The event: Eleza’s Bat Mitzvah.

The invitation to the party, featuring Total Entertainment and an MTV VJ, implied that festive formal attire would be best. Since the last time I had dressed to impress was for my 6th grade graduation just a few short months earlier, I went with that look: a white dress with a lace-trimmed collar, puffed sleeves, and white sash, paired with white tights and white patent leather Mary Janes. I felt classy and confident, excited to reconnect with old friends and rock that first impression on my new ones.

Imagine my surprise when I showed up at the Hotel Nikko and discovered that, over the summer, all of my former classmates had found spaghetti straps, Steve Madden platforms, puberty, and eyeliner. They blended right in with our new 7th-grade classmates, who looked like they had just stepped out of a Vegas nightclub.

I was MORTIFIED. I wanted to spend the evening hiding in the hotel bathroom, but instead, I lurked in the corner of the ballroom, eating chicken fingers from the buffet. Inevitably, I couldn’t resist hitting the dance floor when that bass started thumping. I was mesmerized by the hora. And when the VJ did a call and response—“This party’s for Eleza!”—I was on the front row, raising the roof and screaming, “This party’s for Eleza! This is Club Eleza!” at the top of my lungs. Sure, I looked like a Victorian ghost, but I did the Tootsie Roll like a backup dancer in a 90s rap video. I was the Amish child bride who knew every word of Shoop.

When my parents picked me up, I was livid that they let me leave the house looking like a Little Bo Peep pilgrim.  They were just as shocked as I was that the dress code had swung so drastically in the other direction. I placed an order from the dELiA*s catalog the next day.

Flash forward a few decades, and here I am, helping my daughter get dressed for her first Bat Mitzvah party. I refuse to let her repeat my past trauma, so we’ve ordered a stack of slinky, skanky dresses for her to choose from. I am well aware I am overcorrecting. Modesty schmodisty.

An eensy-weensy sparkly maroon dress was her top pick.  I made her shout “This Party’s for Eleza” to make sure she and the dress could rise to meet the moment.

Post-Party update: She came home hoarse from winning the screaming contest, which came with a Starbucks gift card. She also had a few bruises from doing the worm.  Couldn’t be prouder. 

Mazel tov!

Hallie burned through at least four red markers crafting the “Harper has braces” poster. Her declaration of this milestone ended with a period, not an exclamation point—and honestly, that feels just right.

I remember getting my braces the summer before 7th grade. I burst into tears the second my mom and I left the orthodontist, partly because my teeth hurt, but mostly because I felt anything but cute. My mom responded with a hug, a milkshake, and a trip to the mall. A little quality time and a new outfit from Limited Too helped restore the confidence that my new braces had zapped—well, at least a bit of it. (never underestimate the power of a trendy spaghetti strap dress with a built-in t-shirt)

And now, here I am, 30 years later, replaying that same chain of events with my daughter: braces, tears, hugs, milkshakes, and a mall trip. (My first mall visit in a decade, and her first time at the mall ever.) After some quality time, Advil, sweet treats, a few new oversized hoodies, and undersized shorts, I’m already seeing more of her adorable new silver smile.

5 days down, 543 to go.  But hey, who’s counting?

We just got back from the beach, and I am about to use an adjective I have never ever used to describe a family trip: RELAXING. This trip was relaxing.  In fact, I would even go so far as to use the word vacation.  Our family vacation was relaxing.  I’m just going to pause and let that last sentence sink in for a minute.

For many years, we returned from the annual family beach trip feeling haggard and exhausted. The swim diapers, the sunscreen, the overheated babies, the early mornings, and long days punctuated by suicide attempts by overconfident non-swimmers.  For a solid decade, we didn’t even pack beach chairs because we knew there would be no sitting, only shoreside lifeguarding and anxious pacing on the pool deck. These trips to the coast were more expensive, more stressful, hotter versions of our life at home, but with a better view.  A relocation, not a vacation.  But my friends, we have entered a new frontier.

So, what made this trip a true vacation?

• Eleven years and thousands of dollars of swimming lessons later, my kids can all swim. Game changer.
• I never cooked dinner. We ate out every single night which was a treat all around.  And my kids (finally) know how to act at restaurants (more or less) so that helps. John still needs me to cut his steak but I don’t mind.
• The kids slept in. So did the grownups.
• Two out of three of my children can read. At one point, we were all sitting on the beach reading our respective books. Honestly, I couldn’t even keep my eyes on the page because I was so giddy.
• We left my oldest in charge while John and I went out to an adults-only dinner. Twice! Not one but two date nights with a free babysitter.

Family bike rides, ice cream, movies, hours on the beach, crashing the pool at the fancy hotel, games, and gator sightings.  The cherry on top of an amazing summer.

Every time we ride bikes on the beltline path near our home, we have multiple where is this child’s mother moments. I have three children who move at different speeds on their wheeled apparatuses, so that means someone is usually at least a mile ahead, someone is being pushed or carried, and someone is a mile behind having a meltdown.

So, I made these shirts for my children.  The shirt spells out exactly what people are thinking when one of my free-range children is out of my reach. It tells the onlookers that I’m here.  I acknowledge your concern. I got this. I approve. No need to worry.  Carry on.

The first time I experienced a where is this child’s mother moment was at the playground when my then two-year-old.  I let her climb and slide and do things I knew she was capable of without direct hands-on supervision.  I was literally five feet away.  She was fine.  The other mother watching this was not.

I have found myriad other applications for the where is this child’s mother shirt:

• days when you predict you will be late to the carpool line or a playdate pickup
• when your children won’t let you brush their hair and/or refuse to wear seasonally appropriate footwear
• when your husband takes the children to the grocery store or to a restaurant without mom and people are bewildered by this basic execution of parenting
• when mom’s out of town
• when your middle child (a chronic wander) goes to any public gathering
• your child is at the playground and invites herself to a birthday party and helps herself to cake and party favors

No matter the circumstances, the where is this child’s mother shirt says exactly what they are thinking.

For the record, when I took this photo, my oldest child was taking a (fully sanctioned) short solo stroll around the neighborhood.  But good news! She was wearing the shirt.  Everyone can relax.

When it comes to parenting, they say more is caught than taught.  That means children learn more from observing and imitating their parents than from the lessons their parents intentionally teach.

So in honor of my mom’s birthday, I want to share a few life lessons that I most definitely caught from this living legend:

• Always offer to bring a salad and dessert.
• Do not pay full price for athleisure. There is gold to be found shopping the designer discount racks.
• Know your strengths.
• Know your colors.
• You don’t need a second home but be an exceptional guest so your friends invite you to theirs.
• Find passion, joy, and purpose in your work.
• Find passion, joy, and purpose in your family.
• Find passion, joy, and purpose in things outside of your work and your family.
• Warm it up and add ice cream.
• Never stop learning.
• Stay curious.
• Animal print is always in style.
• Everything is negotiable.
• Instead of saying “what can I do to help?” just start helping.
• Treat yourself very well.
• It’s never too late in the evening to start a game of Scrabble or Oh Hell.
• The more condiments, the merrier.
• Marry someone awesome.
• Marry someone who thinks you are awesome.
• Write thank-you notes.
• Being considered low maintenance is not a goal worth striving for.
• If you want something, ask for it.  The worst anyone can say is no.

I am a lucky girl indeed to have learned from the very best.

My oldest daughter Harper started taking piano lessons about a year ago.  According to Ms. Lisa, our saintly piano teacher, Harper is a “natural” and has an “excellent ear.” During the school year, this Tiger Mother did her best to make sure her daughter practiced 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week.  This was easy given she was in virtual 3rd grade with very few extracurriculars. And of course, Asuckronyous Wednesdays were wide open. She learned the basics required to read music and a handful of simple piano classics. She put on an excellent recital of carols for our family’s Christmas Eve dinner. She also learned to play Edelweiss to honor the life and legacy of Christopher Plummer, may he rest in peace. Ms. Lisa was always telling me how impressed she was by how quickly Harper caught on, and I truly believe that this wasn’t a marketing ploy to keep us on the hook for more lessons.

But this summer we paused the lessons because, well…summer. Although I promised Ms. Lisa I would ensure Harper practiced regularly, I didn’t.  And she didn’t.  I guess I just wanted one less thing to boss people around about, so piano practice fell by the wayside. 

So here we are. I am trying to decide whether to start lessons back up again and wondering how hard to push. If Harper has a smidge of natural talent, which is possible given the music genes she inherited (from her dad dangit), it makes me want her to stick with it. Though the piano piece seems to click, it is requiring more manhandling these days to get her to practice.  

