I have a lot of friends who love their jobs. Some of those friends love the jobs so much that they become married to them. There's no actual wedding, nor do they get presents. They don't even get a partner to get married to -- unless work-husband or work-wife counts, a term defined by Wikipedia as "a co-worker, usually of the opposite sex, with whom one shares a special relationship, having bonds similar to those of a marriage; such as, confidences, loyalties, shared experiences, and a degree of honesty or openness. The work spouse is a potentially key relationship when one's actual spouse or boy/girlfriend is not able to be there."

I never had a work spouse but I've had close relationships with co-workers that seemed as important as my personal ones; in fact, I've remained good friends with some of those people, specifically one girl, Dani, who is an executive for a company that seems to employ her beyond her regular work tasks. This girl works hard, travels for work, is sent on trips as bonus (not for work, but if there's some little extra work to be brought along who should really complain -- it's a free trip!). She attends fantastic events, meets celebrities, samples the most luxurious spas and products, goes shopping with her boss, exchanges gifts… in other words, she has a blast. But, once during a friendly chat with her boss, Dani brought up that she was starting to burn out from how hard she's been working, even with the perks of all the trips and the occasional gifts that she wouldn't be able to afford to buy for herself. Her boss didn't get upset but was more surprised than anything. She said, But you don't have a partner, you're not dating seriously and there are no children at home, what else would you do?

With all this free time, right? (Well, she used to be a painter, and a writer and designed clothes, but never mind.) My friend Dani probably laughed as if the boss had said the best joke and they never talked about it again. Dani still works there and I still get her texts "we need to see each other soon as soon as I'm back from LA!," and I know that soon may mean a month from now, if that, and when it does we won't even talk about how hard she's working because she'll be too tired to talk about it. I hope she reads our Last Workplace Taboos article about burnout and takes a hint.

Jowita

P.S. By the way, I asked if she'd like to be interviewed for this blog. She said yes but I simply couldn't get hold of her.

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When I decided to become a writer I was in my mid-20s and still learning English. Though it's funny to even say "decided" -- I was always a writer from as long as I can remember. I wrote stories and plays as a child, I had fun with words and took enormous pleasure in discovering new writers. But I never thought I'd do something with it as an adult and especially as a job. If anything, I saw myself working as a veterinarian because I loved animals, and later, I became really attracted to the idea of being a psychologist. I thought it would be a blast to sit in a chair and listen to other people's problems and charge them money. After I went to school, I discovered, naturally, that there's much more to psychology than sitting in a chair like a big Freudian goofball. I developed huge respect for the science of psychology and also learned that I didn't have the guts to do it myself. There is nothing "fun" about listening to other people's problems and I wasn't good enough at math to go into research.

I know, I know: why is this blog about my experiences again? Be patient. Speaking of patience, this is what this blog is really about. It's about being persistent, or specifically, about being persistent when achieving my biggest goal.

In my 20s, I began to write. Once the second language became a little easier to use, I wanted to write about everything and anything, and, as before, I discovered that I could get lost in words. And I found even more writers that I admired and wanted to follow and learn from. I also went back to school to get a postgraduate degree in journalism because I thought I should channel my wanting to write with an actual profession that would show me how to do it properly. It was also then that I had an idea to write something that was more substantial, namely a book. I had some vague notions about writing a book and I had a million ideas but it took almost nine years before I was able to sell a book to a major publisher. I can’t tell you the number of false starts and promising starts that didn’t go anywhere and the number of shady people and good people, who meant well but couldn’t help, and the amount of stress and frustration it took to get to this point. I was ready to give up so many times because of how much time this seemed to take. Years! The actual work (writing the book) was perhaps only one-third of what got me to this point. The other third was the discipline it took to stick with one project, the rest was perseverance.

Looking back I know I would do it all over again and in exactly the same way. Because it's what I always wanted and I never gave up on that goal. So yes, this blog is particularly about my own experience but I'm sharing it with you to tell you that you should never give up your dream, even if it takes forever, even when you are in the darkest of your moods and on the gloomiest days, because it may come true and how will you know it if you never try.

