My love for my son is no less fierce or intense. But yes, it is different. Part of this is clearly because of their 3.5 year age gap. For example, communication: My daughter has a stunning vocabulary for her age and a wisdom that is hard to put into words. My son is just learning to speak. It is easier for me to relate to my daughter in many ways, because she can tell me how she is feeling and what she wants and she will sit down with me, whereas my son uses non-verbal communication, his dozen words and a lot of running.

But, as I said, my love for him is unquantifiable. Just this morning the four of us were up early and all cuddled on the couch in the basement, listening to my son’s new favorite song (and let me tell you, he makes it known) and I kind of nuzzled up to his head and inhaled him, like people do with newborn babies. He smells delicious. I can’t describe it, but I got so lost in that smell, I could have stayed there forever.

But if we are being really, truly honest, which I always am, I think that the part of my relationship that mixes me up a bit is the fact that he was born and I subsequently lost my mind. So my feelings about our introduction are a combination of bliss, gratitude, joy, terror, sadness, pain, guilt and some PTSD. Once my mental health started to improve and I was left alone, again, to take care of my son, I thought, “How am I going to do this? How will we work?”

My little guy has surprised me from day 1 of his existence in my womb, and hasn’t stopped. He cracks me up, for in the span of 3 minutes, he will steal my kale smoothie, switch the Living Room TV to a setting that I can’t figure out how to fix, take apart my bathroom vanity, while marching around, bag of pretzels in one hand and blowdryer in the other. (This is what he did after lunch today.) He just tried to race his Matchbox cars over my computer keyboard. He is just different than I am. I am lazy. I like to play chill games. He likes to go go go go go go go go go go.

But something hit me today, as I got dressed, and I was inspired to journal it, as he deserves it. I wanted to write about him. My closet happens to be in my son’s bedroom, so as I picked out my outfit, I sat him on his glider and talked to him. “I’m just putting on my shirt now! What do you think?” And I smiled at him as broadly as I could and he smiled back, with his entire face. I ran to the bathroom that is across the hall from his bedroom and waved to him. He continued to beam.

“We are doing this,” I thought.

This, this period of time right now, is an odd one; This is not what I expected from my life, and I feel the entire spectrum of emotions when I think about it, ranging from extreme sadness to pure happiness. This morning, on that couch, my head in his hair, I was as blissful as anyone could be.

And then there are other times, when I am trying to figure out my path forward, and I get down.

But I realized today that I have this constant reminder with me; My little strength symbol.

I want to be happy, not just for myself (in fact, I put myself last, but that’s a whole different story), but for him.

So right now I am sitting on the floor of the basement, perched on his “Anywhere Chair”, typing, as he runs around, playing trains, sliding down the rollercoaster, handing me a plastic croissant and saying, “Apple, mama?” as he shoves it into my mouth, climbing on the furniture and continuing to mess with yet another TV. I am now listening to the sound of my home phone dialing.

But we’re doing this.

And even though I just had to get up from my chair on the floor (despite my inherent laziness) to hang up the phone because he actually did just call someone, we are doing this.

And so I am going to go now. Not just because he is dialing more numbers, but because I want to give him my time. I want to play with him, cooking together in his fake grill. I want to help him to do a puzzle. I want to smell his head.

So, it may not have been the easiest path,

and every single day still has it’s challenges,

but I get to smell a heavenly head, and see a huge smile that has all but 2 teeth filled in, and laugh at the little drop of milk that gets caught in the cleft of his chin and live in a constant state of surprise and amazement and awe.

And I get to continue to learn, from my baby, how to be strong.

(Our respective perches. At least for this second.)

Update: My mom just called.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Nothing. You called me? I got a missed call from your home phone.”

My son freakin’ called my mom.

“His first call to Bubbie!” she exclaimed, so excited.

“He is delicious.”

And I have to agree.

The post We are doing this appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

So today, when a beloved babysitter came to spend time with the kids, they were overjoyed. She took them to the park to play and on a trek to find an open ice cream shop (which she did. Score!).