So I’m curious- how and how hard do you push a kid on the music stuff? I didn’t grow up taking lessons (still bitter) so this is new parenting territory for me. How do you motivate them to practice?  There are a lot of things competing for my daughter’s time (sports, homework, neighborhood games of manhunt and capture the flag), so it will take a group effort to make her prioritize this over other things.  Is it worth it? How does it work at your house for your aspiring Rachmaninoff? How does piano practice fit into your family’s daily rhythms? Did you take lessons growing up? What do you do to force motivate your kids to practice? Bribes? Threats? Do I need another jar of jumbo marshmallows?

Please advise.

I panicked when I saw this post on our Nanny’s Facebook page: “I just made a big decision and I’m so excited about it…Career change in the making.”

Ever the optimist, I was hopeful her “career change” was one of the following:

• A. PHD in child psychology (night classes)

• B. Marie Kondo certification (weekends)

• C. Diplome de Cuisene from Le Cordon Bleu (virtually)

Well, the two of us have since had a conversation about her next move, and she informed me that it is option D.

• D. Something that doesn’t advance elements of her skillset that serve our family and doesn’t fit within the time and location constraints of our current working arrangement.

The cold hard truth is this: She does not aspire to be our nanny until my children leave for college.

I knew this day would come, but the reality is that it’s coming sooner than I’d hoped. She is the reason I can do work I love, not feel like I am drowning at home, and have peace knowing that my children are in great hands. That infection of working mom guilt so many suffer from?  I remain largely asymptomatic because she has things so lovingly locked down on the home front.  So when I’m not working, I am able to enjoy my children and make it count.

She packs bookbags, lunches and sleepaway camp trunks. She does grocery trips, target runs, meal prep, and laundry.  She does doctor’s appointments, trips to the vet, carpools, and gift wrapping. She reads, plays games, sings beautifully, tells stories and builds magna-tiles.  She knows who wears what sizes and does the seasonal closet reorgs (the. worst.).  She takes on the most ambitious, complex, messy art projects and leaves no trace. You see this tiny house? She patiently built one of those with each child. The instruction manual is the size of a college textbook and it has working electricity.

But best of all, she truly delights in my children.  She sees them and knows them and appreciates the uniqueness of each of my girls. She adores them and we adore her. She has become a true friend.

After I saw that alarming post of Facebook, the two of us had a conversation wherein she laid out her vision for her career shift. 

Honestly? My first instinct was to try to talk her out of it.  I did my best to convince her that her current job is, in fact, her dream job.

The work I do at my day job, the job that necessitates the need for a nanny in the first place, is leadership development.  It is my life’s work to help people find passion and purpose as they leverage their strengths to do work they love.  After my darker angel selfishly spoke her peace, my more altruistic instincts kicked in.  I can’t help myself but to champion her growth and do everything I can to help her find her dream job…the one that doesn’t involve cutting the crusts of PBJs and incentivizing a three-year-old to utilize indoor plumbing.  

I ordered her this book and I’m going to coach her through the assessment results. I have connected her with people doing the work she wants to do in the future. We are talking through finances and the logistics so that she can plan accordingly. I will help her write a business plan.  

I am also trying to get her to stick with me until January.

Ideally May.

Ideally May 2036. I’m only human.

She is truly irreplaceable. 

But. When the time comes to hire her replacement, there will be NASA level scrutiny to ensure we don’t end up in this situation again. For the select few who make it to the final stage of the interview process, there’ll be a working interview with one very specific challenge:

You will be locked in a room with three hungry children, a cat, a hot glue gun, and this DIY dollhouse craft kit. You must emerge with a fully assembled and illuminated miniature room, everyone uninjured and on speaking terms.

After that, if you still want the job, it’s yours.

Middle Child: I have no recollection whatsoever of potty training her. One day she decided she was done with diapers and that was that.

3rd Child: The three-day method turned into the three-month method. Three months of stops and starts, rewarding, punishing, bribing, public praising, public shaming, and a whole Target aisle of princess panties, now in a landfill somewhere. (Sorry Sierra Club, but life is too short to spend any time reviving Moana panties that have been disrespected).

Those three months were followed by three more months of potty training purgatory wherein she spent HOURS in the bathroom with her beverage of choice and the iPad, streaming Disney+. Then IF (if!) the magic happened, she was rewarded with a hot fudge sundae from McDonalds.

But we are finally making progress. These days, each bathroom event no longer requires the level of pomp and circumstance she once demanded. We weaned her off the iPad, the excessive fanfare, and celebratory trips to The Golden Arches. Now she gets an M&M for one outcome and a jumbo marshmallow for the other.

Last week I sent her to a day camp that required campers to be potty trained, praying she’d not make her mother seem like a liar rise to the occasion. And she did! She came home wearing the outfit I sent her in, and told me I owed her three M&Ms and a marshmallow.

I predict she’ll call home from college, give me updates about her classes, her professors, sorority life. . . and the tally of how many marshmallows she’s earned.

Moral of the story:

Parenting is tricky.

Kids are all different.

Intrinsic motivation is overrated.

Every Wednesday I have PTSD flashbacks from the decade I spent micro-managing virtual school: March 2020 to February 2021.  But the difference is that on Asynchronous Wednesdays, there isn’t even virtual academic instruction.  Sure, you can participate in (optional) virtual PE, but you won’t find this mom setting an early alarm so that her child can throw socks against the living room wall.   

For an extroverted 3^rd grader who loves school, craves structure, and is desperate to leave this house, Asynchronous Wednesday inevitably becomes aSUCKronous WHINEsday.  After practicing her handstands and staging a photoshoot with the cat, she comes to me in a sulky snit, asking for ideas of what to do. I rattle off a few zingers: Clean up the playroom! Journal! Build a fort! Write your pen pal! Memorize the state capitals!  She rejects them all, complains that our backyard is no fun, and pouts because our neighbors can’t play.  She finally grabs a book and cuddles up with her emotional support pandemic cat while I crank out some emails.

As a working mom, I’m not available to facilitate enriching trips to the zoo or museums on Wednesdays. (Honestly, the zoo is a bit of a schlep from here, so work is a convenient excuse to get out of that one.) But you know what working moms love to do? Power lunches.  On Wednesdays, I take my 3^rd grader out for lunch.  Quality one-on-one time in the middle of the week feels like a treat for both of us.  I always let her pick the place and the playlist.  I’m secretly hoping that she’s craving a Frosty and Justin Timberlake to make this a true NSYNCronous Wendy’s Day, but alas. On this particular day, she requests Beyoncé and Zoe’s Kitchen. I knew I liked that girl.

By late afternoon, her sisters are home, the neighbors can play, and sports practices commence. We are all feeling breezy knowing that the school bus will be here tomorrow.

Bye Bye Bye to this asynchronous nonsense and cheers to the fact that these kids will go back face-to-face 5 days next year. 

Happy Nsyncronous Winesday.

There’s an old saying in parenting that goes like this: the days are long, but the years are short. 

And it’s true.  As I look through old family photos, I can hardly remember my children as itty-bitty babies. My memories of even the most memorable of vacations is hazy, and of course the ebbs and flows of day-to-day life is a total blur.  I look back at old photos and I hardly remember them being that…little.  Babies don’t keep and the years go by so very fast.

But 2020 was different.   In 2020, the days were long, and the year was long. Time slowed down.  It was challenging, for sure, but the rearview mirror in my mind is already rounding off the rough edges. We pressed pause on the frenetic pace of our typical work, travel, sports, school and social schedules. Because of all the time together, my children at these exact ages (2, 5 and 8) will be deeply etched in my memory.  These ages that typically go by in a blink and are filed away with all the other blurry recollections of their childhood days, will contain more color. In 2020, time slowed down which somehow slowed down the growing up. Silver lining, for sure.  

The first day of virtual school did not meet my very low expectations.  Or at least I didn’t.  I expected it would take at least two weeks for the virtual learning situation to bring me to tears, but no. By 11am on the very first day, I was crying, ready to call it quits, and researching if the Peace Corps accepted kindergarteners and/or cats.

After few weeks of days not much better than that one, I was ready to take action.  I felt compelled to share our unpleasant experience with virtual school and assert the importance of in-person education to anyone who would listen.  So, I did what generations of women have done before me—I sat at my kitchen table and launched a letter writing campaign.  This I know for sure: People in power love to hear from women who have come unglued.

I opened my laptop, grabbed a cup of coffee and began ranting writing. 

My first email was to our school’s principal.  I heard a rumor that he thought things were going along just swimmingly, so I made it my personal mission to change his mind about that.  I calmly and clearly articulated the challenges of virtual kindergarten.  I attached this photo.

It felt good to do something. To connect with our principal.  To share my experience.  But does he even have a seat at the table when it comes to decision making?  Does he have any say-so whatsoever regarding schools reopening?  Two more cups of coffee, a few internet clicks and I found the contact info for the entire Atlanta Public School Board.