Jowita

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I'm one of these people who never thought I'd have to drive. I grew up in a large city but spent my youth in a small town where kids practically drove before they could even walk. I found their enthusiasm and love of wheels unappealing, plus we were always reading and hearing about so-and-so getting into an accident. Drunk driving was the equivalent to taking a spinning class here in Toronto, that's how passionately it was practiced. I drove in a car with a drunk driver once, and once in a trunk. Good times, I really recommend it if you haven't had that experience under your belt yet (not).

Finally, in my early 30s, it hit me that I should probably learn how to drive because I have a family now and it's about time. I took classroom classes right now am taking in-car classes with a patient yet stern gentleman who tries his best to teach me how to not to kill both of us and his car in the process. I am learning standard and it's winter. Our classes happen at night. It snows sometimes; last time we had a mini tornado going with newspaper boxes flying around onto the roads. Some friends -- driving friends! -- say that I'm completely insane to be learning in the winter, in Toronto. And perhaps they're right. Today I had my first car crash and am absolutely shaken up by it. It's nothing serious, everyone is healthy but my confidence level has plummeted (I am a fearless and stupid driver, though now the "s" word applies better).

I will drive again. And a standard. And I will ask my instructor 400 questions, most of them to do with driving. I have already learned that he has to drive close to 300 km a day to attend to all his lessons. He has students ranging from teenagers to a woman clocking at 70. The boys (because it's most boys) who moved here from the country do the best -- they know cars from their early years of having to operate farm equipment and so on. I'm fascinated by how the instructor's car is designed to teach driving -- all the extra mirrors, the brake on his side, the fact that students like me probably kill his transmission ruthlessly with our uncoordinated feet. I don't know how large his allowance is for damages like that but he indicated it's not huge. After the official classes are done, the instructor himself prepares people to pass their road test (G2) (I know I'm in no "danger" of passing that yet) and he himself gets tested as an instructor to make sure his training is up-to- date. Look out for a future career profile where I may just cover the job of a driving instructor.

Jowita

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Long time ago in a country in Europe we had "our" butcher, shoemaker, baker, the farmer from whom we'd get eggs and milk. My grandmother got her dresses made at "her" dressmaker and my mother would get sparkly water from a place downstairs across the street. My grandmother shopped for buttons for the sweaters she'd knit at ... a button store! This wasn't some magical land but communist Poland and I'm sure part of the reason for these services was because otherwise there would be nothing -- it's not like the sickly government had any money or desire to open up gigantic serve-all malls where all your needs could get met. No matter, I'm a fan of local and ma-and-pa shop, though probably not as much as a respectable hipster because I will go to Wal-Mart simply out of laziness and convenience. Still, to some extent I'm willing to support people who source and sell local, handmade products. I did all my Christmas shopping via Etsy.

According to the Vancouver Sun article Artisanal food creators find recipes for success, "Artisanal food products are a fast-growing sector of the food service economy." But it isn't necessarily because people are being pretentious, make cutesy chocolates to poo-pooh the big-box stores and show their superiority. As Marcus Samuelsson observes, "Many underemployed or unemployed are pulling themselves up by creating something on their own in order to become fully employed again."

Recently, a giant happy retail complex opened across the street from our office. It has a humongous grocery store and a big discount clothing store on the top floor. I go there a lot because it's easier than schlepping to the neighbourhood butcher/bakery shop (actually there are a couple of those around here). And I know that the giant happy retail complex itself is not so bad as it provides dozens of jobs for people so I can't be mad at it being here and stealing business from the local business owner. Still, I do feel guilty about it and am not sure how to make peace with those feelings.

Jowita

This is a hilarious parody about artisanal being taken to a totally different level.

