07 Jan 2013

Good, Bad, Better

9 Comments Uncategorized

The other day, a friend of mine very casually said that we have our best moments and our worst moments when we become parents.

I have not been able to get those words out of my head. She’s so very right. I have had the best moments of my life, been the best ME I’ve ever been, since having Garrett. I’ve also had some moments that I felt ashamed, mad at myself, or just plain stupid.

I thought it might be a good time to reflect on what I like about me as a mom, and what I don’t. So I can do more of the good stuff, and less of the bad. And maybe you can chime in about what you’re brilliant at and what you’d like to change?

I am good at:

Letting G know how loved he is.

Letting him know how smart and special he is.

Making sure he’s well-fed.

Keeping promises.

Scheduling play-dates, so he has a ton of time with other kids.

Teaching him things.

Answering any questions he has about… Anything.

Letting him know how important it is to laugh and how cool it is to be odd.

Being a very big part of his school, knowing all the kids and parents, helping with important functions, and setting up fun things for him and his friends.

Being strict. Sticking to my guns even when it’s hard. And helping him to be a good person.

I am not so great at:

Being patient.

Not exploding over little, unimportant annoyances. In front of him. Which is scary.

Playing games that he’s created 35 hard-to-follow rules for. (see patience.)

Saying nice things about our home. I complain way too much, in front of G, about the mess and the things I’m unhappy with. This is such an awful message to send. I want to change it to one of gratitude for all that we have. This is taking a whole lot of work in therapy.

Teaching him to clean up and be organized. I’m still learning these things myself, and I’m afraid I’m passing on the “messy” (but very clean and germ-free) gene.

Things I’m getting better at:

Saying, out loud, when I need a break to re-charge. Then taking that break and coming back strong.

Being spontaneous and extra silly.

Having people over, even when I’m not thrilled about the way the house looks. G won’t remember the rip in the couch. He’ll remember that his friends were always welcome here.

These are the things I could think of quickly. I know there are many more, in each category. PLEASE share your thoughts. These are the things we need to talk to each other about so we feel less crazy.

11 Dec 2012

The Giving Kid

2 Comments Uncategorized

Tonight G wanted me to read The Giving Tree to Him.  This never goes well. I cry. I can’t freaking help it. The boy starts out playing with the tree and loving her, and ends up taking everything she has (which she is happy to give him), then comes to her when she has nothing left but a stump. He sits there to rest his old bones. And she is happy.


So, tonight I was bound and determined not to cry. And, with a few well-placed pauses and breaths, I achieved my goal. Got all the way to “The End” without shedding a tear.

Then G got in to bed and I covered him up with the comforter I knew he would kick off moments later, in favor of his little blue blanket. I gave him a kiss and told him to remember to never stop playing, even when he got really old. He promised he would never stop. Then he asked me if I would still visit him when he had his own family. I told him I would visit whenever he asked, and that I would always want to be a part of their lives.

Then he wiped tears from his eyes and said, “Why am I crying while I’m talking to you? This is so weird!” And I told him it’s because he’s such a sweet and caring kid, and that’s why he’s so special.

“You’re a good mom”, he said.

I almost made it without crying. And then I didn’t.

30 Nov 2012

You Can’t Spell Christmas Without “Guilt”

4 Comments Uncategorized

I was raised Jewish, so the only real holiday-related lies I was told were about giant arks and burning bushes. There were no Hanukkah characters like Bernie the Gift Guy who magically came to our house, or Yom Kippur elves to help us atone. The closest thing we had, or have, is Elijah… And all he does is come in for a minute during Passover and have a few sips of wine. He doesn’t leave presents. Hell, he doesn’t even close the freaking door behind him when he leaves!!

So now I have a son and we celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah, and sure Hanukkah is great. But Christmas is FANTASTIC!  Christmas also has all these little white lies tied to it. With those white lies come a barrel-full of holiday magic that I never got to experience. But it also brings its own brand of horrible guilt about lying to my kid.

Sure, we’ve been telling him about Santa since his first Christmas. Santa comes down the chimney, he leaves gifts, we leave him milk and cookies. He even comes to the mall to find out what we want, PERSONALLY, because he cares so much. Whenever we’re somewhere Santa happens to be, G will ask if it’s the real Santa. I always say the same thing: It might be. It also might be someone Santa hired to be Santa because Santa can’t be everywhere at the same time. But every Santa that Santa hires has Santa’s ear and will tell him exactly what you tell him to tell him. (Say that 10 times fast!)

