Chantal Kreviazuk on being a mother

Career person versus mother
I've always been a "career person." I thought my work would be even more important to me after I became a mom. There would be clear black and white lines between our house and our home studio. Black and white lines between Chantal the mom and Chantal the musician. But those black and white lines are very grey, and most days they are stained with tears and heartache. Leaving the boys to cross to the other side of the house, where we have our studio, can break me apart.

I once had a beautiful cousin who died suddenly at the age of thirty-six, just a few years before I had Rowan. She was like the sister I never had. She left behind two- and four-year-old girls and a loving, awesome husband. After Rowan was born, when things were tough, I thought of her. When Rowan was puking or having explosive diarrhea, or screaming and peeing all over me at the same moment, I would think of her up in heaven laughing at me. And when Rowan would make sounds for all the animals I named while we lay in bed at night, I would think of her and miss her and feel sad and blessed at the same time.

A magical eight minutes
Every Thursday, Rowan and I have a special ritual. We go to a parent-toddler class in a building at the top of a hill. You have to park your car at the base of the hill and do the eight-minute walk up with your child. It is a magical eight minutes. We listen to the birds, look for squirrels, see of the ducks have come by the creek for a visit, look to see if any flowers are in bloom. Sometimes we sing. Sometimes we say nothing at all. Most of the time, Rowan, halfway up the hill, says, "Uggie, uggie?" which is his own unique way of asking to be carried.

After we finish our class, the teacher gives Rowan a sticker on his belly button and we make our way down the hill and hop into the car. We head to an eatery at a little mall for French toast and latkes. There is a toy store steps from the restaurant, and we pick up a new toy on the way home.

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