Category Archives: Attempted Parenting

I am Without a Heart, And The Space Has Been Broken

Actually it’s my toe that was broken! It happened in late November. Don’t ask me how I did it, though. I mean, well of course I stubbed my toe and that’s how it broke, but I am ashamed (actually not that ashamed hah) to admit I don’t remember doing it. I went to my friend Michelle’s house for dinner one night before the holidays, you see, and we had some wine. Then we went to the liquor store and bought… more wine. When that wine was done, we went to the bar next door to Michelle’s house (how convenient is THAT?!) and had whiskeys. That’s where it gets a little hazy. Michelle and her fiance poured me into a streetcar and I magically floated home, where I put myself to bed without having three bowls of cereal or emptying my sock drawer, honest.

When I woke up the next morning, I was a bit hungover, but not that bad. I did the whole take-stock-before-moving-or-opening-my-eyes thing, and went through The Hangover List, one by one:


1. No headache, good.
2. No nausea, good.
3. Little thirsty, no big deal.
4. Pain scan… good, good, so far so… WHAT THE HELL?

Just after I stretched my legs, I wiggled my toes. Stars exploded in my vision and I was immediately sick to my stomach. The baby toe on my right foot suddenly became the centre of the universe and everything pulsated around it, absorbing it, trying to deflect the pain of it, simultaneously keeping it at bay and swaddling it tight to ease the torture.

I attempted another wiggle. This time, I could not contain myself, and I cried out in pain. Which brought my teenage daughter in to investigate why mom’s crying like a baby at seven thirty on a Sunday morning. Here’s the exchange that occurred:

Gwen Junior: What’s wrong, Mom?
Gwen: I think my toe is broken.
Gwen Junior: What?! How’d you break your toe?!
Gwen: I can’t recall, actually.
Gwen Junior: Mother. Did your toe get broken because it was drunk? *chuckles*
Gwen: Yes. *hangs head*

SO THEN I DID WHAT ANY RATIONAL PERSON WOULD DO. I took three Tylenols, put on a pair of Birkenstocks and went out for brunch with my girlfriends because nothing makes a broken toe bearable like three dollar bloody caesars and brunch.

A Promise To Myself

For a long time I thought I had my shit together. But it turns out I’m still carrying all sorts of baggage around, and I hadn’t yet taken the time to sort my shit out, if you’ll pardon my French. Instead, I was avoiding. I was keeping myself busy. I was pretending. It’s time for change. That change starts today.

That’s not to say I’m unhappy. Far from it! But I’ve taken a step back from a lot of things in order for me to be able to concentrate on making myself whole again. I’ve got a lot of work to do. I’ve narrowed down my goals into three tangible, attainable targets. I intend to improve:

  • My career prospects
  • My relationship with my daughter
  • My health
To that end, I’m working to eliminate distractions and stressful, unhappy situations from my life so that I can concentrate on the three targets above. And I’m making lists. Have I ever mentioned how much I love making lists?
So, here are my lists. By sharing them with you, I hold myself more accountable. I’ll touch base and update on progress, and you can ask how I’m doing, too!

Career Prospects/Work and Community Involvement
  • March with my brothers and sisters in the Evict Rob Ford rally tomorrow. 
  • Attend NDP Leader’s Levee Saturday night in a pretty black dress. Hand out business cards. Make contacts. Look for opportunities. Enjoy spending time with like-minded folk who have like-minded goals. 
  • Run for the position of Secretary on the executive of my union’s area council.
  • Find someone to nominate me as a delegate to our regional Labour Council.
  • Bug my manager to (finally!) implement the career development portion of my most recent performance evaluation.
  • Join some committees and working groups. It’ll look good on my resume.
  • Volunteer at a soup kitchen. It’ll feel good in my heart.
Relationship with Gwen Junior
  • Start a Saturday afternoon hot yoga routine at Moksha Yoga Uptown (only seven dollars!).
  • Hire a math tutor – sit with them and help.
  • Write a weekly letter to her, and encourage her to do the same.
  • Try to weasel my way back onto her Facebook hahaha
  • Teach her to cook.
My Health
  • Aforementioned weekly hot yoga.
  • Buy a pair of ice skates – skate for free Friday nights.
  • Check out the lane swimming up the street once a week.
  • Stop eating such bullshit! Like, seriously!
  • My friend Mitchell (you like what I did there, M?) just sent me this brown rice detox thing – maybe I’ll try that.
  • Get a solid eight hours sleep.
  • Drink more water!