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We all know that staying home with kids is not unicorns, roses and endless sleep. It's work. And, in Canada, men have been getting more and more involved with their children. According to the Labour Force Survey (PDF), in 2010, 54,000 men in two‐parent families (with at least one child under 16) were "stay-at-home" dads, 11 per cent, compared to one per cent in 1976. Toronto's Mio Adilman is part of that statistic, having been a stay-at-home dad since the birth of his daughter in 2010. A former radio and TV producer, he has spent almost two years "working 7 a.m. till 7 p.m." as a full-time dad. His wife travels a lot and is the family's breadwinner. It was decided that Adilman would be the primary caretaker because it made more sense in terms of their incomes. "We couldn't afford a daycare so we decided I'd do it. I've been staying home with Satchi for 17 months now."

Adilman points out that everybody focuses on the actual birth, "the 36-or-so-hours of hell of it," but then the notion that you can never rest again sets in. "I wish somebody told me that you really don't rest. People try to help but they don't help in the way you want them to," he says, and I agree, thinking of the many hours spent entertaining both the eager grandparents and the baby and falling flat on my face when the "babysitting" was over. As for Adilman, being a stay-at-home-dad he only wishes his friends would understand why he's so tired and can't hang out, why this is not personal. Have people made any comments about him being a male taking care of a baby? "Yeah. Somebody asked me if I lactate," he says and neither of us laughs. We are both too exhausted.

Jowita

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On the day of writing this blog I'm running on five hours of sleep. My toddler woke up at 4 a.m. and I made the mistake of taking him to bed with me because he's sick and I don't think clearly in the middle of the night and he was so miserable and I'm such a softie and, and ... and so on. We both fell asleep around 6:30 a.m. and woke up at 7:30, I got him ready, got me ready, got dropped off at the daycare (not me) and went to work (not him). Busy. Frantic. Underslept. Hey, have I written about this sort of thing before? I can't remember. I'm actually half-drunk. Or it feels like I'm half-drunk because that's how it is when you don't sleep but still have to function fully in your everyday working life.

I know I'm whining and I know that I'm quite privileged to be working and being able to pay for daycare and I've only one little guy to worry about while many other working moms struggle to make ends meet. I'm still baffled as to how so many of us manage to go to work and be quite productive when raising small kids. Or dealing with anybody in our life for that matter, anybody that may need help and attention -- a sick parent or a partner, or an animal (have you ever dealt with a really sick cat? Worse than a toddler, I guarantee you.) The reason I slept so badly last night wasn't just because of the sick toddler. It was because I lay there and obsessed over not sleeping and having to wake up and making it to work on time because I have to leave in time to pick him up from the daycare, and, oh my god, it's now 5 a.m. and I'm still lying there, thinking and trying to force myself to relax enough to sleep. And I'm getting kicked in the stomach by little feet while I'm trying to accomplish this. Anyway, I'm a mess today. I can still think clearly enough to finish this blog but ask me to come up with some good ideas for a bigger article and I'm toast. I have to put it off till another day where sleep is not a precious commodity like saffron.

And what keeps me going is knowing that we all (working moms, working partners, working children, working pet parents) usually pull through the difficult times and the lack of sleep and we make it to work and try to make the best of it. Yawn.

Jowita

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Is this job related? I don't know. Of course it is. Things that we have and that we lose make us who we are and sometimes -- or always -- aid in how we make our living. Everything can be job related. Even a so-called personal drama of an illness. In a very moving, piece, Unspoken Truths, Christopher Hitchens talks about how he's slowly losing his voice due to a brutal cancer.

Hitchens has agreed to document his illness and he writes about it for Vanity Fair half of the time. The other half of the time he writes what Hitchens writes about -- life and truth and more truth and his own beliefs and arguments, which I find immensely interesting.

If you listen to him actually speak, you might understand why losing his voice is such a horrible side effect (oh, and what a cruel name for it, "side-effect," like it was a side order, like French fries or a salad ... but it's so, so much more). But it's not only because he's losing an instrument, his voice. As he writes in this article, from what I understand, it is as if he were losing a part of himself.

Cancer is a horrible thing. It is not even a disease, in my opinion. It is an Invasion; it is the real Alien with its horrible tentacles and probing, squishy hands, with its destroying presence.

