Cottage Series Part 1: Taking the plunge.

It’s hard to believe that summer is half over.

Summer in Ontario is about so many things: soaking up as much of the dearly-missed sunshine as possible, endless trips to farmers markets, hitting every patio in sight, racing home to hit the road and drive up north to the lake….the lake. Yes, the lake calls us. It had been calling Christian and I for the better part of a decade. And we are so excited to say that summer 2017 is our first year as cottage owners! The most exciting part about that statement? Knowing that we have countless summers of cottage memory-making ahead of us.

But, before we plunge into the future, allow me to share our winding journey of how we got here in the first place.

We didn’t just wake up one morning and decide “today is the day!” (have you met my husband? He’s a very planned and calculated guy — these kinds of decisions don’t just “happen”!).

No, there were a lot of pieces and experiences over a number of years that came together in order to turn this dream into a reality.

It begins on near opposite sides of the country: me, a west-coast gal raised about as close to the ocean as you can get in beautiful British Columbia. I grew up in a small coastal town called Tsawwassen (literally meaning “facing the ocean”) and the ocean was always there. I was fortunate to have friends with homes on or near the beach from when I was in elementary school all the way into my teens. My best friend, Leah, has a family cabin right on the beach and I spent many summer weeks there: playing football on the sandbar, falling asleep to the sound of the waves lapping up against the rocks, the salty air in my hair and on my face; it is to this day one of my favourite places on earth.

Meanwhile, Christian is growing up with his own version of life-on-water. With his grandparents owning a family cottage near Minden, Ontario, he spent most summers at the lake with his brothers: swinging on the rope swing, diving into the water, pulling the darned pump in and out of the lake to help get things running right, starring up at the stars in the night sky and just being a BOY. To this day, some of Christian’s most treasured family memories occurred at the Huggett family cottage.

We both had some magic moments, independently, by water: mine on the ocean, and Christian’s by the lake. We both decided from a young age that we wanted that association with water, in some way, to be in our lives.

What is it about being by a body of water? The smell. The sound. The way your shoulders instantly sink away from your ears and relax. The way it simply allows you to sit and enjoy. There is nothing like it.

10 years ago, the ocean-born gal meets the lake-bound boy. Our first date in Toronto took us to Ashbridge’s Bay beach where we starred out at the massive lake and shared our first kiss. I had the chance to visit Christian’s grandparents cottage that fall (fortunately, as it was sold just a few years later…this photo is the last one we ever took up there):

Christian came to BC with me the following summer and we took a trip to Tofino together. I’ll never forget his reaction when he jumped into the Pacific. He was collecting sand dollars and starfish like a wild man. He’d never seen a kelp doll before; he was mesmerized by all the sea critters we would come across. I realized how much I had taken these gifts for granted. How spoiled I was to have grown up by the sea!

In our early years of marriage, while we juggled never-ending home renovations, tried to balance our bills, all while growing our careers and figuring out life as husband and wife, we would often go for walks. On our walks, we would always talk about our future: our hopes, our dreams and our plans together. Always, the topic of a family cottage came up.

At first, I was against it. In those early years, I still felt torn calling Toronto home. Although we had put down roots and bought a home together, purchasing a cottage property in Ontario just felt so….FINAL. One house you can sell, but two properties? How will I ever return out west when we have two properties tying us down?

But on went the years, and our lives. And slowing but surely, Ontario became my home.

We would go on beach vacations, a trip to the south of France, a journey around the Greek islands, a road trip from Santa Monica to Santa Barbara…and always the topic would arise: how can we find our own slice of the beautiful waters’ edge?

The truth is, we didn’t necessarily know when it would happen. But what we did know, is that we had talked abut it enough to know that when it was right, it would just feel right, and we would know.

Last year, after the sale of our first home (which had since evolved into a rental property), and after spending a glorious week at our friends’ cottage on the Lake of Bays, we looked at each other and said: we either take this opportunity and re-invest in another rental property, or we take the plunge — and dive into cottage life. You can tell which option we chose by now…

Stay tuned for “the hunt” post coming soon to a blog near you! The story continues…

Saying Farewell to our First Home.

August 31, 2016September 12, 20161 Comment

Today is the day we officially close a foundational chapter in our lives as “Christian & Melissa”.

