An Anniversary Letter (Yay, we still like each other!)

My dearest Wife,

Happy 14th anniversary! It feels like just yesterday we met for that first motorcycle ride. I remember seeing you, so fearless and ready to go, and I thought, "How am I going to keep up with this beautiful storm?" Fourteen years later, I'm still trying. You've always been a step ahead, pushing forward with a confidence I've always admired. I’m pretty sure I’ve spent the majority of these years acting as your personal human bubble wrap, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I'll never forget the morning of our first breakfast date. I was completely unaware that you'd somehow managed to turn the majority of them into little charcoal pucks, salvaging the slightly charred ones for me. I ate every single one, of course, because even back then, I could already feel that incredible desire you have to take care of me—and later, to care for my boys. You've always been my rock, my chef, and my biggest supporter, burnt pancakes and all.

I still think about our wedding day often. Standing there with you, surrounded by the people who meant the most to us, was a feeling I'll never forget. It was more than just a ceremony; it was a celebration of love, a day where our families and friends came together to cheer for us, to cheer for love being love. We are so incredibly lucky to live in Canada, in a place where we stood before everyone and declared our commitment to each other without reservation. That day was a testament to how much we have to be grateful for.

Fourteen years later, and here we are, still riding this crazy, beautiful road together. The journey has been full of twists and turns, especially the one that led us to our greatest gift, Rory. Sharing the birth of our son with you was one of the most incredible experience of my life, a moment that made all the previous bumps in the road worth it.

We still have our differences, of course. You're out there building the perfect nest egg, meticulously planning for our future. I'm over here, just trying to find my happy place, completely content with the peace and joy we have right now. You think you're building a fortress, but I know what you're really doing. You're building a haven for us to find that same happiness and peace. We're on the same road, just with different ways of looking at the map.

Thank you for being my co-pilot through all of life's ups and downs, forks in the road, and occasional U turns. Happy Anniversary my beautiful storm. I can't wait to see what the next chapter holds for us.

I love you more than words can say.

Forever and always,

Laura

Jacob Turns 22: The Official End of the "Teenage Wasteland" (And the Basement)

Today, my son Jacob turns 22, and a part of me is doing a little celebratory dance. Not because I'm not thrilled for him, but because we have officially survived the dreadful teenage years. It’s a miracle, really, that we all made it out alive and with our sense of humour mostly intact.

The Teenage Years: A Mom's Memoir

If you're a parent of a teen, you know the drill. It's a challenging time where your once sweet child suddenly develops the emotional rage of a caged tiger and a deep love for their headphones. My once-talkative little boy was replaced by a grunting, door-slamming creature whose primary form of communication was a single, expressive eyebrow raise. I spent years trying to decipher if that raise meant "I'm hungry," "Leave me alone," or "I've just discovered a new species of mold in my room." And the hair… for years, it was a magnificent, untamed beast, a testament to teenage rebellion. It was a gravity-defying fortress of curls, a style that said, "I'm either in a band or just rolled out of a haystack, and frankly, I'm not sure which."

The Hard Parts About Being a Mom

The hardest part about being a mom to a teen isn't the mess or the attitude. It's the silent worry. It's the nights you lie awake, wondering if they're making good choices, if they're happy, and if they're ever going to emerge from their bedroom again. It's the constant battle between wanting to give them space and wanting to wrap them in bubble wrap and protect them from the world.

But then, one day, something shifted. The grunts turned into actual sentences, the door-slamming became a gentle click, he scheduled and showed up for an appointment at the hairdressers all by himself, and a "thank you" and "love you" slipped out when I least expected it. It's in those small moments that you realize they're not just surviving; they're growing and maybe, just maybe, your parenting skills aren’t so bad after all.

22 and Beyond: The Basement is on Standby

Today, Jacob is 22, and he's not a teenager anymore. He's a young man with a future and a sarcastic wit. He's also officially moving out and heading to college, which means the basement will finally be a guest room again instead of a mysterious lair of discarded energy drink cans and questionable laundry.

Of course, we both know it's not a permanent goodbye. The basement isn't vacant; it's just on standby, waiting for him to return if he ever needs it. He's still my boy, but he's also his own person, and watching him navigate the world is one of the greatest joys of my life.

So, to my not-so-little boy, happy 22nd birthday! Here's to a future filled with even more love, laughter, and a lot less door-slamming. And to all the moms of teens out there, hang in there. It gets better. I promise.

Why I Chose the Restorative Path (or, How I Learned to Nap on a Yoga Mat)

This week, I want to talk about my journey into teaching restorative yoga. Now, you might be thinking, "But you're already a pretty chill person!" And you'd be right. I've always been more of a "let's sit on the porch and watch the clouds go by" kind of gal than a "let's climb a mountain" type. But what I've learned is that there's a difference between being naturally laid-back and truly giving your nervous system the rest it needs.

Even for the most chill among us, our bodies are constantly processing stress. The ding of a new email, the endless scroll of social media, even the seemingly harmless act of running errands can put our sympathetic nervous system—the one responsible for our "fight or flight" response—on high alert. We might not feel frantic, but our bodies are quietly accumulating tension.

That's where restorative yoga comes in. Lying on a pile of blankets and bolsters, propped up like a human-shaped burrito, and holding a single pose for ten minutes? I thought it was a joke. But it’s the most brilliant act of rebellion against our fast-paced world. Restorative yoga is a deliberate practice of shifting your nervous system into the parasympathetic state, the "rest and digest" mode. By using props to fully support the body, we're telling our brains, "It's safe now. You can let go." This is when the magic happens: your heart rate lowers, your breathing deepens, and your body can finally begin to repair itself.

For my mental health, this practice has been a total game-changer. It’s like a spa day for my brain, but instead of lemon water, I get to lie on a bolster and let my nervous system know it’s okay to take a break. In a world that constantly tells us to move, restorative yoga gives you permission to just exist and heal.

The profound peace I've found in this practice is something I want to share with everyone, regardless of whether they're a high-strung go-getter or a naturally mellow soul. My journey has taught me that true rest is a practice, not a passive state. It’s a deliberate, supported act that brings your entire self back into balance. I want to help others find their inner calm, one supported pose at a time.

Join me and co-facilitator Missy for an evening of rest and digest. Friday August 22 from 5pm-9pm. https://facebook.com/events/s/reconnect-with-your-authentic-/1072167304356858/