The Montreal Adventure

Suitcase Explosion, IKEA Redemption, and Other Lessons from Montreal

I went to visit my daughter in Montreal. She had just returned—from the Yukon, no less—about three months before my arrival. Let’s pause here for context: she had not unpacked. Not fully. Not even kind of.

Now, this child does not travel light. She is a glorious, committed pack rat with a deep, emotional relationship to clothing. And not just any clothing—outlandish clothing. Vintage, thrifted, neon, ruffled, fringe-laden, and occasionally feathered ensembles that make me quietly wonder whether I’m brave enough to be seen in public with her. (Spoiler: I am, but with the facial expression of someone who’s just realized she has become her own mother.) And then, inevitably, we’re out on the street and some impossibly cool 22-year-old stops her and gushes over her outfit. “Where did you get that jacket? You look amazing!” And there I am, sheepishly holding my tote bag and wondering when I stopped understanding fashion. Probably around the same time I started thinking orthopedic shoes were cute.

Anyway. The suitcase explosion.

It was real. Picture a small Montreal apartment, with clothing strewn like confetti from a very specific, very dramatic parade: “The Return of the Queen of the North: Now with Bonus Fur Trim and Mismatched Socks.”

I spent a week there.

Fourteen loads of laundry.

One IKEA dresser.

One humble screwdriver from Canadian Tire.

Zero power tools. (Yes, I want full brownie points for that. Maybe even a medal.)
I folded. I organized. I made piles. I muttered under my breath. I sorted socks like a woman possessed. I assembled the IKEA dresser with nothing but grit, determination, and the vague rage of someone who just stepped on a rogue sequin.

And slowly—miraculously—order was restored.

Now, am I under the delusion that it will stay this way? Absolutely not. I’m a mother, not a magician. But here’s what I learned —
Mothering changes. Sometimes it’s diapers and snacks. Sometimes it’s screwdrivers and color-coded drawers. Love without judgment is a gift. For them, yes—but also very much for us.

And most importantly: Too much stuff makes tidying impossible. Because when you have more things than space, you’re not messy—you’re overwhelmed. It’s a silent, low-grade stress that hums in the background and leaves you feeling like something’s always undone.

But when your stuff has somewhere to go? Tidying becomes a breeze. Like, an actual, satisfying ta-da moment.

So I left Montreal with a full heart, a sore back, and the quiet pride of someone who conquered chaos with nothing but an Allen key and maternal love.
And maybe next time, I’ll pack a power drill. And a tiara. Just in case we run into another fashion parade.