• 11 things I’ve become obsessed with during quarantine.

    Friends, you know me. You know that we are still quarantined, or socially distant, or in the red zone, whatever you want to call it.

    You know that COVID-19 is making me feel like a bad mom.

    There has been a lot of womp-womp-ing over here, and so, as I sit here in my living room, my favorite room in my house, enjoying the light that pours in from the windows and the world around us, I have decided to share an upbeat post.

    I bet you didn’t know I had it in me!

    As I’ve mentioned, we’ve been in a strict quarantine bubble with my parents, and there is this thing my dad does, not infrequently, and this thing is that he says, “You know something? _______ has been one of the greatest finds of quarantine!” or “I have to say, ______ has had a a major renaissance during quarantine!” or, he posits, “Do you know what was COMPLETELY UNDERRATED before quarantine?”

    (each time, as if he has not already said it. Love you, dad!)

    We tease him (because he is, in fact, unintentionally funny), but he is also correct. We have discovered and re-discovered some things during this period of isolation that have made said time better, happier, more delicious, more fun, and, dare I say, tangy-er!

    Yes, of course we’ve baked banana bread; I’ve enjoyed every bite of my bestie’s delicious sourdough when she’s dropped it on my stoop; I spent two weeks tie-dying every white thing I could find; we watched Tiger King. 

    Here, I am talking about the things that are not on a quarantine Bingo card. Well, mostly.

    And, because they may make your life similarly peaceful and tangy, I’d like to share with you

    11 things I’ve become obsessed with during quarantine.

    1. Iceberg lettuce

    I know. It has been reviled in the lettuce world. No nutrients! Colorless and flavorless! The lettuce they use in gross, camp salad bars!

    Oh no, my friends. Say what you will, but I have gotten into iceberg lettuce and if loving it is wrong then…what is that you say? I cannot hear you over the loud sound of my chomping these crisp, delicious bites of lettucey goodness.

    I keep at least 3 heads of iceberg in my fridge at all times, and though washing and drying lettuce is laborious, it is so worth it. I chop it up into fine, little bites, and munch away. More on this, soon!

    (P.S. if it is any indication of how much I adore iceberg, I was just going through the running list I’ve been keeping so that I could, at some point, share these things with you, and I had accidentally listed iceberg TWICE!)

    2. Cardenas Lambrusco Red Wine Vinegar

    I have to hand it to my dad. He was right. Red wine vinegar HAD been underrated (by me, at least). Until I tried Cardenas Lambrusco Red Wine Vinegar. We go through this by the case. Unlike other vinegars, it is not sour. It has a bite, but just enough. It is sweet, tangy, and is currently bffaeaeae with my iceberg lettuce. I have been making the same salad every day for the last two months, and it never gets old:

    Iceberg Lettuce, a peach, peeled cucumber, cracked pepper, a little olive oil, a lot of Lambrusco Red Wine Vinegar.

    It is dreamy. I have no idea why.

    Let me just say, last week we had run out of the good stuff, so I used my Whole Foods Brand red wine vinegar and I could not even finish the bowl. Too sour! Not my Cardenas.

    3. Top Chef

    Let me be clear: I watched the first seven or eight seasons of Top Chef religiously.

    The Season 2, Marcel head-shaving incident will go down in history as one of the most dramatic reality tv moments ever, and Kenny and I are devoted members of Bachelor Nation. The night before that well-teased episode was set to air we literally could not sleep, giddy with anticipation.

    Ahh, life before spoilers.

    Then, we fell off. Until one of my favorite podcast hosts started talking about the new Top Chef All Stars season, and, by some stroke of luck, Kenny agreed to start watching with me, in real time, just like the good old days.

    It was everything we wanted and more. Cozy, nostalgic, delicious, dramatic, suspenseful, inspiring, heart-warming, I could go on and on and on. Just in case you will, in fact, take my advice and watch this most recent season of Top Chef (All Stars, Season 17) I shall not spoil it, but let me tell you, I had a very exciting interaction with the winner before they were the winner and I now own merchandise that has to do with the winner and a package of food from the winner just arrived at my door, so I encourage you to watch so we can discuss this and you can also enjoy the cozy, inspiring, nostalgic, happy deliciousness.

    (Top Chef has also been the gift that keeps on giving, as all of the seasons of the show are available on Hulu, so we’ve gotten to re-watch and catch up since we resumed our love affair with the show.)

    4. Coffee

    I’ve been a tea girl for as long a I can remember.

    Chai was almost a verb for me, “Hey, wanna chai?”

    And don’t get me wrong, I still love it, but I’ve pivoted. I’ve gotten basic.

    I’ve realized that with enough sweetener and creamer it is not only delicious but crave-worthy.

    I like my coffee hot, but flavored similarly to coffee ice cream. Light and sweet. BUT, when Kenny makes it with with AeroPress I can even drink it black. It’s that good. Why someone would choose to drink it black instead of with milk and sugar is beyond me, but it no longer disgusts me. We chemex. We use a machine. We have Nespresso pods. I am almost like a big girl!

    Which leads me to my next discovery which is…

    5. Oat Milk

    I get it, I get it, oat milk has not only been a thing, but it has been THE THING.

    I am late on this! I am often late on things. I refused to get emojis until I turned 30, if you recall. I still don’t have Uber.

    But oat milk, oh yes. You were right.

    I have a complicated relationship with milk and so when I am trying to avoid it things (like coffee!!!!) become tricky. Vanilla almond milk is fine in smoothies, but it just does not taste good to me in a latte. Enter: Oat Milk.

    It is creamy, the flavor goes beautifully with my coffee, and I would drink it straight. It reminds me of soy milk, which I also love but do not often buy, and I don’t know why I am telling you this, because you certainly know way more about oat milk than I do, as you were not, in fact, late to this oat milk party, but now you know I know, ya know?

    6. Puzzles

    This is TOTALLY new to me. I talked about my love of puzzles just last week, and this love has only grown. I won’t repeat myself. I will, however, say that I tackled two 1000 piece puzzles in this last week

    (Love Lives Here puzzle and All Good Things Are Wild and Free puzzle).

    I have a crazy idea about puzzles, but I think I’ll keep that one up my sleeve.

    7. Professional home self tan kit

    I don’t think I have ever felt less cute or confident in my life.

    Hyperbole or not, I hardly ever think, “Oh! That looks great!” these days and I have been my own very harsh critic.

    Cue: Flawless Bake By Sophia.