Last night my friend was telling me stories about when she and her friends were around seven or eight and found out there was no Santa, and how truly sad they were. I never really thought about how devastating it will be to him one day to find out this is all bunk. But do I want to rob him of the Christmas Magic of the Present, just to save him from the Christmas Pain of the Future? I mean, everyone makes it through okay, right? I don’t know because I NEVER HAD IT TO BEGIN WITH! (Christmas magic, that is. Are you following?)

Today my dear friend brought us The Elf on the Shelf. From what I understand, this is a rather new tradition and it’s one I only heard of last year. I was SO EXCITED we were getting to experience it! To sum it up, the Elf comes to your house sometime around Thanksgiving. He watches you all day, waits for you to sleep, then flies to the North Pole to have some mulled wine with his elf buddies and tell Santa how you’re doing. Then he flies back in time for you to wake up, and he’s never in the same spot twice. When you get up in the morning, you must find your Elf and start your day. You are not permitted to touch your Elf, and your Elf is not permitted to speak to you. But you may share with your Elf all of your secrets and wishes, and he will tell Santa anything you want him to know… As well as anything you did well or completely screwed up during your day. Your Elf flies back to the North Pole on Christmas Eve and doesn’t return until the next holiday season.

When my friend was reading the book that comes with the Elf to G, I ran to his room to put the elf atop G’s shelf. The book ended, and we started to look for him. When he was found moments later, we followed the first rule and named him. G called him Zizzy, initially, then changed it immediately to Bicky Zizzy Itchy. He likes formal names. He then excitedly began to tell Bicky everything about everything and ask question after question, which remained unanswered.

As the evening wore on, G mentioned Bicky frequently. When his friends came for dinner, he introduced them to Bicky and found out all about their elf, Elvy. When his friends left and G was about to brush his teeth he said, “Mom, please don’t joke now. Did you put Bicky on my shelf?” I paused for a brief moment, every ounce of Jew in me wanting to scream, “YES! YES, OF COURSE I DID! But even though we know the truth, Garrett, we can still pretend that Bicky is real and we can still tell him our secrets, okay?” But instead I said, “I didn’t, buddy! I’m telling you, I think that book is magic!”

And then I instantly felt sickening guilt.

I’m just the worst liar ever. I hate the way it makes me feel.

But why did I make that choice? Is it peer pressure? Or did I know that if I told him I had put Bicky there, he would instantly be a little less kid and a little more cynic? Is it because I want his childhood to last a little longer?

I think one of the reasons is that I want him to have the kind of magical, mystical holiday I never had as a kid. And I want him to believe in, I don’t know… Fun stuff? But I’m truly terrified to my core that when he finds out the truth, and puts together that we lied to him… I’m terrified a part of him will stop trusting me. Because I never lie to him about anything else. Ever.

When we went to his room so he could get in bed, we read the book again. G told Bicky how happy he was to have him and that he was really, really going to miss him come Christmas Eve. He asked me if Bicky would always be his Elf, even when he was a grown up. And I told him he would be. That wasn’t a lie, at least.

There is a lot about Christmas that plays on, even takes advantage of, the innocence of a child. And I know we do it to see the looks on their faces, and because there’s so much less magic when you get older, and lose your innocence. I’ve seen the look on G’s face on Christmas morning when there were presents in the living room that weren’t there when he went to sleep. I love that look. I love all that is heart is willing to take in. I just don’t want to crush it in a few years.

So, tell me. Are we doing the right thing, letting them believe in all this stuff? Are we actually FORCING them to believe in all this stuff?? I want G’s Christmases to be spectacular. I want him to remember them as warm, and filled with family and friends, and I want him to learn how to be generous and giving, and that the holidays are about…. Well, magic. And I don’t want him to be the only one of his friends to not have that gift. I just wish so much that we could give it all to him without the lies, big or small.  And I even think we could. It would just be a different kind of magic.

I’m at a bit of a loss here. And it’ll take a Christmas miracle to sort this all out in my head.

I think I’ll ask Bicky to ask Santa for me. I hope he hasn’t already flown off for the night.

19 Nov 2012

Rules are Rules, People.

9 Comments Uncategorized

This is a week for being thankful. And I am. I am so thankful I could burst at the seams.

But I’m also pissed. I am truly sick and tired to the CORE of thoughtless, self-involved assholes who care about no one but themselves. In short, I am sick of people who don’t follow the rules.