I decided to revise and repurpose the principal email to send it the decision makers.  

With fresh eyes and my new audience in mind, I re-read my initial email to the principal.   Though I was aiming for concerned and competent, I came across as a tad…unhinged.  So, I logged out of Gmail and switched to Outlook.  Now the emails would come from my corporate email address, complete with my work signature, fancy title and company logo.  I wanted them to see that I wasn’t your average crazy mom, I was a professional crazy mom. 

Next, I emailed our district’s representative on the school board.  I told him a little bit about the challenges of virtual kindergarten.  It is best to have a specific ask in mind, so I suggested a reopening plan that prioritized making in-person learning available to students with special needs and to the youngest students (i.e. Kindergarteners. Like this one. She was supposed to be “learning” but instead she spent the morning creating this desk for her unicorn). 

I continued to work my way down the contact list, each email serving as my template for the one after.  With each subsequent email, I gained momentum in my conviction around the ineffectiveness of virtual school specifically for early learners and those with special needs.  I also started outlining the disproportionate impact school closures have on students and communities most in need.  I cited news articles about how virtual learning further widens the achievement gap between the haves and the have-nots.

By my last board email, I was officially an expert on the correlation between third grade reading levels, truancy, and the prison population.  I was punctuating my points with relevant statistics as I built my case. Maybe I was just screaming into a canyon, but at least it had the placebo effect of feeling productive.

Then I went back to my Gmail and sent a thank you note to my daughter’s kindergarten teacher. I told her she was crushing it. I praised her efforts to adapt to providing instruction in this new medium.   I told her she was a war hero who deserved a Purple Heart.  I apologized that a unicorn crashed the kindergarten zoom.

The decision of whether to reopen schools for face-to-face learning is complex.  Many teachers don’t want to risk getting sick if schools are open. Many parents can’t work if schools are closed.  Many children can’t learn if they are at home. Many homes are unsafe places for children.  Children with special needs are losing key skills, missing milestones and falling behind.  Children of parents with financial means are getting ahead thanks to tutors, private school and enrichment programs—advantages unavailable to children at some public schools.  Many public schools serve communities that may be at higher risk for contracting the virus.  Many teachers may be high-risk themselves or caring for loved ones that are.  Many children are at high risk without the structure, security and meals provided by the school system. And on. And on. And on.  It’s messy and complicated and scary and sad all the way around. But as case numbers continue trending in the right direction, the pros of reopening outweigh the cons.

It’s been a week now since I gave my two cents to via email the Atlanta Board of Education.  I know a lot of other parents who have done the same.  Women far more savvy than me are launching Facebook groups to gather support and circulating petitions (please sign it).  Enough crazy moms can certainly move the needle on this thing, right?

Just this morning, this email landed in my inbox: 

Basically: The school board might be planning to plan to formulate a plan to make a plan to begin planning for reopening. Eventually. And that plan might incorporate a tiered approach that prioritizes children who are having the most challenges distance learning. Maybe they’re reading the influx of ranty emails from disgruntled homeschooling madwomen afterall? Only plus or minus 129,398,408,484 days of virtual learning to go.

7:40am: My daughters come downstairs, dressed and ready for their first day of virtual school.  Look! Mom has left a thoughtful surprise at their breakfast spots: new books and handwritten letters of praise and encouragement.  It’s going to be a great year! We got this!

7:45am: Students enjoy homemade healthy muffins. There was zucchini hidden in there and they had no idea.  Compliments to the chef!  

7:50am: I want to always remember this big day, so I take a video asking my children what grade they’re in and who their teachers are.  The kindergartner gets both questions wrong.

7:52am: We walk outside to take classic first day of school photos on the front porch.  The 3^rd grader wants the cat to be in the photo.  I insist on taking a few without the cat as well.  At this point our pandemic pet feels more like a random girlfriend than a real member of the family. We walk back inside.

8am: 3^rd grader logs into her Google Classroom.  She chitchats with classmates who have also logged on early.  They discuss Jojo Siwa and whether they like him…or her.  I don’t know who this person is, but apparently my daughter does and is not a fan.  I’m thinking that’s the right answer.

8:10am: School is in session!

8:11am: Not so fast. Tech glitches in kindergarten. Is it me? Is it this iPad? Is it our internet? Am I clicking the wrong link? I go find another iPad.

8:20am: Two-year-old wakes up.  Technically, she has been awake for a while, but it’s probably time to get her out of the crib. Dad gets her up and puts her in the shower to buy some time and keep her out of the way. She loves showers.

8:25am: Two parents are now troubleshooting on multiple school, work and home devices attempting to get our kindergartner in her class. No luck.

8:35am: Husband leaves home and heads to the office.  Wife is feeling a little jealous frazzled, but still high on the fact that she lovingly penned two thoughtful notes that her children will surely treasure forever. And how about those those fantastic muffins?!

8:55am: School is finally happening in kindergarten. I think.  I panic-text other moms to make sure everyone’s audio is choppy—not just ours.  The teacher is teaching the children and their parents how to turn their microphones off.

9:02am: Transition toddler from the shower to a two-inch-deep bathtub full of bath toys. Pinterest calls it sensory play, I call it the splash cage.

9:10am: I rejoin the virtual kindergarten to find that instead of sitting at her desk, my daughter is sitting under it. I put her in her chair and tell her to pay attention.  To what? Not quite sure.  Looks like the class has yet to master mute and unmute.  And I’m pretty sure the teacher is still taking attendance.

9:15am: 3^rd grader is in virtual PE and doing jumping jacks to party tunes in her bedroom.  Her computer screen displays a countdown clock telling her when to get back in her chair.   At least someone in this house is self-sufficient.

9:20am: Looks like the kindergartner has clicked out of the Google Classroom and is playing games on the iPad.  Wondering if those games are perhaps a better use of her time?  Are we missing something or is everyone doing this?

9:36am: Two-year-old is out of the bath and requesting breakfast.  She was asleep when I delighted her sisters with those superfood magical muffins this morning.

9:39am: Two-year-old refuses to eat the muffins.  I’m not gonna fight it today.  How about an all-you-can-eat cereal buffet instead?

9:40am: Bowl one.

9:45am: Bowl two

9:50am: Bowl three.

9:52am: Racking my brain for a two-year-old activity that doesn’t involve eating, running up the water bill, or parental supervision.  I put her outside in the driveway and close the gate.  I put the cat outside too.

10:02am: 3^rd grader calls me upstairs.  She needs help with an All About Me presentation.  I tell her she needs to do it by herself.  I help her open PowerPoint and I realize that she actually does need my help and she probably can’t do it herself. I keep that a secret for now. But I expect to be called back in very soon.

10:10am:  Two-year-old comes back inside. Independent driveway play didn’t last as long as I hoped it would.  She has also decided that today is the day she wants to potty train! Potty training is not on my to-do list this calendar year. She BEGS me to take off her diaper, and when I finally take it off she refuses to let me help her get on the actual potty. She wants to get up there allbyherself. Once she is up there she seems afraid. Nothing happens. Diaper back on. Repeat.

10:20am: Back upstairs. Due to tech glitches in the Spanish immersion program, Kindergarten sounds like a remix at the discoteca.  The kindergartner plays with dolls on the floor of her bedroom while the DLI EDM soundtrack blasts from the iPad.

10:25am Two-year-old has taken OFF her diaper and is walking upstairs to join us.  I rush to secure it and realize that she has left a trail of poo balls in her wake.  She has one in her hand. 

10:29am: Back in the bath. This time with soap.

10:32am: Kindergartener needs help logging out of one zoom, into another and simultaneously into some other program. This maneuver requires both an access code and an advanced degree in information technology.  I have neither. Once we’re finally in, it’s time for yet another round of the mute/unmute tutorial.

10:58am: I realize that the cat is in the 3^rd grade with the door closed.  That is absolutely against the rules because if the door is closed, she can’t get to the litter box. I open the door to take the cat out of the bedroom but in runs the two-year-old.  Now the 3^rd grader is visibly upset because she wants the toddler out but wants the cat to stay in. The kindergartner is no longer at her desk and somehow the iPad is missing. She walks downstairs and points to another tiny poo ball on the step that somehow I missed the first time.  Or is this a new one?  I hear the ding-ding-ding from my work computer reminding me of the to-dos that await. Everyone needs me rightthisveryminute.

11am: I cry real tears. I am frustrated and angry and overwhelmed. And somehow, I am also a cat owner. How are we going to do virtual school from 8:10am-1:30pm every single day?   HOW IS IT ONLY 11AM? WHY AM I HOLDING POOP?