How Far Would You Go To Protect Yourself?

Imagine yourself in physical or mortal danger. If you don’t do something to protect yourself, serious harm or death will befall you or your family.

How far would you go to protect yourself? What would you do? I’d do anything to save my family, you’re  thinking. I would kill to save my son. I would do whatever it took. No questions asked.

Would you lie? Cheat? Steal? Would you defend yourself physically, even if it meant the harm or death of your attacker?

What if your attacker were your own child? Would you kill your own child to protect yourself, if your child were trying to kill you?

Seems a little far-fetched, even to me, that this would happen. I mean really, what child would try to kill its mother? And what parent would, in turn, place more value on her own life than their child’s, and actually kill that child to save their own soul? I can’t imagine that ever happening.

Unfortunately, I don’t have to imagine it happening. Reality has supplied us with this exact scenario in Calgary, Alberta, where Aset Magomadova, a refugee from Chechnya, stands accused of killing her fourteen-year-old daughter Aminat by ligature strangulation [link] in what she calls self-defense.

[link] Toronto Star article
[link] Global News, Calgary

According to the media, the fourteen-year-old girl had a history of drug abuse and regularly took crystal meth, which is known to cause erratic, violent behaviour in users [link], as well as mood swings and unpredictability. The articles go on to say that the police had been called to the home five times in the last five months, by the mother, who feared for her safety and that of her young son, who has muscular dystrophy. Aminat was often brought home by police, high, after violent fights with her mother.

This family obviously had a lot of problems, but despite repeated visits from police for domestic disturbance, no authorities were ever brought in to assist the family, despite Aset’s desire for intervention. She felt she could no longer control her daughter, and with the help of her sister, attempted to convey this fear to the police. She even stayed in a battered women’s shelter for a few days, less than a month ago.

Nobody ever referred her to the appropriate social services, such as the Calgary and Area Child and Family Services, or the Domestic Dispute and Cultural Resources units of the Calgary Police. This family could have been helped. This girl could have been saved.

How did Calgary fail this struggling family after it survived refugee untold horrors at the hands of Russian soldiers? Who knows the horror in that girl’s mind after living through what we can only imagine in our worst nightmares. It’s no wonder she turned to drugs to alleviate the damage done by terror. But it all went horribly wrong.

Now, the girl’s mother is in jail, charged with second-degree murder, and her wheelchair-bound son is in foster care. It breaks my heart. However, I am torn.

I’m trying to put myself in this woman’s shoes. I imagine that Gwen Junior is older, the same size as me, and prone to violent drug-induced rage. I imagine that she beat me. I imagine that she smashes furniture, breaks windows, and runs away constantly, only to be brought home by police time after time. I imagine her coming at me with her fists or with a weapon, hatred and rage in her eyes, intent on causing me physical boldily harm. What would I do? Would I allow her to hurt me? Would I try to protect myself without causing her pain, if it were at all possible? Or, with my backagainst a wall, would I fight back?

The thought haunts me. What would be more powerful: maternal instinct or fight-or-flight response?

* Article originally written in March 2007



Overheard In The Office!

While it’s definitely true that I’m a nosy Nellie and no cubicle conversations are safe when I’m around, on this particular occasion I was actually trying not to hear my colleague talk to her girlfriend on the phone in a very exasperated way about her failed attempt to determine her unborn baby’s gender. But I thought one thing she said was so hilarious that I immediately sent the quote to OverheardAtTheOffice.com which I absolutely love.

Fast forward several months. Yesterday, I got an email from a guy named Morgan over at OHATO who told me that my quote would be published that day!

I trolled the site obsessively until, at just after three o’clock, there it appeared!

Pregnant employee on personal call: I tried to have an ultrasound done but it didn’t work out. Nothing to do with the baby–it was my uterus. It’s an asshole.

Toronto, Canadia

Overheard by: Gwen Styles

Yay! I’ve been published!!