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

Back In The Saddle

Well, hello! It has been quite a while, friend. My hiatus from writing just might be over. I have taken a long enough pause to re-group my thoughts, to step away from the rage inspired by ridiculous politics, and to muster the courage to feel that, somehow, perhaps, my words might actually matter. It has been a long needed respite. If you have stayed with me through this nothingness, I’m truly grateful. I couldn’t expect it of any reader. If you are new to my musings, I invite you to go back to the beginning. Take the journey which will lead you to where we are now – an advanced maternal age mother (now of three years) navigating her way through preschool pandemonium. I have matured in my mothering, but the certainty of it all still eludes me. I feel I am now wise enough to know the uncertainty will most likely never go away.

I have not stopped thinking about writing. It has always been at the forefront of my thoughts this past however many months. I’d have to go way back to see exactly how long it has actually been since my last post, but I think it was last May. Even before that, my posts were becoming few and far between. After a gut wrenching election cycle, the state of our nation was really getting me down. It felt like I couldn’t not make every post about something political. That isn’t what I had set out to do. Also, I began teaching voice and acting at a fantastic arts academy. It takes up quite a bit of time for prep work. Time I used to use to write. The teaching has now expanded, which is brilliant, but again, I only have so much time. I chose to let this go for a while. Did I mention that I have matured and realize that I can’t actually do Everything?

I feel ready to give voice to this next phase of motherhood, however tight my time may be. My little O is no longer a baby. (That is super hard to say!) He is 3 1/2 years old. He is tall and full of personality. He has the energy of the Energizer Bunny and the mood swings of Sybil. He is funny, emotional, and all over the place. He is imperfectly perfect. I don’t want to miss chronicling this time in our lives because I am crunched for time or because I get lazy. This blog is ultimately for him. So here I am. Back in the saddle.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight. Remember, behind every great kid is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. My current life story! Lol. Thanks for reading. Xo

Happy Mother’s Day Mommy

My to do list has hit overload.  Our yard is a disaster.  I am on duty to fix every Lego demolition and Troublesome Truck mishap for the foreseeable future.  (Mothers of little boys will understand).  Yet, on this Mother’s Day weekend,  I feel compelled to take some time to express my gratitude for the greatest gift life has bestowed upon me.  Yup.  Motherhood.  A gift, you say?  Oh yes, indeed.

With all the whining, crying, puking, and so on, I still, undoubtedly, LOVE, that I get to be O’s mom.  I have said it before, but it bears repeating.  This is the best job I have ever had.  And to top it off, there is a day set on the calendar to celebrate it! To honor it!  What? It’s like winning the lottery and then someone sets out a day to bring you another boatload of cash.  I am sure there are some mommys out there thinking “Here she goes.  Jacked out on Baby Magic again! Freaking Pollyanna Mommy!”  Can’t help it though.  I’m just super happy.

I can’t help but wonder if I am happy BECAUSE I understand what a privilege it is to be a mother.  It’s like the rules of gratitude and happiness.  One really begets the other.  What’s that facebook meme I often see on my feed?  The happiest people are not the ones who have everything, but are the ones who believe they do.  Motherhood seems to be a lot like that.  I’m sure it isn’t about having a super awesome child, as we ALL do!! (Am I right?)  I find it very hard to stay stuck in the “poop” of the day, so to speak, when it is so joyous being around my little guy.  He’s hilarious.  And sweet.  And ingenious.  And so fun to be around (99% of the time).  I choose to deal with the 1% of bad and focus on the awesome rest.  Truly, none of it is actually bad.  That’s the wrong word.  A more apt word would be difficult.  But, anything worthwhile has its difficult moments.

It’s funny, but motherhood is nothing like I thought.  It is so so much better.  To be a mother is the most rewarding job, the biggest challenge and the greatest joy of my life.  It gives my life a meaning I didn’t know existed.  I thank O everyday for choosing me to be his mother.  Maybe when he is older I will bring him breakfast in bed and get him a special gift on Mother’s Day…. Oh please! I’m not THAT cracked out on Baby Magic!  I’ll let him think the day is about me.  But I’ll always think to myself how lucky I am to be his Mommy.  Always.

