I have good stories,

funny stories,

warm stories,

and a love story.

But I haven’t been able to write, because I have been too busy doing this thing called living.

So, I decided that while I took the time to craft and publish these stories, today, I would republish the story that I wrote on this date, March 30, of last year (not knowing what it would be). I thought that it would be a nice exercise to display just how far we as a family have come. I expected something emotional or a silly tidbit, but it just so happens that on March 30, 2014, in a serendipitous coincidence, I wrote a special post–the beginning of my “Hopeful Story”.

So, while you wait to read about my today, I hope you enjoy reading about my day last year, in

Home.

Originally Published on the old MEA site on March 30, 2014.

When we started thinking about having a second child, we were warned that two kids does not equal double the work, but instead, 100 times the work. We have not found that to be true. In fact, we don’t even think it is double the work. We feel like the jump from no kids to one kid was much greater than from one to two. I believe that this is in part due to the fact that we waited 3.5 years between kids, and my daughter can do things like let in the dog and go into the fridge for a snack and take herself to the bathroom. It is a juggling act at times, but it works. Despite my struggles, I haven’t felt overwhelmed by having two kids; unless you count feeling overwhelmed with love. And I mean it.
But having two kids does mean tag-teaming. My husband usually does my daughter’s bedtime. It’s a special time they share. He tells her stories; sometimes they are about Star Wars, sometimes about princesses; last night it was My Little Pony. He sings to her a certain repertoire of songs and they snuggle. It is very sweet.
But tonight, as a special treat (really, for all of us) I said I would come in after stories and songs for a snuggle session with my girl.
I crawled into her bed and rested my head on the pillow next to her. And I got that peaceful feeling again, one that has been so hard to find recently. But I got it.
And I asked her if I could sing her a song, because all I could hear in my head was the Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros song “Home”s chorus.
Home,
Let me come home,
Home is wherever I’m with you.
“With you I feel home,” I told her.
“With you I feel whole,” she replied.
She is so amazing.
Home is wherever I’m with you.
Even though life has been hard, I am grateful for the little things, like 10 minutes of snuggling with my firstborn, who is growing up so quickly I can hardly catch my breath.
And I’m starting to find my way,
slowly,
arduously,
but I really am starting to head in the direction
towards home.

*Featured Image by Lindsay Docherty Photography

The post Home, again. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

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.

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

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.

The post Peeps & Company. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

I wrote about how on Sunday we did things like Build Bears, eat popovers and lose our son in the mall for five minutes. I felt like a human again.

Well, let’s say that if Sunday was a hill day, yesterday was a valley.

But throughout the day today we climbed, each in our own way.

Since (how I mentioned previously) the other story is not my story to tell, I will tell you that while I woke up this morning not feeling great, I ended up feeling better and better as the day went on.

I danced with my son, all around his bedroom, to Ed Sheeran’s sick Grammy performance of “Thinking Out Loud” (featuring John Mayer, Herbie Hancock and Quest Love). We both felt so happy. I thought to myself, “Have I ever felt this happy before? Certainly I must have been happier than this little moment.” but I really was so filled with joy.

And then the best friend who made me an “aunt” texted to say that she was driving around, and asked if we would like company for an hour.

Yes!

So I got to see my little niecey and watch my son try to hug and kiss her, too shy to ever actually make contact.

And there were some other snapshots of tiny, wonderful moments (tasting an amazing date, fresh from Israel)

and some crappy moments (listening to my daughter cry because the ziplock bag that holds her little plastic My Little Pony dolls broke).

I was glad to just be able to chill with my husband, tonight, with some TV or a podcast. First, I would be able to catch up on my Bravo and E! shows while he went rock climbing.

And then, and yes, I am purposely being vague here, he got home and we held hands, as a team, and he had to face a source of stress in his life, and I made my intention, ahead of time, to not let myself become enraged.