Some people who've had it say they've "beaten" it (cancer) they've "survived" it, as if they had gone to a war or suffered through an invasion and that's probably how it must feel.

I love listening to and -- most of all -- reading Christopher Hitchens. I hear his voice whenever I read him. If you know someone at work, fighting the horrible invasion, the sticky Alien, send them the best thoughts you have. Roll out the biggest cannons full of good thoughts -- the biggest ammunition you have -- from your artillery of being a fellow human.

Jowita

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I was sick and I am getting better now. I love my job (yes, I actually do) and I find peace and quiet and a certain type of haven (from my crazed-adorable-toddler-ridden life) when I'm at work. Unfortunately I have spent a lot of time at home resting due to a (possible) serious burnout. I've heard about burnout as something that people experience due to doing something strenuous for long periods of time, with little reward, etc. But in my case that couldn't have been possible. At least not work-wise. According to Wikipedia (which we consult only when really, really burnt-out, you see), this state is the "term for the experience of long-term exhaustion and diminished interest.” In other words, I have been unknowingly bloodily bored in my job. But how can this be? I am not. I take lots of time off because my toddler gets all kinds of diseases from day care and I, too, have been quite sick in the past few months, but I don’t feel like my job has anything to do with that. Interestingly, it is in my job that I find reprieve from my life.

Interestingly, in the Wikipedia entry, social support is listed as one of the factors that may help people dealing with burnout. It says: "Social support has been seen as one of the largest predictors toward a reduction in burnout and stress for workers. Creating an organizationally supportive environment as well as ensuring that employees have supportive work environments do[es] mediate the negative aspects of burnout and stress."

My friends have been visiting in droves and I've been getting so much support that I already feel better, and I feel that soon I'll be more than ready to sit back at my desk and relax and enjoy the peace of keyboards typing, photocopy machines swooshing, the phone ringing and quiet whispers with the occasional shouter shouting over everything that we all learned and lived to love. I don't mind. I'm so looking forward to it.

Jowita

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In my backyard there are no trees. There is however a ginormous branch hanging over a shed inside of which there are boxes and boxes of precious figurines of military vehicles and soldiers and such (don't ask) saved by my partner's father. Any time there's wind, the ginormous branch sways like mad threatening to thump the shed and elbow, or rather, ground the roof of the shed and with it the boxes of miniature soldiers and their tiny bombs and cannons to the ground. It is not my tree (it grows on my neighbour's property) but it will need to be cut down. It's us versus the tree. Not that I consider myself that attached to my boyfriend's father's miniature military junk but I have a toddler who tends to play in the backyard and you just never know when the tree will decide that it is time to tipple over. So. It. Needs. To. Go. (The tree, not the toddler.)

Right now as I write this (which is few days before you will be reading this) there are many men with yellow hardhats with their scary machines fretting over cutting the branch, in a method of chopping smaller branch by smaller branch, turning my tiny yard into something out of a tornado scene in an under-underbudget sci-fi film. If you live in the city of Toronto here are some things you need to know in order to transform your own abode into a similar looking event:

Do I need permission to cut down a tree on my property?

• It is unlawful to injure or destroy such trees without first obtaining a permit from Urban Forestry to do so; there are certain exemptions under each by-law.
• A person convicted of an offence under this by-law is liable:
• To a minimum fine of $500
• To a special fine of $100,000
• If you wish to injure or destroy a tree protected under the provisions of the Private Tree Bylaw, you must submit an application and receive a permit to do so. Submission of an application does not guarantee that a permit will be issued. Please note that the following items must be submitted with all permit applications:
• A completed permit application form
• A completed owner's authorization form if the owner has not signed the permit
• Application
• A detailed arborist report
• A landscape/replanting plan -- this must be filed with all permit application forms
• Tree protection plan (as applicable)
• Site plans (for applications which involve construction, existing trees must be accurately plotted on the site plan)
• Two copies of a recent legal plan of the survey with ravine protection line if the property is on a ravine
• Permit application fee

And so, here we are with negative numbers of dollars and peace of mind. Thanks, stupid tree branch.