Happy Mother’s Day! Thanks for reading! Keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up! Xoxox


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



One of THOSE days

It is one of those days.  There has been a gray gloom hovering over New England this past week.  The temperature has not gone above 40 degrees and the chill in the damp air seems permanent.  I am not impressed.  Who knows if the bulb flowers will actually bloom this year?  They had started to pop up weeks ago only to be covered with a layer of icy snow that just wouldn’t melt.  And though the snow is all but gone, their fate is still unknown.  As April approaches, only days away, the bone chilling temperatures remain…accompanied by rain.  What I wouldn’t do for a patch of blue sky and a 70 degree day!

My will for indoor activities is fading and my patience is growing thin.  It’s times like these I feel like I am losing the good fight.  Poor O must feel couped up like a chicken without a barn yard or a cow without a pasture.  (We’ve been playing Farm a lot!).  He is such an outdoor boy, but I just can’t bring myself to brave the drizzle and chill.  He wants to be outside playing in the dirt.  (Well, it’s mud right now). He whines.  I want to scream.  So I call my husband at work and whine to him about my day’s plight.  It doesn’t make me feel better because I know I am being ridiculous.  Yet, it takes everything in me NOT to turn on PBS Kids and get on with MY day.

We color.  We do stickers.  We read.  We play with Legos.  We build a garage for his cars.  He empties the utensil drawer in the kitchen.  I check the clock. It only 10:02!!!! Holy Crap! There are still two more hours til lunch! How am I gonna get through this day?? I know I am not the only mother stuck in the house on a rainy frigid morning with her toddler! Why does it feel like I am?  Because that is motherhood.  We are this incredibly resourceful army of women who collectively are going through pretty much the same things, and yet we feel isolated.  Because on days like today, who the hell wants to brave the weather?  Who wants to sit on an icy bench at the playground and watch my child go down the slide while my butt cheeks freeze off?  Not this lacking Mama.  I need to curl up under a blanket with a cup of hot tea.

I always find this time of year the most challenging.  Winter seems to hang on, out staying its welcome.   By this point, were all pretty much sick of anything pumpkin.  And the romance of hibernating with all that Danish hygge has hit the annoying point.  You can only light so many candles!  The novelty of winter is gone.  Add a stir crazy toddler to that recipe and you get what I call, “One of those days.” I can only hope it doesn’t last.

So that’s where I’m at.  I basically just want to complain.  Pretty much like my son.   I want to will the warmer weather to take hold.  I want to bask in some freakin sunshine.  I want to be hot! (Who’da thought, huh?)  So Mother Nature, hear me now.  As one of the leading Mothers of this earth, you need to lend your earthly sisters a helping hand.  I can only imagine I speak for many mothers when I say, we are getting to the end of our ropes here.  Bring on the warm weather!  Inspire us to frolic outdoors with our children.  Invite us to lay on the warm grass and gaze at the cloudscape.  Implore us to plant seeds and watch them grow.  It’s time.  Thank you.

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! Namaste.



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

Merry Christmas Mommy


I stepped away from my writing for a while.  To be more accurate, I stepped away from trying to make sense of my thoughts.  My aging mother is ill and my beautiful 2 year old son is thriving.  It only makes sense (in my senseless reality) that it be Christmas time.  The time of year that proves to be, both the most wonderful time of the year for some,  and the hardest for so many others.  For me, this year, it seems I am in between; stuck somewhere in the middle of joy and pain.

I have decorated the house.  I have wrapped almost every gift in coordinating paper, ribbons and tags. I have fresh evergreens in every available vase.  I even made a traditional German cookie house like I used to make with my Mother each Christmas.  Our tree is a true sight of beauty, filled with memories for both me and my husband.  We are like kids ourselves picking gifts for Santa to bring little O.  We teach him Jingle Bells and Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer and delight in his toddler versions.  Seeing Christmas through his little eyes is the closest thing to magic and it is wonderful.

In another part of my mind, there are lists of things that need to be done for my mother’s care.  There is worry about her safety and that of my father’s,  as well.  There is guilt that I live four hours away.  There is a sadness I have never known.  I miss her so much.  There is also a fear of what is yet to come. Will I be strong enough?  Will I come out the other side intact?  Will the hole that is growing in my heart ever mend?

