This image is one of my favorite pictures from my most favorite photo shoot.   I mean- it is everything I want to look like…dramatic eye, smooth complexion, windblown hair…  This is…….not what I look like today and even 11 years ago when this was taken, I didn’t look like this in the “before”shot.  I remember my friend and now very successful celebrity make up artist, Jamie Greenberg did my make up for headshots and came with me to the shoot.  Afterwards, we played around and took some other vamped up shots for fun .   She transformed me and achieved this eye with nothing but a Q-tip, an eyeliner pencil, and her finger. This woman is GENIUS.   The photographer, Gabriel Goldberg ,  brilliant and successful as well, has  worked with some of the biggest iconic stars.  I feel so fortunate to have done a few shoots with these two before they became some of the most sought after artists in their fields . This is my “with the right team, you too can look incredibly glamorous “ picture.  This is me with exquisite make up and extraordinary photography with some post-production editing going on.

It’s no secret to those who know me that I  have beaten up my body for as long as I can remember. I have punished it and shamed it and blamed it for ruining much of my adolescence ….like pool parties, and prom dress shopping and then later-  headshots and auditions. It’s all my body’s fault for not being skinny enough and it’s my nose’s fault for not being small enough….Right?   And the thing is, I don’t know why exactly. I was the one putting this pressure on myself. Was it all the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit pictures that adorned my brother’s room? Was I just comparing myself to Elle McPherson and Cindy Crawford every bathing suit season?  Was it the models in my Seventeen Magazine staring at back at me as I flipped through?  WHY?? I had parents who loved me and encouraged me in everything I pursued, be it academics or the arts or even my attempt at sports… I remember my mother giving me countless pep talks (mostly in fitting rooms) telling me I was smart and beautiful and funny….But for some reason, this pressure to look perfect never went away.

Recently, my dear friends from college invited me to do a photo shoot to use for my blog and to help me grow this idea of mine.  They have a flourishing photography business in New York and had some work here in La. (I am so grateful to my husband who convinced me to go out and meet them on a very rainy LA night…sometimes when it rains here, you feel like it’s the apocalypse , really you do) I felt so honored to reconnect with them after all these years . Their very presence breathed life into me. For anyone that has been to drama school- these are some of the people that I went through it with… They have seen my soul torn apart

and left on a rehearsal room floor!

I don’t look glamorous in these shots. That wasn’t the purpose of this particular shoot.  But, in many of them, especially the ones with Issy, I look really happy. Excited.  Positive.  When I first scrolled through the proofs though, I could feel myself getting slightly  disappointed that I didn’t magically look like a super model with my normal everyday make up and a Spanxless frame. But I refused to do that to myself again, I looked at my smile and I could feel my energy come through. I am genuinely filled with joy.  And I decided … I decided-  you will no longer hate yourself. Today you will start loving yourself. If not now at 41, when??? How many more years do you have left to go through life loving and appreciating this vessel that carries your soul??  I am so tired of hating myself.  I am so tired of telling myself I look too fat or too soft  or too pale … Its just- IT’S ENOUGH.  Can I start thanking my body for showing up FOR ME??  Through all of my verbal abuse towards my physical self- bulimia.. crazy diet pills- can I just finally love and accept myself and say thank you. THANK YOU body for generously carrying my soul through this life for 41 years. Thank you for being so strong and carrying my child for 9 months and going through 36 hours of labor… It’s as if I have been the worst boss and all of my organs and flesh are my employees and  despite my terrible attitude, they still show up to work everyday. Imagine that …

I realized, my heart beats every second of everyday of every month of every year for me. Isn’t it time I appreciate that?

 

You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.

-Buddha

 

One of the proofs of Issy and I from the shoot with my friends from Dirty Sugar Photography

I have been void of silly mom stories lately. There’s a great deal of noise in the world and even when I try to tune it out with a trip to the park or a stroll through the farmers market, I h…

Source: Let’s just play pretend …

Occupying 3 year olds during days and days of rain is a challenge to say the least. I admit that we are spoiled out here in SoCal and its really just a handful of days through the course of a year …

Source: Minutes and Minutes of Fun

Occupying 3 year olds during days and days of rain is a challenge to say the least. I admit that we are spoiled out here in SoCal and its really just a handful of days through the course of a year where going outside is not an option. Thank goodness the sun is out again, but seriously those days inside were TOUGH .WHAT CAN WE DO IN HERE ALL DAY?!

The truth is my daughter is not going to sit still for 15 minutes of a stationary activity, let alone a half hour. She’s a mover and a shaker and literally bounces off the furniture if not able to run free outside. I owe my rainy winter sanity to indoor playgrounds and my supermom sister for always giving me the best ideas ! Thanks to her I now know  this easy idea to melt crayons in little heart molds for school Valentines! Thanks Babe!  This actually kept Issy’s  attention   for….MINUTES!  I gave my daughter the best job – peeling all the labels off of the crayons – something she does normally and with great pleasure!  We went through all the broken crayons in her pencil case, peeled off the paper and broke the bigger ones into small pieces so they could fit in the molds.