I am an extremely calm person. Extremely. You would think that because I am so emotional and dramatic I would be having outbursts left and right, but I have raised my voice maybe a handful of times in the past decade. I never yell.

But, tonight, I failed at meeting my intention. The rage crept up inside of me, as a mixture of protectiveness and disgust, and I tried to just breathe through it.

Another thing I am is a lazy person. I don’t say this disparagingly. I am not lazy-minded, nor am I a lazy mother, but in general, I would rather be relaxing than running.

But after we dealt with the stressful situation, and I sat there, rage coursing through me, my husband told me that he had just heard a really cool new band on the radio. Saint Motel.

And he was excited about it, so I sat on the couch, under my blanket, the E! channel frozen on my living room TV, as he plugged the song “My Type” into our stereo.

And all of a sudden, almost instantly, I started to shake my head. It was super catchy!

We both sat for a minute, moving to the beat of the song, and then I realized, I wanted to dance.

“Do you want to dance?” I asked my husband.

“Sure!” he said.

We could dance it out.

And so we had a crazy dance party in our living room

and all of a sudden my rage evaporated.

I actually danced it out.

I think that this vignette would make for a better scene in a movie than it does for a blog post, as this story is more of a scattered diary entry than a moving call to action or personal confession,

but I think that’s OK. I give myself permission to share with you the fact that I had two dance parties today,

with my two main men,

and that they made me happy.

And, as so many of you have said, just take life day by day, sometimes even hour by hour, so that is what I am doing. And this hour is an hour to dance party.

So that I shall do.

And, because it needs to be said, I am absolutely no longer Marnie; after this past week’s episode of Girls I am, 100%, no going back, Jessa. She rocked my world this week.

See? This is totally a quirky diary entry.

Dear Diary,

Today I made up a few games with the baby and he ate two poptarts, a cheese omelette and a kale smoothie for breakfast. I also got to see my niece in one of my very favorite shirts that once belonged to my daughter. I got to hear praise about my husband and echo it.

I listened to Ben Stiller on Howard Stern and I found about this new band called Saint Motel.

I had the best date ever. Oh, and by date I mean the pitted kind, from Israel. It was outrageous.

I got angry, but then I danced it out.

XOXO Love Always,

Jessa

The post Dear Diary, Saint Motel and rage no more. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

But, right now my daughter is downstairs watching a Disney Princess movie as she decompresses after school and I have been trying to think of the right way to articulate what I want to convey with this post, and all that keeps coming into my head are the lyrics from the Broadway version of “Beauty and the Beast”. Human again.

So let me give this a try.

Life around here has been extra tough

tumultuous

trying

tiresome

lately. But, because this is not actually my story to tell, I am not going to do so; You can just take my word for it.

If these past two years were a mountain climb, I can say that we fell down the mountain many times and even when we got back up we were faced with things like unexpected hail storms and serious injuries. But This past week, man. This past week has been the part of the mountain where all of a sudden the incline becomes impossibly steep and trees appear, creating a canopy so dark that it is hard to see the surroundings and there are snakes. Lots of slithery snakes.

But, something amazing happened. I am scared to even type it, for I don’t want to jinx anything (we all know that I am incredibly superstitious) but this week, my lungs were able to adapt to the altitude, my legs were able to manage the tough incline and my eyes could see keenly through the darkness.

This is not to say that I have reached the top of the mountain; Actually, if I think about it, I don’t think I ever want to reach the top of the mountain. My goal is to keep climbing, to keep going up and up and getting stronger along the way, seeing more and more of the world around me as I get so high.

In any case, something kind of miraculous happened for me.

For the first time in a very, very long time, I felt like a human again.

March of 2012-October of 2013 I was a pregnant woman.

November 2013 I started with the severe postpartum depression and since then it has been a journey of battles and falls and sickness and weakness.

I have felt so fragile. Sometimes, I have been incredible fragile emotionally, and other times, I have been so very fragile physically and then, at the worst of times, it was both.