    Full disclosure, Sophia is my friend, but I paid for my kit, this is in no way sponsored, and the fact that Sophia is my friend simply allows me to confidently vouch for her skill, style, and immaculate cleanliness. I ordered my first ever home kit by Sophia right before my 35th birthday in April, as a little treat, and I have used to twice since. Let me just tell you, it has done wonders for my mood.

    I mean it. Something about the subtle, natural glow (that I did not mess up and I mess up everything like this) made me look healthier, less like I’ve been indoors and sullen since March, and was a “self care” moment, when such moments are scarce. I used to treat myself to bi-weekly manicures, and have not been since February, but let me tell you that tanned, bare-nailed hands look much better than pale ones!

    If you are looking for a similar burst of confidence, I cannot recommend this enough! Sophia is amazing (you’ll want to be her) and she will drop to you, ship to you, FaceTime with you, work with you, and you will feel better.

    8. Spice House Spices

    Another Robb Fox find, here, and I must give the man credit where credit is due.

    When he told me he was buying a set of spices from Spice House I was, to be honest, mildly skeptical and somewhat indifferent.

    I was also completely, totally wrong.

    As someone who has never liked dried herbs, I will tell you that this set of essentials is so good we have purchased two more sets during quarantine. My personal favorites include the sweet curry, garlic powder, celery seed, dill weed, onion powder, and cumin. You have no idea how big this is for me. I think you’d enjoy, as well!

    9. Organization

    Look, I cannot say I find the process to be meditative. If I could outsource it, I would. I get that some people like the act of purging, placing, folding, etc. but I am not one of these people. It is, still, a chore.

    But, alas, I have been stuck at home for eight months, and the clutter and disorder was really getting to me. Messiness gives me anxiety and my anxiety is already so high. I read articles and followed Instagram pages and made some Amazon orders and let me tell you, tackling one, small area or project at a time has been manageable and the rewards have been awesome.

    I bought different kinds of bins, set up two donation pick-ups, dropped bags off on my best friends’ stoops, and went to town (again, one one, small space at a time). I recommend this.

    Now, every time I look in my pantry to see neat rows of snacks all organized by type and size, with each type of item in its own, sorted bin, I feel accomplished; less anxious.

    10. Audiobooks

    Late in 2019 something embarrassing occurred to me: during the year prior I had WRITTEN more books than I had read.

    I was mortified!

    I was also completely unsure of how to find time to read when I had children and dogs and a husband and a pandemic to keep an eye on.

    Audiobooks, for the win! I have been “reading” with my ears nonstop, even replacing my beloved podcasts with audiobooks (from all different genres). Not only do I find these books enjoyable, but having read more than one book makes me feel accomplished. Imagine that!

    I often share my book recommendations over on my Instagram page, so you can follow along there. I have been really into junky, fluffy, easy thrillers lately, but this summer I also read some non-fiction pieces (ranging from Andy Cohen to Bob Woodward) so I have a lot to recommend.

    11. Putting it out there

    Ok, this is not new, and I would not say I am “obsessed” with this, but I want to use this opportunity to thank you.

    You have allowed me to continue to put it out there, whether “it” has been my twirling, magical dance parties with baby Belle in 2010 or “it” was the bleakest days of my postpartum depression, and you have followed along, supported me, and given me an incredible sense of solidarity.

    In this case, though, I want to thank you on behalf of my kids. I put myself out there a few times this summer, with their permission, and I admitted (on social media) that we are still “staying home” as a family, and that it can be lonely. I shared that Beau is obsessed with Minecraft, and could use a virtual buddy to play with. I explained my kids’ unique school situation, having gone back to public school just last year, right before quarantine, and how we all long for connection. I know that by sharing my clear, potentially controversial viewpoint on the pandemic I am opening myself up to criticism and judgement. I am, potentially, further isolating my kids.

    But, by putting it out there, I found some brave, bold, honest, good, kind people who, I now know, are my people.

    Moms who also want to set up Minecraft dates for their kids and with whom I now text daily, about Minecraft, yes, but also about motherhood, health worries, and life.

    Parents who are working to welcome my kids to their school community.

    Strangers who tell us that what we are doing is helping others to stay safe, giving us a sense of purpose during this sea of worry.

    If you are also staying at home, reach out. To me! To someone. The loneliness is crushing and it does not have to be.
    If you are not, reach out! To those who wish they could, also, be out having fun but, for one reason or another, cannot.

    It is hard to display vulnerability. But, when you do, you often reap the sweetest rewards.


    There you have 11 of the things I have been obsessed with during this period of time.

    As I finished typing that last paragraph I realized that I left some incredibly important items off the list (my daily yoga practice, if you can even call it that, Beau’s newfound love for basketball and The Sixers, sweet munchee cheese, to name a precious few), but maybe I’ll just use those missed opportunities as a chance to connect in the future. See #11.

    I hope you have as happy of a day as is possible, considering. For many, it is the first day of school! You’ve got this!

    For others, change looms in the air. We’re in this together!

    Now, go make yourself a delicious iceberg salad and eat it in front of the television as you start season 17 of Top Chef as you wait for your sunless tan to develop. Just don’t trip on the puzzle piece!



  • COVID19 is making me feel like a bad mom.

    (What I have done for the last 2 months: yoga every day.
    What I have not done for the last 2 months: felt, in any way, relaxed, calm, peaceful, or zen.)


