Happy Holidays For Goodness Sake

Raising a child teaches you many things.  Not just about parenting, but about life and human nature, in general. This holiday season I feel like I have learned so much from my son.  He is a shining example of the joy that is innately part of the human condition.  It makes me startlingly aware that the negativity, prejudice, and bigotry that have become forefront features of our society, are, indeed, learned.  It is an absolute shame.

While social media has many positive aspects, it also let’s you see things you sometimes wish you hadn’t.  Like people’s opinions and views that aren’t in alignment with your own.  I try to be respectful about other people’s viewpoints.  I really try. But there are times I actually feel dirty for not speaking up and setting the world straight.  I know there is a line.  I’m just not sure of where it is anymore.  I feel like it used to be enough to just live your life by the principles you tried to uphold.  You did what you thought was right and prayed for the enlightenment of others who didn’t seem to follow the same compass.  But today, it seems as though there is a complete blur about what is good and just.  The grey area is an abyss and the surety of black and white is all murky and tainted.

There was a thread on the Book of Face that had something to do with preferring to say Merry Christmas as opposed to Happy Holidays.  Now this debate is dated, I know.  It’s been around for quite awhile.  In 2017, though, it is not only old fashioned, but has the air of  “Make America Great Again.”  Choosing to post and repost that sentiment could be construed as offensive, ignorant, and disrespectful of other cultures.  Do people understand that? Do they?  I’d like to think anyone I know might not have thought it through fully.  I’m not saying don’t write or say Merry Christmas.  If you celebrate Christmas, then by all means, sing it out to the world.  But to be offended by “Happy Holidays” is just ridiculous.  Because there are several other Holidays celebrated at this time of year.  In addition to the Christian Christmas there are a slew of Holidays celebrated in December:

Saint Nicholas Day (Christian)
Fiesta of Our Lady of Guadalupe (Mexican)
St. Lucia Day (Swedish)
Hanukkah (Jewish)
Three Kings Day/Epiphany (Christian)
Boxing Day (Australian, Canadian, English, Irish)
Kwanzaa (African American)
Omisoka (Japanese)
Yule & Saturnalia (Pagan)
Eid Al-Fitr (Muslim)

So, I go back to my son.  He has learned about Christmas from us, as we celebrate it.  But he has learned about most of the other holidays of the season from Sesame Street.  Yes, Sesame Street.  He seems partial to Christmas, but I think it is only because of Santa Claus.  It is hard to resist the jolly saint in the red suit who brings you toys.  But, he is as spirited about the other holidays.  I suppose it is because he has learned about them and sees that they bring joy to the people who celebrate them.  Even my three year old can see that saying Happy Holidays does not take anything away from his Merry Christmas.  He is an eager elf who wishes anyone and everyone tidings of the season.  Happy Holidays, Happy Kwanzaa, you name it.  It’s equal cheer to him.  Why can’t it be that way for all adults?

I know several people who believe in the Make Christmas Great Again theme.  They are church going folks.  They believe they are good Christians.  If you asked them, they would insist they weren’t bigoted.  But negating another religions sacred time, is bigoted.  Not to mention, un American.  Remember this country was founded on religious freedom.  It seems to me, the people who claim to have the moral high ground have lost their footing, most assuredly.  I know this Christmas vs Happy Holidays is such small potatoes.  Especially nowadays.  But I can’t help but think it’s these little things that chip away, bit by bit, at the core of our human decency.

Whatever it is you celebrate this season, may it bring you joy and peace in your heart.  We will do our best to keep the joy in our sons heart for ALL Holidays.  For ALL people.  For Goodness Sake.

Until next time, keep,fighting the good fight.  Remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Happy Holidays! Xo







The Secret To Happiness

I practice gratitude on a daily basis.  I’ve been doing it for a really long time.  I started long before my husband and I got married and, in turn, before our awesome son was born.  I mention them, because these days they are what I am most grateful for.  But my life wasn’t always so full.

