Countless Times

One is how many times I would like to have to ask my kids before they listen. Three is the amount of times I ask before I start getting annoyed.

Five is about the number of times I threaten to take something away if they can't get it together. Zero is the amount of times I tend to follow up on those threats.

Daily, I ask if our morning tomorrow can please go better than this one is going. One out of five is the amount of days we get to school without someone crying.

Two are the amount of emails I have received from my husband with a schedule of how we should operate the morning so it goes well. None, are how many days it went according to the plan. Despite our efforts.

Ten is the number of times this school year we have said we should set an alarm. Two is the amount of days that stuck. One of which we ignored.

One is the amount of days this year that I got up before everyone else in the house, exercised, made breakfast and was dressed before the kids. It was the first day of school. It was a great idea. Fifty two days since that I didn't do that.

This morning, I got my kids out without any tears, we weren't rushed, it was a small miracle and I am proud. We got to the back of school where there is a gate that is usually open. It wasn't today,  and we had no time left to go around to another entrance before my daughter would be late for student council. I made the only rational decision I could think of in that moment, and I had her scale the fence. The first try wasn't successful. She was too scared and didn't want to climb back down the far side of the fence. When she came down to me and said she was afraid, I told her that I believed she could do it. I explained that it was okay either way with me, but that she might be late if we go around. Thats when I saw the fire in her eyes, and she attacked that fence. She stuck her Doc Martins in those diamond shaped holes and swung her leg over the top. The only moment of pure panic came when her leggings got stuck on the top of the fence. I climbed up right to her, mother and daughter scaling together, and I ripped her lavender, (already such dirty pants, so now we can throw them away) right off leaving a tiny hole, and encouraged her to keep going. It was then that she said "Mommy, is this illegal?" I assured her that we were fine as long as there isn't any barbed wire on top, we are good to go. She made is down on the other side. Two feet planted on the ground, with her little brother whining behind me that he wants to try, she looks at me blows out a big exhale and we smile. I tell her "you made it, yay, now go" and she runs off into school. I did not set a great example, and I definitely wasn't thinking about safety first, but she learned she could climb a fence. Those are some mad life skills.

Over one hundred times I have said to my kids "Come on, we can't be late for school" Zero is the times we have been late. Not an option.

Infiniti: the amount of time I will say "I love you, have a great day!" No matter how we get off to school.

Countless Times

One is how many times I would like to have to ask my kids before they listen. Three is the amount of times I ask before I start getting annoyed.

Five is about the number of times I threaten to take something away if they can't get it together. Zero is the amount of times I tend to follow up on those threats.

Daily, I ask if our morning tomorrow can please go better than this one is going. One out of five is the amount of days we get to school without someone crying.

Two are the amount of emails I have received from my husband with a schedule of how we should operate the morning so it goes well. None, are how many days it went according to the plan. Despite our efforts.

Ten is the number of times this school year we have said we should set an alarm. Two is the amount of days that stuck. One of which we ignored.

One is the amount of days this year that I got up before everyone else in the house, exercised, made breakfast and was dressed before the kids. It was the first day of school. It was a great idea. Fifty two days since that I didn't do that.

This morning, I got my kids out without any tears, we weren't rushed, it was a small miracle and I am proud. We got to the back of school where there is a gate that is usually open. It wasn't today,  and we had no time left to go around to another entrance before my daughter would be late for student council. I made the only rational decision I could think of in that moment, and I had her scale the fence. The first try wasn't successful. She was too scared and didn't want to climb back down the far side of the fence. When she came down to me and said she was afraid, I told her that I believed she could do it. I explained that it was okay either way with me, but that she might be late if we go around. Thats when I saw the fire in her eyes, and she attacked that fence. She stuck her Doc Martins in those diamond shaped holes and swung her leg over the top. The only moment of pure panic came when her leggings got stuck on the top of the fence. I climbed up right to her, mother and daughter scaling together, and I ripped her lavender, (already such dirty pants, so now we can throw them away) right off leaving a tiny hole, and encouraged her to keep going. It was then that she said "Mommy, is this illegal?" I assured her that we were fine as long as there isn't any barbed wire on top, we are good to go. She made is down on the other side. Two feet planted on the ground, with her little brother whining behind me that he wants to try, she looks at me blows out a big exhale and we smile. I tell her "you made it, yay, now go" and she runs off into school. I did not set a great example, and I definitely wasn't thinking about safety first, but she learned she could climb a fence. Those are some mad life skills.

Over one hundred times I have said to my kids "Come on, we can't be late for school" Zero is the times we have been late. Not an option.

Infiniti: the amount of time I will say "I love you, have a great day!" No matter how we get off to school.