    try (verb): 
    make an attempt or effort to do something; an attempt to achieve or attain.
     trying (adjective):
    difficult or annoying; hard to endure.
    Has any other homonym been more applicable during this pandemic?
    If so, forgive me. My brain is oh so tired. (And, while your’e at it, please give me bonus points for remembering the difference between a homonym and homophone!)
    We are about to enter into another novel phase of this novel time of this novel virus,
    and I am scared. The two hands I wrote about in May are not just full; they are unkempt, unmanicured, weathered, and they are trembling.
    I have shared a lot of how I am feeling on my Instagram page (particularly in a highlight called RL Talk COVID, if you are interested), but compared to my normal level of openness, honesty, and verbosity, I’ve been quiet.
    I have spoken about my anxiety and hypochondria, shared my worries for my kids, posted metaphors about how, for me, the idea of schools reopening now feels like trying to shuttle kids in school busses during a severe blizzard.
     What I have not yet shared? The thing that is so hard to consider that I, most often, do not; the thing that hit me, just yesterday, during a teletherapy session; the thing that is just as novel to me as this virus and chapter in history:
    COVID19 is making me feel like a bad mom.
    Allow me to explain.
    There are so many things that make me feel like me. 
    In “normal life” I am proud to identify as many things at the same time. While being a mom always tops the list, I am also proud to be a wife, and an author, and a blogger, and a friend, and a daughter, and a sister, and a singer, and as part of a rock and roll band, and an advocate, and as a speaker, and as a gardener, and as someone who faces tasks head on.
    As COVID19 began its perilous spread, each of these things began to fall. Some were in deafening collapses. Others were silent.
    This one hurts the most.
    All of my external identifying factors began to disappear.
    (As swiftly as the disinfectant wipes and hand sanitizer bottles on store shelves? Too much? Too much.)
    My second bookBaby Ever After, came out right before the pandemic reared its head. I was an author with a book that could not be promoted properly. I could no longer blog, as I had mommy school to teach. I had a singing gig lined up for July, along with my incredible guitar teacher, and I would be able to play for the first time ever in public. We all know how that went.
    All of my attention had to be harnessed inward, or at least to the inside of our home.
    I tried to keep our spirits up. I tried to keep us connected. I tried to keep music in the air.
    In the past, even in my darkest days, I could still host a raging dance party for my kids.
    I could twirl them around, play them like a guitar in my arms, set the amp to blast music so loud that it felt like the house would shimmy and shake along with us. I could keep my kids happy.
    I could overcome.
    I’d done this before! I had worked through a crisis! Even when I hated myself during those miserable months of postpartum depression, I loved them enough to keep them happy. I over-functioned, in many ways. I couldn’t do many simple things (you know, like feed myself), but I could plan elaborate costume parties, perform in rock concerts, make kale smoothies, enroll both kids in the right schools, participate in fun classes, and jump in ball pits. I even got them their own ball pit! (Note: I have never been good with germs).
    I was on top of my shit.
    I could persevere through my own suffering just enough to give them all they wanted and needed and then a little bit more, leaving exactly no reserves left, but it was OK. It kept us afloat. It wasn’t ideal, but they were smiling and thriving and nothing mattered more.
    It was trying, but I was trying, and, most of the time, my tries were triumphant.
    All of this is to say, motherhood was this one, salient, impenetrable thing I could always fall back on. I’ve been blogging here for ten years, and during that time I have been open about many of my struggles and alluded to others, but during all of these times I still felt like a MOM. A mommyish mom. A good mom.
    And that feeling, the one thing that has been my buoy, is gone.
    Right now, as this un-summery-summer is drawing to a devastating close, I feel more lost than ever before.
    I do not even know which direction in which to paddle my arms.
    With little leadership, no uniformity, limited data, inadequate supplies, and a poor sense of direction I am trying and trying and trying to tread water, because I do not know what else to do.
    When I look in one direction, I see red hazard lights blaring.
    “Stop!” They indicate. “There is danger, ahead! We do not know exactly what this danger is, but it is bad. It is so bad. We know it is probably even worse than we think, but we will not know for a long time, but trust us: you should be scared! Oh! And make sure to scare your children, as well! Not, like, scar them scare them, but make sure they know the gravity of the situation! Stay. At. Home.”
    When my head whips in a different direction I see the flags from mental health organizations, hanging soberly.
    “It is OK to not be OK,” they read. There is profound compassion and obvious good intentions.
    The flags wave in the wind, but I can still make out their words.
    “Kids need other kids!”
    “Kids are suffering!”
    “Kids aren’t meant to be alone!”
    This is so confusing. Both directions are telling me to save the kids, and all I want to do is to save the kids, but I cannot do both, and I do not know which direction in which to head, and I should know.
    A good mom would know.
    The sound of loud music thumping draws my attention to yet another direction.
    A pool party! In the sea! How about that!? It is almost as if science doesn’t matter and a pool can exist in a churning ocean! WHOA! These people either know something about science that I don’t or…
    …wait, I cannot think straight, the music is too loud.
    As I try to make out the figures at the party in the distance I realize that it is hard because they are so close together.
     They are raising glasses of colorful drinks, throwing arms over shoulders, laughing with unmasked mouths.
    What. the. fuck?
    “Come hang with us, kids!” The partygoers shout. “We have candy! New friends! Fun!”
    It is as if I am looking at a reality so different than my own that, although there is something vaguely familiar about the scene, it is impossible for me to comprehend. It feels like something I must have dreamt about, a long time ago.
    And then there is yet another direction in which I feel myself being pulled.
    I hear laughter, there.
    Laughter feels better than the blaring of red sirens, or the somber flag-waving, or the thumping party music.
    When I turn my head in that direction I see the most startling sight of all.
    I see little Becca, on stage, dressed as a cat, with perfectly applied cat-person makeup, belting out a song into a microphone.
    It is a scene from my fifth grade play (which was, obviously, “Cats!”)
    I see a montage of scenes from my youth, in which I am talking to, and laughing at, and playing with my friends, who are still, to this day, my best friends. We are making shared memories. Doing things that we will, I know, still be talking about almost three decades later, as we reflect back with fondness and warmth.
    It is this direction that finally knocks the wind out of me.
    I can barely tread water anymore. I want to throw up.
    It is in this direction that I am seeing everything that my kids cannot have. It is in this direction that I feel that I am failing Belle and Beau most. It is in this direction that I am reminded of all the ways in which, despite my best efforts, my trying cannot triumph any longer.
    Despite the mounting uncertainty, there are three things I know to be absolutely true right now:
    1. This is hard for everyone. No one likes this.
    2. I am extremely privileged. I have a partner, a home, resources, access to care, and so many advantages. I am aware of and grateful for my privilege every single day.
    3. I love my kids so much that, just sitting here and typing those words, I feel a physical ache in my chest and stomach. I love them so much that it hurts. I love them in ways that I never thought possible. I love them more than I did yesterday.
    If only that camaraderie, that privilege, and that love were enough.
    Right now, everything feels surreal and impossible. Like a choose-your-own-adventure nightmare.
    Make a choice, face the consequences. Pick between multiple bad options.
    How can I do my best to keep my kids physically healthy and mentally healthy right now?
    Do I prioritize their short-term and long-term physical safety, which, if compromised, I cannot necessarily control or treat, or do I prioritize their happiness, over which I feel like I have a slightly better handle?
    Do I keep them enrolled in their pubic school, the school where they have both finally found a safe home, knowing that we are at the school’s mercy? Do I sign them up for the year-long virtual school, so that things will be consistent, but will no longer allow them to be part of their home school community?
    Will they learn? Will they grow? Will they feel confident?
    Does the school know what they’re doing? Will they reopen in person? What metrics are they using to determine the safety?
    What about the teachers? The teachers who are my friends? What about the teachers who have helped our kids and loved our kids and devote their lives to them? How do we keep them safe?
    Will my kids be the only ones stuck inside, alone, while their peers POD up into discrete groups?
    Will my kids be ok without a POD?
    Is anyone being as cautious as we are so that we could even entertain the idea of a POD?
    How do I find out?
    Whom can I trust?
    Am I making the right choice?
    What if I allow them to see people and someone gets sick?
    What if they get my parents sick?
    What if someone dies?
    Would I really send my kids to school during an unprecedented, dangerous blizzard?
    Will they ever make memories like I did in “Cats” or did I (and not COVID) rob them of the joys of childhood?
    Will they resent me? Does that even matter? Would I even blame them?
    Why is this so hard for me?
    Why is everything so hard for me?
    Why do I have to be such a whiner? Will people read this and roll their eyes at me? Chide me for complaining?
    Will I be more alone than I am now?
    Will that negatively impact the kids and their ability to socialize?
    Why can I do better?
    Why can’t I just be a good mom?
    I have said it before and I will say it again: We are the lucky ones. I said it about my postpartum depression and the fact that I survived. By the skin of my teeth, I did, but I did.
    I was able to order school supplies. My sister gave me the furniture from her old apartment and it is cool and functional and allowed me to set up classroom areas for both Belle and Beau.
    But, as we all know, it is not about the infrastructure, it is about what is inside.
    Right now, we are a family who does not see other people indoors. We still do not go into any public places, except for visits to the doctor that are necessary and unavoidable. We have our groceries delivered and wipe down every item with disinfectant. We do the same with takeout, and only order from restaurants that are not currently allowing for indoor dining. It is an arbitrary rule, but one that gives us a small sense of control.
    We try to get outside every day, but some days, like yesterday, the kids did not leave the house. They were down, and it was a vicious cycle. I took some time to water the plants in my greenhouse, but it no longer feels like my sanctuary; yesterday it felt more like a chore. I cannot identify as a gardener anymore. My plants are yielding a stunningly small amount of fruit this year.
    How fitting.
    This is the best I can do, as I keep treading water, spinning around in every direction, reading, researching, evaluating.
    I do not know when things will change, how much worse they will get before they improve, or how much my anxiety is influencing that grim internal forecast.
    I do not know if I am making the right choices, and that is something I may never know.
    There is no one right choice, after all.
    Every choice exists on a spectrum, as a shade of right and a shade of wrong. I’ll try to look at it as the former.
    Today, I do not feel my best, but I do not feel my worst.
    I do not feel like a great mom, but I am hopeful it will change. As COVID19 evolves, so will I.
    Today, though, unlike most days, I was a writer. A blogger. An advocate for my children and yours.
    I hope that counts for something.
    At least I tried my best.
  • Varsity