I have felt like this delicate shell of myself, going through the motions of life, which were too hard to begin with, and feeling so much like an other (which, by the way, I do embrace).

But, this week, I felt human again.

I can’t explain the shift, but it is perceptible to those close to me as well.

This week I was able to attend several social functions, despite incredibly stressful things going on in my personal life. I was able to work hard professionally and on my journey towards healing.

I enjoyed my friends and my family and life in a way that I haven’t in years. Literally, years.

I stopped losing weight for the first time since September. As I mentioned in the highlighted post before this, I am incredibly sensitive as to avoid any triggers for my readers. But let’s just say this. I stopped the loss, stabilized, and have gained a couple of pounds. This may seem like a small victory, but after having lost weight every single week consistently since September, this is huge. For me, it is huge.

And I am going to keep going because I have to keep going because I want to keep going.

When I was out for my one of my oldest and very best friend’s 30th birthday party on Saturday night, I got to sit next to two of my other very best friends and enjoy delicious food and laughter as we reminisced about the past. My friends, who have been very worried about me, didn’t worry about me as I sat next to them, that night. It isn’t that I am all better; I am far from it. But I am better. I feel human again.

For the past six months I have had a uniform, mostly because my normal clothing has not fit; Black leggings, a long tank and a sweater. This past week I branched out, wearing clothing in my closet that I have never touched before, trying new things, finding a new personal style. I wore a silk blazer with over the knee boots one night and a one piece, black lace jumpsuit the next.

The shift in me was never so palpable as it was yesterday, Sunday, as my family of four went to the mall.

This may seem like a mundane activity, but for us, it was a huge accomplishment for many reasons.

And not only did we go to the mall, but we went with no agenda. I had no timeline, nothing was off-limits. We let our kids create stuffed animals at Build-A-Bear and my husband and I looked at each other with tears in our eyes.

“Crying happy.”

We went shoe shopping for my daughter, and as both of my kids walked around, I pushed a stroller that contained one Rainbow Bunny and one Superman Bear.

My daughter said, “Mommy, it’s like we have three kids, but I’m the nicest one.”

I was reveling a bit in my new status as a human being, as we were getting ready to pay for my daughter’s shoes.

“Can I ask you a secret question?” My daughter leaned into me. “Is this the place with the popovers?”

“No,” I said. “That is Neiman Marcus, but if you want to go there, we can go there for a special, late lunch.”

I was able to go with the flow, something that has never been easy for me.

And then…

My son got lost.

My son got lost on the top floor of Nordstrom.

My son, who does not know how to effectively communicate, wandered off on a busy Sunday and was nowhere to be found. My husband ran to get security so that they would lockdown the store and I held my daughter’s hand as we searched and asked people if they had seen a little boy with strawberry blonde hair and glasses.

I consulted with all of the salespeople, and I did not feel anxious; I felt numb. I felt nothing.

In my head I thought, “Oh my god, someone kidnapped my son. What is going to happen to him? What are they going to do to him?” But I couldn’t really feel anything. I think that if I had felt, I would have crumbled, fallen off of the mountain to the very bottom.

I might not have survived.

After the scariest five minutes of our lives, an associate brought my son, his face formed into the saddest pout, into my arms.

I lost my son and was lucky enough to find him. And when my daughter asked if we could still go out for popovers, my husband and I both said that we could. We were shaken, obviously, but we could still function. We could keep going. We could keep living. We were human.

And so, the four of us sat down for our first meal out of 2015 (truly) and we toasted to our little family…over little mugs of chicken consomme.

And we toasted to the fact that it was the 9th anniversary of our first date.

And this little boy was his normal, happy self.

I had this feeling of pride as we left the mall yesterday, 4 hours after we had arrived, because we had done something that we hadn’t been able to do in years; We went out, without a plan, and actually enjoyed it.

Needless to say, I gave my kids extra hugs before bed last night, but I think that the crazy day brought my husband and I closer and that felt good.