My kids love their babysitters; I can’t even call them “babysitters”, because, as I said, they are more like dear friends or aunts. They are family. In any case, as much as my kids adore their caregivers, my son is in a “mama” phase, so he freaks out whenever he sees me and the babysitter in the same room.

So, when I have childcare help, which is a crucial part of my getting well plan, I have to make myself scarce. And, to be honest, quite often I will have a babysitter here so that my kids can engage in fun, lively activities requiring physical energy that I do not have. I will be home, off of my feet, while my kids play hide and seek, or trek up and down three staircases from the basement to the third floor and back, or run around the park, etc.

(Author’s note: This was supposed to be a happy, funny post. I actually started to write it yesterday, but now I feel sad and guilty. This is the hardest part of my treatment plan. Everything I have, I give to my kids. But sometimes, that still isn’t enough.

5 minutes later, Editor’s note: now that I am in this stage of the publishing process, I feel better. Happy, again. I won’t judge you if you don’t judge me.)

In any case, yesterday, while the kids were out getting ice cream and swinging at the park, I used the opportunity to work in the kitchen. I prepped our family’s dinner and did some cooking and was all set to make myself a smoothie for my afternoon snack, when I heard the front door open.

I expected that they would come in the house and head straight down to the basement to play, but when I heard them approaching the kitchen, there was nothing I could do but duck. It was like a movie. I just ducked and hid, right by the sink where I had been chopping and stirring.

The babysitter came in and sat at the kitchen table with the baby, feeding him the rest of his ice cream; BUT, her back was to me, so she had no idea that I was there, curled up, and, fortunately, she was inadvertently blocking me from the baby’s view. I stayed crouched down for a few minutes until my daughter came into the room and I managed to silently flag her down. She signaled to the babysitter and we all laughed, noiselessly. Then, as quietly as I could, I moved the trash can and recycling bin in front of me, so that I was further blocked from the baby’s sight. The babysitter fed my hungry boy, between giggles and my daughter, that little pip, said, “Oh, there is a problem here behind the trash can. I think some glass broke so I am just going to guard it so that no one gets hurt.”

She moved a few other things over to block me, saying, “Here. I am putting a stool in front of this mess. What an accident!”

(She also served as my photographer, grabbing my phone from the counter and snapping some shots to document this crazy, silly moment.)

Ten minutes later, the baby finally finished his Cookies and Cream and I was able to unwind my body out of the pretzel in which I had been contorted.

So, basically, what I am saying is that these gymnasts and yogis and circus performers may be incredibly skilled in the art of flexibility, strength and contortion,

but,

don’t count us moms out;

Because if anyone knows how to maneuver swiftly across the perimeter of a sleeping baby’s nursery without making a sound,

or hide behind the smallest of items to avoid being spotted,

or balance precariously so that the floor does not creak to give her presence away,

it is a mom.

The post Cirque du Momei. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

We shared a chocolate covered m&m pretzel and she told me about her day.

And then we got on the subject of “describing” things. At first she was a bit confused by the whole concept, so I said, “Here, let me describe this pillow in three words: It is square, it is fuchsia and it has flowers on it.”

“Mom, those are leaves,” she corrected me.

I asked her to describe me in three words, but said that it couldn’t be about anything physical, that she could see.

She said:

Sweet

Smart

Takes good care of me

I was very touched.

We went through many important people in our lives, as she described them using three adjectives and she was on the nose for the most part, except for the fact that one of the descriptions of my mother was, “She helps Zaydie make us pancakes.”

[Note: I literally could not even type that without laughing]

My mom is not a cook.

In any case, it was a really sweet exercise and one that I hope helps her to be a more conscious and reflective human being.

And then we got on the subject of the movies, which led us to a discussion on the Muppets.

So I taught her about Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggie and did horrible impersonations of both–

my husband had joined us by this point and was much better–

and then I told her something that I thought was true but was an error.