Sure, there are times when rule-following is not the way to go. For instance, had I followed the rules and NOT called the casting-director myself, instead of using an agent, I never would have had an audition for Mad TV. Had I followed the rules and NOT dated someone on set, I never would have married Russ. These are rules that are meant to be broken, and hurt no one.

Besides those examples, I am a major follow-the-rules-ist. At parties in junior high, I would take beers out of my friends’ hands and tell them they were too young to drink. I never snuck out of my house. I never missed curfew without calling. I never skipped a class (until senior year, and then I really made up for it).  Today, I use my blinker when I drive so people know which way I’m turning, I hold doors open for people, and I wait my turn in line.

Because I’m such a stickler, it makes me endlessly angry when I see people doing anything they want with no regard for the rules.

Saturday I tracked dog shit all over my mom’s ivory carpet because people never pick their dog shit up from the lawn in front of our house. Today I went out to our trash cans to throw out THE DOG SHIT I PICKED UP and found one of our cans completely filled with other people’s trash.  This got me so angry, I had a huge outburst upon coming back inside. “What is WRONG with people??? Why is no one considerate of others anymore? WHAT THE HELL?????”

Russ nodded in agreement and went back to work on the laptop. Apparently 15 years of these rants has gotten old.

Even now, though, I’m in a bit of a tizzy. I’m angry. I don’t like that there are so many people whose true natures are to be thoughtless and rude.

And I think it’s getting to me even more now because of Garrett. Not only do I want him to grow up in a world where people are considerate, I also want him to not walk around hating people all the time… Like I do. Because, you see, G-Man is a big ol’ rule follower. So much so, that he’s always telling on other kids who are not following the rules.

Mom! Jason is licking the playground! Mom! Matthew is hitting Samantha! Mom! Megan just took three more m&ms even though you said we could each only have five!! MOM!! AUSTIN IS ON THE TOP BUNK AND THERE ARE NO ADULTS IN HERE TO SUPERVISE!!!!

He is a huge tattle-tale, my son. But I know exactly where it’s coming from. Us rule-followers can not stand it when other people are eschewing the rules. (God, I hope that’s the proper use of “eschewing”. I really don’t feel like looking it up. But I’m going to, because I’m a frigging rule-follower.) (I checked. I think I’m okay.) I’m not sure if we are jealous and angry because we feel like we HAVE to follow and these people clearly do not. Or if we are just mad because we feel safer in a world where things have an order to them, and the order is only present when rules are being followed. Either way, G only got five m&ms and Megan got eight. That’s not fair, right?

My son is tortured with doing the right thing.  And I am very pleased and incredibly grateful that he is the way he is. But I hate it for him that so many around him are rule-breakers. And maybe the worst part is that they get away with it. Because it makes us rule-ists wonder why we continue to follow the rules.

Well, hopefully it’ll be of some comfort to G to know that his mom and dad are also rule-ists to our very souls, and that we turned out okay. Or maybe it won’t be comforting at all. Maybe he’ll walk around screaming about the idiots who cut in line, take three free samples from the lady at Costco, and  throw litter out of their cars as they’re driving. And maybe, just maybe, every once in a while he’ll see one of those jerks get their comeuppance, and he’ll smile to himself, proud that he was smart enough to follow the rules…. (Except the ones that are meant to be broken!)

15 Nov 2012

This Is Why You Can Buy This Stuff Pre-Made

17 Comments Uncategorized

Crafts. I am not cut out for it. (Cut-out. It’s a craft pun.) I was not meant to do these things. And G doesn’t even really care if we do them or not.

I grew up in a no-craft zone. There was no felt. There were no pipe cleaners. There was construction paper, but you drew on it. You did not cut out shapes. It’s not like I grew up in a house where fun or messes weren’t allowed. They were. We just weren’t a crafty family. Our craft was word-play. We would try to out-pun one another, or make up funny rhymes, come up with new names for businesses in the neighborhood… Or perfect the craft of sarcasm.

G is growing up in a house like that, too. And I love it. But I keep thinking I should at least TRY to squeeze in some craft time. Some “let’s sit next to each other and glue things on other things and make stuff” time.

Well… I shouldn’t. Here is what happened this morning. I promise I will not exaggerate.

I decided G and I should have an easy morning. I’d bring him to school at 10:00 instead of 9:00 today, so we could have one morning where we weren’t rushing, and we could (say it with me) DO A CRAFT.