Christian and I purchased our first home in summer of 2009. We were 3 months engaged, eager home-buyers looking for that “potential-unlocking” fixer-upper. The up-and-coming neighbourhood of Leslieville still had the grit of the city, but was showing signs of a changing landscape. New restaurants were popping up, families were moving in, and the residents had successfully fended off the terror that is Wal-Mart just one year prior. Movement was afoot.

We put in our bid just before the August long weekend and went to the nearby McDonald’s to assess what we had just done. I distinctly remember the acute need to throw up. Not from the smell of the aforementioned McDonald’s, but from the sheer panic about the decision we had just made. In just a few moments, we made the decision to incur the biggest debt we had ever seen, all hanging on the small nest egg that my uber-responsible husband had scrounged and saved into RRSP’s during the previous few years. Me? I had nothing but additional student loans to throw into the mix. We were betting it all on a desperately sad-looking fixer-upper.

But boy, did we have gumption. That, and a strong sense of purpose: we were going to turn that tiny sum of money into a home, and a life together. Throw in some major DIY skills from Christian and my early exposure to all things design (as a child, we didn’t go to the zoo….we went to Living Lighting and the Kitchen Cabinet store. Not kidding. I could tell you what wainscotting was by age 8) and we could NOT be stopped.

It was, by most respects, the ugliest house on the street. But it was OURS. We were going to turn it into our future.

I will never forget the day we got the keys. We drove to our new home and opened the door. The smell of mould, must and rotten fish was still strong…but it didn’t matter. We were home. We wandered down Queen Street East, bought some fish n’ chips served in styrofoam as our celebratory meal, and popped the mini bottle of bubbly that I had bought just for the occasion.

At 7am the next morning, we would begin.

And so unfolded four years of nearly never-ending renovations. Weekend after weekend after weekend of work. 14 hour days. Aching backs. Bloody knuckles. Loss of sleep. Living in dust and dirt. Saying no to most social events because we had to “work on the house”. Avoiding trips and costly outings because that money could go to a sink or a fixture or some other coveted item at Home Depot. Always the house. Room by room and space by space, we slowly made it our own. Together. I’ve often said that renovating a house with your spouse is like marriage counselling 101. The joy, the tears; pushing you to the brink and then just a little but further. Yelling. Fighting. Laughing. Crying.

“It’s your fault we got into this in the first place!!” I would exclaim to my tireless worker of a husband.

And here I am, 7 years later, writing an ode to that place.

I’ll never forget our first Christmas together at Larchmount Ave. It was early December, and we were scrambling to finish a few final touches on our first (of many) rounds of renovations. Not only was it Christian’s birthday celebration, it was also our first Huggett Christmas Party (which is now an annual ‘do, 7 years later), and a big open house to welcome our friends and family to come see what we had been tirelessly been working on for months on end (and why we had been so darned anti-social). The debutant ball for our home.

It’s 11pm and we are racing to finish in preparation for the party the following day.

“We have to put up the tree”, I said. “It’s the best part…we can’t have a Christmas party in our new home without a Christmas tree!”

I had lovingly picked out ornaments and determined a colour scheme for our very first Christmas tree. We put on Mariah Carey’s Christmas album (what else?), made Bailey’s and hot chocolate, and got to it. At approximately midnight, we were ready to move onto to final part: ornaments!!

I excitedly unwrapped all of our new, sparkling, ornaments from their packaging, only to realize that I had forgotten to buy ornament hangers. It was a real pine Christmas tree, and the ornaments simply would not stay on the tree without hangers.

My eyes welled with tears and my lip trembled.

It wasn’t about the tree, the ornaments, or even Christmas. It was about the fact that we had reached that moment of the JOY of decorating together, in our first home, after months of painstaking renovations, only to realize that we couldn’t finish.

Christian looked at my face and knew that we had to complete the tree.

He ran out back to where our growing junk pile of renovation debris was, and came back with an arm-load of old electrical wire that we had removed from the house. Without missing a beat, he pulled out his wire cutters, pried back the plastic casing, and started fashioning copper-based Christmas ornament hooks from the electrical wire.

Through my tear-filled eyes, I realized what he was doing, and broke into a huge smile. We hung all our ornaments that night with those quirky, mis-matched copper-wire & plastic hand-made ornament hangers.