I told her that there are these characters called Muppet Babies and they only come to life when people are not around, like with Doc McStuffins, and that when the grown-up speaks it sounds like, “Wah wah wah wah wah wah”.

Only one of those facts proved to be true.

The Muppet Babies live in a nursery and are taken care of by a talking Nanny who is fully aware of their presence.

But she thought the idea of the “Wah”-ing adult was very funny (as did the many of the fans of Charlie Brown, where that actually happens, I assume).

“Oh!” She said. “So if I wanted to say, “I really like this Buddha, I would actually say ‘Wah Wah Wah Wah Wah Woo Wah’, right?”

And all of the above is to make one simple point:

My kid is weird, in a most fantastic way, and she totally gets it from me.

Wah Wah.

(Translate that and you get a pretzel!)

P.S. I really like the Muppet Babies theme song. See? I’m weird.

The post She gets her weirdness from me. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

It will be my daughter’s fourth picture day at her Pre-School and it is always an exciting day for the kids and their parents.

In the past, we have always made sure to pick out special outfits with care.

Last night, before bed, my daughter and I made a plan to pick out a special outfit this morning for her picture day.

“I think I want a tank top with a long-sleeved shirt underneath.” I remember her saying, but I did not think much of it.

This morning, I woke up to the sound of the baby, but my daughter had already been up for awhile.

When I peeked in her room, I saw that she had already gotten dressed.

She was wearing purple leggings and a hot pink and black striped tank top with a studded peace sign–with a coral-pink long-sleeved shirt underneath.

And hair chalk. Hot pink chair chalk.

At first, I subtly hinted at the fact that we would obviously be changing for picture day, as I changed her brother and said that we would go down for breakfast.

“But mom,” she said. “I don’t want to get anything on my Picture Day outfit.”

I opened my mouth to protest and then I stopped.

This is what she wanted to wear to express herself. This is the outfit that makes her feel good today, and she did it all by herself.

I texted my mommy bestie, whose son is also having his picture taken today, and I asked her, “What makes me a better mom?” But I already knew the answer.

If my girl has the confidence to rock pink hair chalk to school, 1 month shy of being 5 years old, then more power to her.

So I told her that we would be very careful with her special outfit and I assured her that I would make sure to style her hair so that the pink was clearly visible.

“I think I look perfect,” she said; her exact words. And I could cry while typing this, as I am so proud of the person that she is becoming.

I asked if I could take her picture for my blog, and she is now an expert on how to pose for Mommy, Ever After, as opposed to regular photos, as she knows that I don’t show her face on my site.

So here she is. This is picture day.

And my kid? She chose a peace sign. I could not be more proud.

Best picture day ever.

Featured image via

The post Picture Day. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

I am also making much more of an effort to meet my basic health and human needs.

And as great as that is, and though my quality of life has improved over the last few weeks, that comes with a catch.

My daughter turns 5 next month and as my very close friend said today, “She is a very mature 5″ which is true; almost an understatement. She is wise and empathetic and intuitive; but that also means that she can be both cunning and cutting.
She is now at a point in her language where is able to identify the adjectives that represent the tone in which one is speaking.

For example, if I were to say something like, “Yes, that would be awesome if the baby took the ice cream and smeared it all over the kitchen floor,” she would reply with, “Mom, your just being sarcastic.”

She gets nuance and emotion. And she can use that to her advantage in mostly positive ways, but goodness does it make it hard sometimes. This weekend I had to teach her what “manipulative” meant.

She had taken to saying things like, “I am going to tell you something that I want to do, and if you don’t let me do it I am just going to tell you now that I will be sad forever and I will not be able to stop crying for three months.”

I called her out on this, turning the tables with examples, and we have now changed the language to, “Mom, I would really like to do something. If you say no, I may be disappointed but it’s ok.”

But today, she really hit me where it hurts.

She found that guilt soft spot,

the place in all of us where it is tender and sensitive and fragile,

and she gave it a nice wallop.