Feeding Frenzy

When I was in college, my sister was in law school. We lived together in one house: our parents, her husband and her growing belly. I listened in awe with every new idea — birthing classes, natural birth or c-section, breast feeding or formula. While I had no intention of having a baby at that point in my life. I was so intrigued, and feel undoubtedly formed ideas about how I would do it when that time finally came.

Watching my sister made me realize that the path we choose as a new mother is not always the path we follow. My sister wanted a natural birth so badly, and after hours in labor, ended up with a C-section. The birth of your child is step one in learning that so much of birth and life is out of our control. My sister had also planned on breastfeeding, and that didn't exactly go according to plan, either. She gave birth to her son in the middle of a snow storm in NYC, and finding an available lactation consultant proved to be impossible. We made the best of it — when my nephew wasn't on the breast trying to latch he was in the arms of my dad, or mine, getting nourishment from us via a tiny feeding tube. It was a bonding time for all of us that is sealed with a smile in my memory.

Years later, when my husband I decided we wanted a baby, I was reminded again how things don't always go according to plan. Pregnancy did not come easy for me. After months of trying to have a baby, my husband and I ended up in the ER. It was here where I found out I was pregnant, but that due to lack of blood supply to the baby, it would be a wait-and-see situation. The baby was strong and thriving. I was out of the woods and ready to enjoy pregnancy, but then I began vomiting. I was diagnosed with something called Hyperemesis Gravidarum. Hyperemesis affects less than three percent of women, and it's basically a condition defined by non-stop vomiting. It was awful. Right around the fifteenth week, the nausea finally subsided. As I recovered, and my belly began to grow, my husband and I took a birthing class. The woman who taught the class suggested that when we think about how we would like our births to go. She suggested that we make a birth "wish list" as opposed to a "birth plan.” Little did I know then, that this small change in language would be the best parenting advice I could have ever received.

My pregnancy did not go how I wished. My daughter's birth had elements that I wished for. A few years later my miscarriage wasn't something I wished or planned for. When I got pregnant with my son, I got sick again. I planned on that but certainly didn't wish for it. I had hoped that I could breastfeed my children. It was one wish that came true for me. It felt like one of the only things that came easily after such a difficult pregnancy, and for that I was grateful.

 Just like there are many ways for packages to be delivered, there is no one way to have a baby delivered. Snail mail or express. In the end, natural delivery, c-section, drugs or no drugs, at home or in hospital, fertility treatments, egg donors, adoption, the end goal is the same for all new parents.: a healthy child! The same goes for feeding your baby. I have friends who could nurse and didn't want to, and friends who wanted to nurse but couldn't. As new mothers our new responsibility is huge and daunting. We need to make informed educated decisions for what is best for us as individuals. Breast is best for some, but not for all. There are many support groups and lactation consultants for those who need support for nursing, and there are wonderful, healthy alternatives such as those available on the  Honest feeding page for those who choose to use formula. Connecting with your baby is crucial — nursing is a great way to do that, but not the only way.

When I first brought my daughter home from the hospital, I was so overwhelmed with the idea that I had to do everything "right." Like every new mother, I wanted the best for my baby. I went over the top with this idea though and it took me a while to realize that there is no "right" way, or one way for that matter. I remember I was nursing her once, and I got distracted and she came off my breast. Milk sprayed across the room and when I looked down at my baby she had gotten milk sprayed in her eyes. She was fine, but she was covered in drops of milk. I could have laughed, but in that moment, I burst out in tears, as if I had damaged her for life. I was so sensitive and here was this innocent baby looking up at me just wanting to be fed. It was that day that I began to realize I needed to be easier on myself. We were all doing well, healthy, thriving, and if no one is hungry then I shouldn't be crying over spilled milk, even if it is spilled breast milk. I started over that day and began to take heart, that it all works out in the end, but it certainly does not go according to plan.

The Skinny

Hillary Clinton's latest anti Trump add was powerful and got my attention. It's a clear and simple message we have heard before: it simply reminds us to be mindful about how we regard body image around our daughters. It showed young teenagers looking in the mirror and observing themselves while Trump's spewing voice-over spoke nasty body shaming comments about women. I am very careful about how I speak around my daughter, and around women in general. We are fortunate to be living in a time where many people are careful, but still so many are not.

We are surrounded by so many mixed messages out there. Eat healthy, yet treat yourself! Gun violence confronts us on an almost daily basis, yet there are movie billboards glorifying guns in a larger than life way. We wouldn't tell our daughters they will be "a player", but people tell my son he is going to be "a little ladies man". There are words, phrases, insults, and curses that my kid's friends are allowed to say that mine are not. I have to explain and undo a lot expressions that I am not okay with, but are no big deal to others. I can let some things go but there is an innocence and ignorance my children have that I would like to protect a little longer. Obviously, with each passing day I let go of my children a bit more, but for now, I hope I can keep a positive impact on how they view things.