Still to this day, we proudly point out the remaining copper-wire ornament hangers on our Christmas tree and tell that story. It’s just one reminder of all the experiences we shared together in those years at Larchmount.

The truth is, I could write for hours about that house.

The creak of the floorboards. The sound of kids playing across street at the school. Getting ready for our wedding in the living room with my sister, mom and closet friends. Sitting in the backyard with friends on hot summer nights. Warding off raccoons. My sister’s “injury incident” on our back steps. Welcoming our first basement tenants. Meeting our amazing neighbours. Watching Leslieville grow and evolve. Welcoming friends into our home for parties, dinners, drinks. Hosting the Larchmount-Caroline laneway sale. Countless Pho dinners at Hainoi. Leaking ceilings, shattered glass tables, halloween haunted “porches”, laughing, crying. So much life. So much love.

[Photo Credit: Claudia Hung Weddings]

Although we moved out nearly three years ago into our new home, a part of us always remained there. Our renters took care of it as though it were there own, and in one of those amazing circumstances in life where things just simply fall into place, they are now the official new owners of our very first home on Larchmount Ave, and we couldn’t be happier.

(Bonus: its actually my colleague, so we get to continue to see the evolution of little Larchmount Ave as they create their own memories and home).

It’s the easiest way for me to say goodbye to a place that meant to much to Christian and I.

Growing up in a family where moving was essentially a hobby, I was surprised by how much that home meant to me. I cried the day we moved out, looking back at our empty living room and family room, and thinking back to all those moments we shared together. I could still see the renovation debris all over the floor from the first demo. I could still see that first quirky Christmas Tree in the corner. Our first hideous Craigslist couches in the living room.

So now we look forward to new places, new moments and new memories together…and all with our son, Harrison. 4 years felt like a lifetime in the midst of those renovations, but it’s just a blip in the history of the Happy Healthy Huggetts!

So…cheers to you, Larchmount Ave. We toast in your honour tonight. May you continue to provide life, love and happiness to your very lucky new owners.

Infertility impacts everyone. Including me.

May 18, 2016May 18, 20164 Comments

This post isn’t about Christian and I. It isn’t a one-year-after tell-all sharing every intricate detail about our inability to conceive. The truth is, we were able conceive right away. We are not among the 1 in 6.

This post is an attempt to shed a tiny bit of light towards a dark and sometimes taboo place. This post is for the dozens of family and friends of ours who DO count themselves among the 1 in 6.

If you don’t know what I’m referencing when I say “1 in 6”, it’s this simple and frightening statistic: 1 in 6 couples face infertility.

This post is to honor National Infertility Week.

This post is for my sister.

I recently watched Pixar’s “Inside Out”. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend doing so. It’s on Netflix. In the same way that “Up” left you crying into your couch cushions approximately 2 minutes in, Pixar has done it again, somehow managing to spin a kids movie into a soul-grabbing tear-jerker. Inside Out offers a touching glimpse into the story behind human emotions. Two main characters, “joy” and “sadness” battle it out to take over little Riley’s emotions within her brain. Being the bubbly, glass-always-full, and energetic gal that I am, I found myself taking the side of “joy” throughout the flick. Sadness just kept getting in the way, sneaking up and taking control of Riley’s emotions. Part way through, Sadness takes the lead for some time in the story.

The ultimate lesson: sometimes, it’s OK to let go of joy in order for sadness to take the reigns. Sometimes, you just need to be sad.

I’m a fixer. I rescue. I help. I try to find the positive in every situation.

“Sadness” in the film reminded me that this isn’t always necessary. This doesn’t have to be my job. Sometimes I just need to listen. Sometimes, I just need to let people be sad. We are all entitled to our own emotions.

For the past 2 years, sadness has embodied my sister and I have had to learn to let go of my joy.

My sister is a true nurturer. She is always worried about everyone else. She is a full time emergency room nurse. She simply wants to love and be loved. She has always wanted to be a mother.

When my sister met her husband, Richard, I was absolutely elated. I knew she had found her perfect life partner. I remember telling her that I could envision them 40 years from now, sitting together in their woolly sweaters, drinking tea and reading poetry to each other. Yeah, they’re that couple. They will also both be reading this post and correcting all of my grammar and spelling mistakes in their heads.

