue that cursive writing has become obsolete. Some U.S. states have already ushered the more traditional form of writing out of their schools, and I worry our system will follow suit.
“That wasn’t a question.”
Whether it be on the playground or online, when bullying occurs the question of accountability always arises. Who is responsible for the bullying and — more importantly — who should be held accountable for making it stop?
Although the intention is to celebrate love, Valentine’s Day comes with an overwhelming sense of expectation that is anything but romantic.
Parents love to share horror stories of sleepless nights, temper tantrums, sibling rivalries and stinky diapers because it makes the struggle a little easier to bear.
The term “mompreneur” — an amalgamation of the words mom and entrepreneur — has left a bad taste in the mouths of many female business owners who find the portmanteau to be condescending and unnecessary. But while the title may be annoyingly cutesy, it certainly isn’t intentionally demeaning.
The bedroom is definitely “where the magic happens.” Not in the MTV “Cribs” sense, but literally. A visit from the modern-day Tooth Fairy no longer ends at a tooth-coin swap, but has become a much larger production — and I’m not sure why.
Sleepovers were an integral part of my childhood. My fondest memories are of late nights gossiping and giggling with my closest friends as our parents hushed us through closed doors.
Imagine if you were approached by a friendly stranger who spoke to you in broken English, desperately trying to ask you a question in a language foreign to their own.