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Photo by Eugene Chystiakov from Pexels

Coding tests are a big source of frustration for developers. When I started out as a developer in 2016, my very first coding test was, I sh*t you not, a 30-minute refactor of a React application. (Yes, the test was TIMED). And this wasn’t a simple project, oh no, it was a checkout form involving taxes and multiplication and scary ES5 syntax and when I submitted it back 30 minutes later, I sent a blank email with


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A few beautiful cheesecakes because I guess I’m a Golden Girl now

I often forget that I am 39.9 years old. I may go a few hours without looking in the mirror, and feel all young and cute and thin and then I go to the washroom and — bam! Grey hair, wrinkles, rosacea, and a strange neck ‘change’ that happened overnight. I see my stomach, the official first home for my kids, and then I see some weird stuff happening with the skin above my cleavage and I immediately picture myself in a long-term care facility.

When I speak with the younger people in my office, I often catch myself referring…


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I live in Toronto, home of the Hospital for Sick Children, more often affectionately referred to as “Sick Kids.” Over the past year, our local children’s hospital has become social-media-famous and inarguably, regular-media-famous, with the release of a ground-breaking, award-winning ad campaign championed by the SickKids Foundation, the powerful fundraising branch of the hospital.

The first commercial, called SickKids VS: Undeniable, was released in October 2016. It depicts children as disease-fighting warriors, going into battle with their prosthetic arms, dialysis machines, and wheelchairs.


My son is sitting on the examination table, legs crossed as he holds an iPad with two grimy hands. He looks at me with joyful naughtiness as he motions to throw it on the floor.

“No thanks, buddy!” I catch his eyes, and then place the iPad back on his lap. “Mama has to listen to the doctor now.”

My son’s eyes dart between us, then focus back on his Elmo app. I wait for his face to have a minimally engaged glaze before turning back to the surgeon.

“Can you explain that again?”

I think it’s the third time…


The week before Christmas, I came across an article from Today’s Parent listing the top 12 indoor playgrounds in Toronto. I was like, cool! I checked out each one to see if any were close to my home. I noticed that most sites had a lengthy “Rules” section. I assumed this was going to be standard stuff, like “don’t let your kid be a jerk!” or “please don’t come into the building with fireworks or active norovirus!”

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A yellow and red indoor playground structure

There was one rule that appeared on each and every site:

WE ARE A NO-SHOE ZONE! SHOES ARE ABSOLUTELY PROHIBITED AND THE WEARING…


I recently decided, out of nowhere, to start training for a 10 km run. I was a toe-in-toe-out type of runner for years, working my way up to 5 km, then always quitting. I had some pretty good reasons for putting running on hold: pregnancy, random injuries, didn’t feel like it, started hating it.

But a few months ago, I announced to the world, “Fuck this shit” and start running. I stopped listening to any and all advice and just ran. I ran whenever I felt like it, and my only rule was to never run two days in a…


It had felt like forever since I last visited a midway, carnival, town fair, or an amusement park, so I was happy to indulge in some action-packed fun a few weeks ago. There were definitely some familiar sights, some staples from my childhood that will forever be a part of the midway experience: the smell of popcorn and cotton candy, high school kids with microphones beckoning us to spin/smash/shoot for a prize, the song “The Final Countdown” being played every 7 minutes or so. But at this recent visit, I noticed some new things. (New shit, if you will).

Let’s…


If you would like to take a peek inside the armpit of the worst part of the internet, have a look at the sanctimonious craphole disguised as the comments section on the following thing I wrote:

One of the comments, which has since been deleted, went something along the lines of:

I’m going to create a character in Assassin’s Creed named after the author and I’m gonna have a big smile on my face when I murder her over and over cause she’s a stupid c*nt and she should watch her back from all the angry gamers over here.


I know these years are rough. Apparently, the middle school years will be the toughest on us as moms. My kids are still little — 2 and 5 years old — but not a day goes by where I don’t give a mental high five to all the moms and dads of 10–14 year olds. Not only do you have to deal with a roller coaster cocktail of hormones coursing through your kid, you’re helping them transition to a more competitive and stressful, yet less personal school environment. …


You start to hide any inklings of intelligence or creativity. This 9 to 5 job has quickly turned into a game of checks and balances, and it seems easier to just hide.

Hide these, like you hide your cleavage at work, because you know those things are too distracting. Pretend to not know the answers so your male co-worker can explain them to you. The answers you already know. The answers you probably originally thought of.

This is for the best, because without this display of soft cluelessness your soft misogynist co-worker won’t bring his A-game. He sits. He mopes…

Jennifer Philp

software developer; i write maybe one thing a year but it's usually pretty good. motherofbones.wordpress.com

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