11:15am: Quit virtual kindergarten. We are logged out and I refuse to put forth the effort required to log back in.  It has become clear that virtual kindergarten is an oxymoron and an impossibility.  I tell the kindergartener to do a puzzle.

11:30am: Lunch Break! This I can do. 

11:36am: Not so fast.  I burn three grilled cheeses.  Clearly off my game. I decide they are salvageable and scrape off the charred bits. Lunch is served.   

11:45am: Still on lunch break, I play music to lift my spirits and I give myself a major mental pep talk. I search for silver linings. We dance in the kitchen.

12pm: Lunch break is over.  Back to school!

12:02pm: 3^rd grader is back at her desk learning. Like actually learning. The teacher and my daughter are talking to each other in Spanish. She is taking notes with a sharpened pencil as she sits in the desk that I built. (Ok. Built is strong. The desk that I assembled.)

12:05pm:  I close the door to her bedroom feeling very proud of her but mostly proud of myself.  I assembled that desk! And that chair!  What a marvelous little learning nook I created.  What a precious little learner.

12:10am Kindergartner is logged in and doing kindergarten-ish things. Maybe even learning?   Yes. Learning is happening.

12:30am: So this is kindergarten. They are talking about letters and colors and feelings.  Everyone is muted except for the teacher.  The system seems to be working. 

But wait. What is this?  Oh no. I feel my tears coming.

12:35am: I excuse myself to cry. Again.  The 11am cry was because I was frustrated by the technology and overwhelmed by it ALL.  But this time I cry because I’m genuinely sad.  Virtual school makes me sad. This is not at all how kindergarten should be.  I am sad for my daughter who isn’t meeting her amazing teachers in person, being the line leader, the lunch captain, or the lucky one who gets to feed the class guinea pig. She doesn’t get to meet new friends and ride the bus with her big sister like she has dreamed about. Virtual 3rd grade is fine, but pales in comparison to the in school experience. I cry for the teachers who did not sign up for this either.  I know they have broader learning objectives than just teaching the kids how to mute and unmute. Not being able to really connect with their new students must break their hearts. I wonder how many teachers cried today too.

Our district has promised “at least” nine weeks of virtual school.  In my sad cry, nine weeks feels like an absolute e-t-e-r-n-i-t-y.

12:45pm: I pull it together and read a few books to the two-year-old.

1:00pm:  Kindergartner calls me in. Her iPad has 10% battery left. Interesting considering it literally charged the entire weekend. 

1:02pm: Plug it in.  It immediately runs out of batteries and won’t turn back on.

1:05pm: Quit virtual kindergarten. Again. Definitely for the day and maybe for the year.  

1:06pm: Something must be done. Activate Problem Solving Mode! Do we join a pod? Do I hire a tutor? Maybe I will pull her out of public school and homeschool? Maybe I’ll just buy a kindergarten workbook and some flash cards? Should I read to her for three or four hours each day? Who needs kindergarten anyway? French children don’t learn to read until they are eight or nine, right? Maybe she repeats kindergarten and this year is just practice? How about a gap year? Maybe we should buy and RV and drive to Australia? Should we send her to a private school offering in-person class? To whom shall I write the check?

1:15pm: Break my no-TV-during-the-school-week policy and turn on PBS Kids. Then, it’s back to third grade to help with the All About Me PowerPoint.

1:30pm: Closing Bell! The first day of virtual school is finally over. 

2pm: Nap time for the two-year-old.  Exhale.

2:30pm: 3rd grader practices piano, kindergartner colors beside me, and I tackle my inbox.

3:30pm: My kindergartner tells me I’m her best friend.

4:30pm: Husband calls and says he is coming home early.  This never happens. He must have gotten the Bat Signal.  He offers to take the girls to the park. Clearly I made the right choice when I made him co-signer of those thoughtful first day of school letters.

5pm:  Dad walks in the door. As usual, he receives a war hero’s welcome from his three daughters. His wife is also truly delighted to see him. 

“How was the first day of school?” he asks the 3^rd grader. 

“SO awesome.”  she says.

“How was school?” he asks the kindergartner. 

“Perfect.”  she says.

I kept the virtual school situation wrapped up in a little box and placed it on the tippy top shelf of my mind.  Last week, I finally took it down and unwrapped it.  What I found inside was a bundle of icky feelings: anxiety, sadness, overwhelm, panic, guilt, dread, post-traumatic stress, stress, and pre-traumatic stress. 

(Of course, there is also a little box full of gratitude somewhere on that high shelf.  It contains phrases like “it could be worse,” “at least we have our health,” “there is a lot to be grateful for,” blah blah blah.  But that’s not the box we’re currently unwrapping.)

My chest tightens as I recall supervising two children on devices, chaperoning zoom calls, explaining countless worksheets, and fielding questions about common core math taught IN SPANISH.  Though my third child did not need to be educated, per se, she did need constant management. Keeping her far enough away so that she didn’t bother or bully her big sisters, yet close enough so that she didn’t get injured or escape, was a constant struggle.  This was impossible without using an actual cage, a parenting method that is frowned upon by most experts in the field. All of this while trying to deliver excellent results at work, attempting to look and sound and like a child-free, totally focused professional businesswoman.  Please note that my boss prefers cameras ON during all calls.

There were moments of harmony, learning and productivity, but moments later someone would be crying, something would get broken, and I would have to mute my conference call to yell at someone, referee or apply first aid. 

And it looks like I will be doing ALL OF THAT again, only now the stakes are higher.  This round, all three of my children actually need to learn something, I have more responsibilities at work, and we adopted a pandemic pet (rock bottom). That pet is unfortunately a cat–a nocturnal cat with coon blood who is currently climbing my beloved grasscloth wallpaper.

SO what is a reluctant/unqualified/disgruntled homeschooling catlady to do? 

Not sure.  If you figure it out, please tell me.

So far, the only thing that seems to be helping is a coping mechanism I call “add to cart.” 

I got some new clothes (birthday month), some lotions and potions to keep me looking youthful (ugh, getting older), a few cute work tops (dress up from the waist up), and some things for the house (being home so much is expensive).

Of course, the majority of my purchases have been for my students. Here are some old favorites and some new things I bought to prep for AT LEAST nine weeks of homeschool.  

Obviously I stocked up on basic school supplies. New school supplies spark joy as does tossing out the dried up markers and half-eaten (yes, eaten) crayons. Markers! Pens! Pencils! Super cool crayons! Glue sticks! Construction paper! Add to cart.  I also bought this spinning supply holder so that we can have markers and glue sticks at-the-ready. It will look like this photo for a total of four minutes, but man, those four minutes will feel freaking fantastic.

The pressure is ON this year for my kindergartner to learn to read. I was really hoping to leave the teaching-her-how-to part to the professionals, but here we are. I don’t think I have the patience or the skill set to accomplish this, so naturally I have been compensating by pressing that magic button: add to cart.

Good teachers try to create curriculum to match their students’ interests. Since my middle child lives in fantasyland, I purchased the highly acclaimed Learn to Read: A Magical Sight Words & Phonics Activity Workbook featuring unicorns and rainbows and princesses. And naturally I ordered the classic Bob Books that are not quite as magical but are tried and true guides to help little people become literate. And since so much will be on the screen, I wanted my young pre-reader to have some good reading manipulatives like these Magnetic Letters.

And if at all possible, I will try to use games to make learning fun-ish. Even in a friendly game of ZINGO, I do not let children win. (Love these too for my oldest because they are actually fun and require strategy and mental math: LowDown and Sleeping Queens)

Books. Books. Books. I plan to do a whole post on books because by the end of last semester, I waived the white flag on all the expectations coming from the school system.  As long as they’re reading became my teaching philosophy. Pretty sure that’s where we’ll end up sooner than later.  Here are a few good ones:

The 50 States. A beautifully illustrated book with infographic map of each state full of interesting facts. We were given this one as a gift and it is a family favorite.

Awesome Science Experiments for Kids. Apparently I’m in charge of science now too? That’s unfortunate. Freshman bio left quite a stain on my college transcript.

Herstory: 50 Women and Girls who Shook up the World is a good one and we are also big fans of Goodnight Stories for Rebel Girls. And obviously anything in the Iggy Peck, Rosie Revere world are essential for the home school library collection.

I also splurged on a totally legit electric pencil sharpener because OMG the number of times we were dealing with broken pencils and nothing to bear down on. Which reminds me, we need some clipboards. ADD TO CART.

And I finally pulled the trigger on a more expensive instant-read thermometer because a) pandemics and b) getting caught in public with a high temp would be in very poor taste and quite embarrassing.