This whole idea of being “human again” wasn’t something that I was able to articulate at the time, but today, when I thought about things, I realized that this transformation had occurred, subtly, but profoundly.

Today, I took care of my son, without childcare help, which, again, may seem like nothing to most people, but for me, it was an accomplishment. And, it was a joy.

So now, a day later, I feel a bit stronger. I feel like I have found my voice, with which I can advocate for myself. And I just watched my two kids dance to “Loving Cup” as my husband played the Exile on Mainstreet album through the speakers, filling the house.

Songs swirling in my head, emotions still being teased apart and understood, but all I know is that for the first time that I can remember, I feel human again.

And to feel human again is the greatest feeling,

as now I can keep climbing up my mountain, stronger, more skilled, and with a gratitude and an appreciation for the small things–

an unexpected field of wildflowers,

a break from the sun on a cloudy day,

a family sing-along–

and a-climbing I shall continue to go.

The post Human again. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

I love this, in that I believe we should all celebrate life when we can, cherishing every drop of it.

But, I also worry about this, as I know that today there are many people who are not happy, not even close, and I don’t want these people to feel (perhaps further) marginalized.

On March 8th, prompted by an emotional local news story and other, smaller issues that were more close to home, I wrote a post on my personal Facebook that has been shared since on several pages.

I am glad that there is light shining out from the terrible cracks that recent tragedies have caused in my home community. Awareness is being raised for mental illness, and issues that are typically talked about in a whisper are being presented openly.

A common refrain that I hear is that this person or that person “wasn’t sad or depressed at all” before it was too late to save them. I realize that this is said as a warning, trying to caution parents and people that “this could happen to anyone”. But, I implore you to read, again, what I wrote above. Someone can be smiling, giggly, vivacious, social…

and still be severely depressed. There is no “face of depression”. So try to be good to people. Try to look at them a little more deeply and not just at how they look in an Instagram post or what their Facebook status says about doing really something cool/being somewhere really great/feeling so ecstatic.

Obviously, mental illness is a disease of deceit, even fooling those who are ill themselves, so it is impossible for you or anyone to be able to “catch” every case of something being off. I do, however, ask that you treat those who are suffering with sympathy and not with scorn or stigmas.

Okay. I can climb off my soapbox now and talk about being happy.

For me, it is easier some days than others. I am happy throughout the day, at times, every single day; for that I am so grateful. But am I happy all day every day? No. But, who is?

I will share with you what my #happiness is today:

I mentioned recently that our little boy is going through somewhat of a mama phase, but really, it’s separation anxiety in general, which is totally age appropriate.

This morning, he woke up calling out for his “Dada”. I got up to get him, and when I turned on his light and reached into grab him from the crib, he flung his body down, crying. “Dada! Dada!” he cried. He would not let me hold him. And so I had to finally bargain with him.

“If you let me pick you up so that I can change your diaper, I will bring you into bed to be with Dada, ok?”

And so he came to me and I made good on my promise.

My son chanted all the way down the hall to our bedroom, as I carried him, saying “Dada! Dada! Dada!” and when I put him on the bed, he did not jump on his dad as I would have expected with the enthusiasm he had been showing;

Instead, he quietly crawled over to him, curled up into the crevasse that his shoulders created in his back, put his thumb in his mouth and just snuggled into his dad.

And in that moment, while my husband was still half asleep (and asking me about how my stand up comedy show in Orlando went), I felt so much happiness. I felt so happy to have these two boys in my life, two out of the three greatest that I know. And I felt happy for my son, as he has the best father, who always puts him first and loves him warmly and affectionately. And, most of all, I felt happy for my guy, as he deserves this kind of unconditional love from my son, and from all of us, which he has. He is a truly good human being. His happiness is my happiness. He deserves nothing less.

Happy #InternationalDayofHappiness

Even if it is a small thing, like hearing a song on the radio that you like, or making a green light, I hope that today brings you, at the very least, a moment of happiness.

