I’m not sure if it’s from getting sober and growing older, or a combination of both, but my definition of fun, and this blog, have changed.
Back when I first got into the blogging game, around eight years ago, I was dubbed that “martini mom.’ You could find me galavanting around ‘the Valley’ at parties, wine tours, events, etc., always with a glass of something in hand.
I’m not going to lie; I had a lot of fun and met many interesting people, which was a welcome diversion from the monotony of diaper duty and The Wiggles.

And, who would have guessed I’d be one of the lucky ones who were able to make a decent side hustle out of attending and promoting parties?

It allowed me the best of both worlds — to be able to stay at home with my kids, but also enjoy some adult time and feel ‘part of,’ which was something I missed dearly leaving my full-time job as a community news reporter.
At the time, it worked for our family, but I did get a lot of raised eyebrows and questions.

“Oh my Gawd, Kristyl, how do you have the energy to always go to these things?
Or.
“You’re so busy, busy!!
And.
“Does your husband mind you going out all the time?”

And that’s just what was said to my face.

How did I manage to stay at home all day with two toddlers, juggle a full schedule of freelancing, blend my own baby food and blog by day, while swapping my yoga pants and slippers for dresses, heels, and small talk by night?

It wasn’t all popped corks, false lashes, and parties.

Running a blog and freelance business was a struggle at times, especially when my two worlds would collide, which they often did.

Take my media debut for example.

I called my mom one afternoon pleading for her to help me clean my house as CTV was sending a reporter to do a segment on Shopkins from our living room in less than an hour — live. I didn’t want the world to see the crushed fishy crackers, headless dolls and magic markers strewn about our floor, or the pile of dishes in the sink encrusted with the previous night’s dinner.

It was an exciting and glamorous time for this Valley mom, but I had my good old husband to help me keep my head from getting too big.

Right after an interview on CBC radio, I clicked off the phone, feeling pretty high on myself when my husband brought me back down to Earth.

“Hey, superstar, when you’re done there, can you wipe your baby’s butt??”

When I wasn’t blogging, I was bringing in money freelancing for the local newspaper. If I thought working in a newsroom on deadline was stressful, I was really about to meet my match.

One balmy July morning, in a humid townhouse without air conditioning, my youngest decided to have a meltdown. But it wasn’t just any meltdown, it was one for the books and it happened while I was interviewing the mayor for a feature story.

Her little fists wailed on the bathroom door while I struggled to write down notes using an eyeliner pencil on a toilet paper roll.

At 30, I was young, driven, and had this strong desire to prove to myself and the world that you can have it all. And for a while, I did.

I became runner up in the Top Vancouver Mom Blog awards, earned a highly coveted spot for my family on a media trip to Disneyland and was making enough money off the blog with the help of an agent to avoid going back to work.

It was a lot of balls to keep in the air; eventually, a few slipped, and I grew tired of keeping up appearances.

I got sober, started skipping a lot of events, and discovered a lot of life’s simple pleasures that I had overlooked in the past.

Shortly after, I went back to work. My girls were both in school full time and the stress of whether or not a freelance client would go through with payment was taking its toll on our bank account and my sanity. One day we were flying a helicopter to a party, the next we were unsure if we could afford to put gas in our tank or groceries in the fridge.

Nowadays, I write for the sheer love of it — not to bring in a full paycheque, which alleviates so much stress.

For as long as I can remember, I looked outside myself for approval and happiness. I often worried about missing out and believed everyone was having more fun or was happier than myself. Social media doesn’t really help matters. Am I right?

At 38, that stuff doesn’t matter as much.
Don’t get me wrong, I still absolutely love a good night out, but I equally love my cozy nights in.
Give me a heated blanket, a good cup of obnoxiously hot coffee, a puzzle, my pups snuggling at my feet, and girls giggling while playing with their Barbies, and I’m in my happy place.

My ambition is still there, bubbling beneath the surface, but it’s no longer driven by my ego to be the best.
It’s through slowing down these past few years and truly savoring the little things that I’ve found serenity, and finally, myself.

Stick around, I have plenty of bloggin’ left in me. Just please mind the mess and chaos that is my-so-called-life.