And in this era when each day feels like the one before it, we need something to look forward to. Hence, I ordered a globe so we can get excited about all the exotic places we’ll go when this is over…and other countries (hopefully!) reopen their doors to Americans.

I can do this. You can do this. We can do this. Right? Right.

At least we will have sharpened pencils.

Here is what’s going on right now in my Cabin at Camp Coronavirus.

Allow me to paint the picture of my current responsibilities:

• Working. Usually my day job brings me a sense of joy, purpose, pride and accomplishment. But corporate America currently feels like this.  I work in healthcare, and I feel compelled to step up at work now more than ever.  We’re all are trying to put down the railroad tracks as the train comes rolling behind us.

• Homeschooling my second grader.  She typically spends her days at a Spanish immersion elementary school.  I do not speak Spanish, nor do I speak Common Core math. Fielding her questions in two languages while keeping her on academic quarantine during school hours so she can concentrate on her work is a challenge. So far, my teaching method of explaining the directions the exact same way only louder each time doesn’t seem to be helpful for her education or for our relationship. The “educational” games (games!) on her school-issued iPad seem too easy, while the stacks of worksheets seem too complex.   

• Parenting a two-year-old. Our resident two-year-old, to complicate matters, has zero interest in watching TV.  (Delivery room mix-up. DNA test pending.)  I’d let her sit and watch The Godfather trilogy if it would give me a little break.  She’s happiest when she is eating or emptying the contents of drawers.  

• And I feel like I’m forgetting something. Oh yeah.  The middle child.  Has anyone seen her? Wait…Where is she?  Oh. There she is.  She’s in my bathroom playing with my makeup. And why won’t the toilet flush? Because it’s clogged with half a roll of toilet paper torn off one sheet at a time. I mean, read the headlines, kid.

Here is snapshot of a single moment in time: I’m answering work emails, resolver problemas matemáticos con mi niña, muting the conference call so I can discipline, console, referee, educate, and feed one of a thousand meals a day to three frat boys who don’t understand why I’m rationing the bread.  

After too many long days of that losing game of wack-a-mole, I reached my breaking point. I could feel the tears rising to the surface.  And you know what finally broke the floodgates?  Bing. I accidentally downloaded a nasty virus wherein every time I Google something, the bunk search engine Bing opens instead, along with five  pop-up ads.   The Bing virus was my breaking point that made me feel ALL THE FEELINGS associated with Coronavirus.  I started bawling.  Cue the full-on ugly cry.

Bottom line: This new reality is disorienting and draining for me as a working, homeschool mother, quarantined…with a two-year-old.   And oh, the open-endedness of it all! How long will this last? And the middle child. Has anyone seen her? Wait…Where is she?  Oh. There she is.  She’s in her bathroom putting Vaseline in her hair and smearing it all over the counter.

In my blissful previous life (three weeks ago) I could have written a book about work-life balance.  My secret? Setting clear boundaries between the two. I try my best to be all in when I’m at the office and all in when I’m at home.  In the word of social distancing, there is no separation and no boundaries between home and work. It all inevitably bleeds together. My work responsibilities seep into the nooks and crannies previously reserved for home life and hands-on parenting.  And my parenting responsibilities have increased now that I am the head teacher (profesora) and the primary childcare provider.  I feel exhausted and overwhelmed and like I’m failing at ALL OF IT.   

In the good old days, I felt zero guilt going to work.  I was at the office while my kids were at school, at preschool, at soccer and ballet.  Or I was working from home — a child-free, clean, quiet home (ahhh, paradise). But now we are all home. All together, all day.   I’m constantly having to make choices about who needs me most.  I hate missing out on quality time with my little people when I’m working. But when I’m dealing with the screaming and complaining and arguing and snack demanding, I fantasize about my former life in my quiet office where I could concentrate and wear real clothes.

And I have a confession.  I envy other mothers who seem to be living their best lives right now.  I see their color-coded homeschool schedules, themed scavenger hunts, culinary creations and art projects.  Some of my best friends are really loving the teaching and the togetherness.  And so would I. I think.  If that was the only thing I had on my plate and if the youngest student in my class was 8 (not 2).  And oh yeah.  The middle child.  Has anyone seen her? Wait…Where is she?  Oh, there she is.  Using a green permanent marker to scribble on her white bedroom carpet.

This quarantine, social distance scenario amplifies the tension and guilt that working mothers feel even on the best, pandemic-free days. 

I had a good solid cry followed by a long walk (still legal) to process my feelings and catch my breath.  What I tried last week didn’t work. It was unsustainable and who knows how long this whole thing will last. Weeks? Months? I’m gonna make some changes. Here’s the plan:

I will be my own version of a homeschool teacher.  Even at my best, I am no substitute for my daughters’ amazing teachers. I’m taking the pressure off and we will all just do our best to get it done. I can manage and maybe even enjoy it if I do it my own way.  This will involve scrapping the common core and encouraging my students to focus on reading, reading, reading, letter writing, and learning new dance moves.  Mrs. Fizzle will be the substitute Spanish teacher via El Autobus Magico on Netflix.  My school will not operate during traditional school hours. And the lunch lady is hot.

I will get my job done and make a meaningful contribution to my team at work. I love my job. (Shout out to my man in the IT department who helped me remove the Bing virus).  Sure, sending an email will take me longer with three children sitting in my lap, but such is life for a working mom.  The workday may have stops and starts and the work week may be longer but that will be OK for now. I know this won’t last forever. Right? Right.  I’m also rethinking our decision to social distance from our beloved nanny. Doing so made me social distance from my sanity and I just don’t know if it’s worth it.

I will use this time to soak in the amazingness of each of my children, at exactly the ages they are right now.   Last week had me peering through the windows half envying families with older children. I felt like my kids were too young for me to relish this particular, albeit peculiar, moment in time.  Many families are finding peace in the tranquility and stillness that this forced timeout offers.  They are playing rounds of Scrabble, baking bread, and learning to play the piano. That peaceful picture of life during this pandemic feels quite different than the day-to-day in my quarantined cabin.  We can’t do crosswords, thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles, or have a family game night without someone eating the pieces. Only three out of the five of us can actually read, so I don’t have endless hours to crank through my personal to-be-read pile of books.  But there is joy to be found in the sequestered slow-down and an opportunity to soak up extra time with my children, ages 7, 4 and 2. I could write a mile-long list of silver linings.

I will treasure these long days and lazy weekends.  Today, the girls and I made pancakes, did chalk art in the driveway, danced and decorated for Easter.  Yes, there were meltdowns, minor burns, and a raisin in the ear incident, but it was a good day. A really good day.  I took a stroll with my one-of-a-kind-seven-year-old and we played Sleeping Queens while the little ones napped. Even the two-year-old had moments of true greatness.  I am convinced she will be a value-add to our family in the long run. And the middle child.  There she is. She’s across the table from me, peacefully building a magna-tile mansion for her family of figurines.  I love the imaginary worlds she creates.

This week out there in the world will not be a good one. We will witness the increasingly devastating impact this scary virus has on our nation’s health, our healthcare system, and our economy. 

I will continue to be grateful that my struggles are nothing compared to what others are facing right now.

But I am committed to making this week inside my cabin at Camp Corona better than the last. 

I will lower my expectations.

I will let some of it go.

I will prioritize the things that matter most.

I will stop comparing my experience to everyone else’s highlight reels.

I will take time to create special moments with each of my children.

I will offer myself and my fellow campers grace and patience as we figure this out together.

Required preread: We Thought We Found the Perfect Nanny

Whence last we spoke, I was in a puddle of tears due to the no-show-nanny on day one of my new job.   The exhaustive nanny hunt followed by the nanny trauma drama had me shook, but as we women do, I put one high-heeled foot in front of the other and marched onward.

By day I was leaning in, learning the ropes at my new company and proving to them that I was the right man for the job.  Each workday also offered the logistical challenge of onboarding a patchwork of pinch-sitters in efforts to keep things rolling along as smoothly as possible for my three little girls. 

By night I was interviewing, reference checking, and mining the fields for a new crop of potentially permanent nannies.

But by late night, was conducting a Keith Morrison style investigation into who exactly this woman was that betrayed my trust and evaporated into thin air with our house key and our car seats.  Hindsight, fact finding via the online Yellow Pages, and Monday morning quarterbacking have led me to these grim conclusions:

Red Flag #1: She gave me a printed copy of her “background check.” Even more concerning: she did not accept my request through Sittercity to conduct an official background check or driving record check of my own.  What was she hiding?

Red Flag #2: Turns out she has three different names according to the internet. Anyone who has seen one episode of Dateline knows this is code for creepy.   

