When you’re an English journalist in Montreal you’re forever hearing, “You should move to Toronto…” “Toronto is the place to be…” Yes, sure, Toronto is the cosmos for magazines, publishing houses and PR agencies. But, no offense to my fellow Torontonians, it seems like such a cookie-cutter big city.

But Montreal… ahhh my Montreal… there’s no place I’d rather live. During my years growing up in Florida and visiting family here, I dreamt of what it would be like to live in a city, especially one as eclectic, historic, charming as Montreal. I imagined sitting in a cafe along the cobblestone streets in Old Montreal sipping a latte and working on an article for some magazine or newspaper. I pictured myself strolling into a hoity-toity press event at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (where my aunt took me when I was little) and schmoozing with the arties. I would dream about being wined and dined at some of the city’s fanciest restaurants with some handsome guy who could speak French sitting next to me (tee-hee).

Montreal – it’s everything I hoped it would be. And when I’m sitting at the A.L. Van Houtte on St. Paul Street, drinking my decaf soy latte and jotting notes from my latest interview, I never miss the opportunity to relish in the moment… I’m where I always aspired to be. It may be snowing on April 27th, but Montreal is my home and I love it!

Move to Toronto? Meh, maybe one day. But not today… or tomorrow…

Did you hear about that mother in Ohio who went missing? She was married and had a one-year-old daughter, left for a garage sale, and vanished. Her car was found abandoned in a nearby parking lot, and her parents as well as her husband were on all the news outlets, including the Today Show, pleading with the public for any information on the disappearance. Five days later and she’s found in Miami, with another man (who was also married), and they apparently had plans to run away and start a new life.

Now I would guess most people would instantly think she’s a terrible mother. How could a woman up and leave her baby one-year-old little girl just like that? She must be a monster right?

But given our group of friends have started hitting the baby-making phase of their lives, I’ve seen just what a tough job being a parent is. It’s trying physically, emotionally and psychologically. My entire life I played house and dreamt of being a mommy, and watching my friends go through this incredible process has actually given me quite the reality jolt.

Don’t get me wrong – I absolutely see how overwhelmingly wonderful it is to have children of your own. It’s the one thing I look forward to most. But it is TRYING!! And when I hear stories of moms who have just run away because they need to escape, I initially think “God, that’s awful,” but there’s still a small part of my psyche that also has a touch of sympathy for her. No, abandoning your family is never the answer. But hasn’t every mother, at some moment, just wanted to get away from it all?

I’d also like to use this blog as an opportunity to tell all my friends out there who have taken (or are about to take) the child-raising plunge that you are special. I am constantly in awe of you and will count on all your infinite baby wisdom when it’s my turn!

The grass is piercing green outside my window – everything looks so bright and colourful I feel like I’m seeing the world through a View-Finder. There are big yellow blossoms on the tree outside my window (that the squirrels use as a walking bridge to the nutty balcony for breakfast and lunch). The sky is clear and so so blue. And the springtime smell of poo hasn’t seemed to permeate the air yet…

Growing up in Florida was great – I couldn’t have had more fun during my times on Moss Pond Drive, going to Whispering Pines Elementary and Omni Middle and Olympic Heights High. I made lifelong friends that I basically grew up with while I lived there. But now that I’ve been back in Canada longer than my time living in the States, I’ve really grown to appreciate and almost rely on the change of seasons. Sure, the winters are long and grueling, but they’ve given me a greater appreciation of warm, spring/summer weather (something I completely took for granted living in the Sunshine State). The seasons create renewal and give you a chance to take advantage of the change in your own life – with new seasons brings new goals and resolutions, and I find this cycle refreshing.

This spring I will get more fresh air, go on more walks, work on cafe patios, and sip smoothies on my balcony. Maybe I’ll take a few daytrips to recharge. Spring is finally here, and I’ll rejoice in this part of the cycle of life…

It’s easy to wallow. When bills collide during a week of chasing paychecks, it’s hard not to feel like you’re in the middle of the perfect storm. The old adage seems true: when it rains it pours – why is it that a parking ticket, a cold, a fight with a boss, and a bad haircut all seem to fall in the same week?

It’s easy to slip into self pity because you can always find the “glass-emptiness” of a situation. But you can also find the silver lining. It’s always there. It just takes a little more work to find it.

Today I feel happy and want to relish in it. I know eventually some ickiness of grown-up life will creep back in, but for now, I’m content. It’s been a great work week and I feel like I’ve been lucky enough to accomplish a lot. My hubs told me tonight how much he appreciated everything I do (keeping up on dinners and packing lunches for him for work), and isn’t that all anyone wants – to feel appreciated every once in awhile? My dear friends have sent me emails and called me up to tell me they’ve seen my articles and will be looking for them in the coming days (in The Gazette, no less!). It’s just one of those times when the stars feel aligned.