My daughter was very disappointed when I sent our babysitter home a little early so that she could avoid driving into the city in bad weather. But instead of using our new phrase, she cried hysterically and said that she was so sad that she could not play with her best friend (our sitter is virtually a part of our family, but come on) and then said, “You don’t even play with me mom. You just watch.”

“What are you talking about? Watch what?” I asked.

“You just sit with us and watch “Vanderpump Rules“.

“That is not true and that is not nice. I play with you and sing songs with you and dress up with you and beanboozle and show you music videos. And FYI, Vanderpump Rules is only on once a week, anyway.”

But I really started to feel guilty; because part of what she said is right. I do not run around like our two sitters do. I do often not engage in elaborate games that involve running up and down the stairs of all four floors of our house, like she gets to do when her godparents or our friends visit.

And that is not because I don’t care and it is not because I am lazy.

It is because I am tired.

 I am not just “oh it’s hard being a mom” tired, but I am tired because my body is still healing physically

and working very hard to get back to a place of strength and wellness.

My kids and I played in my daughter’s room this afternoon; we did low-key playtime, where I let him open and close drawers and my daughter read books to me and then I took out her special ponies to play with.

And then I asked her for five minutes to sit quietly. I would stay in the room with her. I would watch and enjoy; I just needed five minutes of time when I did not have to be “on”.

And she went and socked me in the gut, yet again. “I am so lonely I am just going to wait downstairs until daddy gets home.” (which made no sense, because I was offering to sit with her, and her proposed plan would leave her downstairs and alone, but whatever).

I called my husband as he drove home from work.

“She says I don’t play with her. I feel like a bad mom,” I confessed.

And he talked me down. He reminded me of our special, unforgettable day just one week ago.

“I guess I am good at nurturing,” I admitted.

“You do so much,” he said.

And, because I am very tired…

BREAK.

***Literally 4 hours later***

I could not make this up if I tried.

I typed those words above: And, because I am very tired

and I fell asleep.

Sound asleep.

At 6pm I fell asleep. I napped until 7:30 when my daughter cried from her room that she heard the sound of a big bang.

So, I guess I need not say anymore; I think that the above speaks for itself.

To be honest, 4 hours (a chicken pot pie and 3 episodes of House of Cards later), I don’t remember how I was going to finish that sentence.

And, because I am very tired–

you can fill in the blank; I am sure you can.

Here. I’ll go first: And, because I am very tired, I am more sensitive than usual, so probably harder on myself than I should be, as sleep impacts my mood profoundly; and because I am so very tired I fell asleep at 6pm while typing a blog post.

There you have it. A reminder, perhaps another little nudge from my angels, to take care of myself;

that being a good mom doesn’t mean running or jumping or chasing; it means loving with all of your heart and soul.

And that I do.

The post Because I am very tired appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

I am used to many of my posts being greeted with great warmth and empathy.

“I feel exactly the same way!” I hear.

But I don’t think that this will be that kind of post; it is going to be a different post.

An unpopular post.

And that is OK.

I am writing in support of the snow day today, and, really, in defense of all snow days, whether the call was made wisely due to blizzard-like-conditions, or prematurely, causing great inconvenience.

I am a teacher. I have been the director of programs for children. I am a stay-at-home-mom and the primary caregiver for my kids. I am a writer who works from my house.

I get it.

But first, let me backtrack a bit. Before I was a mother, I was a teacher. I went to graduate school for education, have taught at many age levels and have heard countless (literally countless) complaints about school being closed for snow days.

When parents enroll their children in school, educational or extracurricular programs, they do so because they need to. And when those programs are cancelled because of (impending or falling or fallen) snow, it can cause problems, ranging from inconvenient to nearly impossible.

But, and I say this with all of the compassion in the world, I think that this culture of “OH NO, PLEASE I PRAY THAT MY KID’S SCHOOL DOESN’T CLOSE” has gotten a bit ridiculous. There, I said it. This is part of what is going to make this post unpopular; perhaps, even unappreciated. But, let me explain.