Red Flag #3: In the words of my four-year-old who spent time with her during her orientation, ”She was nice but her car smelled bad and I didn’t like her music.” Car smells are a BIG DEAL to kids. I can still recall the stench of a certain wood paneled station wagon from the carpool of my youth.  I am convinced that my acute adult motion sickness originated while sitting in the backety-back of our neighbor’s smelly Buick as a kid while Kenny G blared from the tape deck.  To this day, any time I hear this saxophone sonata, I am immediately nauseous.  Simply put, Hallie did not care for that stanky stank or the soundtrack.  These. Things. Matter.   

I see some of you out in the wild and I always get asked “Did you ever get your car seats back?”  That brings me to the next red flag.

Red Flag #4: After a STRONG dose of legalese from my husband via text and voicemail, the car seats finally appeared on our back porch in the dark of night a few weeks after it all went down.  But. Instead of unclipping them like a normal human, she cut them out. That means she used some sort of industrial strength pruning shears to cut the seatbelt material attached to the latch clip that attaches the car seat to the car.  Car seats are useless if they can’t be secured to the car. What conclusions can we draw from this seat snipping situation?

• A) This lady has ZERO childcare experience because anyone who has been around kids would know rudimentary car seat mechanics. This would therefore mean that she faked her references. Something that makes sense considering those phone calls were, well, odd.

• B) This was an act of malicious aggression. 

• C) All of the above.  

I am currently using my # 2 pencil to fill in “C” on my scantron.  Keep your eyes on your own paper.

In conducting this postmortem, I can see it all so clearly now.  We dodged a serious bullet by not having this duplicitous wackadoo take care our most precious precocious possessions.  I really think Someone was looking out for us, and I am honesty relieved that this woman did not spend another moment in my home with my children.

Thankfully, this suburban legend has a happy ending. We found the perfect nanny who has now been with our family for over a year.  I love her, my children love her, and she does all the things necessary to keep the all spinning plates in the air on the home front.  I would literally give her my kidney if she needed it.  She can certainly have my gallbladder and I would most likely give her one of my more vital organs if the need arises.

Her car even smells good.

I spent the week before her official start date writing a dissertation on the care and keeping of my children. The mental and emotional load that we mothers carry is a heavy one to share. I did two days of training with Carol in an attempt to download all of the minutia about rules, routines, and the preferences and particularities of each of my girls. We drove the carpool loops together and along the way I pointed out the local parks. I introduced Carol to our neighbors, installed new car seats in her car, and gave her our house key.

I went to bed the night before my triumphant return to the working world confident that the two most important decisions were behind me. I had found the perfect nanny and I had found the perfect outfit to wear on my first day. I was ready to walk the road ahead in my sensible pumps and power suit.

Carol was supposed to arrive at 8:15 on Tuesday morning. Around 7:45 I got this text:

No worries. Neither me or my husband had to be at the office early that day.

Atlanta traffic is the worst, and though she had been to our house several times, she had yet to do the drive during morning rush hour. She quickly texted back.

Meanwhile my husband and I were wondering who would ever want to drive that far for work. We had a hunch that the commute would be too much and asked her MANY times thought the hiring process if the drive would be too far. She repeatedly reassured us that it wouldn’t be a problem at all. “As long as I have my music,” she said sweetly, “the drive won’t bother me a bit.” Then around 8:30am I get this text …

Of course she won’t. It’s way too far to drive for work, no matter how smart, funny and adorable my children are. I grumbled that I wish she had realized this weeks ago. Ugh. I texted back:

No response.

And crickets. I called her twice. No answer, no response, straight to voicemail. 8:30. 8:40. 8:50. The pit in my stomach grew and grew as my husband took the hopeful stance that GPSs aren’t always accurate assuring me that surely she will be here any minute.

I stood on our front porch in my power pumps with my baby on my hip, willing her tiny black car to come down our street.

By 9am when it was crystal clear that Carol was not coming, we sprang to action making a backup plan. I frantically packed a bag of baby paraphernalia, did some car seat shuffling, and made plans for my amazing parents to take care of #3 all day and pick up #2 at school. My husband took the baby to my parents’ house and I jumped in the car for my first day of work. On my commute, I called the elementary school and a dear friend to coordinate after-school arrangements for #1. Adrenaline pumping after the chaotic morning, I walked in the office on my first day a cool ten minutes early.

For the next 8+ hours I completely compartmentalized. I dove headfirst into my new role and tried to make at least a decent first impression with my colleagues. I even made a new friend in the IT department which, as you know, is essential. I got in the car after a great first day, with the peace of mind that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

On my commute home I interviewed yet another nanny. I held back tears as I explained to her what we were looking for and what went down earlier that morning. But when I walked in the door to find my mom holding the baby and my dad serving mac & cheese to the big girls, I started bawling. My oldest daughter started crying when she saw me crying. She LOVES drama and was on pins and needles as I tearfully recounted the morning’s events. My three-year-old gave me a big hug and kept telling me how sorry she was that my hair was turning brown. “I’m so so sorry your hair is turning brown, mommy” she kept saying. She understood the real trauma of the day. Roots.

I felt exhausted after putting so much time and emotional energy searching for the person to care my three most precious possessions– for nothing. I felt betrayed and lied to. Clearly Carol is a person of questionable character. Better that we know that now. She ghosted on me in my time of need. Screening my calls and not returning my texts to tell me she wasn’t coming was low. She had spent time in our house and babysat for my children the weekend before her official first day. I was sick to my stomach-and I still am as I revisit all of this. What did I miss? Were her references even real? Had she really been rear-ended the week before when we sympathetically rescheduled her training day? She sent me a PDF of her background check. Am I an idiot for not doing my own background check on her? My calls go straight to voicemail. And though I have sent polite texts requesting that she return the car seats, they are still at large. Was all this just an elaborate scam to steal a few Gracos from an innocent family? Oh yeah, and she still has our house key.

To be honest, I thought that the background check that she provided us with would have been adequate. However, looking back on it now, I definitely should have got a second opinion.

This weekend I’m back at the beginning. Calling references, interviewing nannies, making an appointment for highlights, and I’ll most definitely be contacting a locksmith about changing our locks. In this situation, it’s definitely better to be safe than sorry.

And to think, my #1 concern about Carol was that she seemed too nice.

*Name changed just in case that wakadoo googles herself.

For Christmas this year, I’m asking for the perfect Nanny for my three children.  In January, I am starting a new job at a new company that I am super excited about. BUT! We have less than three weeks to find our very own Mary Poppins. Let me give you a breakdown of the nanny hunt thus far. 

Step 1: Emailed all my friends asking if anyone knew anyone who knew someone who knew someone. A direct referral would be ideal. (net: one candidate)

Step 2: Put an ad on SitterCity, AKA Nanny Tinder.  (I got dozens of responses. some scary. some qualified. pretty hard to tell what’s what. )

Step 3: Put a post up on the local moms’ Facebook groups. (two leads)

Steps 4-8: Conducted phone interviews, face-to-face interviews, working interviews, contacted references, stalked Instagrams, and ran background checks. Thus, filling every nook and cranny in the already CRAZY month of December with nanny chatter.

Step 9: Lost excessive amounts of sleep wondering which one is the RIGHT one.  (Still not sure.)

Step 10: Drafted an annotated version of the letter written by Jane and Michael Banks that manifested into Mary Poppins. The bold words below are my personal requirements and wishes. I’m hopeful that by writing this down and putting it on the internet, our magical dream nanny will appear.

Before we begin, here is the video of the Banks children singing their nanny song to freshen your memory.

Wanted a nanny for two  three adorable, spunky, smart, kind, creative, clever children

If you want this choice position—so far I have held this position unpaid so perhaps a paid gig is choice? These are the most important people in the world to me and you will be spending a lot of time with them. So this job is a huge deal and we are taking choosing the person for this choice position quite seriously.

Have a cheery disposition.  Yes. I want my children to want to be with you.  I want you to blend naturally with our happy family.

Rosy cheeks, no warts!  Appearance isn’t everything but it does count for something. Being put together shows you care. One of many data points.

Play games, all sort.   We love games.  Play games with them but DO NOT let them win (or cheat).  One day we will release them into the Real World and they need to know how to win fairly and lose gracefully. 

You must be kind, you must be witty. Yes yes.  A good sense of humor is key.

Very sweet and fairly pretty.  Fairly is the right word.  Pretty but not too pretty.  I have been reading US Weekly way too long to know how that story ends. The hot nanny didn’t do great things for the marriages of Jude Law, Ben Affleck, and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Why play with fire? Amiright, ladies?  A 7 out of 10 would be just fine.

Take us on outings, give us treats. Take them on lots of outings (particularly to the places I don’t want to go) like the Aquarium, the Planetarium, and the germ-ridden bouncy house place.