    Dear World,

    Today is Election Day.

    (Go vote! Even if your kids are off of school, I urge you to vote! However, NOT THE POINT OF THIS POST!)

    I am writing to tell you that, before noon today, I earned a varsity letter on my mom jacket.

    Let’s start at the beginning:

    This morning, I woke up before 7, which is unusual for me; this was not a natural rousing, however; rather, my phone buzzed. It was my daughter, texting me.

    Did you catch that?

    Last night, as a very special reward for a display of outstanding bravery, my husband and I decided to give her my old, wiped iPhone with a new iCloud account, so that she can: use the sound machine, listen to music, download parent-approved apps and communicate, via the internets, with a handful of people (with whom we control the access). This includes my parents, my sister, Twin, her little camp bestie and us (her dad and me). Basically, she can now text us with funny notes & emojis and FaceTime with her aunt and girlfriend.

    …and yet…

    This morning she texted me at 6:28am.

    IMG_6985Needless to say we are still working on the guidelines.

    In all honesty, I love having my kids home with me. I love the lazy mornings and getting to stay in our pajamas without the normal morning rush of preparing satisfying (and messy!) breakfasts, packing lunches, sourcing “is this warm enough?” coats and the constant quest to avoid the tardy slip.

    This morning was extra special, as we had planned a playdate with our awesome neighbors, which also meant that I had to shower and wash my hair (this is a BFD, trust) before 10am.

    I enjoyed my hot cocoa and saw that my glasses had been cracked and took part in the latest #photochallenge that is popping up all over my social media.

    Screen Shot 2017-11-07 at 1.00.04 PM

    It was wonderful, truly, to host the playdate. They are all really good kids. But, for me (for anyone? Please tell me that it is not just me!) it can be a bit challenging to host FIVE kids, ranging in age from 4-9, all by myself.

    I had to manage many different needs that spanned different ages and genders, and it was all going OK, until my son decided to go to The Dark Side. He and his little buddy wanted to dress up in order to play Star Wars (as if there is any other way to play) and he became obsessed with his costume. Though it was perfect for him for Halloween, today, he was adamant about not wearing pants.

    Or underpants.

    This turned into an epic battle. Even the bigger kids chimed in, assuring him that all people, superheroes, bad-guys and Sci-Fi Characters included, wear underpants. He would not put on underpants.

    And so, there was a moment today when I had to yell the words (just so that I could be heard over the noise):


    And this was said with complete sincerity and as a desperate plea, and it was not met with understanding nor compliance. Instead it was met with a lightsaber to the head. My head, to be precise. My son whacked me.

    This is never OK. Using weapons to harm people is not OK. (We have a major problem with certain weapons in our country right now. However, NOT THE POINT OF THIS POST!)

    I could not make this up if I tried.

    I settled the four older kids in my daughter’s room so that they could film a Chubby Puppy movie and took my son into my bedroom for a Time Out. But, he was hysterical. He was kicking and screaming and shouting the word, “No!” over and over. It was brutal.

    Despite his flailing 40 lb body (and the fact that he had just belted me with a lightsaber), I held him tightly and I said, ‘You are going to calm down, right now.”

    And guys, do you know what I did?

    I used the sound machine on my phone to play the sound of wind chimes. I took him in my arms and I chanted

    “Sa Ta Na Ma” over and over,

    speaking loudly and then softly,

    almost whispering.

    And do you know what happened? He calmed down. And apologized.

    I. Tamed. The. Beast.

    With mindfulness and a new age chant.

    Var Si Ty.

    The rest of the playdate was busy but nice. We agreed to and wrote up an agenda of activities. 