Sarah and Richard were married two years ago, and, as my sister was approaching her mid 30’s, they decided to start trying for a family right away. The summer went by and Sarah came to visit me in Toronto. I knew that she had just started trying for a baby. After celebrating four years of marriage, Christian and I had just found out that we were expecting. On a sunny Tuesday in the early evening, I cautiously shared my news with her, sitting on a patio at an Indian restaurant on the Danforth. She cried. And cried.

“It’s only been a few months”, I told her. “You still have so much time”, I said.

The months went on and so did my pregnancy. It felt awkward talking to her about it. How could I be happy and excited about the life that was growing inside me when I knew it was all that she wanted? Our conversations were strained. I tried to ask all the questions and to make small talk. I didn’t want to bring up the baby. I tried to reassure her and yet I was angry and hurt that she rarely asked about me. About how I was doing; about this tiny person growing inside me. About how my life was about to change forever.

Time marched on and my belly grew. I rarely shared photos with her. I didn’t want to rub my happiness in her face. I didn’t want to complain about my aching back and swollen ankles. My baby showers came and went. No gifts. No cards. No “My Auntie Loves Me” onesie.

Sometimes she would call me in tears.

“Why is God punishing me?”

“What did I do to deserve this?

Mostly, I would listen. I slowly learned that listening was the best I could offer. How could I begin to provide advice and support while my little nugget was moving inside my belly? How could I begin to understand the void that she felt in her life when this joy had come so easily and naturally to me?

On May 1st, Harrison entered our lives. My sister was thrilled. I had wondered if his arrival into the world would help our relationship in some weird way, and it did. He was here. He was real. Not just some untouchable state-of-being that she couldn’t fathom.

A few days later, I celebrated my very first Mother’s Day while cradling my tiny one-week-old son in my arms. Bewildered, overwhelmed, happy, sad, exhausted.

My phone rang: my sister. She broke down into tears.

Mothers Day had now become an incomprehensibly painful “holiday” for her. But I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t put her pain aside for just one day and celebrate a significant milestone in my life. Why couldn’t she just be happy for me, her only sister. Why couldn’t she just love her nephew. Why she couldn’t share some compassion for the extreme emotions that I was feeling in those early days as a new mum.

In the summer, Sarah came to visit me in Toronto. We spent one week together, and it was exactly what we needed. There were a lot of tears and late nights together. We were able to talk; really talk. She bonded with Harrison. She was so good with him. She sang and sang and sang to him. She came just as we were starting sleep training, which is a very boring a regimented time. But she supported me as best she could. I know it was hard for her. I know her heart hurt seeing me bond with him. My heart hurt, too.

Months passed. Harrison grew. Sarah and I continued to talk.

“What’s your next step?” I would often ask her.

My “joy” just couldn’t help but pour out…I made her promise to me that she wouldn’t give up until she was truly out of options. Until those options run out, she had to keep going. I made her promise.

At Christmas, Harrison and I spent three weeks at home in Vancouver with my family. Richard finally got to meet his new nephew, and he was an absolute natural. “He’s a baby whisperer” my sister had said. “I’m so sad that I can’t give him a child”, she shared.

One morning, the four of us were huddled around the kitchen table in Sarah and Richards downtown apartment. Harrison was eagerly wolfing down his breakfast, as he always did. Richard was feeding him and humming happily; Sarah taking it all in just behind him in her fluffy white robe and morning mug of coffee. They were so natural. They were so happy.

I took it all in and the tears streamed down my face.

“All I want for Christmas is for these two to become parents”, I thought.

Maybe next month will be the month. Maybe next cycle, I’ll get the call from her to share the news. Maybe she won’t have to wait another Mother’s Day. Maybe.

We’re still in waiting mode. It’s still “one day”. It’s still hope. Loss every month. Tears with every new pregnancy announcement. Her sharing, me listening. It’s the best I can do. I wish I had a happy ending to share with you all. I dream of the day that I can write an update to this post and include the birth announcement for my future niece or nephew. But until that, happens, I will leave you some perspective:

Emotions are a crazy thing. We are all entitled to our own emotions. I can’t tell you how to feel, just as you can’t tell me how to feel. Oh, I will try. I will try to spread my joy and my positive light. But sometimes, it’s just time to be sad.

Consider the continuum of emotions: extreme joy and extreme sadness. When you are at one end of the spectrum, it is near impossible to meet someone at the other end. As much as your friend may need you, if you are at the extreme other side, taking a few steps to edge a bit closer to where they are at is perhaps as far as you can go.