And, if not, that’s OK, too.

Because I know, with all of my heart, that you will find that happiness again.

#IAmLivingProof

[*Author’s Note: This post was originally published using the title and term “International Happiness Day”, which I have since corrected to “International Day of Happiness”. But don’t waste your time trying to edit my post; go find your happiness.]

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But I am also lucky enough to have an actual sister; She has appeared many times on here throughout the years, and although we don’t get to see each other as often as we would like, my kids adore her.

My sister and I are completely different. She is a stong, driven athlete and fiercely independent. She is an award winning journalist and her resume is extremely impressive. She is a vegetarian, a runner and she does not like to talk about her feelings.

But, the thing is, there are these things–these sister things–that outweigh all of the differences.

For there is no one else on this earth with whom I can discuss TV shows and characters and storylines like I can with my sister.

(Side note: As I am typing this, she just asked me if I had watched a certain reality TV show on Bravo.)

We have inside jokes that no one else would understand, and when we sing together, our voices resonate in perfect harmony. That is because we are sisters.

There are just some sister things. I can’t explain them. They just are.

 Last evening I got a song stuck in my head, but really, it was just about a measure of a song, one to which I knew not a single lyric, but I felt like I had heard it recently and knew that the only person who could  possibly help me was my sister. So I called her and said, “I have this song in my head and I have no idea who sings it but I think it is from a TV show or a movie and it goes something like this.” And sang a few “Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun”s to her.

“It’s ‘Take Me to Church’ by Hozier,” she said, instantly.

There was not a second of hesitation. I ran to my computer and to YouTube and sure enough, she was spot on.

She couldn’t tell me where I had heard it recently, and then it hit me: It was from Tom Schwartz’s Instagram.

Fitting that this mystery song came from the social media feed of a Bravo network celebrity, or “Bravolebrity”, as they say.

But I don’t take it for granted, the sister thing, because as different as we may be, we also share something that I do not share with anyone else.

We look alike. Our voices are hard to tell apart on the phone. She was the first person I told when I found out I was pregnant with my son and she was the first person to take my daughter for a pedicure just this past weekend.

She knows things that no one else will ever know.

I may not always understand my sister, as we speak different life languages, but will always get each others’ melodies.

I always love her. I love her an incredible amount. And I know that the feeling is mutual.

I will always support her.

I will always be her number one fan.

And she will always be the person I call when I can’t figure out a song, when I can only come up with three notes.

Because she can figure it out for me.

Because it’s a sister thing.

The post Sister things. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Dad and girl doing puzzles;

This, our happy life.

The post “Finally”: A Haiku 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.

you will know that I am an enormous fan of the person and musician named Brett Dennen. You might know that my favorite song is “Sydney (I’ll Come Running)” because of it’s profound meaning to me. Or that I cover his song “Make You Fall in Love With Me” with my band, Fox & the Hounds.

If you know me in real life, you will know that I don’t just love his albums for the quality of the music, but because they have lifted me up during some of my lowest times while enduring my “Hard Story”;

Or this amazing story, during the height of my postpartum, and how, so serendipitously, the liner notes for “Smoke and Mirrors” read, “This album is dedicated to those who might have lost their way but found it again from within.”

Well, it has been a great ride following this person.

And then, he liked my Instagram photo.

Did you catch that?

Oh, hi, Brett Dennen.

Brett Dennen, himself, liked my Instagram photo. Sure he has favorited my tweets; yeah, he called me out for having a “beautiful voice” during his last acoustic show in Wilmington, DE; but when I saw this, I really think that my heart stopped. And I can hardly type, I am so shaky. I am a total nerdy fangirl right now.

This particular gesture means so much to me because it has to do with my kids, both of whom share my love for Brett Dennen.

My daughter likes to play “I’m Kristina Jackson“, Brett’s beautiful partner who is also an incredible natural foods chef and “holistic guru”.