I remember when I started my first gratitude journal.  It was over ten years ago.  More like fifteen.  I remember reading about gratitude in some Oprah book.  I was in between gigs (which always led to some level of anxiety and uncertainty within me).  I didn’t have a stable relationship with the man I was “dating.”  I knew, somewhere in my gut, that the relationship had no real future.  I was in my thirties.  Divorced.  I didn’t own my own home yet. My family was wonderful,  but they all had their own lives.  I was on the slow boat to figuring it all out.  In fact, I remember wondering, if I ever really would know what true happiness was all about.  I recall feeling like I needed to try something to get my head in the right place.  Writing a list of five things I was grateful for each day seemed pretty painless.  And according to Oprah, it was uber powerful.  I decided to do it.

I know it may sound ridiculous to those who have never tried it.  But this simple practice actually changed my life.  I started slow.  I had to think to name those five things everyday.  Somedays it would be things as simple as the clean water I get to drink, or the beautiful weather.    I actually started seeing the world around me in such a different way.  Roadblocks became opportunities.  I learned to appreciate what was right in front of me instead of always looking to the next thing.  My focus throughout the day became looking for the positive things I could add to my list.  And day after day my gratitude grew.  My attitude shifted and my heart became happy.  My inner voice became clear and loud within me. Gratitude didn’t just change my life, it changed me.

This Thanksgiving I am filled with gratitude for all I have in my life.  These days naming five things is a breeze….my daily list could fill pages and pages. But in the spirit of honoring this simple practice that I believe in so wholeheartedly, I will make a list.  Five things.  It’s the secret to happiness.  I promise.

  1. My wonderful husband
  2. My amazing son
  3. Our health
  4. Our home
  5. My parents

Until next time, I encourage you to get yourself a notebook, pick up a pen and name your five things.  See what happens.  And remember, behind every great kid is a Mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks so much for reading.  Xo

Mummy MIA

I will NOT gloat. I will NOT brag.  I am well aware that the success we enjoyed on our vacation to Disney World was an absolute crap shoot.  It could have easily gone awry.  It could have been filled with tears and tantrums, snot and sass.  We somehow dodged the bullet and had an amazing time.  O was unbelievably good.  He rolled with everything.  I am still amazed.  He exceeded any expectations I had (although, as you know, I kept them very low.). It was absolute joy and we can’t wait to go again.  Let the countdown begin! Again!

So since I can’t complain about my child’s behavior on our trip, let me let loose on a real parenting fail we witnessed whilst in the happiest place on earth.  Its unfortunate to see.  You think, wait, this is a place for family vacations and being together, right? I suppose there are all types of families and all types of a-holes.

We were enjoying the zero entry pool at the Animal Kingdom Lodge one day and this little girl decided to attach herself to us.  She was British and very chatty.  She was 5 years old.  I looked around to see where her parent or parents might be?  Strange to see a 5 year old on her own in the huge pool. She clearly could not swim, though she protested she could.  Her attendance to us became a little awkward as she started to hang on my husband while he was holding O to swim.  I told her it wasn’t safe for her to jump on anyone in the pool.  She then waded back to where she could stand on her own.  A woman appeared, who I assumed was her mother.  The woman told the little girl to watch her little brother.  And off the woman went.  To the bar.  In fact, the whole table of “adults” from that “family” were sat out of good view from the children in the pool.  Now little Chatty Cathy is in the pool again hanging around us while her 3 year old brother wades in shallower water.  He had swimmies on his arms, but really? 3!!! Alone in the pool with a bunch of strangers and his barely treading water 5 year old sister!  Mind you, this pool is HUGE.  I asked Chatty where her parents were.  She pointed to the bar area, “over there somewhere.”  What the heck, people!  Are you kidding me?  You don’t leave children (5 & 3) in the hotel pool by themselves.  Are you complete idiots?  As a parent, are you thinking, “Well, someone will watch them.”  ??? Like the parents who are actually IN the pool with their kids.  Like us?

