Sometimes simple life-tweaks can make the healthy changes we need to carry on.

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Photo by arash payam on Unsplash

First of all, I want to be clear that if you or someone you know is suffering from depression, these tips probably aren’t going to do shit for you. Quarantine blues and depression are two very different things. If you feel that you may be suffering from depression, the best thing you can do is reach out to a trusted loved one and make a doctor’s appointment.

I’ve always been a pretty cheerful person. The kind of gal who liked to find all the silver linings and was always facing the bright side of a crappy situation. Then something integral seemed to switch off in me this last year. I suspect this is an affliction that many people have suffered due to lack of connection and socialization, not to mention the stress of so many other contributing factors that have come along with the pandemic. …

This article is brought to you by the fact that I turned 35 last week.

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Photo by Henk Mul on Unsplash

I’m starving. I can feel my stomach eating itself. Does that actually happen? I think I may be overdramatizing this thing. I’m not actually hungry either. My body wants sugar. My body needs the sugar! I am currently on a sugar fast, wherein I am starving myself of the delicious refined sugar that usually sustains my very soul. I’m forty-five minutes in.

So if I sway a bit off track with this post, please disregard the blunder. It is simply my brain pleading for the high fructose corn syrup that it so desperately yearns.

40 things to do by the time 40 rolls around. Well, I can tell you one thing, never go on a sugar fast again, that’s for sure. But I won’t add that because I am told that depriving myself of this sweet, sweet nectar will end up doing me a world of good on all fronts of the health spectrum. We’ll see about that. In the meantime, here is a list (because who doesn’t love a list!?) of 40 things I’d like to do before I turn 40. …

Well, one boy, to be precise.

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Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

I wouldn’t say that I’m prudish. I wear my hair down and enjoy the occasional raunchy convo with the girls. I’m never one to scoff at a joke made in poor taste because those jokes are usually the funniest.

The thing is, I try to never, under any circumstance, pass gas in front of another human being.

Of course, there is the occasional misstep. Like, when one is regrettably sick, and the gas comes rushing out of you like the cross-current air of two open doors. Or when you are in yoga class, and that goddamn Downward Dog pushes the pent up air down and out of you in an uncontrollable fashion. Then you’re left with having to find a new yoga studio because you don’t know whether or not telling the impossibly trim and fit girl beside you that it was actually a queef is better than the fact that she thinks you’ve farted mere feet away from her blonde pony-tailed head. …

Why you shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet

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Photo by Icons8 Team on Unsplash

At the onset of the coronavirus pandemic, my family and I were sort of screwed. My husband James and I had been made redundant from our jobs, and things were looking grim. I did what any self-respecting writer might do and started scouring online freelancing venues to find a bit of work.

The internet, in general, did not take kindly to my narrative essay style of writing. Too often, internet readers want a more upbeat, how-to sort of story. My kind of writing was for hole-in-the-wall bookstore readings and cafes with pictures of abstract cats hanging on the walls.

So I looked into how to write something that could do well on the internet, and then I wrote something like that. …

There is nowhere to go but up from here.

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Photo by Ben Hershey on Unsplash

I made the mistake of falling down the home movie rabbit hole the other night and spent several hours watching videos of my children from when they were toddlers. By the time I pulled myself away from the computer, my eyes were swollen red with the warm and fuzzy memories from when they were small.

Now, I look at these strange, pimply and sometimes smelly tweens and wonder if things were better when they were so small I could fit them in the crook of my arm.

Of course, toddlers are adorable. That’s just an undeniable fact. With their massive heads and unstable rambling about, anyone who doesn’t find these small creatures the cutest beings in the world must have the coldest of hearts. …

Please stop petitioning my dreams.

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Photo by David Sam Levinson on Unsplash

Merry Christmas, residents of Meadow View Crescent! I hope this letter finds you and your families well.

You’ll notice my use of the word “Christmas” rather than the more politically correct term “Happy Holidays,” which is for two reasons. One, I am a proud believer that Jesus is, in fact, the reason for the season, and two, I am hugely against censorship and repression in any way, shape, or form.

It has come to my attention that many of the citizens of this neighborhood have composed a petition to remove the sex room I have recently constructed in my garage.

Firstly, can I remind you of the blood, sweat, and tears I put in to assemble such a room? My GoFundMe campaign to raise the money for this thing brought much mental hardship and emotional trauma. …

The realization that as our children grow, they become people of their own.

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Photo by Riccardo Annandale on Unsplash

My best sleepover was on my 11th birthday. We lived in the country, and my parents didn’t go for those types of birthday parties that meant renting out a bowling alley or the dingy side room at the local movie theatre. Birthday parties meant sleepovers; that was just a fact.

As children of the ’90s, my brother and I lived for sleepovers with our friends. It was the only way we managed to struggle through the gruelling work of school and after-school chores—the elusive planning of the weekend's sleepovers. There we’d get to eat junk food, which was not permitted during the weekdays. …

Relationships change over time — leading to more efficient ways to communicate.

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Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash

When my husband and I first were together, young and with two small babes and a mountain of possibility before us, I would receive love letters all of the time. Sometimes they’d come in the form of a sticky note left on the bathroom mirror for me to find upon waking up.

“Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you, beautiful.”

Other times I’d find long three-page, tiny-printed scrolls telling me how much he appreciated our growing family.

And as time wore on and technology sprouted oftentimes, these love letters would transform into public displays of affection placed unapologetically on my Facebook page for all the world to see. …

It has been a year for learning.

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Photo by Bruno Nascimento on Unsplash

As the new year approaches, I can’t help but reflect on the lessons I’ve learned over the past 12 months. We like to get wrapped up in the negatives about this year, and I’m with you. There’s been quite a few. However, there have also been many opportunities for growth and learning.

Parenting has never been a simple endeavour. There’s a lot of pressure that comes with, you know, raising the next generation. …

4 musicals that will change the way you think about movies.

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Photo by Liam McGarry on Unsplash

I found a movie the other day on Netflix called The Prom. I hadn’t heard any reviews, but it had some pretty great actors and actresses in it, such as Meryl Streep, Nicole Kidman and James Corden, so I decided to give it a shot.

One of my favourite things in the world is when I begin a movie and then five minutes in, unbeknownst to me, they start singing. I know it sounds like I’m being sarcastic because people typically hate musicals in general, but not me.

As I watched this movie, out of nowhere, Meryl was singing and whirling, complete, with choreographed dancers in a damn background. I was basically in broadway heaven. My toes started involuntarily tapping on the floor, and a light and fluffy feeling expanded through my chest. I immediately knew that this was going to be a great movie. …


Lindsay Brown

Mother, writer, user of too many hastags.

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