During my first years as a full time teacher, I was not yet a mother, though I longed to be. This is not a subject I have ever broached on this site before, and this is not the post in which I will really be doing so, though it is coming. It took me a bit of time to conceive my first child. I had no diagnosis, no medical problems of which to speak, and I was very young. It just wasn’t happening. And that situation went from inconvenient to nearly impossible.

I have always been a teacher who loved my students as my own and cared for them as such; It was hard when I held children, for whom I cared so deeply, and found myself waiting month after month, facing the constant disappointment of “we will try again next time”. You may have noticed on my sidebar that I have advertised for The Healing Arts Center of Philadelphia since the launch of the new site. This is because, as I have stated time and again, the goal of the advertising on my site is to make peoples’ lives better and that is what Steven Mavros did for me. Much more on Steven and his practice later, as they will be the subject of a whole post (because, really, the story of how we recently went out for a business dinner and I told our waiter, “This is the man who got me pregnant, but no, we have never been together” deserves a post of it’s own, does it not?) but for now, I am just trying to provide context. I wanted to be a mother, but it took some time. And every time a parent would complain to me about how the school had to close for “another school day?” something inside me would hurt.

But I am a compassionate and non-judgmental person. I realized, always, two salient points: that these parents loved their children to no end and that I had no real concept of what it was like to actually be a parent, day in and day out, as my children left me at the end of each school day.

And then, in 2010, I became a mother. For four years, I taught every day while also being the primary caregiver to my daughter. It was a constant juggling act. I had to miss things little things like pediatrician appointments and snuggly sick days, and then bigger things, like her recent camp visiting day when she learned how to swim for the very first time. Again, these things that I missed, they were sometimes inconvenient and other times, nearly impossible.

But enough about the past. Let’s move on to today. Because today is the first day when I have worked up the courage to say this thing that I have been thinking since I was a student teacher nearly a decade ago.

Let me give you some of my perspective:

Today, I have two kids home with me, as I stay at home with my son and my daughter’s school is closed for a snow day.

Today, I had 4 appointments on my calendar, as well as the management of several projects involved in the finishing of our basement. At least one has been delayed so far because of today’s snow, pushing back our deadline (which was originally scheduled for January 5) even further.

Today I had two doctor’s appointments, one for my son that is possibly scary and definitely time sensitive

and one for myself.

I don’t talk about it all the time, but I am still facing major health issues and a dramatic change in my treatment plans.

I also had a business meeting scheduled for a possible partnership that would be extremely exciting for me and even more exciting for you (pinky swear).

I also have a babysitter scheduled for today, but because of the weather and her commute from center city, we had to change her hours to keep her safe (my top priority, no question).

 Finally, I have this. This is not only a source of great joy for me (which it is–it so is) but it is also my job. And while I try to tell my daughter to watch my son so that I can publish a quick post, the laptop is like a magnet for a 16 month old whose favorite toys are the Xbox, remote and toilet (read: I cannot type a word when he is in the room, and I can’t leave him alone without him crawling into the oven).

This means that for me, snow days are far from easy. But I love them. I love today. I smiled when I woke at 6:15am to see the email from my daughter’s preschool that they would be closed. I was so excited to tell her that we would be able to stay home together, drinking hot chocolate and making up new games. I love the necklace of beaded hearts that I am wearing, just placed around my neck by my little girl who wanted to make me a special snow day present.

I am discouraged that my son’s appointment with the ophthalmologist has to be postponed;

I am disappointed that I won’t have my coffee date that I was hoping to turn into a partnership;

I get overwhelmed by the juggling act, just like everyone else.

But I am also endlessly grateful. I am so grateful that the people who are in charge of my daughter’s school have decided that her safety (our safety) is paramount;

I am grateful that I can hear my kids whispering from the other room right now as I type (I am hiding the laptop under a blanket) as they hide in their own clubhouse of sorts.

But, most of all, I am grateful that I have the problem of having more juggling pins than I have hands, because that means that my dreams have come true.

I have the resources to get help for my health issues;

I am writing, now, every day;

I am a mother.

