You know the one.

The age where you walk into a room and forget why you’re there. Where your back goes out… but you didn’t do anything. Where you make a noise every time you sit down like you just finished running a marathon.

And the worst part? Kids don’t help.

I used to be fun. I used to do things like trampoline parks, late nights, spontaneous plans. Now? My kids ask me to jump on a trampoline and my first thought isn’t “fun,” it’s “how quickly would I need to sit down after?”

Immediately. The answer is immediately.

Even my hobbies have changed. I used to be able to sit and focus on things forever. Now I pick something up and five minutes later I’m like, “This feels like a lot of commitment.”

Something that I do think is absolutely hilarious, but I am all for … cancelling plans? Elite behavior. Absolutely top tier.

So yeah, maybe I can’t do everything I used to. Maybe my idea of a wild night has changed dramatically.

But honestly?

I’m okay with this version of me.

Even if I do need a minute after standing up.

And by “moments,” I mean the part where you miss your kids but try to play it cool because, you know… you’re a professional.

So last night, we did what we always do when I’m away — we FaceTimed. Not even a full conversation, just one of those calls where you’re kind of just… there. Doing your own thing, but together. It’s the closest thing to being in the same room.

And then things got weird.

At some point, my kids decided the best place for my phone was inside the dollhouse. Yes — the dollhouse. The one from my childhood that has recently made its grand return because my parents are downsizing. So now it lives at my house… and apparently also doubles as a FaceTime set.

Suddenly, my view changed.

Instead of seeing my kids running around, I was staring out from inside this tiny plastic kitchen. Little cabinets, tiny counters… and for a second, it actually felt like I was in the dollhouse.

Like I had been shrunk down and was just hanging out in there.

It was such a weird, cool perspective. A total toy’s-eye view. Very Toy Story. Like at any moment, something was going to come alive and start talking.

I’m sure this makes absolutely no sense to anyone else, but for me, it was one of those unexpectedly sweet moments. A little glimpse into their world — literally.

Not exactly the same as being home… but for a minute there, it felt pretty close.

It started innocently enough. My 8-year-old got into Pokémon cards — like a lot of kids do — and I thought, “Oh that’s cute, a little hobby.” Fast forward to now, and I’m living with two collectors. Because of course, his dad got involved.

And not casually.

No no… we are talking serious business.

Apparently, there are rules. A lot of rules. You don’t just open a pack and say, “Cool card!” There’s a system. There’s strategy. There’s something called “condition,” which I’ve learned is very important and not to be messed with. Sleeves are involved. Special boxes. Careful handling like these cards are made of glass and dreams.

I’ve witnessed full conversations about centering. CENTERING. These are things I did not know I would need to understand as a parent.

Meanwhile, my 8-year-old is fully locked in, learning from his dad like he’s being trained for a tiny collector Olympics.

Now I know what his dad is doing, it’s teaching our son patience, organization, and learning the value of taking care of something. Plus, it gives them something to bond over — which is pretty cool.

But I do have to say, when the kid is hiding his new cards from his dad so he won’t take them away and put them in a book Do I understand all of it? Absolutely not.

Do I nod along like I do? Yes. Yes I do.

At this point, I’ve just accepted that I live in a house where tiny pieces of cardboard are treated with the same level of care as fine china.

And honestly… I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My eight-year-old and five-year-old played together. Nicely. No fighting. No arguing. No “Mooooom he’s touching me.” For three hours.

Three. Hours.

I don’t even know who those children were.

They got home from school in great moods (already suspicious), and then just… started playing. Tag turned into basketball, which somehow turned into a water fight — contained to the bathroom, thankfully — which then turned back into basketball, and then art projects while they ate supper.

The whole time, I kept looking at my husband like, “What is happening right now?”

At one point I actually said, “They haven’t asked me for anything in an hour.”
Then later, “It’s been two hours…”
And then, slightly concerned, “It’s been THREE HOURS. Should we check on them??”

We should’ve taken advantage of it. We should’ve turned on our show, relaxed, soaked in the rare silence of not being needed every 30 seconds.

But instead… I just sat there.

Scrolling on my phone, kind of… but mostly just listening.

Listening to them laugh. Hearing them get along. No refereeing, no negotiating, no stepping in to solve a crisis over a basketball call. Just two kids being best buddies.

And honestly? It made me so happy.

I kept thinking I should be doing something productive, but I didn’t want to miss it. Because let’s be real — this does not happen often.

I have no idea what got into them, or if I’ll ever see it again… but if it does happen?

I’ll be ready.

Or at the very least, I’ll be less confused.

Christmas miracle in March? Honestly… I’m not ruling it out.

Every free moment? Stitching. Sitting on the couch? Stitching. Watching TV? Definitely stitching… and occasionally looking up to see who just dramatically walked out of the room on whatever show I had on.

And then… life happened.

Kids. Work. Brain overload. Suddenly the idea of following a pattern, counting tiny squares, and making sure I didn’t mess up somewhere in row 47 felt like way too much. My brain said, “Absolutely not.” So I downgraded to colouring books — because if I went outside the lines, at least no one would know. Or care.

But the other night, something strange happened.

I actually felt like cross stitching again.