I thought this napkin ring craft would be super fun and it looked rather easy. I cut out the templates, got out our felt and the fabric glue I bought two days ago, and brought it all to the kitchen table. I also cut 5 toilet paper rolls in half to make it easier to set the rings of felt once they were glued. G was bored already.

I got to work tracing the templates and he got to work cutting out the long rectangles that make the rings. “Can I be done after this?”, he asked like a kid who knows his mom shouldn’t be doing these things. “No”, I answered like a mom determined to be… better. “If you stop after that, then I’m the only one making these napkin rings. And no one cares about napkin rings that Mommy makes. They all want napkin rings that YOU make!”

Let’s not dissect that, okay? He sighed heavily and continued cutting.

Then I got out the fabric glue. The word “cancer” was mentioned at least three times on the label, which I had neglected to read while in my shopping stupor at Michael’s. I opened windows and decided to glue these rings as quickly as possible. I opened the cap, turned it over to pop open the foil and OH MY GOD THE STENCH!! This stuff smelled like it could kill a 300-pound gorilla with one sniff. I quickly put on the funnel cap that the glue is supposed to come out of and started to squeeze the tube. Nothing came out. The freaking hole on the tip on the funnel wasn’t open. I tried to open with a toothpick but the toothpick bent. So I decided to take the funnel off and get a q-tip to put the glue on with. Holding the glue in one hand and the funnel in the other, I made my way to the bathroom and slid on the LASSO Garrett had left in the middle of the floor. Yes, the lasso. I miraculously held myself from falling and dropping the glue to the ground, but instead I flew into the wicker toy chest and scraped my leg pretty good. It is only by the grace of God that no glue flew at my face or hair or ANYTHING.

Back to the table with the q-tips. The q-tips weren’t working, so I quickly abandoned that idea and let the glue flow directly from the tube. After all ten rings were glued I exclaimed, “SCREW THIS STUFF!” and put all glue paraphernalia in a ziplock bag to throw away. As I began the next step, the glue smell permeated the air. I removed the rings to the table outside and wished them well.

Every kind of cancer runs in my family. If you die in my family, it’s from cancer. Even if you get really old, you don’t die of old age… You wait for the cancer. I’m pretty sure I gave myself some kind of glue cancer today, but hopefully it won’t take me until I’m in my 80’s.

Now it was on to the rest of the cut-outs. I interrupted G’s actual fun and asked him to cut out the yellow turkey bodies. He did. Sort of. I finished them. Then I cut out the waddles and asked G to glue those on WITH REGULAR GLUE THAT SMELLS LIKE NOTHING AND DOESN’T GIVE YOU CANCER. He did. Then I excitedly asked if he wanted to glue on the googly eyes. He said he didn’t. I begged. He said no. I begged more. He said, “Okay, I’ll glue one on each turkey and you do the other one.” I thought that was a great compromise. I ignored the fact that we were both completely miserable.

After careful consideration, I thought the napkin rings were better suited for the outdoors, and that maybe we should turn our turkeys into place cards. I convinced Garrett this was wise, and felt good about it.

Later we’re making napkin rings out of pipe cleaners that I bought not knowing what the hell I was going to do with them. That should be good fun, no?

Remind me not to buy any felt or pipe cleaners for Hannukah or Christmas. Or any day, for that matter. I’m not crafty, and I need to be okay with that.

Here’s what the place-cards will pretty much look like:


And if one of you even tries to encourage me to “keep crafting”, I’ll punch you with a fist template and stab you with a popsicle stick.

07 Nov 2012

Missing Dad

14 Comments Uncategorized

I had a wonderful therapy session today.  I’m dealing with a lot of feelings coming up after my depression and subsequent anxiety. A lot of feelings that need to be talked over and figured out and handled so I can move more freely through my days. I feel better every day. I feel like me again, only better. I’m so grateful to be where I am right now.

So my session today was great and we talked a lot about me being a mom, what that means to me, and what that entails on a daily basis. We talked about how much I love it, how much I love spending time with G, how much he’s growing and how good of a kid he is. We talked about the way we play together, the way he plays with other kids, the stuff he’s learning at home and at school, and how comfortable he seems in his own skin.  I walked out feeling so good about me as a mom, and my husband and I as parents. I felt grateful.