Peeing on that cardboard stick and seeing the “+” sign brings extreme joy.

Peeing on that cardboard stick for the 22nd consecutive month and seeing the “-” sign brings extreme sadness.

Every birth announcement. Every bump photo. Every “band of motherhood” post. Every “I can’t stand my crazy toddler” comment. Extreme sadness. I can’t fully understand it because I haven’t experienced it myself, but living this through my sister is about the closest I can get.

My biggest fear for my sister and I: what happens if she does run out of options? I don’t even want to go there.

What happens if Christian and I have a second child and she is still dealing with the crushing reality of infertility? What if she is still peeing on that stick, month after month. 31….32….33….34…how many months does this go on?

There’s a passage in the Bible that suggests that God will not put us through anything we are not strong enough to handle.

Selfishly, I pray that the edge is coming soon for my sister.

I pray for the day I can write that joy-filled update to this post.

A Wrinkle in Time.

May 1, 2016May 1, 20164 Comments

Today is baby H’s birthday. Tomorrow, I start back at work full-time after one year off.

Although I’ve been working one day a week since February, tomorrow still feels like the true beginning. I’ve been thinking of May as my “New Year”. My re-introduction. My debutante ball, if you will.

It’s also the end of my wrinkle in time.

That’s what maternity leave has felt like. A wrinkle in time. During this past year, it has almost felt like time stood still, while simultaneously, time has moved far too quickly. I don’t know how else to explain it.

All at once, in taking time off from my career to raise our son, I set aside a massive part of my life and my passion. I actually didn’t realize just how much impact my work had on me as a person until I went on leave. The absence of my career in my life has been a significant adjustment over this past year. I felt like I had lost a part of me.

If that weren’t enough, on top of “hanging up” my computer, emails, business cards, strategy discussions, meetings, clients, and sometimes, it felt like, “hanging up” my brain, I had to learn how to become a mother. And unlike your career, there’s no on-boarding plan or orientation guide for becoming a mother.

Just as I felt bringing our little bundle home for the very first time one year ago, my return to work leaves me excited and sad all at the same time. Mourning the loss of one chapter and celebrating the beginning of a new one. It’s transitions like this that truly cover the full spectrum of emotion.

I crave so much in my full-time return to work:

Stimulating adult conversation on the regular.

Being challenged to problem solve.

Creating.

Encouraging and supporting others on my team.

Helping clients.

Walking around without a stroller.

Popping out for lunch or a coffee on my own time.

Being a part of something that’s growing faster than we expected.

Jokes, laughs and fun with great people every day.

Not feeling obligated to do all the cooking and laundry “because I’m at home”.

Learning. Growing. Evolving.

Freedom.

But then, it’s all the things I will miss. All the little moments that I will now need to cram into just evenings and weekends with my son:

The thump-thump-thump of his arm, foot or head on the rail of his crib when he’s up from his nap.

The absolutely hilarious noises he makes at meal time because he’s just so darned excited about food.

Our daily walks around the neighborhood, in search of doggies, buses and delicious coffee.

Quiet mornings playing together in the family room before we get a start on our day.

4pm coffee chats with my neighbor across the street.

Giving my husband the full run down of what new little thing baby H learned or did today.

My 9:30am daily workouts during naptime.

Friday Funday with my two neighbors and their kids

His smile that just lights up his entire face.

Looking out the front window and waiting for daddy to come home.

Singing together in music class.

Virtually unlimited cuddles, tickles and giggles.

Picking him up from his crib and commenting, for the millionth time, on “how big he’s getting”

Teaching him something new and watching his face light up once he figures it out.

Learning. Growing. Evolving.

Freedom.

It’s the same…only different. In this year I have learned and grown more as a person than ever before in my life. No career path will teach me what I have gained, and will continue to gain, throughout this journey as a mother.

And so, as I pack up my bag tonight, pick out my stylish clothes, wash and style my hair, do my make-up tomorrow morning and get ready to head to work, I will think about my wrinkle in time.

My year with my son.

The hours, minutes and seconds that I have had the privilege of spending with him every single day. I will think about the days where time stood still, when time couldn’t seem to pass fast enough, when I longed for this day to finally arrive because I couldn’t take it anymore, and when I considered what life would be like to stay at home full-time. And everything else in between.