(If you're interested in working with trees, read our career profile, The Green Executioner.)

Jowita

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I had an unfortunate incident happen to me the other day. I couldn't get out of bed. I'm 33, in good shape, energetic and more than willing to go to work; in fact, I like to work my butt off when needed. But that Tuesday it was game over for me. When I tried to get up my legs buckled underneath me like I was a young horse, my back spasmed and I shouted gibberish at my partner who tried to help me out. My sister was on the phone. I said (in non-gibberish) that I had no arms to help her and to leave me alone. And then I tried to get my toddler dressed and later my own self. The toddler didn't mind that I dressed him in a dragon costume. Now it was my turn. A dress. Very nice, ready to go. I had to go work. My partner kept arguing with me but I must've lost my sense of hearing that morning too because I didn't hear him well or at all. Things happened or didn't happen. I was not at work.

Next, the lovely doctor in the blue tie was telling me touch his nose, touch my nose. Okay. Count to 10. Then backwards from 10. Next. I was eating lunch getting angry at something my partner had done ages ago. Then I slept. Then I was in another part of the hospital where I was asked to walk a straight line. Back and forth. Touch my stupid nose. Touch his stupid nose. Touch her stupid nose. Touch noses! What day is it? Why so many noses? What city? Where are we? Who is this?

I had a CAT scan and various other tests done. Lots of blood taken, lots of questions asked. I asked questions too, never feeling too far off my job as a journalist/writer for Possibilities. Why did you chose nursing, why neurology? Why are you only allowed to read my EKG results but not tell me their interpretation? Medical science seemed so mysterious. I left the hospital in much better state dozens of hours later with some pills that make me extremely dopey (I'm typing this with one eye closed, sort of sleeping). I know that whatever they find out, it won't stop me from always wanting to know and learn more. And that is what keeps me alive and healthy above all. Wanting and learning.

Jowita

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My relative is currently dying of cancer. She is in a special rehabilitation home and will probably not leave it. If she passes on, she is leaving behind a business that's been running in her family for generations (since 1925). It's heartbreaking to know that there's nothing that can be done for her but it's also heartwarming to know that the business keeps on running. Why? Because her daughter, Sylwia, doesn't give up, doesn't stop to mope around, and keeps applying the old British adage of grinning and bearing it. It's so hard right now with her mother in this stage and having to run the extremely popular shop but there's no way to stop and give up -- things simply have to go on.

And I think this is what gives people who are not directly involved the sense of normalcy and hope. Those customers who line up at the shop every day and buy dozens of pastries, the people behind one of the federal political leaders who may or may not suffer from cancer. Who cares if it doesn't affect his ability to be a good leader? His illness is a private issue and as long as people keep it that way that's better. Of course people care, and it's ok for reporters to ask about personal issues like health, but separating them from business is what keeps it all in balance and makes everyone stronger all around.

Jowita

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The intro paragraph of the The Globe and Mail article Canada's Seniors: The Doctor Will See You Now reads: "Seniors are the fastest-growing segment of the population, with 4.8 million Canadians aged 65 and older. That figure will double to 10.4 million in 2036 and by 2051, one in four will be older than 65. But who will be their doctors? Today, there are only 238 certified geriatricians in Canada, and experts say an additional 500 more are required, plus more family physicians to treat the elderly."

It's a no-brainer that Canada needs more doctors specialized to work with seniors. In Canada, there’s a tradition of hospitalizing the ill, including seniors, who often become so-called bed-blockers, and would benefit much more from visits at home, not constant hospitalization. But in Canada, being a doctor to the elderly can be quite an ordeal: "Becoming a geriatrician requires significant training: three years of internal medicine training, plus two more years in geriatrics, for a total of five years. Geriatricians look at the medical, social and psychological issues affecting older adults and deal with memory loss, urinary incontinence, osteoporosis and multiple-medication issues." No wonder not many want to go through all this training.

