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.

And it’s funny, because some days that seemed really bad ended up turning out ok;

Then, on other days that started out so joyful, storm clouds moved in and things fell apart.

This week I learned that I was capable of strength that I did not know I had; I often see myself as so fragile, but I am not.

This week I learned that there are some people in our lives who are always going to disappoint us.

This week I learned that my people step up to the plate in ways I could never have imagined; I received help from people 16 months-85 years old; My tribe was there for us beyond belief and my new community has turned out to be so much more incredible than I could have ever imagined. #teamMEA.

Sundays are always hard. I think that’s a pretty universal thing–the Sunday Night Blues, we call them–

but today is a bit harder than other Sundays, as I have a big week ahead.

I have been running a very long marathon and this week I find out if I am able to cross the finish line.

Or not.

Today I saw a quote by C.S. Lewis on the Facebook Page of Italia Gandolfo of Gandolfo Helin & Fountain Literary Management, the agency by whom I am represented. I know that as a writer and person, C.S. Lewis is many things, but instead of getting involved in anything religious or political, I will remember him as the author of The Chronicles of Narnia, books I read in elementary school, and that remind me to keep believing in the fantastic.

Because in times like this week, you can do all that you can, you can try your best, you can plan, you can work as hard as possible, you can run that marathon with all of your heart, but sometimes, more than anything, what you need is faith; just the ability to believe that success is possible.

And so I choose to believe that this past week brought me closer to my people; it has shown me what I am made of and made me feel more grateful than ever for the love that is in my life.

And as far as next week…I am not sure how it is going to go,

but I believe, with all of my heart

that there are better things ahead.

The post to believe appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Last week, I wrote my first ever post about sex. I am very careful about the content that I include on my site, a site called “Mommy, Ever After”, but I think that the post (and the subsequent conversations that it sparked) are lifestyle issues that will help all of us in our “Hopeful Stories”.

First and foremost, thank you, you brave souls, who responded to the post, both publicly and privately. I had some of the most entertaining conversations and actually laughed out loud at times. And I also was able to gain incredible insight, and get some really difficult questions answered. I learned SO much!

So what did you* have to say about sex and what did I learn?

Here goes…

First of all, the majority of the people who responded were married** women. The main variable was age, as I heard from women from 25-65.

Every single one of the people in that demographic (demographic being “married woman”) agreed with my theory, in some way or another, that married people do not typically talk to their single friends about sex. They also felt the bubble-person feeling that I feel.

This was, based on my “research”, for two reasons:

Either, the married woman would talk to her single friend about the single friend’s sex life in great detail without the single friend asking about the married friend’s sex life

or

the married friend felt uncomfortable bringing up her own sex life, primarily because of the fact that she was married.

My theory remains that married women do, however, discuss sex details (and sometimes very intimate details) with their married friends. For instance, I heard from married women whom I do not know very well (perhaps I have only met them a few times, haven’t seen them in a decade or our relationship has been limited to online only, thus far) yet they were unabashedly sharing details with me about very specific things regarding their own sex lives and sexual selves. I should note, I am being deliberately vague when it comes to detail, as when I published the first sex post I assured you that the post would not, in fact, be all that sexual, and I am trying not to veer off course. If you want to message me privately, that is a different story. There are some women who do not know my middle name but know the most personal details of my sex life because of the conversations we have shared after my post.

In my original piece, I mentioned that there is a wide spectrum when it comes to talking about sex with a member of the opposite sex, whether one party is married, both parties are married or some other combination. This was confirmed to me in my conversations, as many married women do talk to other men, married or single, about their sex lives, but made sure to say things like, “…usually with my spouse present.”

So, in all, my theories were essentially confirmed. All of the many combinations I had laid out (no pun intended. See? Still got it.) seemed to resonate with you.

But, and this is a big but, this didn’t answer my question of why.

And that question was answered yesterday. Yesterday, in an insightful conversation with a friend whom I just getting to know, things became elucidated.

She wrote, “I think that’s why people often stop talking about sex once they’re married – it’s something that becomes part of a private, shared experience between a couple and if one person talks about it in detail without the knowledge and consent of the other, then it’s akin to telling someone about your husband’s bathroom habits or his secret love of soap operas or something. Again, nothing about actual sex.”

She nailed it (No pun intended. I’m sorry. I just can’t help myself).

In my last post, I wrote:

“And then I got to thinking about marriage. And friendship. When we get married, we are not suddenly bubble people. We are the exact same people we were before we exchanged vows, but just committed to another person for life. So what happens that makes our single friends shun us when it comes to their desire to hear about our sex lives?