How can I exist in this dichotomy of circumstances and feelings?  I have often thought about how having my son so late in the game means O having grandparents who are much older.  They aren’t who they were 10 years ago, let alone 20 years ago when most women my age were having children.  I am so grateful that he knows them and has a relationship with them, but I don’t know he will remember them as I know them.  By the time he is able to, it is possible my mother won’t even know him.  I suppose it is pointless to obsess or worry about scenarios I have no control over.  But the sadness in it stays with me.

Perhaps it is true that God only gives you what you can handle.  Maybe he knew, in his Divine providence, that I would need the joyful focus of raising a child to keep me sane while my mother slowly slips away.  I don’t know.  But it makes a lot of sense to me.  Funny, right about now, the only thing that truly makes sense other than my little nucleus family, is God.  Who’d a thunk?  I guess it all began with a child, so of course, it makes sense a child could get me through the tough stuff.  With that I say Merry Christmas, my friends.  I wish you much joy this season,  and always.

Remember, behind every great kid,  is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  She might also be depending on the magic of Christmas more than you know.  Thanks for reading. Xo



Lonely Mommy Long Winter


This Mommy business is a lonely one.  While I am basking in the joy of it all, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I feel lonely quite a bit of the time.  I have a hunch that I’m not the only mommy out there who feels this way, at times.  Let’s face it, my constant companion is a two year old who doesn’t speak in full sentences yet and who has mood swings that rival the best of schizophrenics . I keep hearing that motherhood is so rewarding.  But I am guessing the big reward is a type of delayed gratification.   Like after all this hard work, one day I’ll look up at my son while he accepts the Nobel Peace prize and know it was all worth it.  Right?  But for now, staying home raising a child, while full of great moments, can be exhausting, and most definitely, lonely.

I find myself alone in my thoughts for a great part of the day.  For me, that isn’t always good.  I tend to over think things.  It makes my husband crazy.  Sorry, lover.  But, it is hard to avoid.  I often find, if something is important to me, it is hard to just let it go.  I take far too much to heart and listen to far too much CNN radio.   The icing on that cake of disaster, is that I am incredibly sensitive with a two year old for company.

I find most other moms out and around where we live, pretty much keep to themselves.  At the play area in the mall the other day, I sat across from another mother.  I could tell her son was at least a year or more older than O.  She looked stylish, involved, (but not hovering), and a bit older (like me).  I thought to myself, I wonder if I could be friends with her?  The children played and we knowingly nodded to each other here and there.  At one point I commented on how I loved her son’s hair.  A head full of curls.  He was a gorgeous child.  She politely said “thanks.”  But that was the extent of our interaction.  We each moved onto our own day  each with our own child in tow.  It’s weird.  Yet, I suppose it would be weirder to approach someone you don’t  even know, in a mall,  and say, “let’s be friends!”  Yeah, that is most definitely weirder.

The truth is, I guess I am a bit of a loner.  It isn’t necessarily always by choice.  It reminds me of high school at times….when you walked into the cafeteria and didn’t see your friends.  You would feel awkward or uncomfortable until you spotted your group.  You might give off an I don’t care air,  just to self preserve.  Maybe I give off a stand-offish  vibe off to other moms?   Ironic, the self admitted loner saying she gets lonely.  Ha.  But it’s true.  It is absurd that I worry that O doesn’t like big groups.  Neither does Mommy (or Daddy for that matter!) I swear, does our child stand a chance?

I look up at the skylight in our family room.  It is covered with frost on this frigid November morning.  Winter is fast approaching.  It’s gonna be a long lonely one unless I jump out of my comfort zone.  I need to commit to putting aside my mild discomfort with new people.  I need to venture into the unknown of new friendships.  I suppose I find that most of the moms I encounter are much younger than me.  But, in truth,  age has little to do with commonalities shared among moms.  I’m looking for excuses to stay stuck.

No, it is time to put on my big girl layers of cuddle duds and flannel.  I have had wonderful friendships in my life, that still exist, though almost all are now at a long distance.  It’s time for some more day to day friends.  My life is here in New England now where the winters are cold and often long.  What I know of friendship is that it is necessary and most definitely warms your heart.

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.  Yup.  Pretty much every day.  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