My 8-year-old daughter has a friend who already knows about sex. I am not ready to talk to my child about how a baby is really conceived but I would be devastated if her friend told her before I did. This same friend had my daughter asking me what f-u-c-k spelled. I like her friend and I wouldn't keep them apart for these reasons, this child just has a bit of information that I would rather she kept to herself.  My daughter doesn't yet see how any of these things relate to her, but it is only a matter of time. We recently went to a festival that had a rock climbing wall. It was there that my daughter felt how other people view her body, and that did not get past her. The man who helped her put the harness on, said "come here, skinny" as he tightened the straps he said commented on how she doesn't even have a waist. We try so hard to make sure people don't comment on overweight bodies but forget to be mindful of people who are underweight. Any comment about someone's body can be hurtful.

I have read all the articles out there about making sure we speak up and build up our kids by commenting on how strong our girls are bodies are, instead of talking about size, but then we pass bus bench that says, “Wanna better Butt?" This of course brought in questions about what is wrong with that girl's bottom that she needed a better one? Trump is just one man who speaks ill of women, and with any luck, he will quietly go away soon. If not quietly well at least away. Hopefully with any luck she will also never meet him. Unfortunately, I cannot keep her from meeting men as ugly as he is. However, I can and plan to empower her enough that their words are just that, words, and that her heart is the strongest muscle she has.

City people

We just spent this amazing weekend in Park City, Utah. When the sun was out, it held you like a sweet goodbye to summer. The trees were green on the mountains with just a spattering of autumn colors peeking through. We were visiting close friends who left the West Coast eight years ago to move to Utah. They have family there, they all ski, and they had small kids so it just made sense. Now having visited for the second time I can really see how much sense it makes.  It's beautiful, the schools are great, you get more for your money and there is so much open space.

It's not difficult to look at real estate in LA without wanting to flee the city. The prices have climbed to ridiculous numbers. People seem to be buying the tiniest of shoe boxes just to own something in a desirable neighborhood. Most places outside of the big cities like NY, LA, and SF you can actually buy a nice home for a reasonable amount of money.  I felt this way in Massachusetts this summer too. I saw beautiful homes with nice sizable yards and day dreamed about moving there. I just know there are too many things I would hate to say goodbye to in LA.

Everything is a trade off. I hear people say that all the time when they are talking about places to live. We left our beloved house in the hills two years ago to move to an area where we could walk, bike, and have a community of people around us. It has been the best decision we made for us, as a family. We love how this is a real neighborhood that feels a lot like what I imagine a small town USA town is like -- yet, we are still in a city. It is diverse both racially and economically and is close enough to anything we are willing to fight LA traffic for. Or now we can take the Metro which has been super easy. We also have an amazing public school system and we have been so impressed with it so far. When I look at the money that goes into the schools in Utah it seems like it is this brand spanking new school. It is nicer than most of the private schools here. They even have their own snack truck with the schools sports teams logos painted all over it. We could sell everything we have here and get a really nice house there with money left over, but we would freeze half the year and there are no Trader Joe's.

So we will stay here, because we love it. Well we love the area, but we do miss our house. We miss the natural beauty that welcomed us home everyday as we drove up the hill away from the city. We miss the quiet mountains that surrounded us. We now live in a town house that we love, but wish it wasn't attached to someone else's house on one side. We don't exactly love having a board that keeps reminding us of the rules of living in this complex. We also don't love paying the HOA fees each month. There is the trade, though. I love the convenience, the friends we have made, the grounds here, and the pool. It takes a while for someplace to feel like a home, but I am really settling in. Sure I can up and try something else if we needed too. I don't want to though. I'm making myself comfortable.

What Do You Have To Do All Day?!

Wow, someone actually just asked me what I have to do all day. She asked when I told her I wasn't sure I had enough time to help volunteer my time with one more project. She actually asked me that question, and shockingly she is a mom too. I did not respond. I did not respond because I didn't have the time to give her the real answer. 

We women need to stick together. We need to be more supportive of one another. It is not easy to be a mother and it takes some effort. I know we all have different approaches and different situations that factor in, so we may not all be able to relate completely but surely I thought every woman knew that whether you are working or not, mothering is still a job in and of itself.  I recently had a few projects and jobs that pulled me away from my regular availability to my kids. Lunches got made last minute, homework wasn't done right away, more sugar was consumed than usual, more bribes were made and less baths were taken. I had a taste of what it is to be a working mom and it is hard. My hat goes off to women who work all day and then come home with only a small window left to connect with their kids. To come home from a full day and try to feed them a healthy meal, make sure they read and brush teeth and everything else that needs to get done, you are barely left with enough time to talk to your kid. Not to mention the guilt one can feel for being exhausted and not really wanting to talk with your kids post a full work day.  It's hard!