And just as I dwell on the pitfalls of real life, I, too, can dwell on those random moments of unadulterated happiness…

The Griffith-McConnell residence, where I have been volunteering for the last year, is closing. It costs residents who require extended care an average of $4900 a month, but given newer facilities with increased services (pools and computer labs) are going for around the same rate, occupancy at the Griffith is low… apparently too low. So they’re closing its doors, displacing 170 elderly people (a lot of whom have dementia) and laying off nearly 200 people.

The Griffith-McConnell has no endowment AND NO QUEBEC GRANTS.

I saw the level of care employees of the residence always tried to ensure despite what they barely had to work with – I helped Wendy (the wellness expert) teach a computer class to eager elderly folks huddled around a single outdated computer, and I saw her teach yoga in the confines of the library. Nurses had to work extra hard to transport those who were in wheelchairs through the narrow hallways and up the ramps of the uneven floors of the home. And although the facility was so outdated, that never held the staff back – they just worked more diligently to ensure everyone were kept as active and safe as possible. And now they’re out of work.

And the residents never complained about not having a swimming pool or a “family celebration room.” At this point in their lives that wasn’t a priority (although of course it would be wonderful to have). In fact, I found most of the people at the Griffith-McConnell to be bright, optimistic lovely souls, even though they may not have remembered my name from one visit to the next. Now they’re going to have to leave their home.

I’m so upset. I volunteer with the elderly because they’re really a forgotten group – people think that because they have lost their memories they have lost themselves, when in fact they deserve to be celebrated. The evilness that is cancer has taken so many people away too soon, and I always found it inspiring that some people did still live to ripe old ages. The residents at my home are some of the wisest, kindest people I know, and to think that because they have once again been overlooked, sometimes by their own families and now by their government, that they’ll have to move and feel confused and overwhelmed… it’s just not right.

Why are the elderly always getting the short end of the stick? The residents at the Griffith-McConnell were teachers in schools and fought in wars for our country and helped pave the way for the technology we use today. And how do we thank them? We displace them during the last few years of their life.

I’m so sad for my bubbies. I’m so sad for my friends who work at the Griffith-McConnell. I’m so sad that we’ve all come so far in our worldly philanthropic efforts and yet we’ve overlooked our most distinguished citizens…

Once upon a time there was a little girl who had two dreams – to be a writer and be a homemaker. I could write and play house for the rest of my life and be content. As a child, I was either penning “novels” or preparing delicious plastic meals at my Fisher Price play kitchen for my Cabbage Patch Kids (Barnaby, Marcia, Hilary, Nadia, Cora, Emmanuelle, and Tiffany). It all seemed so simple.

However, after university I worked in offices for six years and then decided to venture into the freelance world. About to hit (gulp!) 30, and still without kids and a mortgage, it seemed like my last chance to have a go at building my own business.

It’s been months and months of “Hi, my name is Jenn Cox and I am a full-time Montreal-based freelance journalist…” (I think I could type those form letters in my sleep). I’ve been freelancing for over a year, and despite the graaaaadual growth, I am writing for nine different publications this month. It’s really interesting work, and I never knew I would take such pride in each of these individual jobs because they’re all gigs I earned myself.

And yet, while the angel on my shoulder is always giving me a pat on the back and telling me I’ve made tons of progress to be proud of in the last year, there’s this fiery little devil constantly weighing down my other shoulder (I think it’s my left – my neck is always sore on that side). While the angel is coaxing me along each day, encouraging me to write that form letter for the umpteenth time (because this could be the one that pays $1/word!), the devil wakes up at night. When I finally put head to pillow to rest my creatively-drained brain, that little red imp starts his rant: “Psssst!! What do you think you’re doing? You need to go and get a real job! Enough games. You need an actual 9-5 job so you can buy a home, start popping out babies and play house for real.”

Freelancing forced me to take a hard look in the mirror, mirror on the wall, and decide which life would make me the happiest of them all. It should be the conventional, right? I grew up where mom and dad worked, were settled with two kids and a house by the time they were my age, and that was “grown-up” life. And not that my parents ever discouraged my writing career, but they’re anxious for the grandbabies and I am really looking forward to that phase of my life too.

But this phase – where I’m going out into the big scary world, meeting with editors and PR agencies, tootin’ my horn left and right – is really exciting. I love waking up and going through my emails and tweets and FB messages and working toward becoming a big fish in a small pond.

Do I want to make this freelance career work, the devil wants to know? Yep, I do.

Even if that means postponing buying a house and having to live in an overstuffed mushroom-of-an-apartment for another few years? Yep, all I need is my laptop.

Even if you have to put off starting a family? Yeah, especially that. Once I have kids, I know my life will revolve around them. And I don’t ever want to wonder whether I’d have been able to launch my own business. Besides, I can always borrow Serenity and Mayson!