Sing songs, bring sweets.  We love music so play the hits and dance, dance, dance. Sweets and treats are fine, in moderation.

Never be cross or cruel.  But don’t get walked over. They are crafty. Earn their love and their respect.

Never give us castor oil or gruel. But mandate that they eat all their vegetables if they want dessert.  Make them brush their teeth.

Love us as a son and daughter. Yes. Please please please LOVE my children. Get to know each of them individually.  Figure out the ways they feel loved, and celebrate and appreciate and adore them.

And never smell of barley water.  Good hygiene is key. Smokers need not apply.

If you won’t scold and dominate us. They will need scolding from time to time. Let’s try to be on the same team as far as discipline. Because it will be needed.

We will never give you cause to hate us.  Though they might test your patience and push the limits, they really are fantastic.

We won’t hide your spectacles  So you can’t see  (But they might throw minor tantrums when the Elsa dress needs to be forcibly removed.)

Put toads in your bed  Or pepper in your tea.  (But they will squabble over who gets which colored cup, who gets the map placemat, and cut one piece of paper into amillion little pieces that you will find all over the house)

Hurry, Nanny!  LIKE SERIOUSLY. On a deadline.

Many thanks.

Sincerely,

Jane and Michael Banks   Jennifer

Let’s go fly a kite.

What I didn’t share quite as publically was my second miscarriage that happened in December of that same year. Nine weeks, no heartbeat. You know why I didn’t write about it? It wasn’t that I wanted to keep it private. I learned from sharing the first time and getting a resounding chorus of “me toos” that there is healing power in being open with this all-too-common loss. I didn’t write about it because I had nothing to say. I was so so sad about our second loss, but having a second miscarriage also made me a little bitter. I was frustrated and feeling sorry for myself and just plain pissed about having to go through it all again. I thought I learned all the lessons the first go round and I simply didn’t understand why I – we- had to deal with another loss.

It took a few months before I was physically and emotionally ready to try again for baby #3. I had to feel okay about setting myself up for more pain and disappointment and the possibility that this could happen again. I know that some women, after experiencing the pain that I have been through, also plan for legal action to take place should anything go wrong during delivery. It’s no wonder why so many women who have been to hell and back look for the assistance of an injury lawyer such as the one you can find here. I can’t blame them, every baby is precious, but when you’ve lost a baby and you’re within touching distance of bringing one to full-term, it’s only natural to do everything you can to protect them and ensure they get the best care possible. I, myself, couldn’t quiet that desire for another child, and we couldn’t deny the feeling that our family wasn’t quite complete.

So eventually I got back on the horse (bow chicka bow wow) and started trying yet again for illusive baby three. And thanks to a cocktail of COQ10, Clomid, canoodling, Pregnitude, and prayer, in June of 2017, I saw the faintest plus sign on a pregnancy test. My heart skipped a beat but I immediately tempered my joy. I pressed pause on the imaginary highlight reel of this child’s life before I let it start running in my head. I even kept the news completely to myself for a few days, not even telling my husband, as I oscillated between excitement about the future and fear of the unknown. One morning over breakfast, I casually slid the positive test across the table towards My Man. He was excited… but guarded. We knew enough to know that a positive pregnancy test is just the first step, and that there are 40 long weeks ahead.

I didn’t immediately calculate my due date, nor did I sign up for the BabyCenter emails that inform you weekly which obscure fruit or vegetable matches the size of your growing fetus. I thought it best not to know whether my baby was the size of a radish, a Japanese eggplant, a kumquat or a star fruit. I didn’t let myself go there.

I went to the first ultrasound around eight weeks and I can clearly remember how badly my knees were shaking as I put them in the stirrups. The past two times I had been in that same dimly lit room, my heart had fallen through the floor at the silence and stillness on the screen. I started crying the minute the ultrasound technician opened the door. “I’m a little nervous” I told her. “I know,” she said. “I saw your chart.”

My tears started again when I heard the heartbeat and saw the little flicker on the screen. I was relieved and hopeful, but still hesitant to shout news of this pregnancy from the rooftops.

Back in at 10 weeks for another ultrasound and the blood test that detects chromosomal abnormalities and can also tell you the gender of the baby. Um, science is magic. We are finder outers as far as gender goes, but opted to not find out at 10 weeks. It felt wrong to know the gender before I even knew if the pregnancy was viable. Between appointments, my constant nausea and exhaustion were pleasant though uncomfortable assurances that something was hopefully happening in there.

It was a long walk to the perinatologist for my 13-week ultrasound. I was again on the verge of tears as we waited for the doctor. This one was big. It was this appointment where we got the sad news of my first miscarriage, and it is after this appointment that, assuming it goes well, miscarriage risk drops significantly. All was well. Exhale.

It wasn’t until after that appointment that my husband and I actually talked for the first time about the fact that I was pregnant and the realities of having another baby. Over lunch we discussed questions like Where will we put this child’s nursery? What if it is a boy? How would we feel about another girl? Who is the child’s father? Etcetera. We cautiously started to let ourselves get excited about our growing family.

After a successful 18-week appointment wherein I got to hear the pitter pater of the little heartbeat, I unpacked my maternity clothes. It had been weeks since I could comfortably zip my regular jeans, but in the beginning I was too afraid about the emotional toll of having to lug them back up to the attic if we got bad news. I was immediately reminded how maternity jeans are ah-mazing and how I will likely wear full panel elastic waist jeans from now till forever. And I finally FINALLY put the baby’s due date on the Google calendar. I don’t make a trip to the mailbox without putting it on the Google calendar so to think that I didn’t put such a significant event on the cal certainly says something.

The world loves a pregnant lady, but it took me a good while to accept congratulations on this pregnancy and partake of the perks that come with the prenatal package. In the early weeks, whenever anyone said congrats, I wanted to diffuse it and temper their expectations the same way I was always checking my own. “Congratulations!” They would say. “Well I had two miscarriages so we’ll see.” Or “Thanks, it’s still early though.” But as the weeks passed, I finally accepted congratulations, put my hand on my ever-expanding belly, smiled and said “thank you. We’re really excited.”… “And yes. Please carry my groceries to the car.”

I was gradually settling into this pregnancy, and each week that went by, I was able to remove a brick from the anxiety backpack I had been carrying. I let myself start dreaming about life with three children, and timidly pressed play on my dreams about the future. It was around this time that we told our daughters that I was pregnant.

Despite settling into the idea that this may actually happen, I had a chorus line of “what ifs” dancing in my head approaching the 20-week appointment. That is the ultrasound where you can officially find out the baby’s gender and where they carefully examine every vital organ for potentially scary abnormalities. I went in feeling anxious and left that appointment feeling grateful and relieved. We looked away as the doctor was scanning the anatomy and left the appointment with an envelope disclosing if #3 is a boy or a girl. SPOILER ALERT! A(nother) girl.

As my third trimester creept by, I did not take a single kick for granted. Bring on the nausea, the insomnia, the restless leg syndrome (most annoying pregnancy symptom), the cankles, and the corn flakes (#1 craving). I was so beyond grateful to be in the magical miraculuous baby baking business once again.

And on February 10th, when I finally got to hold the precious baby I had been praying for, I felt like I won the lottery. Having two miscarriages may have stolen my blissful innocence from the experience of pregnancy, but it made this child’s birthday that much more meaningful. Babies are freaking fracking MIRACLES and I am still pinching myself that I have been blessed with three. She was well worth the wait.

For our family, typical beach days are full to the brim with the application and reapplication of sunscreen and extreme lifeguarding as we schlep between the beach and the pool. When it comes to swimming, our children’s confidence far outpaces their actual ability, so my stress and anxiety is on high alert when my little daredevils are near open water. And when we are on the beach, they want to be IN the ocean, not quietly building sandcastles. This means that we, their parents, are in the ocean too, playing man on man defense between them and the crashing waves. Why even bother bringing beach chairs because there is absolutely no sitting during daylight hours. One child demands to be carried across the “dirty” sand, the other complains that her sunscreen stings, and both battle with us over who has to wear a puddle jumper and a swim shirt and who doesn’t. . It’s a week full of memories and glimpses of family fun, but man, it is hard work.

There has to be a better way! My husband and I said to each other after a particularly expensive and exhausting family beach week a few years ago. Well, there is! We just got back from a family beach trip and it was fantastic. I feel rested and refreshed and even more in love with my man and my little ones. YES, it’s possible. Lean in and listen closely as I share the two words that will help you turn your family TRIP into a true VACATION:

Beach Camp.

We are on our second summer vacationing this way and it is just the best.

