Originally intended to simply focus on book reviews, over time, KaliDesautelsReads has morphed into its own entity.
I write about issues that are near to my heart, be they political, feminist, motherhood, mental health, or, as the title holds, books.
A thirty-something Canadian woman in my mid-thirties, I have been “super married” to my high school sweetheart since 2006, and together we have two crazy, clever, kind, hilarious, wonderful kids.
My first book – How Not To Blog: Finding Myself, One Post at a Time is available on Amazon (in eBook formats for you clever tech readers, and paperback for those of us who love that new book smell!)
I have tried a podcast – it’s still on Apple and Google Podcasts – but writing is where my heart is.
My life changed dramatically when my husband was diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer in 2018, and I am now a writer for a leading Canadian Cancer Non-Profit.
I am lucky enough to have a family that loves me and pushes me to be my best, even if it is outside of my cushiony comfort zone. I have a village of friends that nourish me, mentally, and spiritually.
Welcome to my thoughts. Sit down. Stay a while. Enjoy a cup of coffee!
My belief has always been that I would never get her ears pierced until she was 1000% sure she wanted them. She had a long period of wanting the sparkle but didn’t want the piercing, but didn’t want the piercing of the piercing.
She and her daddy made a deal that if she could keep her bedroom clean for a set amount of time, she could get them pierced. Now that daddy is finally better, and she kept up her part of the bargain, we went to a tattoo and piercing shop near us, and she is now the proud new possessor of sparkly earlobes.
I am so grateful this beautiful soul chose me to be her mama. There is nothing I love more in the world than to see her smile.
13 years ago today Baby Kali and Baby Dave married. We had no idea what being married was about, other than we got to be together all of the time, live in our own house, and eventually have kids. We did not think about job changes, and health challenges, and the fact that our kids would have minds of their own. We just figured we would be married and everything would be great.
And for the most part, that’s true. If there is anything that this past year has taught us, is that even when we are annoyed with each other, or in the depths of pain, or angry, or scared, or, or, or, there is no one we want beside us more than each other. His smile, when his dimples show and his blue and brown eye sparkle, his laugh, his passion for his work, his ability to make the kids squeal with laughter, his desire to always keep learning, his arms around me when I am sad, a kiss on my forehead tickled by his beard, his insistance that soccer is football, his obsessive need to have everything lined up and sorted, his willingness to paint our front door red, our kitchen purple, and our backdoor teal because it will make me smile, the fact that he always smells like cedar and Douglas fir (and therefore Christmas), his attention to detail, and the way he listens to me chattering without judging, our inane conversations entirely spoken in Monty Python quotes, and his desire to always be honourable – those are the things we did not know. Those are the things that make our marriage, and that 13 years after this picture was taken, we still actively choose everyday to be in this marriage together.
It is Orange Shirt Day and we are proud to represent our ancestors who suffered the indignities of residential schools. « Orange Shirt Day began in 2013 as a result of residential school survivor Phyllis Jack Webstad discussing her experience when she arrived at a residential school. Webstad shared her story at a legacy of the St. Joseph Mission (SJM) residential school commemoration event held in Williams Lake, British Columbia, Canada, in the spring of 2013.[1] On her first day at residential school Phyllis had her new orange shirt taken away from her. Phyllis’ experience is used today to teach students about residential schools and their assimilation practices.
The date of September 30 was chosen for the annual event because it is the time of year in which Indigenous children were historically taken from their homes to residential schools. The event is similar to “Pink Shirt Day” which is an annual anti-bullying day which many school groups participate in.[2]
In addition to simply wearing an orange shirt on September 30, this annual event encourages Canadians to learn about the history of residential schools. Many communities have held memorial walks, film screenings, and public lectures to raise awareness about Indigenous history.[3] Additionally, school boards across Canada have begun to use this event to teach children about residential schools.[4]
In 2017 Jane Philpott, Canada’s Minister of Indigenous Services, and Carolyn Bennett, Indigenous Relations and Northern Affairs Minister, encouraged people across Canada to participate in this commemorative and educational event.[5]
In 2018, the department of Canadian Heritage and Multiculturalism announced it was considering making a statutory holiday to honour the legacy of residential schools, and September 30 was one of the dates being considered.[6] The Heritage Committee chose Orange Shirt Day, and it was submitted by Georgina Jolibois as a private member’s bill to the House of Commons, where it passed on March 21, 2019; however, the bill failed to pass the Senate before the next election was called.[7][8] »
My cup was filled to the brim this weekend. Waking up at the crack of dawn, driving to Whistler to the Scandinave Spa, reading, hot tubs, ice baths, saunas, fresh air, and only one instance of nearly crying from the beauty of the moment (which Danielle quickly put in check 🤣), it was a most perfect day. Yoga, carpool karaoke, a strong understand of why SNL is no longer pulling in the ratings… and lots and lots of laughter was exactly what we all three needed.