Seniors fall and often need medication but they are also often overmedicated and over-hospitalized when, instead, their assessment could be done on much more subtle terms for better results. My grandmother fell at home (this is not in Canada but in Poland where the system of hospitalizing seniors is almost identical) and -- mostly because of how things are done with fragile ill seniors and for convenience -- was quickly taken to the hospital. She never left the hospital.

Jowita

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I have a friend who works all the time. When I say all the time, I mean 24-7, Sunday to Sunday, all the time. I can call this friend on Sunday evening and he's still in his office, working, usually saying something like, "I'm only here till 11 tonight." My friend is not a medical student or a lawyer, yet his schedule is rarely under a 90-hour week. The friend works in media, and the reason for all these extra hours is because he wants to prove himself to the boss and get promoted. Once he gets promoted he'll probably work even more, but at least he'll finally be able to afford to buy a condo that he's been dreaming of buying for years.

This is not so unusual, this type of schedule. I have another friend who worked for a major Canadian magazine and was known to do 16-hour days, six days in a row, during the production week every month. She didn't get paid overtime so she quit and moved on to another place that still wants her to work crazy hours -- but at least they're paying her for it. She's starting to search for her first house. She has to do it on Sundays only because this is the only time she gets off.

Actually, when I think about it, I have more than two friends who work crazy hours. Even the ones who don't often have side freelance gigs that bring in money. It's not because of greediness. It's because people need money to live here. Urban living is so expensive. Check out our frugal guides to make sure that you take advantage of everything that the city has to offer -- you might not get your hours back but you might save some money and make it a little easier on yourself.

Jowita

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In the busy world of job searching (in the busy world, period) it's often hard to stop and remind ourselves what is really important. I mean, of course getting a job is important and necessary, and so is paying bills, but it's also important to remember that we're not just job seekers or employees. This week, I listened to Brene Brown's talk about vulnerability and it cheered me up. According to TED.com, "Brene Brown studies human connection -- our ability to empathize, belong, love." Her talk explores what it means to be human and how we feel connected to one another. Some of it may surprise you. It surprised me.

Cheaper than therapy (free, actually), shorter and way less demanding, this was probably the best 20 minutes of my week. Because so far, my week's been awful. Broken house and broken appliances and stress. There were moments where I didn't know what to do make the anxiety stop, and there was really nothing to do, so I had to put up with it.

Then someone sent me the video and I kind of snapped out of it all. Winter is a tough season for most of us and -- to repeat an old cliché -- it seems like it will just never end. And so, whatever happens during this time of the year, it just seems that much bigger and badder. That's possibly what happened with me this week. So if you're going through a tough time, are stuck in your job or with your job search, don't despair -- the seasons change, things get better and sometimes it's not that hard to cheer yourself up. Have a listen.

Jowita

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Lately, I've been feeling pretty uninspired. For example, I'm having a hard time coming up with ideas for this blog, and I just feel generally defeated. I've had a few personal mishaps and I'm sure that has affected my overall well-being. But nothing makes things seem gloomier than the weather this time of the year. It's the lack of light and the fact that sometimes I leave home when it's still dark and get back ... just when it gets dark again. That's what makes this season a sad one for me. And not just for me.

According to It's a SAD Day: Less Daylight Darkens the Mood for Many article in the Daily Herald, "An estimated 14 million people in the United States suffer from SAD." SAD stands for seasonal affective disorder, also known as "extreme winter blues," which happens because of limited exposure to daylight. We're especially vulnerable to feeling down in the months when the days are shorter and when the world seems to be forever submerged in darkness.

So what can you do to prevent being SAD? "Start by exercising and limiting your carbohydrate and sugar intake," say the experts in the article. Also, "brighten your environment: Add extra lights to rooms, and open your blinds. Take a lunchtime walk in the sun. If you have the resources, vacation in a tropical location."

I tend to get so lazy in the winter months that even the thought of leaving my desk sounds too demanding. However, this year I will have to make an effort or you'll have nothing to read about in these blogs. I may also start looking into some last-minute getaways in December because nothing makes me more un-SAD than lying on the beach.