So perhaps, instead of scorning the snow day (or me, for writing this unpopular post), you can find a way to celebrate it,

inconveniences, impossibilities and all,

because a snow day that makes life hard means that we have so much.

Appointments can be rescheduled. Personal days can be taken. Things can be figured out. Deadlines can be pushed back

And it is not always easy,

but it is my firm belief that it is always,

always

worth it.

The post An unpopular post. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

The post My kid is funny, continued. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

My husband’s early morning Facebook status update.

This was when she crawled into our bed around 7am. Usually, one of us gets up and takes both kids downstairs, but this morning, for a change, we both woke up and brought the baby into bed and she followed.

“Daddy, I had a dream and you and [K’s best friend] took me to this party at a haunted house and I made a new friend. And there were ghosts, and skeletons. I was just walking along and suddenly there were dancing ghosts. And skeletons. And ZOMBIES.”

 Then the discussion turned to her birthday party. Her birthday is in April.

“We could have a clown come.  [beat]  The problem is, I don’t. like. clowns.”

It was then probably 7:02.

“We can have a Scooby Doo party. I already told J that she is Shaggy. Or, actually, let’s do a Grease party. Or we can do the Scooby Doo party and daddy can dress up like a ghost and we can make your car into the Mystery Machine.”

The thing about my daughter is, she does not stop talking. Apparently she comes by this honestly; I have been told that I was the same way as a child, but I cannot imagine that it was to this extent. She actually never, ever stops talking.

There was a Saturday, two summers ago, when we decided to do a “new” “fun” family activity and visit an organic orchard somewhere west of our suburb. The drive from our house to the highway is probably 4 minutes long. She was so chatty in those four minutes that when we got to the place where we would get on I76 I told my husband to keep driving straight, so that we cross the bridge into Philadelphia and have lunch right there, one minute away. It was even too much talking for me.  I was already so exhausted by her that I could not imagine another 45 minutes in the car. And this sounds so terrible, as I adore my child and love how verbal she is. It is one of her most fabulous defining features. But sometimes, when she won’t stop talking and we are expected to engage in every part of the conversation…

it gets to be a lot.

This morning, my husband took the kids down for breakfast while I lingered a bit longer in bed and I came down to find her eating,

wait for it–

Rice Krispies and a chocolate donut. Good intuition, that kid.

She then asked if we could sing the finale song from “Into the Woods” with the Baker’s Wife (me) and Baker Baby (her). I was in the middle of singing, “Hold him to the light now,” when she stopped me and said “No, really hold me to the light.”

Next, she wanted to hear this song, which is awesome.

It is actually something we are working on next door, as my bandmate and I like to try to find interesting harmonies or songs with counterpoint melodies. We have gotten into a good groove that way and music means so much to me.

In any case, this morning my daughter wanted to sing the girl’s part of the song so I sang the boy’s part.

And then she wanted to be the girl. Not Taylor Swift; nor Taylor Swift specifically from the “Blank Space” video; she wanted to be Louisa from the YouTube video.

I put lipstick on her, tied her half into a half up bun and dressed her in the closest thing I could find to a blazer, which was a jean jacket with leather arms.

She then performed her part, alone (refusing help when I tried to teach her the actual lyrics) and asked for me to video tape her.

I did and put it on my private Instagram. My friends pointed out something very funny. Truth be told, I actually just laughed out loud while typing this.

Instead of singing

“Got a long list of ex-lovers
They’ll tell you I’m insane”

she actually sings,

“Come along with stomach lovers…”

And then it was time to get ready for school.

So there you have it. My kid is funny. She makes me laugh every day, and even though she doesn’t stop talking, I am lucky that I get to have so much entertainment in my life,

all before 8am.

The post My kid is funny. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Instead of going through each and every one of my hurdles,

naming the ones that I cleared and the ones that I knocked over,

I am going to tell you one story about today.

I picked my daughter up from school and we drove to my mom’s house to pick up my son, as she had been watching him for the day.