I am so grateful for these women, and I am sooo grateful to my mom (@sherriduperron) for watching my kids all weekend, so I could fill myself back up.
My cup was filled to the brim this weekend. Waking up at the crack of dawn, driving to Whistler to the Scandinave Spa, reading, hot tubs, ice baths, saunas, fresh air, and only one instance of nearly crying from the beauty of the moment (which Danielle quickly put in check 🤣), it was a most perfect day. Yoga, carpool karaoke, a strong understand of why SNL is no longer pulling in the ratings… and lots and lots of laughter was exactly what we all three needed.
I am so grateful for these women, and I am sooo grateful to my mom (@sherriduperron) for watching my kids all weekend, so I could fill myself back up.
Posted @withrepost • @mrdavehollis Someone needs a reminder on a Wednesday. You are worthy of good things. You. Are. Let’s gooooooo! Tag someone in your crew 👇🏼👇🏼 and be that reminder that you see their beautiful, worthy self.
.
Thanks to Amy @sweetpreciousletters for the rad lettering from Girl, Stop Apologizing. See you at book club this morning!
#girlstopapologizing
#girlstopapologizinglettering
#thegsaclub
#letsgooooooo
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What do you do when things change? How to you adapt? How do you regroup?
Me? I change my hair. I dye, chop it, curl it, straighten it. Doesn’t really matter what I do to it, as long as it is different. The reddish brown of the summer that was as long as all get out that I wore through the summer is gone. A change is as good as a rest and so now I have watched a YouTube video and chopped it myself. A month later? I have dyed it plummy black. I do not always know how it will turn out, and I definitely do not always love the change, but it feels worth it. And besides – it’s only hair. It will grow out, or back, or can be covered up or tied back.
With 2 months left in 2019, I am not holding my breath that things will get easier or better or that I will suddenly be unburdened and calm, but I can always change my hair again. And that’s pretty much the same thing.
11 years ago this old man came into my life, and I am so grateful that he did. From his first night in our home, to this evening right now, this fluffy pants has never been too far from me. He follows me, trips me on the stairs, sticks his tail over my face in my sleep, yells at me, lays next to me on the couch, sits on my laptop while I try to type, whines for my yogurt and almond milk, and is my ever present companion. It’s hard to remember my life without him, and I am so thankful to have this fluffy ragamuffin to give me his unconditional love. He may never know how much I love him, and how much he means to me, but I really hope he does, because he is my sweet, sweet fur baby.
At this time a few years ago, I decided to push myself out of my comfort zone and get a retail job working in my local grocery store. My first shift was on Thanksgiving, and I spent most of the time bagging groceries while harried shoppers struggled to piece together the final bits of their family dinners.
While it has been a very long time since I worked there, I am thankful to continue to count some of the Women that I met there among my friends. This morning, when these to ladies finished their shifts at 7:30 am, I joined them at a very, very quiet Starbucks for a Thanksgiving catch up.
I am thankful that this lovely little woman chose me to be her mama – the kids tell me all the time about the Parent Store where they selected Dave and I to be their parents. I don’t know if most mamas feel this way, but I firmly know that I draw as much comfort from her as she does from me. She is so cuddly, and funny, and sassy, and creative, and bright, and kind, and beautiful, and empathetic. In so many ways she is my mini-me, and in so many ways she is so different from me that I am continually impressed by her thoughts and intuition.
I know that my life is more full and more complete because she is in it.
Thankful that I get to call this boy my son. The quietest and most affectionate of my two kids, this guy has a wicked sense of humour, and a sharp wit. He has been figuring out how things work since he was old enough to realize he wasn’t alone in the world. At 2 he told us that Mickey Mouse was a guy in a costume, at 4 he pointed out that the Elf on the Shelf has a tag on his butt and must be a doll, and has existential conversation about heaven and life on a regular basis, he is also imaginative and creative. He notices things in great detail, when you think he is distracted, and then is distracted from ordinary things when you assume that he was listening. He keeps me on my toes, makes me laugh, and is still willing to curl up into a little ball on my lap and whisper “I love you, mama”.
Kali J Desautels 