Jowita

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Seems like everyone and their dog who is over 80 is getting dementia these days. Though I'm vaguely somewhere between 18 and 78, I figure it's never too early to worry about a potential problem. Besides, I do have some circumstantial evidence that my grey matter may be on the decline. For instance, at work I more and more find myself wandering through the Internet with no idea of why I’m there or what I was looking for.

It's some small comfort to know that I'm not the only one worried about my brain eroding into a slithering mess of confusion and incomprehension.

In fact, noticing changes in memory and concentration and worrying about work performance and early signs of dementia is the "quintessential middle-aged worker's bugbear," write Dr. Fergus Craik and Dr. Donald Stuss in this article in The Globe and Mail.

But Craik and Stuss, part of the Cogniciti science team that created the Memory@Work product, say older workers can take measures that support focused thinking. They advocate a little cardio exercise, some cognitive training, a new and complex activity or two, and a low-fat diet. Even my traipsing through virtual space has some benefit -- UCLA scientists recently found that searching on the Internet can stimulate brain function.

Barbara Strauch, author of The Secret Life of the Grown-Up Brain, is a rousing cheerleader for the middle-aged brain. "The brain, as it traverses middle age, gets better at recognizing the central idea, the big picture," she writes in this article in The New York Times. "If kept in good shape, the brain can continue to build pathways that help its owner recognize patterns and, as a consequence, see significance and even solutions much faster than a young person can."

In the final analysis, we geezers have the potential to mentally soar, if we take concerted actions to improve our brain functioning. I'm not much for half-marathons or one per cent cottage cheese (as per Craik and Stuss), but I could happily squeeze in some more Googling now and again if it means sparking new life into my tired neurons.

kathyo

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This morning I woke up feeling as if I had died. Not died and gone to heaven, no. Actually died. My toddler has entered a new stage in his sleeping development (or lack of) where he thinks it's perfectly reasonable to get up at 4 a.m. and play. As result I'm walking dead, a zombie. And it's mornings like this when I really envy my stay-at-home mom friends. They can take naps! They can watch television! Bake a cake! But, of course, this is not at all what happens when you're a stay-at-home mom. It is a cliché, but taking care of kids is actually work. Worse, it is unpaid work and it may even cause you to lose money when you re-enter the workforce.

According to the "Motherhood Gap" in Wages Hits Women Hard article, there's a significant difference in earnings that's related to women taking time off to care for a family. "Mothers are losing more wages than their co-workers who take extended leaves for reasons including illness or caring for elderly parents." The study called Career Interrupted -- The Economic Impact of Motherhood calls these differences in earnings the "motherhood gap" because the hardest hit are women who leave work to have a family. We're far behind some Nordic countries such as Norway or Sweden where wage inequality between genders is constantly and actively addressed and corrected. But, until things change for the better here, the report suggests that women keep "build[ing] more experience before temporarily exiting."

Which is what most of my stay-at-home mom friends are doing. Whether it's working as freelance editors, photographers or writers, or starting a knitting business, most of those so-called "homemakers" are also hard at work at bettering their career skills. And, the truth is, most don't even have the time to take those naps I'm so envious of.

Jowita

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Many years ago, when I neither had dental benefits nor much money to speak of, one of my lower left molars became abscessed. This hell-on-earth pain quickly put all the minor aches, pains and inconveniences of my existence up until then into perspective.

Since the pain peaked late at night, I ended up being treated at a none-too-cheap emergency clinic by a dentist who shot me a disapproving look when I insisted he pull the offending molar from my mouth. Extraction certainly wasn't the best option, but it was the cheapest one, and, luckily, the crater left in my jaw wasn't obvious to anyone but me. Unluckily, that vast empty space changed my chewing pattern so much that it wreaked havoc on my overworked second right molar. The resulting root canal was no day at the beach.

Even before these intimate encounters with dentists, molars and bicuspids did not top my list of favourite body parts -- not even close. But the experiences gave me a healthy respect for teeth, the condition of which can have a huge impact on both your overall health and your employment prospects.