Thinking about my approaching 30th birthday used to be a bit of a downer – I felt so far behind where I thought I’d be at the ripe age of 30. But it’s only now that I’m starting to “catch on” to things, weed through the naivety and uncertainty that consumed me for so many years and come out strong and confident. And at this point, I need to see my solo career through.

Guess it’s time to break out the plastic chicken legs and white liquid-filled baby bottles for the CPK crew, because this “mommy” has more work to do!

My new website is here! My new website is here!!

Designed by the incredible Miss Sarah Birtwistle of One Third Lab, I now have a virtual home complete with a writing room and the cutest blonde ever (that’s me- I love the graphic she chose!! I look so unusually glamorous!)

Thanks to everyone who has been taking the time to read and comment on my blogs so far – for once I can’t find the words to express what it means to know that people actually want to read my personal rants on love, life and squirrels. I hope you’ll keep visiting.

My doors are always open, so feel free to pop by anytime!

Hello? Can I have some nuts please?

Helloooooo??

Maybe I’ll get your attention up here- HELLOOOO?????

I consider myself a fairly smart and educated person. I took honours classes in high school and then did a double-major in university. But I learned more from my classmates than I ever did from a book, especially when I started college. My sociology and journalism courses brought together these wonderfully diverse groups of people who thought and interpreted things in a completely different way than I did. I loved those “Huh!” moments where someone would raise their hand and question something, and theirs was this marvelous out-of-the-box idea that would never have entered my reasoning.

Today I went to the Canadian Centre for Architecture, a beautiful little building I didn’t even know existed after all my years of living here, and I attended a press opening of an exhibition called “Other Space Odysseys.” Three renowned architects had put together a series of exhibits on architecture in outer space – not space stations per se, but actual “structures” architecturally-built in outer space without the guidance of a horizon, for example, or gravity. It was a little over my head and a lot technical, but it was so unbelievably fascinating. Space architecture… Huh! It was something that I never would have even thought of or considered. And it made me excited to think that there could still be ideas and subjects that I didn’t know were out there.

When life gets seemingly boring and mundane, there is always something new to learn, something you might not even realize you were interested in. Just another one of those great perks that makes it all worthwhile…

I often think fondly of my childhood years, times of naive bliss and carefree days. I wish I could go back, even for a day, but only as long as I can know what I know now – that it’s going to fly by in a blur of roller skates and dollhouses and Cabbage Patch Kids.

I love spending time with my four-year old niece Serenity. She’s smart and funny and so creative. When I’m with her, I forget about being a grown-up, and that I still have to pay my cell phone bill and get my summer tires put on. I remember how the little things, like coloring (I’m really good at staying in the lines) and making beaded necklaces can be pure, innocent fun. I can sit for hours and let her brush my hair (she once told me, “Auntie Jenn, you have hair like Barbie”). And when she called out to me from the other room, out of the blue, “I love you Auntie Jenn!” the walls around me could have crumbled and my heart would’ve still smiled.

When Serenity arrived at our house on Friday night, she pulled out all the clothes her mummy had packed for her. She had pink fleece Curious George pajamas, and I told her they were adorable, and she said, “I know. You wish you had a pair, don’t you Auntie Jenn?” And I really did (plus, I look great in pink monkey prints).

If I could go back to being four again, I’d wake up and take a Flintstone vitamin and watch cartoons without the guilt of being a 30-year old watching cartoons. I’d run down the street yelling (and not worry that the neighbors would call the cops) and hop around in moon boots and ride a bike with flowers in the basket while I rang my bell. I’d have a Happy Meal at McDonalds and get really excited about the toy, and then I’d spend the afternoon playing in the balls (because now I’d know that they wouldn’t swallow me up) and going down the tube slide (because now I’d know the electrical shocks from the static don’t really hurt that much). I’d cook dinner for my dolls in my Easy Bake oven (and ignore the little voice in my head telling me the miniature pan is leaking toxicity into my food, not to mention the mysterious ingredients that allowed my tiny cake to cook from the heat of a lightbulb- wonderful fears I’ve learned as a grown-up). I’d blow bubbles and dandelion poofs. For dinner I’d ask my mom to make cut-up hot dogs with a side of Kraft dinner, some veggies (they don’t taste that bad), and milk with a bendy straw. I’d flag down the ice cream truck and get one of those sicky-sweet ginormous bubblegum-flavored Popsicles, and then have a game of hide-n-go-seek (I’ve had the best hiding-spot idea for years!) Then The Muppet Show curled up on the couch, with my head in my mom’s lap while she strokes my hair, and before bed, my dad would read me Richard Scarry. And after they’d shut off my light, I’d sneak out of bed and tiptoe over to the window and wish on a star… in my pink Curious George PJs.