    I made a little restaurant for them and they loved the little drink floats that my friends thought I was so weird  for buying for our Halloween party last weekend.


     We played freeze dance.

    My son returned to his human form.

    We completed 2 of the “Agenda Items”

    Lola ate the egg off of my avocado toast.

    But, I survived.

    Today was a hard exercise in parenting, but (am I allowed to say this?)

    I am proud of myself.

    I took care of 5 children, 3 animals and myself. And my varsity jacket is feeling pretty badass,

    because I did not do what I’ve grown up seeing other girls do in the movies when they get a date with the cute boy;

    I did not put on someone else’s varsity jacket.

    I earned my own.

    One “Om” at a time

    With love



    P.S. the image at the top of this post was snapped yesterday and really has nothing to do with this post, except for the fact that I got these kicks in a tiny shop in Paris, when I was 19, and they (/ratty my anklets) make me look 14 from the knees down. And, at 14, in tv shows, one could presumably get a varsity jacket.

  • Special Guest

    On the latest episode of The Podcast I welcome a very special guest.

    Together we talk about wellness,

    my marriage post,

    and loving someone with a mental health issue.

    Have I piqued your interest?

    Well, the audio is above and the Epi is live on iTunes and Carla Thomas is on the record player and love is in my heart.

    For anyone who is struggling with perinatal distress, mental health issues, relationship woes or the demands of being a caregiver, this one is for you.

    Mad Love and Hunger Games



  • Five Things Podcast

    Hello! Hi! I’ve missed you!

    As you can see from the photos above, I have been busy. SOOO BIZZY.

    You know, with things like re-doing my bathroom, getting makeovers at my daughter’s new salon, taking & printing photos at the dinner table with my girlfriends and dancing at Kellerman’s. DIRTY dancing.

    In all seriousness, the collage above shows just a few snaps from this past weekend.

    (Ok, sadly, Kellerman’s was only in my mind–but always in my heart,

    and I spent most of Saturday-Sunday in overalls, Lowe’s and my Powder Room.)

    But, as I was painting and, truly, all throughout the week last week, a few “life lesson”-type-things kept appearing in my consciousness on repeat, and so I decided to memorialize them in my latest Podcast episode.

    The Five Things Podcast, to be found in your iTunes feed, here or in the embedded audio below.

    This past week, I learned so much, and some of it, I learned the hard way.

    I elaborate so much more on the Podcast, but to boil it down to an actual list, here are the 5 things that rotated in my mind like horses on a carousel:

    1. So much can change in an instant.

    1A. Never say never (unless you are willing to admit that you were wrong).

    2. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It can still be awesome.

    3. Friendship is crucial. It is key. It is invaluable.

    4. Try to say, “yes” more often, if you can. Except for the times when you should definitely say, “no.”

    5. Things can be bad and good at the same time. As long as it is within your value system, you should feel free to break any “rule” without feeling too guilty.


    The list above is vague, filled with cliches and may not totally make sense. But, as I said, so much more will be explained (and revealed!) if you listen.

    And stay tuned as I prepare to share some exciting upcoming posts with you, including a DIY Powder Room Project, book updates and an inside, uncensored look at “a day in the life”.

    I will be sharing things that have changed me, things that scare me, things that move me and my hopes/goals for the coming (and ever-so-quickly-approaching autumnal) season.

    And, of course, the scoop on the doctors at Seattle Grace Mercy West Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. Because, you guys, it’s really good.

    But, for now, I have some work to finish.

    A watermelon to carry.

    And, most importantly, two kids to kiss goodnight.

    With love, paint-covered-hands and Hungry Eyes




  • Adult Friendship

    “Friendship. It’s complicated,” I wrote, in my piece about “Thirteen Reasons Why“, echoing Hannah Baker’s own words. In that particular post I highlighted some of the hardest aspects of life, and so I wanted to revisit this notion and to explain—on a deeper level—how I feel.

    Friendship, when you are an adult, can be both essential and tricky. It is a time when, perhaps counterintuitively, you may need your friends the most (despite the whole, “I am a grown up and so I should have it all figured out!” thing).

    It is also a time when it can be the hardest to say, “I need a friend, right now. Can you help?” This is because if you are an adult with adult friends, your adult friends are inevitably also busy and stressed and dealing with many things at once, from relationships to jobs to parenthood to navigating through complicated situations in all of the aforementioned areas.

    I am so lucky that most of my close friends have been in my life for many years, if not decades, and any newer friendships feel like that quote that says: And then my soul saw you and it kind of went, “Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

    But every friendship, just like every individual, is different. They each serve different purposes, meet different needs and require different things.

    I can liken it to my greenhouse garden, in many ways, now that my black thumb has turned the slightest shade of green. Some of my plants grow abundantly, needing little care. They’re just there, steadfast and sturdy, so even if I forget to water for the day, I know that I will wake up to more sweet basil than I need. But I am grateful to know that it will be there. Other plants, like my tomatoes, require a little bit more time and effort. They soak up water and need pruning and require more on a daily basis, but they are SO worth it because I love tomatoes SO much. And then there are my squash and cucumber plants. The leaves have grown abundantly, they blossom beautifully, but I am still not exactly sure how to tend to them properly, as I have yet to see a squash or a cucumber. But, despite this, I prune them and stake them and try, knowing that when the first cucumber is ready to be picked it will be the best cucumber. And, in the meantime, I can fry up those squash blossoms. Finally, there’s the lavender. It is one of my favorite plants, as it is so pretty and it smells so fragrant. I can go days without thinking of it—though I would never—and it is there, not overpowering or overgrowing, but it brings me so much joy and does not resent me for a few days of neglect. And guess what? I love every single one of those plants that I mentioned above. My garden would not be complete without any of them. But, they all take work.

     So, as I said, adult friendships are complicated.

    I have some friends who I would call “best friends” or “soul friends” with whom I seldom, if ever, speak on the phone and, if I am lucky, see twice a year (but that’s on a good year). However, with these friends there is a connection that is unparalleled and could never be broken. We may exchange fewer words, but they are the right words. They understand me in a way that is so profound, and I them. I feel them.

    I have some friends who go out of their way to make me feel better. Even when they are busy. Even when I have been wrong. They say, “It’s ok. You are doing the best you can. Don’t be hard on yourself.” And it is because they love me. They do not want me to feel any pain.

    I have some friends who are outwardly more straightforward (read: tough love) and give me clear advice that can be, at times, hard to hear. They say, “It’s not ok. You can do better. You need to push yourself.” And it is because they love me. They do not want me to feel any pain.