Listen, I get that we ALL NEED a vacation.  I get that we are ALL in vacation mode.  But just because you are in Disney World doesn’t mean bad things don’t happen to kids there.  AND…you don’t get to take a vacation from your kids in Disney World.  If you wanted alone time, you should have left them at home and went to some adults only all-inclusive where the drinks are free, as clearly that is where your head is at.  As parents we don’t get to take a respite from our duties of caring for the well being of our children.  It’s a 24/7 job.  Sorry.  Even on vacation. And this isn’t about letting your children be free and not helicopter parenting…..this is about safety and, I don’t know, maybe spending some quality time with your children! Who am I to say, right? And, yes, it certainly does takes a village.  But when the parents vacate the village for the local watering hole, leaving their young to latch on to just anyone, it really pisses this villager off.  If you don’t understand the incredible privilege you have to be a parent, then you certainly won’t understand my point.  We GET to be their protectors!  It may feel like a job some days, but make no mistake, it is a special opportunity, not enjoyed by everyone.  It is my humble opinion, that if you piss away that time (yes, I just said piss away), you are a fool.  End of rant.

Until next time, I’ll try not to rage on.  Remember, behind every great kid is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks so much for reading.  Xo


Great Expectations: How to Enjoy Disney World With Your Three Year Old

As I write this, I am sat in the window seat of a 747 with my son next to me and my husband on the aisle. We are headed to Florida. Disney World to be exact. I am mildly relieved, thus far, as with only one hour to go, things have gone pretty well. One word. iPad. I think I should write Apple a thank you letter.

I’ve decided the only way to approach this vacation is to anticipate it being the most stressful, horrible, un-relaxing experience I could imagine. That way, anything more positive than that is a win. I think it is the only way to approach ANYTHING with a three year old. That way we are not imposing unrealistic expectations on our son and, somehow, it helps to keep our sanity intact. There will no doubt be backlash later in the day for allowing two hours and forty minutes of screen time, but for now, all is quiet on the O front. And I’ll take it where I can get it.

They say flying in the morning with a child is best. I kind of have to agree. Our son, at least, is the most agreeable early in the day. This ungodly hour (5:30 am takeoff) won’t wear well on us later today, but again, for now, there is a sense of peace and calm. One Bloody Mary each and all seems right with the world and our present situation.

Expecting nothing from the first time you take your child to Disney is easier than it sounds. If we truly expected nothing, we probably wouldn’t go. Or at least we would go somewhere way less expensive. That way the sticker shock wouldn’t slap you across the face and add insult to injury. So as much as we tell ourselves to have no expectations, you kind of just do. And if you are like me and my husband, you grew up going there with your family and you have all sorts of memories and attachments to the place.

I guess I have to remind myself over and over that my child is only 3. I have to try and put myself in his shoes a bit on this trip. If I get tired and overwhelmed, what must he be feeling? If I am hangry (yes, hungry and angry) how does he feel? There is much to enjoy, of course, BUT it’s all new to him! His senses will be on overload, no doubt. It’s entirely unrealistic to expect him to just roll with everything and foolish of me to think it could even be possible.

So these are my self imposed rules: I will try to keep my cool. I will try to let go of any expectations I might have. I will try to take in all the magic of each moment. And, if certain things aren’t quite magical this trip, well, there is always next time. Here’s to a wonderful vacation at Mickey’s house. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Until next time, keep your fingers crossed for me. And remember, behind every great kid is a Mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading! Xo

Pink or Blue

“When you ask your child if they are a boy or a girl how does he or she answer you?” This was a question on a progress evaluation for O from a preschool playgroup program he is involved in.
I had never thought to ask him this question. So I followed directions and asked him. His answer was not what I anticipated. So I asked again. And again, he repeated his answer. “I am a boy or a girl.” Maybe he didn’t understand the question? I asked him if his cousin Nora was a girl or a boy. He said, “A girl….or a boy.” Clearly gender is not on his radar yet. At three and a half should it be? I don’t know.