Then, on my drive home, I saw an old man driving. There are certain older men who remind me of my dad in his last year, when he was thinner and frailer than he had been in the past. And this man reminded me of that. And I started to cry. I realized I had mourned so much for the loss I felt of my dad not being able to see G grow up, and my son not being able to ever get to know his amazing Grandpa. But I’ve never mourned the loss of my dad not seeing me as a mom. I am so much the parent I am because of the influence my dad had on me, and I wish he was here to see me pass that on.

I thank God my mom is here to see it, and be so much a part of it. But I wish with all my heart my dad could see. I know he’d be so proud of his grandson. And I know he’d be so proud of his daughter.

25 Oct 2012

I’ve got a second to post!

3 Comments Uncategorized

I’m on day three of a gluten-free diet and I’m all hopped up on energy that I haven’t had in a while so I thought I’d harness some of it and write a quick blog post. Did I mention I’m also on a comma-free diet and I’m refusing to break up sentences to tell you when to pause??

Yeah. Gluten-free. I’ve suspected for YEARS that I’ve had gluten issues but I’ve also always known that pancakes, pies, pastries, and breads were things that I really didn’t want to give up. But it’s all gotten to be just too damn much lately, what with the bloating and the mood swings and the TOTAL EXHAUSTION! So I figured I’d give it a few weeks and see if it helps. If it doesn’t, I’ll go right back to eating everything I love. If it does, I will cheat my ass off on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and all the parties associated with these holidays. But I’ll live the rest of my live without gluten, which I will apparently stop craving in one month.

Did I mention I’m in a GREAT MOOD?? And I’m not even being sarcastic!

New topic:

Tonight I’m going on my zillionth school tour/open house/parent’s night. If I was getting paid for this, I’d be buying myself some new jeans, a new couch, and a new car. That’s if I was getting minimum wage.

This has been non-stop. But I do think we have finally decided to go to public school and nix all private tours from here on in.  I actually toured a public magnet school last week where a woman got up to speak and was so inspiring I almost punched the air. She was the head of the parent volunteer association at her school, (PVA? or is it just the PTA? Or PTO? WTF?), and she made it clear that it was the PARENTS who make the school what it is.

I already plan on being very, very involved wherever G-Man goes, so why not save the GAZILLION dollars it costs for private school, send G to a GREAT public school, and make it even GREATER?????

But seriously, the tours are non-stop and I have about 10 or 12 to go to after tonight. The point is to try to lottery into the best public school possible, but have several fall-backs as well. And I’m finding out my home school might be way better than I thought!!

Okay, I have to go pack a few things for G for tonight, as he’ll be with Grandma while I’m touring a school and Russ works late so we can pay the mortgage. I mean, someone has to work if my job is touring schools. Why do I feel like I’ve typed that sentence before?


09 Oct 2012

The Abbreviated Version

7 Comments Uncategorized

I sat down for an hour yesterday and wrote about all the reasons I’ve been “off line” for three months. I worried about posting it. I just read it back and I can’t stand how I sound.

Short and sweet:  Bout of depression (first ever in my life), Bout of severe anxiety once I came out of my depression (first ever that I can remember), mid-life crisis, paralyzing decisions about my future, terrifying decisions about G’s future (that I know I am putting FAR too much importance on, but can not help fretting about), etc.

I am fighting my way out of this. I am completely aware of all of the beauty and joy in my life. I am enjoying my son more than ever. I am trying to figure it out. I am trying to find myself again, but I think I’ve been looking for the wrong me. I think there’s a new me in her place and I need to learn her language.

I have been useless at my keyboard, so I stopped trying for a while. It’s more important for me to be useful in my life, and then I believe the rest will follow.

I’ve missed this. But more than that, I missed me.

And that is about 1100 words less than the post I wrote yesterday. I just saved you a whole lot of time.

Thanks for stopping by. I hope to see you soon.

07 Jul 2012

The Cheesecake Incident

4 Comments Uncategorized

Years ago, I think I was twenty one, I was on a couples date with my then boyfriend, my good friend, and his model/actress/gorgeous/perfect girlfriend.

We were playing “adults”. My boyfriend and I cooked dinner, served wine (or beer, or some other kind of alcohol), probably laid out some cheese and crackers, and spent the evening eating and laughing at his apartment. It was enjoyable, and felt very grown-up.

It was the friends’ responsibility to bring dessert. Let’s call these friends Joe and Sally. So, when it came time for dessert, we found out that Sally made a tofu cheesecake. Tofu cheesecake. Remember, this was around 1993, and tofu-anything was not incredibly enticing. Not to mention, we were YOUNG and wanted super fattening, bad-for-you desserts. Not tofu cheesecake.

