Our Girls

We always wanted to be parents. Irrationally, I knew that it would be incredible. And from the first moment we became parents with Nora, and then again with Maeve, it felt just that. Raising our girls is simultaneously the most interesting and and rewarding, while also being the most complicated and terrifying project that either of us will ever be part of.

Parenting feels outrageously complex. Every decision we make can have no impact at all or can impact our girls in ways we never imagined. The sheer number of variables, in and outside of our control, is mind-numbing.

• The way we communicate.
• The rules we uphold.
• The interactions they have at school with friends.
• They way we behave in their presence.
• The friends we keep.
• The things we do.
• The words we say.
• The weather.

Every moment is a micro-decision. There's an infuriating line in ABBA's Slipping Through My Fingers (Nora insists Jo sing this song whenever she's doing her hair).

Her and me at the breakfast table, barely awake, I let precious time go by.

I can't pretend like we've treated each of those moments with the appropriate seriousness. This is an impossible standard. Sometimes we're tired. Sometimes we're off our game. Which brings me to my underlying point.

Parenting may really be quite simple.

Jo has a mantra I love: We have ten years to create humans we can be proud of. And then another ten years to convince them we're humans they want to spend a life with.

The girls watch everything we do. The love us and trust us entirely. So we need to model the behaviours, attitudes and actions we want them to learn. We can't get caught up in the analysis.

We just need to live in a way that we'd be proud for them to live in turn.

I think we're doing that. Or at least we're trying to. And I'm seeing the impact.

Nora has Jo's ferocity. When she has an idea, she goes for it. She'll come up with an elaborate game, and won't back off until she's assembled the hodge-podge of components she needs to execute as she imagines. Once she decides what she wants to wear, it better exist (and be clean). This week, she got Jo to fashion a veil from a handkerchief. And while she looked more like a mourning Italian woman than a bride, she was proud she had coordinated her vision.

Nora has my imagination. Her head is firmly in the clouds. It can take a few asks to get her to put away her shoes if she's daydreaming, but the stories she tells are colourful and nuanced. Although sometimes, they're frightening enough to keep her up later than we want.

Maeve is funny, and wants to make you laugh. She's a goofball who will test out material until something lands. As soon as she gets a giggle, she lights up. And will repeat the joke as long as you'll listen. I want to say her desire to make you laugh is a me-trait. But I can definitely tell you the willingness to repeat a once-funny joke into oblivion is directly from me.

Maeve is affectionate. Sometimes to the point of violence. She'll sit on your lap, grit her teeth and squeeze your face while she lands a barrage of kisses. She wants to be held. She holds on tight in her hugs. She'll scratch the back of my head when I carry her, and demands back scratches at night. She wants to hold our hand from the back seat of the car. The girls see our affection everyday (and probably more than they'll want one day). But they see the affection between the important couples in our life. They feel affection from the friends and family we keep close.

They're changing everyday – faster than I can really follow. But, I think the best we we can do is model a life that we're happy living. And do so joyfully. Together.

We fly back to Toronto tomorrow, so I'll close it here. We're lucky to get to take part in the raising of these two girls. And whether it's in Europe or Toronto, it's bound to be interesting.