We knew the sex of our child before he was born. It was obvious when we had our amniocentesis and we wanted to know. My practical nature was more than happy to know. We didn’t go crazy with blue for boy stuff, but he did have a nautical themed nursery. It was grays, blues and greens. I dressed him in basically what people gave me….so lots of boy stuff. Onesies with sayings like Handsome like Daddy, Little Slugger. His toys were lots of cars and trucks mixed in with a cooking set and a pink interactive picnic basket he just adored. I honestly didn’t give it much thought. The only hand me downs he got were from other boys, though I would not have minded putting him in a color typically associated with girls. In fact, people always thought he was a girl. “Oh! She’s beautiful!” “Thank you, yes I think he is.” “Oh, I’m so sorry!” (As if they had said something truly awful). I was never phased by it. He was a really pretty baby. I honestly didn’t care if anyone thought he was a girl.

Fast forward to present day in the toy department at Target. It’s a frequent destination on our travels. O has his favorite toys and every visit he will bee line for the “Our Generation doll” aisle. He asks me to help him get the big car (which happens to be pink, as it is marketed towards girls) and the camper so he can play with them. His latest interest is the new laundromat and, of course, the ice cream truck. Have you seen that thing? It really is amazing! He can spend 30 minutes playing with these items. I literally have to coax him away.  He tends to put one of his matchbox cars (which he is rarely without) inside these setups. We sometimes get odd looks from other parents and older children, as if to say, “Why is your boy playing with girl toys?” I don’t acknowledge the looks and they go completely unnoticed by O. I have heard Fathers, after looking at us, tell their sons, “Let’s go look at some boy toys.” I have even heard men and women tell their sons, “You don’t want that. That’s for girls.” The level of ignorance is staggering.

We are so offended at the abundant misogyny in our society. We are so astounded by the gender inequality that is rampant in our culture. And when I say “we” I mean many of us, but certainly not all of us. Yet, aren’t we sort of setting it up right from the start? We have these picture perfect roles for our children to fit into and we seem to unapologetically, and I’m sure, quite innocently, jam it down their throats without much thought to what their thoughts or feelings are (or will) be as they become more gender aware. It starts at these gender reveal parties which seem to be all the rage these days. Pink or blue? The term for these events should really be sex reveal parties, as that is what is actually being revealed. Just because you have a child born with male genitalia, doesn’t mean he is going to identify with being a boy. But if you think about it, the child, before even being born, is being expected to fit into our idea of what his or her identity should be. Blue is for boys. Pink is for girls. It’s just so banal.

You know what I want O to be? Happy. I want him to be so freaking happy and secure in his own skin. I want him to beam joy.  I just can’t see that happening if he isn’t allowed to be his true self, whatever that true self may happen to be. I have many friends, who from a very young age, felt they were different. And from a very young age, knew who they truly were wasn’t going to be accepted by their parents. So they hid their true selves from their families, or they denied their true selves altogether, only to come back to it as an adult with a plethora of issues. I can’t imagine anyone wanting that for their child. And yet…

Because of my theatre background, several people have asked me if we plan on Oliver taking dance or theatre lessons. I don’t know. He is certainly exposed to it. He sees the shows I direct. He sings with both me and my husband. I will let him decide. Just like we will expose him to baseball or other sports.  If he wants, he can play. If he’d rather take dance, then he can do that. If he wants to do both, then fine. He needs to lead us.  I believe that our job is to show him the possibilities. He must choose without feeling he is letting us down by following his own path. I think this starts way earlier than most of us think. (Pink or blue?)

We talk so much about raising girls to be strong. And I support that wholeheartedly. But you rarely hear about raising our sons to be caring and empathetic. Why is that? Why are we so afraid to teach our sons traits that are associated with being female? Won’t it make them better Fathers, husbands and caretakers? Won’t it teach them how to be better men? I think so. But that’s just this Mommy’s opinion. So don’t jump all over me for expressing it. But it’s worth a thought or two, don’t you think?