I had an open mind, however, and took the plastic wrap off the cheesecake with great optimism. I passed out pieces, and served coffee. My boyfriend and Joe went out to the patio and Sally and I stayed inside to eat our dessert, as I remember it. I took two bites and exclaimed, “This is pretty terrible!”

Okay, this is where I make a couple excuses for myself. One: I grew up in a family where honesty is valued to the highest degree, and if someone doesn’t like something you do, they tell you. Sure, it stings, but you’re better for it at the end. And you avoid future mistakes. (I don’t completely subscribe to this theory now, but I guess it gave me a thick skin.) Two: I thought we were the kind of friends that say something like, “this is pretty terrible” and everyone laughs heartily and agrees. I think I pictured her saying, “You’re right! Let’s go get donuts and bring them back to the boys!”

That didn’t happen. What actually happened was she cried, told Joe, and they left. I felt bad but I also felt angry. “COME ON! She knows it was terrible! Jesus! We get it! You’re beautiful and sweet and you’re in 100 commercials. Get over yourself!’ Those were the things I blurted out when she left. I think I remember my boyfriend saying I hadn’t done anything wrong, but maybe he was mad at me.

That incident made it difficult to ever play “adult” with that couple again. She thought I was mean and I thought she was clueless and overly sensitive.

I ran into Sally at an audition last week. I’ve probably run into her about 10 times over the last 15 years. She’s still beautiful, still in 100 commercials, and the mother of two kids. Last week we talked about schools for about 15 minutes and laughed and hugged when she was leaving. She is lovely. And I am different now. There is no doubt in my mind that, back then, I was threatened by her beauty and success. I may have not liked the cheesecake if it was served to me now, but I’d say something like… “This is good, but it’s a bit odd or something, right? Or is it just that I’m not used to it? I’ll keep eating and see!”

I look at that night as a snapshot of the woman I was in my twenties. No, the girl. I truly didn’t like myself and I certainly didn’t like other girls. And I really, really didn’t like other girls who were prettier, smarter, funnier, or better than me. I’m sure there was a part of me trying to hurt her, knowing she wasn’t the kind of girl who would laugh and agree with me. Now? I have so many friends who are “better” than me. They make ME better. They are my inspiration, and I am so grateful for them.

I’m also grateful for growing up, loving myself a little more, learning important lessons… And loving tofu. Although, I’d still prefer apple pie or brownies.

27 Jun 2012

Instincts 101

8 Comments Uncategorized

You know what’s really freaking cool about being a mom? When you listen to your instincts, you trust them, you follow them, you don’t change your mind… And you reap the rewards.

We have not stopped moving since G’s last day of school a week ago. It’s been constant playing and going and doing and swimming, and my little boy was exhausted today. I could see it in his adorable face this morning. As much as he seemed ready to tackle the day, his eyes betrayed him and he looked beat.

I decided that, unless he napped, we wouldn’t go out today. Today would be a day for relaxing, watching TV, and maybe playing a bit outside. But we would not venture out, not even for the previously planned dinner and play-date with friends.

So, around 11:00 AM I took him back to his room and gave him the full report: “If you can’t nap for a little bit, we’re not going anywhere today. Not as a punishment, but because I think you’re too tired.” His response? “Mom, I’m really tired. But I’m not tired enough to nap!” He has said these words before, just prior to slipping into such a deep sleep that I was unable to wake him up without screaming his name two hours later.

I told him to just try. He wouldn’t. Fifteen minutes later, we emerged from his room and I canceled plans with no argument from Garrett. Once you explain something to this kid, he seems to totally get it. The rest of the day went swimmingly. We took it easy, had a lovely dinner, and even started a new cleaning project that was a huge success. We read two books, got his teeth brushed, and he was sounds asleep by 7:30… Something that hasn’t happened in AGES!

So, I was right to listen to myself. There was a moment around 4:00 that I wanted to try to get our plans back, just because I was a bit stir-crazy and felt sort of bad. But I fought that feeling and continued with the plan. I think the rest of this week will be better for the time out we took today. And I do love those moments when we listen to ourselves and take care of our families. I think it’s quintessential mom-ness. And it lets me know to listen to that little voice in much more dire situations. Today was like a test-run of the alarm system. It seems to be working fine.

What does “quintessential mom-ness” mean to you?