     I have some friends who hand me a drink and would encourage me to squash my woes by finishing a bottle of wine, dancing on a table or doing a headstand in public. They say, “This doesn’t count. Everyone needs a free pass, sometimes.” And it is because they love me. They do not want me to feel any pain.

     I am so blessed to have this garden of really incredible friends. They each teach me different & unique things, every single time that we are together. Sometimes, it is about strength; sometimes, about motherhood; other times it is about coping with an acute worry; sometimes it is about personal style; often it is about how to be the best human possible; occasionally it is how to properly season a dish or mix a cocktail.

    My group of friends, however, has morphed, especially in the past year. This was mostly deliberate, as when you go through really hard times a) you see who sticks by your side when you need it most and b) you see who sticks by your side even when you say, “I can’t see you right now, but please understand that it is me, not you.”

     I have chosen quality, over quantity. Do I miss some of the people and things that used to define my life? Of course I do. I am triggered all the time, whether it is when I drive by a certain restaurant or hear a specific song or reach into my closet for a piece of clothing and think, “I remember the last time I wore this.” This can be very painful, especially for someone like me who has these definite triggers. These memories come to life, for me. But what I have learned is that I am allowed to miss and I am allowed to mourn, as long as I have also learned and grown.

     My ultimate goal, now, is to be a good friend. I am trying to fortify my friendships, no matter how strong they already are, by being better to this amazing group of people who I am lucky enough to call mine. I try to listen more than talk (which, if you know me, can be a challenge, but I am trying!) and this makes me feel so happy. I try to reach out, even if it is just a quick, “Hi, I am thinking about you!” because it is true! I AM thinking about him or her. I want to show that I am there in the good times and in the bad. That they can lean on me as much as I have leaned on them. That I can come through. That I can also be the one to give the hug or buy the beer or leave the voicemail of support. I want to show them that when I see something in a store or on a website, I will surprise them with this, just as a tiny token to show how much I care. I want to show up.

     I am a very open person. I connect easily. This is a good thing, but has also gotten me into trouble. In the past I have made friends and then the friendship became extremely close extremely quickly. I have operated at a high intensity level in all aspects of my life, and while that is good in many areas (e.g. writing on a deadline), other things should and do require more time. My history of making a friend and then talking to them a million times a day and seeing them 6 out of 7 days a week is not always problematic. Some of these friends have turned into forever friends. Others…let’s just say that they have not. But they were good friends at that time, having given me something that I needed for a moment.

    Twin explained this point to me during her last visit to Philly in February. And if this doesn’t say it all then I do not know what does:

    Twinny and I sat at my kitchen table, eating a late lunch of poke bowls, and I opened up to her about my anxieties surrounding my daughter making forever friends. “I made some of my best friends in first grade, and she is in first grade now and I don’t know if she is doing the same,” I explained.

    And Twin, a friend whom I met while studying abroad in Spain when were randomly assigned as roommates and with whom I have maintained an incredibly close long-distance relationship for the past 12  ½ years, explained to me that she had friends growing up with whom she was so close for periods of time, and then they drifted and that it was ok. Nothing happened, they just no longer fit in each other’s lives with great facility. Yet they were still meaningful relationships. Friendships, just not forevers.

     And then, I stopped her. I had started to feel weird. My speech was getting funny and I had numbness spreading from my chest to my arms. My doctor insisted that, although I have a migraine disorder with a complex aura (with these symptoms), I go to the ER to be checked, just in case I was having a stroke. So Twin, during her ONE NIGHT VISIT to Philadelphia, stayed at home with my two kids, taking care of them, while my husband and I spent hours in the Emergency Room. Because of this, our nighttime plans got thwarted and instead of a special dinner out, we ate takeout in the dining room and watched Youtube videos on my couch, eating gelato out of the carton, passing the different flavors back and forth.

     I felt so guilty. That was not how I wanted for her to spend her visit! But, as she reminded me, that is friendship. And would I do the same thing for her? In a heartbeat.

     So, at 32 and 3 months, I now have a much deeper understanding of and profound appreciation for friendship. I savor my relationships, I try to worry less and give more.

     There is a place for the tender comforting, and the tough love and the fun. There is a place to talk and I am finding more and more places to listen. And, perhaps most importantly, there is room to be silent.

     I appreciate my basil, but do not take it for granted; I work for my tomatoes, but know that they are worth it; I try to maintain my squash & cucumber, staying patient and knowing that I will savor the sweetness so much more than if it had been easier to achieve; I adore my lavender, as it smells so lovely and never lets me down.

     Adult friendships are complicated.

     But they are also wonderful.

  • The Never Podcast

    When it comes to my tribe, I am so lucky.

    I have said it before and I will say it again.

    I feel so grateful that my best friends, with whom I speak to regularly, send me texts saying,

    “You NEED to publish a new episode of the podcast! I miss your voice!”

    They know my stories. They do hear my voice, over the phone and in person. They are just amazing and supportive and tribe: I love you!

    That said, I love having this Podcast. It is so much fun. So much so that, if you have listened to (or listen to) Episode 3 you will hear that I had to record it twice, as I lost the first take.

    All of my podcasts are recorded on my iPhone in one take, off the cuff, with no script or plan. I just talk, which is basically the perfect job for me. Because, if we have ever spoken, you will know how I tell a story.

    Instead of going from A to B I go from A to Q to R to an explanation of how Q brought me to R and as an aside did you see this episode of TV show X and then to F and then, finally, maybe, I arrive at B. Oh, and this story will have been prefaced with my saying, “To make a long story short…”

    Brevity is not my strong suit.

    The most recent podcast from last week is based on a blog post that I wrote two years ago, entitled, Never. In it I invent a verb and in the podcast I talk about how life has changed in so many ways, and how it has also stayed the same.

    Why am I telling you this? Because the next episode is going to be the long-awaited “Birth Story” story.

    Birth Story #1 that is, when I had my daughter and first became a mom. The story that brought me here, today.

    I am publishing this episode this week because my baby–the amazing, beautiful human who made me a mom–is turning seven. Is that even possible? I mean…

    The best thing I can do is to point you here, which takes you on our journey. It links to when I wrote about planning her first birthday when she was six-months-old. And now she is turning seven?!?!?!??!

    Also, my best friend is asking for her birth story to be on the podcast…even though she knows the story. She was there.

    See? My tribe is the best tribe.

