The stache that launched 1,000 words
Someday my kids will ask me how I knew their dad was the one. Maybe they’ll read a fairy tale and wonder about perfect love and Prince Charming; Maybe they’ll watch a movie and begin to visualize their own first kiss or first date or first crush; Or maybe they will be standing at the threshold of adulthood, standing side-by-side with a person of interest, questioning when and how and if they will make the commitment of a lifetime.
I will answer my kids honestly, as I do, and I will tailor my answer to their time of life and readiness for real talk, as I do, and I will hopefully inspire them to have faith in something that is really easy to doubt. This I will do in spite of the fact that doubt was a huge part of my early relationship with my husband, a function of my own less than stellar dating history moreso than his trustworthiness, of course. I recall in our first months as a couple when he handed me a gift with all of my favorite rom-coms, information piecemealed from many conversations we had, to appeal to the romantic in me, and in exchange I handed him a piece of my black and jaded heart, explaining to him that I did love him, but not unconditionally, and then went ahead and listed for him all of the conditions under which I would most likely cease to love him. At dinner. Over candlelight. On Valentine’s Day. Continue reading
My kids are pretty well-traveled. Maybe it’s because we are generous and adventurous parents but probably it’s because we are selfish and like to travel so they have to come. Because of our experience, many friends have asked me for tips on how to travel with their own kids before their maiden voyage. There are little tidbits I could offer here and there but mainly I advise this: Be sure you want to go and be sure you want to go with kids. But how can you know what to expect until you’ve done it? Well, friends, here is a little field guide; some activities you can do right in your own home to make sure you’re ready to face the world at large with your precious angels in tow.
I was one of the last great believers in Santa Claus, simply because my parents said it was true and I didn’t have the desire to disprove them. Fat old man in red suit brings us the presents you’ve been “hiding” in your room in plain sight, mom? To a half Jewish, half Buddhist family? Great! If I leave my dirty tooth under my pillow, I’ll find money from a full-grown adult fairy who collects them? Fantastic! Those mean kids are “just jealous” and it’s not because I still play with my Barbies in 7th grade and sleep in my mom’s bed? Makes perfect sense!
30: Inches of snow accumulated;
have been putting off in the last 3 or so months. Without boring you with the exhaustive list, we will just say that my conditioner does not need to be replaced as often as it once did, and when my doorbell rings, regardless of the time of day, my 1-year old screams, “Pizza!” and gleefully runs to the door to accept dinner. (In fairness to me, he is only right about 80 percent of the time.) Sometimes I think I am lazy. Sometimes I think I am busy and overwhelmed. Really though, as my new physical form would tell any interested onlooker, in case they hadn’t yet heard my 3-year-old announce how HUGE his mommy’s belly is and how many babies she is holding in it, I chalk it up to this: I am pregnant. (With one baby. Just one. My belly is just kind of big and my kid is just kind of mean.) 
themissingpantsproject 