The norm for me is not working all day at a "job," but let me be clear: I have one, and I am working harder than I have worked in my life. I have fifteen hours a week where I am not doing the mothering job, but I am always on call. Three of those days I report to another job, and then rush to pick up from preschool from there. I am a chef, a nurse, a therapist, a tudor, a personal assistant and the list goes on. I will not map out my daily schedule for you because it is pretty full and I am not looking for any pat on the back. Even sitting down to write has to be calculated for as there really isn't much time to spare. I get way more sleep than I did three years ago when I had a new baby, but he still gets us up at the crack of dawn and I am still struggling to get enough sleep at night.

Not every woman has the choice to stay at home full time. Even "stay at home" is such a poorly worded title for what a mother does. I don't do enough staying at home, if I did maybe I could tell you what soap operas were on while I tried to fold the laundry.  It takes a lot of planning, and some serious time managment. I realize this someone who asked me what I have to do all day, works another job in addition to raising her two small children. Without judgment I can also point out that she has help from a nanny, and a daycare, so perhaps her reality allows for many more free hours in the day than I have. I just don't think any mother should ever ask, "What do you have to do all day?" We should all know that regardless of how many hours we all put into it, its a big job!

Stay Awhile

My dad and I talk on the phone almost every day. My husband sometimes makes fun of me and says "daddy" when he sees I am talking to him. He knows I am a daddy's girl -- he can make all the fun he wants, but my bond with my dad is unbreakable. When I call my mom she is often busy, or she will chat for a minute and hand the phone to my dad. When I talk to my dad, he has all the time in the world for me. Except the other day when I called. He picked up and said hello, but then quickly said he had to go. I asked him why and he said he was at the funeral home. I pushed a bit further and he confessed that he was making arrangements for his own funeral to make it easier on us when he passes. I swallowed back my tears.

 My dad didn't coach soccer games, or teach me how to ride a bike, but he was the one who made our family dinner every night, picked me up from school, and helped me with my homework. Compared to my friend's fathers, mine was much older. He was almost fifty when he had me and so now he is eighty eight years old. Over the last ten years he has had some aches and pains. He has had knee and back problems He has had a few surgeries and epidural injections for pain, but he has been free of any disease or illness and has remained relatively healthy. 

Most people at his age slow down, and he has but his version of slow is exhausting just to think about. He may not walk very well now but that doesn't stop him from getting on planes. He travels to Israel for six months at a time with my mom. They live there, rent an apartment and a car, have friends to visit, concerts to attend, and classes to take. The other six months they live between New York, Massachusetts, and find a way to even get out here to California for a visit or two a year. They are not afraid of adventure and my dad says as long as he can do it, he will. My dad does get anxiety and often worries, but the most valuable tool I learned from him is that despite fears, you do it anyway.

My parents absolutely live life to the fullest.  They were both teachers and they took summer vacations to work in summer camps that were located in the country so they could live somewhere beautiful. The loved to travel so they always set a few weeks of the summer aside so they could a trip. They still go to plays, concerts, see their friends, and they still travel. The biggest obstacle for them now is pain though. It can really get in the way. It might not stop my dad but it surely can overshadow joy. When his back began to ache a few years ago, I thought it was just an injury that would go away with a little time. It has taken me a while to accept that these ailments aren't temporary, they are here to stay. As many people have tried to reverse aging, clearly no one has a solution yet.

This summer I took my kids on our annual trip back to the east coast to visit my parents. It was the first time that my mother was also in pain. She has some sort of sciatic nerve pain down her leg and it makes it very difficult to walk. This was the first visit that felt like just that: a visit. We spent time with them talking, eating, and staying with them, but we did all of our adventures without them. The lake to swim, a walk, a museum, a trip to the playground all might have been done together in the past, but this year they just couldn't do it anymore. My kids had a great trip and we enjoyed our time together with my parents, but I felt the absence of their energy. I went home feeling slighted of quality time with my parents and in exchange I felt sad. Was this my new normal? I had this underlying feeling of denial, and stubbornness to accept their health this way. If I had a difficult time accepting this I can only imagine what they feel. Aging is no fun for anyone involved, and as my dad says often "Getting old sucks" 

I suppose he is doing the responsible thing, preparing for the future. Statistically, he is planning all of this at an appropriate age. I know humans can only live so long, yet knowledge and understanding can't even begin to prepare me for the way the world will feel without my father in it. So regardless of what lies ahead, I am going to continue picking up the phone everyday. I will spend as much time I can connecting with my dad, and as little time as possibile thinking about when I won't be able to anymore. When I spoke to my dad on the phone from the funeral home, I waited to cry until I hung up. I told him to hurry up and get out of there. I reminded him that he had a long time before he would ever go back there.