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid, is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading! It’s good to be back. Xo

A Mother’s View


A friend of mine sent me a little blurb on Messenger this week. He was in Mykonos and was fondly remembering the fantastic times we had there. Lots of great food, great wine and lovely views. Mykonos is a truly beautiful island. It is everything you imagine Greece should be….and then some. I spent a lot of time there. All over the Mediterranean, really. I feel I know it so well. The many cafes I have frequented. The fun company I kept. The delightful repose of a lazy afternoon with the sun on my face and wine on my tongue. Is it possible it could seem like yesterday and yet be so far away?

My life is not filled with days in Mykonos anymore. Or touring ancient ruins or magnificent art galleries. My frequent flier miles are actually in jeopardy of becoming inactive.  As I sat today in the Starbuck’s Cafe inside my local Target, I thought of my former life. My son was sitting across from me eating the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I brought with us. I was enjoying my usual dark roast with a splash of vanilla in it. There were big windows looking out to the vast parking lot filled with suburban vehicles and lots of Moms with children in tow. I quietly giggled to myself. So THIS is my view now….THIS is my frequent cafe? Well, yes…..I suppose it is.

Another friend of mine who was also in the business is now a Mom of four beautiful children. She posted something on Facebook about how so many of her friends were going to exciting Broadway openings and how her life seemed so boring in comparison. Now I can’t imagine life with four children is boring, by any stretch of the imagination. It is not quite as glamorous as life on the stage, I’ll give her that.  But I have a hunch she wasn’t truly complaining. She is a rockstar Mom and lives quite the charmed life. She is gaga for her kids and rightfully so. She enjoys them. It is evident. I think she was doing that thing that moms often do. We whine. We complain. But it’s mostly crocodile tears.  We don’t REALLY want Calgon to take us away.  Not for any real length of time.  We have hit the jackpot and if we are smart, we learn to appreciate that fact quite quickly.

As I sat on my uncomfortable aluminum chair in my very basic Starbucks/Target cafe,  I began to wonder… Did I miss my old life? Did I long for more glamorous times? More carefree times? I sipped my basic coffee and let the questions seep in.  The answer is no.  Unequivocally, no.  Then I thought…If I had to give up the life I have now and go back to the life I had before….Would I miss this?   Would I long for the joy my family brings me?  Would I miss the meaningful simplicity of an ordinary day? There is no question.  Of course I would! My heart hurts just thinking about it.

I realize not everyone has been quite as lucky, as perhaps I have been.  I got to to see and experience the world and I enjoyed a very glamorous career.  Had I just kept going, I am sure I would have told you how happy and fulfilled I was.  Because I was.  I didn’t miss what I didn’t know.  But now, after sharing my life with my love and having our child, I feel like life has a new meaning and purpose.  That’s the jackpot I mentioned before.  And trust me, I don’t take any of it for granted.  To find this kind of happiness at this point in my life is the freaking Holy Grail! It’s Mount Everest!

I will never forget my old life.  The breathtaking views from atop Santorini and along the Grand Canal in Venice are ingrained in my mind.  The glamourous costumes I donned were a privilege to wear.  The thrill of performing for thousands of people is in my veins.  My experiences are forever a part of me.  I am grateful for all of it.  I fondly reminisce, but I don’t miss it.  What I would miss is the sweet smell of my little boy’s hair…The sound of his laugh as I tickle him…and the soft kiss from the man who sees me as his one and only.  I’ll be sure to pour a glass of wine, sit out on our deck, watch the sunset and drink to that! Yassas my friends!