Job seekers with visibly bad choppers have no easy time of it. "You can't get a job in Woolworths with gaps in your teeth," Dr. Ian McIntyre, the ex- president of the British Dental Association, says bluntly in The Price of Perfect Teeth.

A Toronto Star article from a few years back profiles an almost toothless young man, Jason Jones, who was stared at by employers when he went on job interviews. Although he found work "out of the public eye," the physical pain Jason experienced forced him to slow down and he ended up losing these jobs. (Jason did get a new set of teeth -- see the startling difference it makes in his appearance in this video.)

This Star article doesn't candy coat the inadequacies of our dental system, something I don't dispute. Still, I've discovered there are some low- (or no) cost dental resources out there. I encourage you to take advantage of them -- more than just your mouth may be at stake.

kathyo

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The other day I was at Sick Kids hospital with my kid and I tried to put on a brave face as dozens of kids in wheelchairs and with IVs, bald heads and bruised eyes passed by. I couldn't help but notice the little boy curled up in a chair in the waiting room, looking way too familiar with the surroundings or the wispy-haired girl who wouldn't smile and clung onto her mom.

Then a clown girl showed up with a ukulele. She slumped down on the floor and started to sing things she obviously just made up on the spot -- her voice wavered all over the place and she couldn't play her ukulele at all. But she played on and sang off key and rolled her eyes and commented on kids' outfits and such, and joked and made funny sounds, and all the little feet pattered over to her and soon she was surrounded by a big crowd of kids. It included the sad girl who was now smiling a little and, of course, my son who I suspect is a bit of a clown himself.

We came home that day with cautiously good news about our son. After I put him to bed, I Googled "clowns" and "Sick Kids" and learned about the Therapeutic Clown Program. It's a job! And, despite appearances, the job does not just involve clowning around: according to The Canadian Association of Therapeutic Clowns, it's a regulated position with specific training that is abided by a code of ethics. In the article Clowning at Sick Kids Lucia Cino, manager of the clown program, explained how the work is done: "Therapeutic clowns are not entertainment clowns. In the hospital environment, therapeutic clowns at Sick Kids work solo with patients and partners who lead the play. Patients decide if, when, how and where this safe play will occur, empowering the children when they feel least empowered."

I don't know how these clowns are able to deal with such depth of misery that is a sick child but I have nothing but admiration for them. In the short documentary Prescribing Play, Teegan Jones (Rose, the clown) said that it's only the moment that matters and that all you have to focus on is what you do now, even if it's something as seemingly trivial as a twirling around with a little girl. There's no point of thinking that the same little girl is in palliative care -- all you need to do is make that day special for her. It was actually Rose that played ukulele for the kids when we were there. Despite the stress of being there, she certainly made our day at the hospital special.

Jowita

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During Toronto's recent heat wave, I didn't once turn the stove on in my apartment-turned-inferno. I figured if I couldn't stand the heat, I'd just stay out of the kitchen. But not everyone gets the choice.

One sweltering morning, on my way to my air conditioned office, I was riding the streetcar through Parkdale and passed Yummy Stuff Bakery, whose front door was wide open. As I sat perfectly still and continued to profusely perspire, I began to wonder what it's like to work a full day in the heat.

As you might imagine, doing "hot" jobs during a heat wave is no fun. Pavers, roofers, construction workers, dry cleaners, bakers and firefighters (amongst others) are practically playing with fire during heat advisories. Without taking proper precautions, like drinking lots of fluids and taking reprieve in cooler areas every hour or so, workers run the risk of developing heat stroke.

The Montreal Gazette reports that the City of Toronto suspended road work during the unbearable flare up, while Montreal road crews were forced to toil on in the scorching heat. And, while several construction companies allowed employees to leave early, some workers were hesitant to do so since they'd lose out on pay.

A friend who plants trees throughout the city of Toronto told me that during the heat wave her crew would start at 6 a.m. and finish at noon, although even working those hours was trying. Outside of calling in "hot," if you’re stuck working outdoors, your best bet is to take it easy and try to keep cool.

Veronica

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