Tonight is my New Years’ Eve. Tonight I reflect and celebrate the most challenging and rewarding year of my life.

Tonight I toast to my wrinkle in time.

[Above Photo Credit: Sweet Grace Photography]

A Good Mother.

January 15, 2016February 18, 201610 Comments

This is not exactly my typical type of post, but I needed to get something off my chest. That’s what blogging is about, right?

Today marked a milestone in my life as a mother. Nope, not a tooth or a first food. Not a birthday or a first step. Not a smile or a word.

Today was the first time I experienced extreme judgement from a complete stranger, all because of the actions of a child.

It’s Friday afternoon and a dear friend and I got together for lunch. It’s dreary, it’s January. It’s miserable. We had both had tough weeks with our little ones. We enjoyed coffee and a chat and fed our babies lunch. Words such as “we’re surviving” and “its fine” came up. It was refreshing to get together and discuss the good, bad and ugly. And besides, we made it to Friday, so it can’t be all that bad, right?

As we started packing up to go, my friends’ little one starting fussing. The fussing turned into crying, and by the time he was strapped into his stroller, the crying had escalated into full-on screaming.

We soldier on and make a hasty dash towards the exit. We are both holding our breath as we take those last few steps to the freedom of open air where the screams don’t seem quite as loud.

And at that very moment, that “I-just-need-to-make-it-to-the-door” final push, a miserable-looking woman stares my friend straight in the eye and says:

“You’re a terrible mother. You should have never had children. My children never cried like that”.

You’re. A. Terrible. Mother.

Read that sentence one more time. Do it.

It took every ounce of self-restraint in me to not march back in there, stand up for my friend, and retaliate. But do you know what? It wouldn’t have made any difference. That woman had made her judgement as soon as that little guy started crying, and no explanation or reasoning would have changed her mind.

So what is it that makes a mother so terrible that a complete stranger would feel compelled to say such a thing?

I don’t have the answer. But I do know that I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently, especially as I round the bend of my maternity leave. My days are filled with researching full time childcare options for my son.

I’m leaving my son in the care of someone else, 5 days a week, so that I can further my career.

Does that make me a terrible mother?

My husband and I had our first overnight away from our son in December. It was a big milestone for us, for our son, and for nana and papa who looked after him. Many friends suggested that I “try not to miss him too much”.

I didn’t miss him. I enjoyed every minute of it and look forward to booking the next night away.

Does that make me a terrible mother?

We made the decision to sleep train. Early. Like, before 3 months old, early. Our son has slept soundly for 12 hours a night since he was 3 months old. He has slept in his crib in the nursery starting at week 2.

Does that make me a terrible mother?

I let him fall. I let him shove too much food in his mouth. I had to perform the Heimlich maneuver a few weeks ago because of said food. I let anyone and everyone hold him. I don’t pick him up as soon as he cries. I breastfeed him pretty much anywhere. I let him watch TV and play with my iPhone. I started him on solids at four months old. I give him baby formula rather than breast milk when I go out because I am sick of pumping. I throw my hands up in the air in the middle of Starbucks and proclaim: “I have no idea why you are crying!!!”

Does that make me a terrible mother?

NO.

I am a GOOD mother. I am AMAZING mother. I am SUPER-FRICKIN-woman. And I will remind myself of this every. single. day.

Every day that my son looks at me with his huge smile and love in his eyes and I give him the same love back. That’s all it takes to be a good mother: love. Love is all you need.

So I challenge you: remind yourself how awesome you are. Look that screaming child of yours in the eye and tell him how much you love him. Look at your tear-streaked face in the mirror and tell yourself how amazing you are. Look at the other mothers in your community and tell them they are GOOD MOTHERS and that they are doing an AMAZING JOB.

Say those words to someone today. Because we don’t always know how long it takes for the sting of negative words to wear off.

YOU are an amazing mother. YOU are LOVED.

happy healthy huggetts

a lifestyle blog for those looking for a bit more "happy" in their life.

Tag: family

Cottage Series Part 1: Taking the plunge.

Saying Farewell to our First Home.

Infertility impacts everyone. Including me.

A Wrinkle in Time.

A Good Mother.

Photo Credit: Little SugarPlum Photography, Vancouver