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading.  Always. Xo



Nothing But The Truth

It’s that time of year again.  Award season for the film industry.  I’ve been feverishly watching the SAG nominated films, so I can send in my ballot on time.  Yesterday, I watched a film I had actually never heard of before.  (Now, I do live under a rock, so that’s probably not too surprising.) The film is called Captain Fantastic.  Have you heard of it?  I thought it was wonderful.  It has got me thinking about how we choose to raise our children,  and, if and when, we should shield them from life’s truths.  When your child asks you a question, do you tell them the truth? Do you sugar coat things? Do you completely avoid certain things?  Or do you tell them the honest truth regardless of their age and how tough the answer might be?  The father in this film, played by Vigo Mortinsen, tells his children the unfiltered truth.  He also raises them in the woods, teaches them survival skills, and “home” schools them without the use (or need) of today’s technology.  You might be starting to get the picture.  Hippie parents raising their tribe of 6 children, living off the land, yada yada.  All of that is inconsequential.  The thing that interested me the most was the way he handled the truth with his kids.

I often think back to times of tragedy as being instances that must have been tough for parents to offer explanations their children .  The death of a family member.  The terrorist attacks on 9/11. The Sandy Hook school shootings.    I didn’t have my son then, but I remember my brother’s kids being old enough to know about Sandy Hook.  I remember my brother and sister in law talking to them about it, though I don’t recall the specifics of how they did it.  I also know of other parents who completely shielded their kids from the whole event.  I suppose everyone knows their children well enough to know what they can or cannot handle and what it is, as a parent, they want them to be exposed to.  I have often thought about it during these crazy times in America.  O is still too young to understand any of this yet, but it won’t be that long before he starts asking questions about our world…..and well, about everything.

I can’t say for sure (as how can you know until you are in that moment) but I think I’d like to be completely truthful with O.  I tell him so much already.  Things that I am sure people think he is far too young to absorb.  I constantly define words and concepts.  Does he “get” any of it? Probably not, but he does often surprise me with things that have sunk in, unbeknownst to me.  I think about the capacity his brain has to make connections right now.  I figure I should give him as much information as I can.  As he gets older, I’d rather topics not be taboo for us.  I don’t want him to feel embarrassed or ashamed to ever ask something.  I want him to know that if he asks us a question he will hear the truth from us.  If he is looking for an explanation, I’d rather we be in on the conclusion he draws from the facts presented to him.  I don’t want to teach him what to think.  I want to teach him how to think.  Does that make sense?

I also know some parents who don’t want their children to experience difficult things.  Like being around an elderly sick grandparent.  I’ve heard “it’s too upsetting for the children.”  Or failing at something.   Or losing.  But isn’t that all part of life?  The learning is not in the failing…it’s in the getting back up and trying again.  Do people still teach their kids that?  I don’t really remember learning that as a child, but as an actor, it’s a paramount point to understand.  You learn quickly as an actor that there is no shame in trying and failing…only in not trying at all.  I’m not sure that is a common theme in today’s youth twitter feed.

Let me say, I don’t believe a child should be treated as an equal to an adult.  They need guidance and structure.  But I do think a child should be respected as a thinking being.  I think it is important to respect their intellect and their emotional life enough to be straight with them.  I mean, life is wonderful.  But it’s also tough.  Why would we want to shield O from any part of the journey? Eventually, he will be on his own.  Won’t he be better prepared for the world if he has some knowledge of it and the truth on his side?

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.


The Safe Decision

It’s early. The house is quiet, except for the sounds of the pipes attempting to heat this big house on such a frigid day. The snow is falling so peacefully. So beautifully. My hair is wet from my post workout shower but my coffee is warm and comforting. This is my second favorite time of day. Any time I get to rock my O, either before or after he sleeps, takes the cake. But this time is also sacred to me. It is unshared. It is the time of day when I decide what kind of day I will have. When I let myself just “be.” When important things are decided in my mind.

When the eight o’ clock hour strikes, the peacefulness ends. It is filled with “to dos” and tears. Giggles, whines, Sesame Street and subtle stresses. Life with a toddler. I know, I know, if you have a toddler you are thinking to yourself, “Eight O’Clock?!” Ok, so I am lucky in that regard. Absolutely. I know this. I am getting off track. Digression is becoming quite a sport for me, lately.