    And so, if you want to listen to The Never Podcast (episode 3) or catch up from the beginning, you can:

    click here The Podcast

    go into your phone and look for my name or “Mommy, Ever After” in the iTunes podcast section

    or google it.

    However, with the last option, I caution you…you never know what you might find. I once had someone find my site because they searched for “Jeff Lewis baby unibrow“. So, actually, that could be fun!

    In the meantime, I am going to go play with the little girl in donut pants who has asked me to do Just Dance 2017, teach her yoga (ha!) and snuggle.

    Much love to you, my tribe and babies with unibrows,


    (P.S. if you want to see some recent family antics, including #sibinggoals, hula-hooping, baby’s first manicure and so much more, don’t forget to check out our Instagram page. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll judge. But hopefully you’ll like. xx)

  • It was amazing

    “You never play outside with us like that, mama!” my daughter said, smiling. 

    “I know, love,” I began. “I want to play outside with you…”

    She cut me off. 

    “No, mama. You did play outside with us today and it was the most fun day ever. It was amazing.”


    I cannot even begin to count how many times I have written about my mom guilt and that number is about 8 billion fewer than the number of times that I have felt it.

    I think that there are enough nuggets in this post that I should not have to link all of them individually, but it has certainly been a focus on this site, because, in all honesty, it is a focus in my life.

    I hate to be redundant, so I often refrain from complaining about all of the things that I cannot do. I try to stay positive.

    I write about the little things that make me proud.

    Sometimes, it is the tiny things, like making homemade chicken tenders that my children actually eat, and sitting with them, reading a story, as they smile and chew.

    Other times, it is after a stressful morning, during which time I have made food for four individuals for at least two meals each, dressed three of said people and gotten everyone out of the door, on time.

    On those mornings, I pat myself on the back, drive to work, and give it all I’ve got.

    Then, there’s this.

    Screen Shot 2017-02-07 at 3.36.10 PM

    If you can read the caption from my Instagram post last night, you will see that yesterday morning, after successfully getting my daughter to the bus stop on time (SCORE!!) my pants fell down. On the street. As a car drove by. Slowly.

    There was a full moon in the Philly Suburbs yesterday morning.

    I often try to make light of, and to find the humor in, my current “situation”.  I do it subtly. It’s a coping thing.

    I also don’t want people to read this site and say, “Womp Womp, there she goes complaining again,” and so I try to really illustrate how I cherish so many things in life.

    I could make a list right now, with great facility, of the reasons for which I am so grateful for my tribe, just because of things that they have said and done in the past few days alone. I have the best team ever.

    But I am getting off topic.

    I was talking about being proud. And I can’t let myself diminish that, nor do I want to take away from the main point of this post.

    And so I am going to tell you a story. I do love to tell a sweet little story from time to time.

    One week ago, last Tuesday, I picked up my son from school and we had a nice snuggle session while waiting for his sister to get off the bus. Once we fetched her from the bus stop, we took the 30 second walk home and instead of trekking right inside I suggested that the kids play on their jungle gym. The backyard is right off of the top of our driveway and so it was staring at me, beckoning us for some imaginative play.

    I should back up a bit. When we decided to move to our new house, one of the greatest selling points was the property.

    I am not a gardener in any way and I have never thought about “the property” when looking at homes (I have been much more focused on where I could envision putting my Jonathan Adler canisters and pillows, tbh).

    But this house. I found it to be enchanting. Not only do we have this great backyard with a fully operational greenhouse

    (do you know how magical it was for the kids and me to be able to make THIS from our own backyard this past summer?)

    but I found our front yard to be reminiscent of a fairtytale forest. We have about 70 different types of trees (and that is actually not an exaggeration; if anything, an understatement), with those that are huge and majestic, others that are short, twisty and look like giant Bonsais and some trees so tall that I literally cannot see the top.

    But, despite my adoration for my outdoor space, I have not been able to enjoy it fully, yet.

    We did not cook out this past summer. We did not play capture the flag or manhunt or build a real snowman.

    And so, last Tuesday, something inside of me said, “Stay outside. Capture the moment.”

    And I did. But in the real way, meaning not from behind the lens of the camera on my phone. In fact, my phone died, and so it was just the three of us, with no phone, no camera, no inhibitions.

    That is why the picture below looks like summery; it is from the summer.

    image3My kids played on their jungle gym, making up games that involved pirates and rescue missions. I sat and watched them and took in the beauty before me.

    When when I looked behind me, I noticed something else. Our property is all gated in (Lola heaven!!) and there is a huge area of pachysandra that spans from the far side of our backyard all the way to half of our front yard. And I thought to myself,

    “We should totally make a path this summer so that we can go from the backyard to the front yard from that side of the house, as well. That would be so much fun! The kids could have the run of the entire place in a safe way.”

    I mentioned this to my kiddos and told them how excited I was feeling for the warm weather and how we could run around and go through those passageways and up the different paths that lead to the front door and play games and…

    I paused. What was stopping me? What was holding me back?

    Well, primarily, I was nervous about walking through the thick pachysandra for the first time, as I envisioned animals and nests and things popping out at me. But I was wearing over the knee boots, which was comforting for me

    (and yes, this is how my mind works) and so I thought, “I can do this. I think I can. I think I can.”

    “Hey guys, do you want to all hold hands and be brave and run through to the front yard?”

    So I stood in the middle of our group, a small hand in each of mine, a lot of leather covering my legs (in case of a rogue squirrel colony), and we ran.

    We ran across the crunchy green below our feet and made it to our front patio.

    We literally laughed with glee, and ran around, celebrating.

    “How cool is this? We can do this!”


    And so I suggested a game. First, I tried to play tag, but since none of us are big fans of running and there are some size/speed discrepancy issues, I then moved on to hide and seek.

    We spent the next 45 minutes playing hide and seek behind the beautiful trees in the front yard. We took turns, and this game got intense. In fact, I hid so well, at one point, that my son got scared. I had to call out, from my post behind a large Holly tree*, to say “Buddy, I’m here! I am just hiding because I am supposed to be hiding!”

    *I have no idea if it is a Holly tree but it looks like it to me based on my knowledge of trees and my extensive Google Image research.

    We played and played and laughed and squealed and played some more.

    My son even coined a new name for our game, the super creative, “Hide and Seek Trees”.

    (The name has stuck, by the way, and they’ve talked about it every day since.)


    When it was finally time to go inside, we went to our back door, stripped off our muddy shoes and coats and though it had gotten a little cold, I felt so warm.
    It was one of those times when I did something that was so “normal” or “easy” for most parents, but such a big deal for me.

