I am probably busier than I have ever been in my life. I barely stop moving all day and when I do, I collapse in a “stick-a-fork-in-me-I’m-done” kind of way.

But here’s the thing. And I will save some of you a little bit of time and get to my point right out of the gate, so if you are so inclined, you can just skip right to the end of the post and say, “THAT’S AWESOME ALI.” or you can click the little “x” button at the top and be all “Eff you, Alimartell. I’m not commenting on this post.” Either way, the choice is yours. BUT…so, the thing is this: I AM, BY FAR, THE HAPPIEST I HAVE EVER BEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.

Now, I can give good whine. Trust me, I am really good at it. I can whine about having to replace my appliances with money that I don’t have. And about my husband wanting to replace his dead Civic with something that, once again, boasts a lovely little stick shift, while I firmly believe that I look smokin’ hot while driving said stick shift, I would rather have root canal that drive through another winter with a stick-shift car. Twice. I can whine about not ever being able to find a babysitter…about my washer and dryer being too small…about Isabella never having any clean socks…about my dog barking too much…about having to make meat-free, nut-free lunches every day…about getting tickets for parking more than three hours on the street…about how I totally missed the boat on having another baby and my ovaries totally want one…

See what I mean? I’m a pro.

But, you guys.

THIS? Is part of my job.

Yes. MY JOB.

I live in a house that is just lovely (hello, curb appeal AND walking distance to Starbucks AND wainscoting. THE WAINSCOTING). I get to drive my children to school every single day and I get to pick them up every single day. I get to meet their friends and their teachers and the other moms. My job is a lovely combination of working at an office (with people!) and working in my pajamas in front of my television and talking to myself, but pretending that I’m talking to my dog. I get to spend time in downtown Toronto, which I love and never used to get to see and you know, I am always up for a good subway story…except when that dude farted on me, because THAT was just not okay. I get to write – both for business and for personal. I have a sister-in-law who, when she sees I am in a pinch for a babysitter..says “bring them over to my house! Let them have a sleepover!” to help save the day. I live with a chef. I have excellent best friends.

And then there’s that whole Toronto International Film Festival thing….

(PS. These images are all mine. Please don’t steal. It’s just not classy. Once I figure out how to watermark my images with the lovely watermark that the lovely Becca made for me…they will be watermarked, but, um, until then, I’ll just whine about it.)

(Also, you can check out my Juice column for my TIFF coverage. I will be updating it often)

See, whining is just easier. It’s also usually funnier. I’m not good at admitting things are GOOD, even though I am super quick to tell you when things are not so good. Try it…give me a compliment. See what happens. It’s called self deprecation. I could medal in it. But sometimes, for myself, I just need to admit it. Things are good. They are so good.

I mean, obviously, if I could just randomly bump into Jon Hamm in Yorkville, my life would be even better.