We are both totally nerdy fangirls. But it’s OK. We totally own it.

Because that’s what Brett’s music is all about; be who you are, make no apologies, live your best life.

So today will forever be the day when I woke up from a two hour nap, walked in my daughter’s room to see her listening to Brett Dennen on the iPad, posted a photo on Instagram

and had Brett Dennen like it.

The end.

The post Oh, hi, Brett Dennen. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Dearest Loves,

For someone who loves words, I am having trouble finding the right ones; this is the hardest love letter I have ever had to write.

I guess I shall start with “I love you”. I love you for caring about me and for supporting me, when I am fun to be around, and when I am a mess.

Some of you have held my hand at my darkest hours; There are some of you whom I have never met; Your presence in my life is my charm, which, as I have mentioned before, is probably my favorite word (in all parts of speech).

For years–during my postpartum, but even before that if I am really being honest–I have felt lonely, sometimes. I felt like an other. As my soul friend said to me recently, “We are each others’ other.” I felt as though I had more fears than other people, more anxieties, more insecurities, more failures, more doubts, and the list goes on. But because of you, my loves, I don’t feel that at all anymore. Not one little bit. I feel like I am a part of something, and that something is so beautiful and pure and good. And for so long, I wanted to be beautiful and pure and good. And your presence in my world is showing me that I deserve this love, even when I find it hard to believe.

Today, my daughter and I were cuddling on the couch in the basement, just talking as we stared at the beams of the unfinished ceiling, and she asked, “Mom, if I tell you something, will you give me a time out?” Never really a good intro, but I told her that she can always tell me anything. “I think you are really sweet because you never yell. Sometimes daddy yells, but I like it better because you don’t yell.”

“That is because I am someone who stays calm,” I explained to her, which is true. I don’t yell.

“Am I calm?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, honestly. “You get upset and when you do you cry and sometimes you scream when you cry and it is very loud and it hurts my ears.”

“Am I a cry baby?” she asked.

“No, you are not a cry baby. But you aren’t calm.”

“I have never seen you cry sad, mom. I have only seen you cry happy.”

Obviously, that is not true, as I am sure that in the past year she has seen me at very low points; but for some reason, the image that sticks with her is a happy one; she sees me as emotional, but also well.

And an enormous part of my wellness is because of you, dear loves. Your support, your empathy, your compassion, your generosity, your thoughtfulness, your kindness, your bravery, your companionship, your cheerleading…

You keep me going, even when I feel like everyone and everything else is trying to knock me down.

You see, life is life; it gets hard sometimes. But your presence also makes my life good. Fun. You make me laugh with silly posts and texts, you hold my hand while spilling secrets in bed, you let me squirt sriracha into a martini while we laugh so hard together that we can barely breathe.

When I experienced inpatient hospitalization and then, later, another serious treatment plan, I confided in you that I was worried about being able to keep it all going; my health, my duties at home and my blog.

And what did you do? You all offered to help. To bring my family meals. To write guest posts for me. And that is when one of you coined the term #teamMEA.

Mommy, Ever After is my third child, and you are like the amazing playgroup that I met because of having given birth to this baby; the kind of playgroup where the friends around you in the circle on the floor are your friends for life.

Jim Morrison said, “Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself – and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is.”

And that quote right there means a lot to me (and not just because I trekked through a hailstorm in Paris to visit his grave). As I have gotten older, I have learned the difference between true friendship and that which is not. And it’s OK to have acquaintances. They serve their purpose. It is better to have people to say “hello” to than a bunch of enemies.

But you, my loves, are not the latter. You are my true friends. You care about me and I care about you. You love me at my lowest. You lift me up when I feel most lost. You cheer for me the loudest.

So, what I am saying, loves, is that you’re stuck with me.

For your love, I will be eternally, endlessly grateful.

Because of your love, and a few feathers, I will be able to soar.

Love, always,

B

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