    It took extra mental and physical fortitude, but I pushed myself, and it was so worth it. I cannot always push myself–

    I should not always push myself–

    but in this case it was the perfect balance of motherhood and self-care.

    We had barely crossed the threshold into our house when my daughter grabbed my hand. She looked up at me.

    “You never play outside with us like that, mama!” my daughter said, and when I tried to reply with an apology, she made sure to add,

    “No, mama. You did play outside with us today and it was the most fun day ever. It was amazing.”

    And that meant more than anything.

    I had taken the other path. And it was scary, but it was everything.

    My pride skyrocketed higher than the tallest trees.

    My heart felt bigger than the fullest Holly-looking-tree.

    It was enchanting.

    It was magical.

    It was amazing.

  • Oh Captain, My Captain

    Originally published on August 12, 2014


    I still remember the day in the fall of 2011.
    YOU haven’t seen Dead Poet’s Society? YOU? It’s like made for you!” My friend said to me as we watched our girls toddle around my living room.
    “It’s all about poetry and literature and living deliberately. You must see it.”
    You see, I was an English Literature major and teacher and am a ferocious advocate for standing up for the causes in which I believe.
    And so that fall I watched the movie, and I cried. I was so moved that I cried.
    This morning, I cried once more.
    I am crying as I type and tears are wetting the keys of my laptop. I cry for myself, I cry for the world and I cry for the Captain.

    Oh Captain, My Captain.
    Robin Williams, the almost superhuman actor who, as President Obama said, “was an airman, a doctor, a genie, a nanny, a president, a professor, a bangarang Peter Pan, and everything in between….was one of a kind.  He arrived in our lives as an alien — but he ended up touching every element of the human spirit.  He made us laugh.  He made us cry.”
    took his own life yesterday after a fierce battle with severe depression.
    Robin Williams, a supreme talent and a good soul and an icon felt that life was too hard to go on living. He saw the dark door in the distance and decided to walk towards it and when he opened the door, he could not stop.
    I am so sad. I am so sorry.
    Back in this winter I wrote about my own Postpartum Depression, but I also recently wrote about more acute mental health struggles. The sadness that I feel regularly and the things that are hard.
    I can empathize with Mr. Williams.
    People ask me quite often “What could you possibly be worried about?”
    And I understand where they are coming from. I am not a famous actor, I am not rich, nor do I have notoriety or that kind of talent,
    but I have a loving family and two beautiful children and a nice house in the neighborhood where I always wanted to live and a job that I love.
    But depression has nothing to do with what you have or don’t have; Or, I should say, one thing that it has to do with having or not having is the presence or lack of certain chemicals in the brain.

    Before this past winter I had never experienced depression. I could understand it on an intellectual level, but certainly not a personal one. And had I not gone through the Postpartum and the resulting PTSD, I probably would have been so confused by Robin Williams’ death.
    He was so amazing and gifted and beloved. He was always with a smile.
    But just because someone is smiling, just because someone has things that you value as being great, it does not mean that they are not facing an internal battle.
    Robin Williams lost this battle.
    This breaks my heart.
    My social media feeds are flooded with messages of kind words about this actor–this man–and I don’t wish to add a meaningless note to be lost in the sea of tears being shed for him this morning.
    My wish is this:
    I wish that people would understand,
    and if you can’t understand then at least take my word for it. I have never lied to you before.

    Mental illness is just as serious and real and debilitating and life threatening as cancer or Parkinsons, or the recently-made-popular (via ice bucket challenge) ALS. And I do not say those things glibly because my family members have died from those medical diseases or are currently struggling from them today.
    So I ask you, as your friend, as a writer that you don’t know but like to lurk at online, as a family member,
    please take the time to look a little more closely at the people around you.
    Look to see if their smile has changed. Take notice if they are canceling plans and spending the day in bed. Count the times you see them cry.
    And if you notice something,
    There are always ways to help.
    Take them on a walk.
    Sit by their side.
    Hold their hand.
    Tell them they are not alone.
    And if you are feeling these feelings of loneliness or fear or sadness, I am here to help you. It does not matter that I have my own mountain to climb. I am here for you.
    I was featured on ABC News earlier this year in order to raise awareness about postpartum depression and women contacted me, strangers, saying that my story inspired them to seek treatment.
    If I can continue to help, nothing would bring me more peace in this entire earth.
    I can point you in the right direction. I have resources. I can be on the other end of the telephone line.
    You are not alone.
    So we can weep together for Robin Williams and the roles that we will miss out on him playing and the life that was cut so painfully short.
    But we can also honor his memory.
    We can live deliberately, as my friend said, back on that cold, fall day.
    We can stand up.
    We can fight.
    We can win.

    Featured image via

  • Peeps & Company.

    On this site I have become known for some specific things:

    I speak openly and honestly about mental health,

    I say the hard truths that others may be afraid to articulate,

    I genuinely strive to make peoples’ lives better,

    I never turn down a dance party,

    and I love Peeps.

    I have written about my love of the sugary marshmallow candy so many times that seemingly everyone I know is aware that I love Peeps.

    I eat Peeps all throughout the year. During the past 12 months I have enjoyed Peep chickens, Snowmen, Gingerbread Men, Birthday Party Sticks, Ghosts, Pumpkins, Hearts and, of course, my legendary Peeps s’mores.

    So, I just realized that I should probably become the official spokesperson for Peeps & Company.

    I mean, I am already generating at least some revenue for the company, as I have had Peeps sent to me from all across the country from my kind friends and readers.

    And I really like dressing up in costumes. I think I would be such a cute little chick. I could even write a jingle for them!

    This week alone, I received dozens of messages, informing me about Peeps Milk, Peeps Ice Cream and,


    This morning, my husband got home from dropping our daughter of at school, carrying this:

    FullSizeRender FullSizeRender(1)A sweet friend had seen it and just had to get it for me. She also told me about a Peeps Sundae at a semi-local ice cream shop.

    Let me give you a little bit of Peep insider info:

    While I like the taste of Peeps because they are sugary marshmallows, it is all about the texture for me.

    The more chewy and stale, the better.

    Just this week I finished my very last ghost Peep, which means that I had been keeping it in a container in my pantry since October. It was so perfect.

    All of this is to say that I am now going to campaign to be the next Peeps spokesperson, because although I am a mother and a teacher and a writer and a mental health advocate,

    I should also, most definitely, be a colorful, dressed up chicken.

    Peace out, Peeps.