On our drive home, my daughter asked if we could go to Wendy’s for ice cream.

It is so funny, but out of all of the blog posts I have written in the past 4.5 years I can still remember this one. And yes, my daughter, son and I get Frosty ice cream treats sometimes.

But today, she had a decision to make: Play with Bubbie or go to Wendy’s. She chose playtime at Bubbie’s which lasted a good hour and a half.

On our way out the door she asked me if we could go to Wendy’s on our way home. I said that no, we could not, as we did not have time because she chose to play at Bubbie’s. This was met with great upset.

“I have an idea!” I said. “I will make you a Wendy’s Frosty at home.”

“Well what if it doesn’t taste the same?”

“I will do my best,” I replied.

“But what if I don’t like it?” she asked, in a choked up voice.

“Then that will mean that my best just wasn’t good enough.”

At home, I mixed vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup and whole milk in my Nutribullet. Mind you, this was all going on as I was getting home for the first time since 7:45 this morning, meaning I had to bring in the mail, unpack her lunch bag, wrangle the baby, get water for the workers downstairs, let out the dog and, if I got a spare second, breathe.

So I made a homemade Frosty. It was less solid and more liquid-like than the real thing, but the taste was spot on. I gave my daughter her “Frosty” in a cup with a straw.

“No!” she refused. “I don’t want to drink it with a straw. I want to eat it like I do from Wendy’s with a spoon.”

So I dumped the contents of the cup into a bowl and added some more vanilla ice cream, mixed it up to thicken the consistency and handed it back to her. With a spoon.

She took one bite.

“Mommy? Will you be angry at me if I tell you something?”

I don’t even think I could muster up the ability to speak by that point.

“I don’t like the ice cream. I didn’t want chocolate.”

And so, my son got a special treat: a whole, delicious “Frosty” as his pre-dinner appetizer. I got frustrated.

My daughter whimpered. She complained about being hungry and she kept saying the word “disappointed”.

And so I got up from the floor that I had been cleaning (I forgot to mention that my son+milkshake=giant mess) and said, “This is not an actual problem. There are real problems in this world. There are sad things and there are scary things and this is not something to get upset about. I have plenty of food for you to eat and we are lucky that we have so many things to choose from.”

She sulked away, up to her bedroom (oh god, I can only imagine what she will be like in 10 years) and I joined the baby at the kitchen table as we happily shared my delicious creation.

And do you know what I say to my daughter? Besides, “I tried my best.” and “I am sorry I am not perfect.” and “You are lucky that I even went through all of this trouble.”?

“I drink your milkshake.”

The post When your best is not good enough. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

I was just looking up the video that I made chronicling my past year in music, and do you know how YouTube shows you a list of videos down the right sidebar of the screen suggesting music that you may like, based on what you are watching currently? Well, I cannot imagine why, but if you are watching my Fox & the Hounds review, the top video that YouTube recommends for you is an obscure video of Brett Dennen singing “Out of My Head” in what appears to be a little guitar shop.

And the reason why I am sharing this, besides the fact that he is my favorite musical artist and he gives me warm and fuzzy feelings inside, is because I find Brett Dennen to be absolutely charming. He is loveable. And I think you can see that here.

And I cherish every charming moment I can;

like this morning when my daughter traded videos with a new yet old friend of mine, involving doggie dance parties, mermaid costumes and “The Book With No Pictures” recitations;

or when we were giving Lola attention and my girl ran upstairs, changed and came down in a pink dress (the color of Lola’s bow) and dog ears;

or, how my son put his head up to mine (his version of a kiss) and said, “Mama”;

or how my daughter said, “Daddy, can you set up my wifi connection?” and we said “Do you know what that means?” and she said, “No. What does it mean?”;

Just a few happy moments that I can gather up into one little, metaphorical charm to place in my pocket and keep with me today.

Give your love, give your love, give your love now.

Any you get it back and you get it back

Featured Image captured by Lindsay Docherty Photography in 2014

The post Charming. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.