Last year we went to Hilton Head, South Carolina and I scoured the internet to find a local day camp for our then 2 and 5 year-old daughters to attend. I found a precious Montessori preschool with spots for both girls and signed up. Double bonus that the camp happened to be in biking distance from our beach house. Each morning, we took the tandem to camp drop-off and hugged our chickadees goodbye, then headed off to enjoy 4+ solid hours of actual vacation. My man and I went out for breakfast, took long bike rides, and actually (wait for it) sat in our beach chairs on the beach. It was blissful. Then around 1:00pm, we biked to pick up our campers and enjoyed the rest of the day as a family.

This year we intentionally set out to find a new beach destination that had the option to put the biggest sisters in camp. We found a lovely rental house at Kiawah Island, South Carolina. It was a five minute walk to be beach, a four minute walk to the pool, and a three minute walk to Kamp Kiawah. And as you know, when you spell camp with a “K” it has to be fun. So that is where we spent the first week of June this summer. It was bliss.

In the mornings, we dropped the big girls off at camp and then enjoyed relaxing breakfasts on our porch. What followed would be some combination of golf, tennis, walking, beach sitting, reading, or exploring grounds of this gorgeous hotel. I finished a handful of books and actually got to have meaningful conversations with my husband. Both of those things made possible by the fact that I wasn’t lifeguarding all day long.

Meanwhile, our girls were having big fun at beach camp-I mean Kamp. They LOVED it. We’d pick them up after lunch and have the rest of the day to live it up as a family. Because I had spent the first half of the day recharging the ol’ battery, I easily transitioned in to super-awesome-mom-mode. I raced my oldest daughter down waterslides head first, collected shells, swam in the ocean, and carried the 35 pounder across the “dirty” sand without so much as an eyeroll. At night we swam until the pool closed, explored different beaches on the island, found a radio station that played Delilah, drank margaritas with a view, and played rounds of (naked) Headbandz-still legal in South Carolina. It was an amazing week.

Now that we have seen the light and tasted true rest during a family trip, there is no going back-at least not for a while. One day in the future, when each child has passed the YMCA swim test, can read chapter books, be trusted to apply their own sunscreen, and wipe independently, we will embrace a week of full-on family beachness. Until then… Beach Kamp.

If we’re honest, all parents will admit that there are a few things we love doing with our children…aaaaaand a few things we don’t. For example, though I am always up for a trip to the playground, I have a semi-firm no pushing on the swing policy. Not my thing for myriad reasons I’ll explain another day. And ugh. Time literally drips through the hour glass soooooo slowly when I play ball sports in the driveway with my little ones. At this age, that translates to me fetching stray tennis balls in the bushes. Hard pass-at least until my youngest teammate finetunes her hand-eye.  I’m fortunate that there is a growing list of things I truly enjoy doing with my children that overlaps with things that they love doing. I will gladly build majestic Magna-Tile castles, I’ll draw, I’ll dance, and I’m theoretically always up for baking and crafting. Legos. Are. Awesome. I also adore reading to them so I never say no when my girls bring me a big stack of books and want to get cozy on the sofa and read it out. For the past few years, something I really enjoy doing with my oldest daughter is playing games. I have always been a game lover and this has been a great way to spend time with her that is fun for both of us. 

Since it’s the season to be giving. And receiving! But mostly giving. Because baby Jesus in the manger. I wanted to share a Gaming Gift Guide of sorts. I love gifting games to other families and really appreciate when they are gifted to my children. Games offer far better bang-for-your-buck than those one-note trendy toys (this year it’s Hatchimals and those creepy little finger monkies) that get played with once and end up at the bottom of a toy basket, never to be played with again.

The list below includes games we love playing in our family and games I love gifting to families with older children. I even threw a few in there that are on our family’s wish list this year. These are mostly listed in order of age appropriateness, but your child is likely a genius and can probably start young. P.S. don’t let your little people win, at least not every time. For the sake of empowering the next generation with any prayer of getting us out of the mess we are currently in, don’t let them win.

Great first Games:

Sneaky Snacky Squirrel (3+) I played this Educational Insights game just yesterday with my daughter. This is a competitive game with twists and turns and a great game for learning early strategy and hand-eye coordination. Also great for learning how to be a gracious looser and keep on spinning if the wind blows all of your hard-earned acorns back.

Candy Land (4+) This simple race-to-the-finish game is practically a right of passage. Good intro to the wide world of games. Chutes and Ladders is another that has stood the test of time.

Hi-Ho-Cherry-O (3-6) Fun way to trick your preschoolers into developing basic math skills.

Uno Moo (3-10) – preschool version of Uno that uses cute lil barn animals instead of cards.

Richard Scary Busytown Eye Found It (3+) This is a cooperative, non-competitive game that still packs a thrill because you are working together to beat a common enemy (greedy pigs). It has a 6 foot long game board and requires imagination, teamwork and Where’s Waldo style find-it abilities. This is the perfect game for children of multiple ages to play together because older ones will enjoy it too.

Memory (3-7) Classic. I have great memories (pun!) of playing this growing up. Great brain builder and you can find in a themed version for whatever your child is into.

Hoot Hoot Owl (4-8) This is a great introduction to board games for your little one. You work together and collaborate over a strategy to accomplish a goal instead of competing.

Games for Growing Gamers:

Outfoxed (5+) This is one of my daughter’s current favorites and a game that I really enjoy playing with her. Outfoxed is a great cooperative play Clue-ish whodunit game where you use deductive reasoning to outsmart a thieving fox.

Guess Who (5+) Another classic that is easy to learn and you can play multiple rounds in one sitting. My daughter loves this one.

Zingo (4-10) This is a super popular game with families with young children and it was another of our family’s first games that I enjoyed as well. A lot like BINGO, players get picture cards and try to fill them up. There is a speed component too that makes the adrenaline kick in. We started with the standard version and are hoping for Zingo Word Builder and Zingo Sight Words for Christmas. Both are supposed to be excellent for new readers.

Uno Attack (7+) the random card shooter in this tricked out Uno makes fort a exciting and unpredictable game. The classic UNO is always a hit.

Castle Logix (3-8) and Camelot Jr. (4-8). These are great brain building single player puzzle games. The goal is to assemble the wooden blocks and towers to match the challenges included in the booklet. You begin with simple challenges and build up to more complex puzzles that (cough) I even find challenging. A great independent game for quiet time, it helps develop logical thinking skills and spatial reasoning abilities.

Sorry (6+) Sorry was one of my favorite games when I was young. It is simple and fun and it teaches children to be good sports when they win or when someone draws a “sorry” and sends them alllll the way back home. The game Trouble, which I’m sure you also remember from the days of yore, is similar.

Games for Bigger Kids and Families:

Qwirkle (6+) This is a SUPER popular strategic domino and scrabble-like game that has won the Parents’ Choice Gold Award and the Mensa National Competition Award. Sold. The pieces are shapes (no reading required), so it can be easily played by young players but there is enough strategy to it that it keeps older players engaged.

Rollick (10+) This is a cool spin on traditional charades and a fun team party game where all ages can participate. Instead of one actor and the rest guessers, it is all actors and one guesser per team. You can use props that are in the room which adds a fun twist.

5 Second Rule (10+) and 5 Second Rule Jr. (6+) Fun party game that involves quick thinking. Hilarity often ensues.

Ticket to Ride (8+) This is one of the most popular strategy games of all time that is supposed to be really fun for the whole family. It is on our Christmas wishlist. The goal is to build railroad lines across the USA and earn more points than your opponents. Apparently this one can be learned quickly (always a plus) involves strategy (yes)-and the gameplay is quick, with no lulls (ideal).

Scattegories (12+) A classic and forever personal favorite that still gets my blood pumping and mind racing.

Killer Bunnies (13+) and KinderBunnies (5+) are strategic card games that get high praise. These on our wishlist this year.

Bonus Round! Stocking Stuffers:

Spot-it (7+) Spot It is an awesome think fast matching game that works across age groups. The goal is to be the first to identify a match on a pair of cards and to call out the name of the figure in common (surprisingly harder than it sounds). We brought it to the beach to play with our daughter but ended up playing with the adults after the kids went to bed and got hyper-competitive. We have the original version, but there are Spot It Junior games if you want an easier version for little people to play-as well as themed versions for different interests.

Go Fish (5+) Love this E-boo version. Big cards with pretty graphics. Classic.

Sleeping Queens (7+) This is a fantasy card game that gets azillion 5 star Amazon reviews. It helps develop memory, strategy, and basic math skills. The name queens makes it sound girly, but there are queens, kings, knights and more, so it works for everyone. Great intro to strategy for young players. Quick to learn and doesn’t take a whole lot of time to play.

[more into books than games? Here is a post about our FAVORITE CHILDREN’S BOOKS as well as a post about PRINCESS BOOKS WITH A TWIST]