Friday, March 15, 2013


Today, on the first day of her 8th year as a human being on this planet, I picked my daughter up for her Friday gymnastics class. The sun was shining; the rest of her friends were scampering off to their first afternoon soccer practice.

My kid had to make a choice earlier on: soccer or gymnastics. We couldn't do both. She was conflicted. Didn't want to disappoint her daddy, the beloved soccer team coach. Liked being with her friends at practice and the games. BUT, also really liked gymnastics. The flipping, cartwheeling, splits, balance beam.

"Noura isn't going to be in gymnastics today and Eleanor isn't either," she said. We both knew where they would be instead of flipping and jumping alongside her.

She climbed into the car, quiet. "I am going to be alone," she said.

"Yes. Today is the first day you won't have your two friends with you. That's definitely different."


"Are you sad?"


"Do you  miss soccer? You don't have to answer me now, but if you think about it and feel like you do, we can always see if we can switch. I can't promise that we can, but I can try."

Silence. And then...a wrinkled nose.

"Naaaah. I'm good."

Indeed you are, child. Indeed you are.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

The Best Yet

I have not blogged in foh-evah. Foh-evah, evah. And like everyone who lives life on this planet of ours, lots of stuff has happened. Lots and lots. Birthdays, visits, family, friends, work. The stuff of suburban family life right? I take a shit-ton of pictures with my phone and I post a shit-ton to Instagram. It's almost like so much happens, I need a way to keep track of it all in some sort of tangible form. And as I get older and my kids get older, I feel more of this compulsion to hold on to our moments -- happy and sad -- in picture or written form.

My little blog has become part of that effort. For me, it has become a way to stay true and honest to my feelings, who I am, etc. -- no matter what. My feeling is if I write the hard thing, press that "post" button and let it out into the universe, it can't hurt me anymore. Or at least it hurts me less.  There. I said it.  No more hiding.

And I can't wait for my adult kids to read it. To know that their mom was NOT perfect. And she struggled and  got pissed and cursed  and cried. To know that feeling imperfect is not anything to hide from or be ashamed of. It is part of being a frickin' human being, kids. And if you sit in that imperfectness for a little will learn and grow and maybe, just maybe, be happier and fuller as a human being because of it.

As a result of my need to observe, analyze and make sense of difficult things in my life, I often feel that when things are  happy and wonderful, I don't blog. To write about all the simple and sweet things in my life feels...showy. Inauthentic, almost. But, really it's not either.

I also want my kids to know I was really fucking happy in life. I had FUN. I loved their dad more than I can even write about here on this little blog. And we were the best of friends.  I loved them and their poopy jokes (most of the time). I loved to laugh...loud and hard. And dance. That I was their mom always, but I was also MORE THAN MY MINIVAN (that one's for you, S.)

So, to that end, 2013 thus far has been all about the seriousness that I write about here (and don't write about here), but it has also been about moments that send me so far into the stratosphere of happiness I believe  my little, fragile body won't be able to take it...