When I was dating my husband, I am sure I shared stories with my girlfriends, or asked questions, and that was fine. But nope, oh no, once the ring was on his finger, the idea of talking about my husband became repellent, like talking about one’s parents.”

I was implying that there was a negative connotation around this shift in behaviors; that single people did not want to hear about married people because it was somehow icky, and that married people did not want to share with single people because they feared making their single friend uncomfortable.

But, no. That’s not it. It is about intimacy.

A good friend and I were talking about the subject, and to protect her identity I am not going to say whether she is single or not, and she made the point that when one is single, a sexual encounter is a story; it is entertainment for others. On the other hand, for married couples, sex is implied, therefore not noteworthy, and that only other married people could understand that the notion of “it is just part of the package” is a fallacy.

I have some really smart friends and readers who have become friends.

So, there you have it. Our first foray into the world of sex.

And then, like most things do, this got me thinking.

I thought of my recent post entitled “You are not alone.” which is a nod to Into the Woods but also a very profound message; you may feel lonely sometimes; you may feel like the “other”; but you are not alone.

And in that post, and earlier in this very post, I referenced the many, many emails I get from you guys every day. I feel so blessed. For me, Mommy, Ever After has become a community, and a very strong one at that. But it just occurred to me that you (readers) don’t always get to benefit from it. Yes, I share as much as I can, as I am so inspired by what you share with me, but I am just one person with one perspective.

So I get these incredible messages from you in which you tell me that you can relate to my story or anxiety or problem or triumph and I get to have this amazing web of people with whom I can communicate so candidly.

And I will be honest; A lot of the emails I get are about feeling lonely.

But what about you?

I started this blog four and a half years ago because yes, I wanted to chronicle the life of my new baby, but I also wanted to tell other mothers, honestly, in a real way, that it is OK to feel sad and scared and frustrated and bored…AND enchanted. And Since the “Happy Story” turned into the “Hard Story”, my mission to help others became much stronger. That is my “Hopeful Story”. And so, I am trying to think of a way that you, my readers, can actually feel like you are a part of a community as well.

Do you know that over 60% of you live in the same geographic region? That means that you could meet for coffee or set up a play-date, if you were introduced.***

And the other 40% of readers from California to the Czech Republic to China can develop meaningful, special online relationships…but not if I do not connect you. So that is my next idea.

I have created what is called a “SECRET” Facebook Group. Not only is it a private group (which means that it is by invitation only and not visible to the rest of Facebook) but this group is so private that no one not in the group will be able to know of it’s existence. No one outside of the group can search for anything related to the group, nor could they ever see anything you post or comment on within the group. Let me make this extremely clear: no one outside of this incredibly private group will be able to see that you are a member. No one outside of the group will know that there is such a group. It is as secret as secret can be.

(That said, those of you who do accept will see each others’ postings, only on the group page, and really, isn’t that the point? If you are someone who joins this group, you are looking for community; so everyone who says “yes” to this for me (and I ask you to please, please say “yes”) can raise a hand. You are in this together. You are not alone. You can even join just to watch dialogues from afar, but from some of the emails that I got this week, I think we have a lot of great stuff coming our way…)

What I am trying to say is that I would love to build a community.

This is going to take guts, guys, but I am hopeful that instead of commenting on a post that I put on my personal page, which is then visible to thousands, you will feel comfortable in the privacy and security of Mommy, Ever After’s Private Community Page.

This is how it will work. If you have reached out to me previously, or if you are someone whom I think would be a positive addition to the group, I will invite you. You can choose whether or not you accept.

And then, you can have at it.

I will insist upon a strict set of guidelines (which are posted in the Group’s heading) but the basic idea is that this group is a vault. What happens in the group stays in the group.

Do you know how many of you wrote nearly identical messages to me this weekend about sex and marriage?

Do you know how many of you are looking for new, good friends?

No! You don’t! But you can!

I am hoping that this Facebook Group will allow you to

ask questions

seek advice

share tips

make a playdate

make a coffee date

make a wine date!

Remember, I am the administrator. No one can join the group without my approval. This means that if I do not know you, you aren’t getting in.

It’s like The Pink Ladies but wayyyy more exclusive.

So for everyone who wrote to me this week,

to everyone who has written to me over the past few months,

and the past several years,

take the leap.

While I don’t have a crystal ball, I can almost guarantee that it will make your life better.

We do have feathers on our side, after all.

*no one was quoted, nor was any conversation even referenced in the writing of this post without the individual’s express permission to do so.