So I dug out my cross stitch suitcase — yes, I have an entire suitcase dedicated to it, no I will not be taking questions — and went searching. And there it was. An old project. Something simple. Something manageable. A pattern that I had clearly started following… and then at some point decided, “You know what? I’m the artist now,” and just started doing my own thing.

Honestly, I respect past me for that.

So I sat down and started stitching again.

And immediately remembered… oh right. I’m 40.

The eyes? Not what they used to be. The focus? Questionable. The stamina? Let’s just say I’m no longer pulling marathon stitching sessions without consequences.

But you know what? It felt good. Slow, a little imperfect, slightly squinty… but good.

Sure, I may need better lighting, maybe some readers, and definitely more breaks. But I’m back.

Well… for at least 20 minutes at a time.

I’ll be honest — I wondered if I’d recognize all the songs or if it would feel totally different from the movie.

It didn’t take long to realize I had nothing to worry about.

The show stayed incredibly faithful to the movie, and the music felt just as magical live as it does on screen. But what really blew me away was seeing how they recreated so many iconic scenes on stage. The set changes were seamless — one moment you’re in Arendelle and the next you’re somewhere completely different, and half the time you barely even notice the transition happening.

That’s one of my favourite things about live theatre. I love trying to catch how they do it. I also love spotting actors who play multiple roles and seeing if I can pick them out when they come back as a completely different character later in the show.

But the best part of the night wasn’t just the production itself — it was watching my boys experience it.

My eight-year-old sat there absolutely enraptured the entire time… and at the end he even admitted he liked it — even with all the singing. Honestly, that felt like a parenting win. Meanwhile my five-year-old spent a good chunk of the show snuggled on my lap, wrapped up in my scarf.

It was just one of those simple, perfect nights.

Great show, happy kids, and a reminder of why I love live theatre so much. And judging by how packed the place was, I’m clearly not the only one — it’s no surprise the run had to be extended four times!

I grew up in a house full of girls.  My dad was sorely out-numbered (lucky him) with 4 daughters.  Going into motherhood, I didn’t really think being a boy mom would be that different from a girl mom.  Now granted not all boys are the same and not all girls are the same.  But man, my boys, are BOYS and anyone raising boys knows there are certain phrases that come out of your mouth that you never expected to say on a daily basis.

Boy moms tend to develop a very specific vocabulary. It’s the kind of language that usually revolves around dirt, noise, mystery smells, and the constant possibility that someone might try to jump off something they absolutely shouldn’t. You find yourself asking questions like, “Why is that wet?” or shouting things across the house like, “If you’re going to wrestle, take it outside!” These aren’t exactly things you picture saying before you become a parent, but somehow they become part of the daily routine.

If you’re a boy mom, you probably already know the list of things you’ve said that would make absolutely no sense to anyone without kids. The phrases that come out in a split second when someone’s running through the house with a stick, jumping off furniture, or proudly showing you a pocket full of rocks they just had to bring home.

If you’ve ever caught yourself saying something and immediately thinking, “Wow… I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth,” you’re definitely not alone.

They LOVED it. Pure joy. Launching themselves into foam pits. Double bouncing. Flipping like tiny, fearless superheroes with fully functioning inner ears.  (Can you see those two little arms poking out amongst the foam (picture to the left)?  Oh the fun.

And then they asked me to jump.

Absolutely not.

At what point in life does this switch flip? Because I distinctly remember being a kid and thinking trampolines were the greatest invention of all time. I could bounce for hours. No dizziness. No nausea. No pulled muscles. Just vibes.

Now? If I jump too aggressively while putting on jeans, I need a recovery plan.

The idea of stepping onto a trampoline as a grown adult feels less like “fun family memory” and more like “soft tissue injury waiting to happen.” I’m not even worried about breaking a bone. I’m worried about the immediate wave of motion sickness followed by 45 minutes of trying to pretend I’m fine while sweating slightly.

And don’t even get me started on the butterflies. Why does my body react to the mere thought of gentle bouncing, like I’m about to skydive?

Meanwhile, my boys are yelling, “Come on, Mom!” and I’m standing there holding everyone’s shoes like the responsible, grounded, gravity-respecting adult I have become.

When did we go from fearless trampoline warriors to people who need to stretch before getting out of a vehicle?

No one warns you about this stage of life. One day you’re bouncing. The next day you’re budgeting your energy.

Anyway, the kids had a blast. I survived. And I’ll be cheering enthusiastically from the sidelines… forever.

It’s always a ton of fun chatting with him.

I had to ask: what happens when Quick Dick McDick gets invited to speak somewhere that isn’t a comedy show? You know, the serious kind. The seminar kind. The “please be professional” kind. Does he tone it down? Does he behave? Does he own a non-sarcastic voice? His answer might surprise you… or it might not.

We also addressed a very important post-show question: if there’s a DJ and a dance floor after the comedy wraps up, is he sticking around to cut a rug? I feel like the people deserve clarity on this. Prairie nightlife is a serious matter.

And of course, we checked in on Blue Ball — because no proper conversation would be complete without it.

It’s a fun, slightly unfiltered conversation that gives you a peek behind the curtain (or maybe just behind the shop door). Have a listen to the full audio below.