My kids love to play with a wide variety of toys. Everything from dolls to cars to play-doh and princess costumes. They imagine, craft things up, create, tell stories—and then they’re onto the next thing.

There are strong women all around me. I see you on a daily basis. Handling multiple tasks and balancing busy schedules. Raising children and excelling at careers. Rushing through the grocery store. Walking home from the park. Leaving the schoolyard with a few kids in tow and a baby on your hip.

My brother is an interesting guy. He’s made up of many parts – smart, funny, sarcastic, caring – all balancing one another out to make up a pretty great person.

I’m standing in the wings of a massive stage. The smell of makeup on my face and the spray in my hair is thick and foreign to my 8 year-old self. My sequined costume makes me itch. But I love it, all the same.

When my oldest daughter turned one, I wrote her a letter. In it, I told her about a day-trip my Mom and I took – just the two of us. We went to go see the musical The Secret Garden at a theatre in the city. 

It’s early in the morning. My husband has left for work and the kids are still sleeping. I sit down with a cup of coffee in front of my computer in my quiet, still kitchen to try and steal a moment to myself. 

I've started contributing to Red Tricycle, which is pretty cool. Here's my second post for them - all about the chaos that is having three young children. In it, I will do my best to convince you that three kids is crazy, exhausting and chaotic, but it really is magic, too. 

I missed the very first time my 6-year-old daughter scored a goal. She played hockey for 7 months last season, and I was at every single game. I enjoy watching her have fun. I love seeing her master new skills. Her little feet carry her so quickly across the ice. Her smile permeates through the cage on her helmet. 

We walked together yesterday afternoon. The five of us. Every year in early spring, we attend the Maple Syrup Festival at a local conservation area as a family. We all file out of the minivan, eager to enjoy the fresh air after a long, cold winter inside. 

Tonight, I watched my 6-year-old dance. She heard the music playing in the kitchen while I was washing up the dinner dishes and came running excitedly. I usually partake in the dancing, at her request. But on this night, her movement strikes me. It holds me still in my place. And so I just stand back and watch.

When I had my first child, I knew nothing. Despite spending evening after evening during my pregnancy sitting in my bed, balancing one of my many baby books on my giant belly and devouring all the information I could, I was still wildly unprepared once my daughter was placed in my arms.