**I use marriage here as a general term, the way I used “sex” as opposed to differentiating between “sex” and “gender” properly in my previous post. I do not wish to offend, nor alienate any individual or population. The group whom I refer to as “married” includes life partners, long-term relationships, etc. People who are committed and clearly not single.

***Always use caution and be careful when meeting a stranger from the internet. I will moderate strictly, but it is always a good thing to remember.

UPDATE: If you would like to be added to the group, please send me a message via Facebook or to Rebecca@mommyeverafter.com. I can invite only my personal Facebook friends, but I want to expand our community, and there are thousands of you who could benefit from this. Thank you!

The post We talked about sex. (Let’s talk some more.) appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Last night I celebrated New Year’s Eve at our home with our best friends. There were six couples, including us; Our cherished next door neighbors, two of my childhood friends and their husbands (who are also my dearest friends) and four of my amazing new friends. We pitched in together and cooked a true gourmet feast, and toasted with nice champagne and invented our own signature drink for the night. My old friends hit it off beautifully with my newer friends and the night far exceeded my expectations. And let me tell you why.

About an hour before our first guests were going to arrive, I got a “Happy New Year” text from a childhood friend who now lives out of state. She was wishing me well in the coming year, referencing the challenges I have faced and her hopes for me in the future. Very kind.

And she told me some things about her life and then she stopped, and wrote, “But seriously. How are you?”

And I typed “I’m doing OK” which is my standard reply. I always say OK. Sometimes, to my closest friends and family members I will say that I am not doing OK, but usually it’s a simple OK, two letters with a tremendous amount of baggage behind them.

But then I erased my text. And instead, I wrote, “I’m good.”

This was the first time I had written those words, or expressed that sentiment, in over a year.

I realized that while the days are still hard, and some are harder than others, and that I still have a steep mountain to climb,

I am finding joy in things again, like my kids and my friends and my life.

I think I have been scared to say anything for a little while, as I figured I would be tempting fate, and the other shoe would drop. But honestly, in this past year, we’ve had a whole department store’s shoe section dropped on us. I have to stop being so scared.

So, I went into last night with a completely different attitude. I had always been looking forward to the night, but I made sure to savor it in a way that I have not in far too long; I ate a full plate of delicious food and enjoyed it, I had some really long intimate conversations and some short little hysterical moments. When one of my new friends played for me the music video of his new song obsession, we essentially imitated the performers, standing in front of my TV, dancing like crazies, but loving it. I felt as though a layer of the pain that I have been wearing for so long was lifted, leaving me free to do and feel and love so much more.

So, I’m not making any grand statements about how the rest of the year will be, because frankly, I have no idea how I will feel tomorrow.

But for now, I can say, proudly,

that I’m good.

The post But then I erased my text. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

This was sent to me yesterday by a dear friend. I needed it.

I then sent it to another dear friend. She needed it.

Every day, we all carry things with us; hopes, fears, ideas, identities…

Some of these things lift us up. Some of my labels I wear proudly:

Wife, mother, friend, daughter, grand-daughter, teacher, twin, writer, confidant, sister,

dance partier, loud laugher, decorator, front-woman for a rock band…

Yet there are some layers of myself that I wish to shed.

I will probably always be on the slightly anxious end of the anxiety spectrum.

But I would love to no longer be a sufferer. A worrier. A scaredy-cat.

Those things weigh me down. They are the labels that can make minutes feel like hours, make days feel dark and make my stomach feel like it has a led weight inside of it.

I want to be lighter.

So I am making a conscious effort to take off the things that I no longer wish to wear.

I have written many times over the past year about the shift in my friendships; that through the trauma of postpartum depression and it’s after effects, my friends have become my family. We talk every single day. They humor me when I send out 15 emails about our holiday cookie Pollyanna party, because they know how important it is for me to embrace this holiday season. They are just my people.

Then there are the new friends I have made. They have changed my life. The ones who spent last year sitting on the floor with me, as I opened up about my depression. The ones who have been so selfless. The one whom I’ve followed on the internet for years, and turned out to be even more beautiful and amazing and spectacular in person. The one who understands every one of my faults and loves me because of them, not in spite of them. The one who sees a pair of Fox leggings in the store and buys them for me, because…obviously. These friends have been a gift. I carry them with me, now.

And as far as everyone and everything else,

all the drama and the ghosts and the pain that try to cloud my mind and cause me anxiety, I am trying to let it go.

Like Elsa.

Just letting it go.

I don’t want to carry them with me anymore.

And so I won’t.

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