In my moments of quiet and soul searching, I have come to a tough conclusion. After much back and forth with myself I am choosing to side with my intellect. I guess I should come out and tell you. I am officially deciding to not get pregnant again. I know I have talked about it seeming to not be in the cards for us, but now I am taking the possibility off the table. I am going back on the pill. It makes me a little sad. I’m not gonna lie. But the possibility of being pregnant now at 46, and delivering at 47, terrifies me. We have weighed the pros and cons. After some odd health issues, that I can now chalk up to peri-menopause, we are choosing to be grateful for the wonderful gift we have already been given. The hardest part is knowing that on some level (at least in my eyes) I am letting my husband down. He protests that I am not, but I can’t help but feel that if he married someone younger, he would have more children. He will be upset with me for writing this. It is something I need to come to terms with.

It is what it is. One of my favorite mantras. But, it is. Considering I tweaked my back just from standing at the sink doing dishes while talking on the phone, it seems like our decision is for the best. I know I am not in the shape now that I was when I got pregnant for O. A pregnancy, even if successful, would be much harder on my body this time around. And of course, my psychic friend, Frieda’s premonition enters my mind. She said I would have one child and he would be healthy. If I wanted more I should adopt. She’s been on point with everything. EVERYTHING. How could she not enter my mind?

With the stress factors in my life right now, as well, I know intellectually that it is the right decision. The smart decision. The safe decision.

I sat here stumped as how to end this pondering, and then my own words, reiterated by my loving husband as a matter of fact, hit my ears. “Everything works out the way it should.” Oh, yes, indeed it does. Marrying the right person certainly helps, too. I have a feeling we are going to be just fine.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading, friend. Xo

Snip Snip Mommy


Do people like to tell you what you should do with your child?  Not even just family, but total strangers? I’ve tried to keep my reactions leveled and polite.  It’s been over six months now, at least, and the unsolicited comments keep coming. What am I talking about? Cutting my two year old son’s hair. Or rather, not cutting it.   From many of the comments and “advice” concerning little O’s locks, one could assume I’m doing something horrible to my son by letting him exist with a sweet head of golden curls.  Well, the other day in Homegoods, a little old lady pushed me to the edge.  I would never be as rude to her as I would have liked to be.  Rather, this is my collective retort to her and anyone else who seems to have a problem with our decision not to cut O’s hair.  And if you think I’m being snarky, well so be it.  If you hadn’t been so rude by impolitely hurling your opinion at me I wouldn’t have to have an attitude.

Before I go on, I must add that O’s hair is not unsafe for him.  I keep his bangs trimmed and out of his eyes.  There is no danger posed by his “do.”  If comments were actual concerns for his safety, I could at least respect where they were coming from, as unnecessary as they would be.  But they aren’t.  The little old lady who put me over the edge, at first thought O was a girl.  Many many people do.  It doesn’t bother me or my husband in the least, and O is too young to understand the distinction.  “Oh what a beautiful girl! How old is she?” she said.  “Oh thank you.  Actually he’s a boy and he is two and a half.”  She obviously had issues with being incorrect, so she added, “Oh well, with that hair it is hard to tell. I suppose he is dressed like a boy.”  (You can insert the “know it all” tone).  I just smiled and started to move on.  She then leaned into me, as if to tell me something important.  “Don’t you think it’s time to cut that hair?  It really is” she said.  She rolled her cart right by me and left me gobsmacked.  Her absolute rudeness just verbally slapped me right across the face.  I just stood there dumbfounded at the gall of this, otherwise, harmless woman.

