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

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Morning glow by your light
We can make the new day bright
And the phantoms of the night
Will fade into the past
Morning glow is here

At last.

-Stephen Schwartz, Pippin

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I have been fighting some major fatigue for the past two weeks and today was just a long day.

By 4pm, I had face planted onto the bed in the guest room, as the kids snuggled and played around me.

I snapped an iPhone selfie so that I could publish it with the words “I am too tired to write. I love you.”

And then I decided to look for a quote about Wednesdays to fill in the blanks, as I am truly unable to come up with anything worth reading, and it hit me! One of my greatest Wednesday stories of all time:

It was Springtime, during my Freshman year of college. I remember leaving a computer lab on campus and I am sad that I cannot remember it’s name now (maybe it was the West lab? Not the underground lab by the library, but a big, two story lab, kind of in the center of campus? You had to walk in to a freestanding building and walk up and it was a huge open room with computers?) and seeing a girl with what looked like some smeared charcoal on her face. I silently wondered if I should tell her, but kept quiet. And then I saw several more kids, all coming from her direction, with similar smudges. “They must have been doing some kind of art project in a studio class,” I figured. I met up with my boyfriend and pointed out this group of people with grey-smeared faces.

And that is how this Jewish girl from Philadelphia found about about Ash Wednesday.

And goodnight.

(p.s. I have now looked up computer labs on campus maps and I am really frustrated with myself; If you can help me to figure out which computer lab I am thinking of, I will buy you a Creamery cappuccino.)

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

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

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

An unpopular post.

And that is OK.

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

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

I get it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me give you some of my perspective:

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

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

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

and one for myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am writing, now, every day;

I am a mother.

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

inconveniences, impossibilities and all,

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

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

And it is not always easy,

but it is my firm belief that it is always,

always

worth it.

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My husband’s early morning Facebook status update.

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

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

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

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

It was then probably 7:02.

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

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

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

it gets to be a lot.

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

wait for it–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead of singing

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

she actually sings,

“Come along with stomach lovers…”

And then it was time to get ready for school.

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

all before 8am.

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

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

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

I am going to tell you one story about today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will do my best,” I replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She took one bite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I drink your milkshake.”

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

My experience in September changed my life–my entire being–in many ways, both tangible and intangible, large and small. I remembered things about myself that I had forgotten and discovered things that I had never known.

Today, I am trying out a new avenue for physical help. I have no idea what it is going to be like. Fortunately, this is not the same thing as my program in September, and it is local, but I am extremely nervous (hence the sleeplessness). One thing that I admitted last night (and then over email to a friend this morning) is that a thought that I am using as motivation for today is the fact that I will be able to, at some points throughout the day, eat a meal with two hands and go to the bathroom alone. As someone said last night, this is a time when I am putting my oxygen mask on first. And you can be sure that I am getting those oxygen makes over the tiny faces of my kids, but I will be able to do so with fresh air filling my lungs. I wouldn’t be able to do so while feeling sick and passing out.

I am nervous for today–for all of this, really. I had weird dreams last night; They weren’t all so terrible, but in every one I was uncomfortable in some way. In one, I was on a long elevator ride, something that used to be my phobia; In another I had to swim; In another, someone whom I love said something that was supposed to be nice to me, yet made me feel bad; And, I am not kidding, I had one dream in which a venue manager (or someone like that) was talking to me about scheduling a performance for me with my band, but he said he didn’t like the voice of the lead singer, Brett Dennen.

There is a lot more that I want to write, and a lot more people I want to thank, but I am going to take these last 20 minutes before my alarm and cuddle up in the darkness of my room. I put a lot of pressure on myself to makes sure that I have enough published or that I am generating new and varying content on this site (I said in a private message yesterday that this is so unlike me; That I am not at all “Type A”, I am “Type Sparkly”) but it is because this, this right here, means so much to me. And I want it to succeed.

And by succeed I mean I want to help people every day. That is a lofty goal, I realize, but I am going to try.

Well, I guess I am off to a good start, because getting this out, these feelings of incredible vulnerability, is freeing. So I have helped one person today, already.

I have helped myself.

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