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.

This morning, my husband had brunch with the members of his “eating club”, as a farewell to the current Four Seasons breakfast before the hotel changes it’s location. He, my dad, my brousins, my dad’s best friend since high school and his sons have formed “The E-Street Supper Club” and do Four Seasons brunches, a yearly trip to Peter Luger’s in New York and steak feasts at the Capital Grille. It’s a very special ritual with a group of very special men.

Well, today we are two days shy of it being exactly two years since the cold winter morning when my husband went to the Four Seasons brunch with his guys, leaving me alone to secretly take a pregnancy test.

When he walked in the door from brunch that day, my daughter handed him a gift box and inside of it was a test with two clear lines. Just like that, we were going to have another baby. I will never forget that moment or that day. My husband and I were both shocked and excited and I swear that my belly popped out by that evening.

This morning, as you can imagine, I was a bit nostalgic; wistful; as I won’t ever get a chance to live that scene, or anything like it, ever again.

But,

I had something even better.

I was sitting on the Living Room couch, snuggling with both kids, when my son spotted my husband’s face through the glass window in our front door.

“Dada!” he squealed with excitement,

and he took off running.

So yes, things have changed, and the past will not be repeated, but oh my, the present,

it is so special, and for these moments I am so blessed.

Instead of two lines, I have two amazing children.

A pee stick ain’t got nothing on this.

The post Two years after two lines. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

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

The post Morning Glow. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

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

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

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

An unpopular post.

And that is OK.

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

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

I get it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me give you some of my perspective:

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

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

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

and one for myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am writing, now, every day;

I am a mother.

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

inconveniences, impossibilities and all,

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

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

And it is not always easy,

but it is my firm belief that it is always,

always

worth it.

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

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

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.

kids squealing at their own joke;

Two mouths but one laugh.

The post Siblings: A Haiku. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

My daughter was pressed up against her bedroom windowpane, her brother by her side, following her motions and mimicking her enthusiasm.

I was folding laundry on her floor, my husband was out picking up Chinese Takeout and the kids were playing on the chairs by the window in her bedroom that faces the street.

She was actually shouting, almost jumping, with excitement.

In this moment, she made it easy to keep my pledge to “cherish the mundane”.

I am so infinitely  grateful for the outpouring of support after I opened up yesterday.

The public “likes” and comments were so meaningful to me, and I thank you to those who shared my words with others. I am humbled.

But I am also supremely grateful for the private messages I received, and the incredibly personal stories that people shared with me. I heard amazing tales of strength and survival from people whom I have known for years and some whom I have not (yet!) met. But, in one such email, when we were bonding over difficulties of the past, I wrote something about how it is really sucky that sometimes we have be so lost in the darkness in order to really see stars; but that when we do, it all seems worth it.

And then, a few hours later, my daughter and son stood side by side, on an ordinary Sunday night, after an ordinary Sunday (a time when, truth be told, I did not get out of my pajamas) and she reminded me of exactly of what I had been trying to convey earlier. Yesterday was hard. It had to revisit my darkest days. But tonight,

tonight, my daughter saw the brilliance of the light outside of her window,

and it was all worth it, indeed.

The post To see the stars. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

My daughter didn’t sleep. My son sleeps.

My daughter nursed for 18 months. My son nursed for 10 weeks.

My daughter would sit and play for hours. My son eats candles.

My daughter, when taken to the pool for the first time, splashed on the stairs. My son DOVE in.

My daughter didn’t require childproofing. My son slit his wrist on my coffee table, requiring 7 stitches.

I joke about the fact that my son is more active than my daughter was and I often kid that it is because of his Y Chromosome.

The truth is, they are just two different human beings. And I love that. My daughter has always been more verbally advanced, while my son excels physically. She is more of a cuddler, while he is more of an explorer.

But they also have some similarities; they both like the sound of rain falling as their ambient noise while they sleep; they love back rubs and will stop, immediately, when I lift my hand under the back of their shirt; they adore music and dancing; they are lovers.

However, I will say that whatever you want to attribute it to, my son is fearless by nature, has seemingly boundless energy and enjoys items based on how dangerous they are (the correlation being that the more hazardous something is, the more he likes it ; e.g I give him a spoon and he throws it. He begs for the knife).

I could give you countless examples from the past several months, but I do not have to. He gave me enough examples from this morning, alone.

So, this morning:

My son opened the dishwasher and climbed in and started to play with the plastic cups on the top rack

Found lotion under the kids’ bathroom sink and the kiddie toothpaste from the counter and I couldn’t pry them from his hands.

Ate food out of the dog’s bowl.

Ate quinoa chips off of the floor.

Lifted the 17 inch Macbook Pro and carried it (I just looked it up; it’s 6.6 lbs, a quarter of his weight).

Put my Mason Pearson hairbrush in the toilet so that I PEED on it, as I didn’t look in the toilet bowl before.

Hid his single pair of unbroken glasses in a large vase in my Living Room.

See what I mean? He gives me a lot of material. But, do you know what else this little boy gives me? A whole lot of joy. Like when he walked over to me, put his right thumb into his mouth and his left hand into mine. He may not be the kind of kid who will stay in bed and cuddle for hours, but luckily, I already have one of those. I have this kid who is willing to dive into things (quite literally) and for that I am grateful.

I just really wish I hadn’t peed on my Mason Pearson hairbrush.

The post Diving in (and peeing on). appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

It is 5pm.

I have been placed in a tiara and am being forced to wield a wand.

My hot cocoa just exploded in my microwave. And then I choked on it.

And, my daughter is running around, speaking only in French, “directing a play”, dressed like this

And, the kids want to watch Scooby Doo but I am putting on Vanderpump Rules.

Oh, and my daughter just ran over to me to say, “MOM! The baby just spilled my juice. But don’t worry. It’s not on the settee.”

Bright spot!

#sickday

The post “Oui Oui Oui!” appeared first on Mommy Ever After.