Pardon my French, but What the F?  I’ve been shrugging people off since before my son turned two regarding this.  I’ve smiled and just said “Oh…. well we like it.”  You know what?  It really isn’t anyone’s business, but ours.  I really don’t have to explain our choice to anyone.  And what does it even mean, “I suppose he is dressed like a boy?”  That kind of gender box mind set makes me crazy.  I have news for you, if my son wanted to wear a tutu it wouldn’t make him any less of a boy.  It makes him a two year old boy who hasn’t learned gender labeling yet.  And if, when he gets older, he wants to wear pink because he likes it, then awesome.   His hair doesn’t confuse him.  Too bad if it confuses others.  All he knows is he likes to shake it around sometimes for fun.  Honestly, why does anyone care if O’s hair gets cut or not?  When someone feels the need to give us their opinion, it just says more about them than it does about our choice. And that’s the important phrase here.  Our choice.  Not “well meaning” family’s choice.  Not a perfect stranger’s choice.  Our choice.  So step the hell back.

After getting that off my chest, and taking a long pause, I wouldn’t change a thing about what I just wrote.  And I certainly wouldn’t change a thing about O.  He hasn’t learned to judge people by their appearance yet.  I truly hope he never does.  He certainly won’t get that from us.  Until next time, I’ll be practicing deep breathing and forgiveness. Remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo

It’s The Best


Like with anything in life, there are positives and negatives.  This week I want to focus on the positive. The topic: Having children over 40 and why it is the best (in my opinion).  Don’t worry, I’ll also share with you why it is a drag (in my opinion)….just not this week.  This week it’s all about how incredible it is to have a child when you are in your 40’s!

Let’s face it, if you have had a child at 35 or over, you’ve most likely heard all the terrifying warnings and reasons not to.  My first prenatal visit at age 43 was colored with all sorts of possible doom and negative what ifs.  I chose to filter out the gloom.  While I was educated about the risks, I kept the information out of my mind and body.  One of the best things about having a baby in your 40’s (in my opinion) is that you can.  So many women struggle with conception.  If you can get pregnant naturally (or with help) over 40, well, that’s something to celebrate!

All new mothers hear the polite advice from well wishers, time and time again.  My son is 2 and I still get it.  “Enjoy every minute! It goes so fast!”   Well, the main reason I think having a baby in your 40’s is the best (in my opinion), is that you actually do enjoy every minute.  Even when it’s hard, there is a baseline of joy that just can’t be beat.  There is a patience I possess that, for me, has come with age.  I’m certainly not saying that women having children in their 20’s and 30’s don’t enjoy their children.  I can only speak from my experience as a 20 and 30 something.  In my 20’s and 30’s, my life was all about me.  The pace of my life was all about me.  The choices I made were basically all about me.  And I wanted it that way.  I lived my life fully and with purposed abandon.  I travelled the world, fell in and out of love and enjoyed freedom from most responsibility.  It was how it should be for someone at that stage of their life (in my opinion).  Conversely, with the birth of my son came profound responsibility.  And at the age of 44, I welcomed it wholeheartedly.  Someone younger might think my life now is a bore.  The Veuve doesn’t flow as freely (or at all, come to think of it) and my bedtime is often before the curtain used to go up.  The things I possessed and the adoration I sought are not barometers for bliss.  My god! I thought a new pair of Gucci shoes equaled happiness.  Silly girl.  All those things are well and good, but they are not the stuff of life.

I get to do this parenting thing with a full awareness that it goes far too fast.  I don’t wish time away like I used to.   I get to be mature enough to share with my baby, my patience and my understanding of what true happiness really is.  I get to not only enjoy his process, but have the emotional maturity to understand that he is his own person, and that while he is our whole world now, we will not always be his.  I am old enough to know he will have to fail to succeed.  I understand there will come a time to let go.

Anyone who has hit the 40+ mark understands what I am saying.  I’m not saying you don’t have moments of doubt anymore or that you don’t feel like you are screwing up a lot of the time.  That is the nature of parenting in a nutshell. But there is a level of surety and confidence that I bring to my parenting, to my life, that I did not possess in my 20’s or 30’s.  It makes me a better mom.  And THAT is the best thing about having a child over 40 (in my opinion).

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up! Thanks for reading! Xo