So here we are the final post of 2025. And honestly? I’m still not entirely sure where to start this story. The beginning? The middle? The crazy? The part where I questioned every life choice while eating cold chicken nuggets over the sink?
You know what, let’s just start where it all began, because that seems like the least chaotic option.
Back in March 2020 (yes, that March 2020), my ex‑husband and I separated. And because the universe has a sense of humour, we were both laid off at the same time. No income, no stability, no idea what day it was, just vibes and government updates.
So we made a decision that would make some people gasp, some people judge, and some people nod like “Yep, that tracks”:
We stayed in the same house.
Yep. One house. Two adults. Two kids. Zero income. One global pandemic.
What could possibly go wrong?
We turned our home into a very Canadian version of a duplex:
*He moved into the garage loft, which sounds tragic but honestly, it was kind of cozy in a “man cave meets storage unit” sort of way.
*I stayed in the master bedroom with the kids, who were basically my emotional support humans.
Weekends became our training ground.
He took the kids on his weekends, I took them on mine, and I made sure I was out of the house during his time so he could learn what solo parenting actually felt like, without me hovering like a stressed-out hummingbird.
During the week, we lived these weird, parallel lives. The kids saw both of us, but we weren’t together. He spent most of his time in his garage kingdom, and I floated around the house doing the “holding everything together with caffeine and determination” routine.
But here’s the thing:
If I cooked dinner, he joined us.
If the kids needed something, we both showed up.
If there was tension, we swallowed it like adults who had no energy left to fight.
We weren’t a traditional family anymore but we were still a family.
And that mattered more than anything.
Those four months of co‑living were awkward, uncomfortable, and occasionally made me question whether I should just move into a tent in the backyard. But I would do it all again. Because it gave our kids something priceless:
A slow, gentle introduction to a new version of family.
Not broken.
Not less.
Just… different.
And that’s something I’ve always told them:
“We may not look like the families in storybooks, but we are still a family. You, me, Dad, we’re all still us. Just in two homes instead of one.”
As we head into 2026, I want to keep being transparent with you. I’ll be sharing more about our divorce, our mediation plan, and the decisions I made that some people might call “questionable” but I promise, I’ll explain the why behind every one of them.
If you have questions, topics you want me to dive into, or just want to know how many times I’ve cried in a grocery store this year (spoiler: more than once), please ask. I’m an open book, a slightly chaotic, coffee‑stained book, but still.
I’m so excited to see where this blog goes next.
Thank you for being here, for reading, for cheering, for relating, and for reminding me that families come in all shapes, sizes, and floor plans.
Until next time, have a wonderful week, and an even better year ahead.
Two Homes One Heart 