By the time we had put the crayons in the molds about 15 minutes had passed. Sure it wasn’t an entire afternoon’s worth of activities where she was stimulated, with all of her synapses firing rapidly while  using fine motor skills for hours on end- BUT it was enough for me to feel a little less guilty when I caved to the requests to watch Peppa Pig in the late afternoon!

This is how easy it is to make these little crayons:

Place the broken crayons in the mold on top of a cookie sheet and bake at 230 degrees for about 10-20 minutes depending on your oven , (I did mine in the toaster oven and it took 13 minutes.) Make sure you let them cool completely before you pop them out.   Now hows that for a nut free, sugar free, allergy free, food free treat to bring into school!

 

Aren’t these so cute!

I have been void of silly mom stories lately. There’s a great deal of noise in the world and even when I try to tune it out with a trip to the park or a stroll through the farmers market, I have this constant feeling of fear in my gut. I just imagine the Statue of Liberty crumbling a little but everyday in the New York harbor …shes coming undone …we’re coming undone…. I think. How long until she is just a pile of rubble that once was…

Social media used to overdose us on kids and selfies and food porn and now it’s all very serious. I’m very serious about it all too. I am doing what I can to stand on what I believe to be the right side of history. But I’m worried for the future – the immediate future really… I’m worried about health care, public schools, the safety of the Muslim community, the  the LGBTQ community, the African American community, any non white male community really… I worry about  my rights as a woman… I worry about it all just being deleted from existence . It is just so much. I am trying to breathe…to meditate. Yoga is helping. I am trying to exhale all that isn’t serving me ...but..it’s hard.

I am playing more make believe with my little Issy. I am looking to my 3 year old to take me away from it all. I want to play pretend more than ever these days. Her favorite game is Mommy and Baby. I get to be the baby and she loves to be the mommy. She makes me nap  and hands me a plate of food from her little kitchen and whispers, pretend you don’t like vegetables Baby.  She says things like, you can’t have cookies ! that’s a treat, and candy makes your teeth fall out!   (so she IS listening to me). Yesterday at the park, she didn’t want to play with her friends; she wanted to play with me and I really wanted to play with her too. We played soccer and  I chased her around the trees. We played hide and seek and got on the swings together. I lost myself in her giggles..her innocence…I love her so much.. I love her SO MUCH, I could weep. Why am I so upset about the world? Because of her . Because of your son and your daughter and your niece and nephew and because of your grandchildren…. Because their kindness and love and purity  is deserving of a beautiful planet full of like minded humans and when we hug them close and say, its ok…its all going to be ok, I really want to be able to believe that.

 

“Life is not a Norman Rockwell painting ….”  was a phrase  I heard my father say many times to my mother growing up before (and sometimes after) a get together.Like most women, she would go into party mode where she’d plan and plan because every detail had to be absolutely fucking perfect . And let me tell you, every single get together was pretty damn perfect. From the brass horn napkin rings for the Christmas table to the place card holders  made of jellybean filled jars at Easter, my mother considered every detail when entertaining. I remember saying to her,   “Why do you care so much…just relax…” But I understand now. There is a pressure that exists.  Whether we as women put it on ourselves, or whether we live in a society that continually holds us to a much higher and more unattainable standard than men, there is no question that we all feel it. I am formally calling out that pressure and telling it to FUCK OFF.

I have never hosted a formal sit down holiday dinner and I don’t know if I ever will. What I love about my husband is that he enjoys a casual holiday. Why entertain if you can’t have a good time too? What’s the point?  This Christmas, where we celebrated quietly at home with friends, he was the one  who did the cooking. I cleaned, baked cookies, put together a cheese plate,  and essentially sat like a guest. Though I am a pretty good cook, he is an excellent cook- not to mention much faster and more efficient. When I cook a meal, the kitchen looks like our 3 year old conducted a science experiment. This Christmas Eve however, I learned that whether you have a perfectly set table or a perfectly cooked feast, all that really matters is that the time you spend with people is memorable and heartfelt.

We had a lovely Christmas Eve dinner with family. At the moment, our daughter is the only child, so she was overwhelmed with gifts and attention. It was probably one of the best Christmas Eve’s I’ve experienced in a long time and I am so grateful to have been able to be together with everyone. Just as we were all getting ready to leave, my mother in law told us she was going to spend the night at our place.

OH. SHIT.

(Prior to coming to this beautiful dinner, for the second time in our life, my husband looked around and said, ” My God this place is A MESS.” And it was…I mean it really was. I had spent the day baking 5 more batches of cookies and a loaf of bread to bring with us. I braved the Christmas Eve crowd at Trader Joe’s with a less than agreeable kid . I let her do whatever she wanted so long as it kept her out of the kitchen. At one point, she took herself for a nap (OMG THIS IS AMAZING I THOUGHT), only to wake an hour later complaining she didn’t feel well.(The Christmas Curse!!!)  She wanted me to sit with her on the couch for over an hour with a cold compress on her head. Meanwhile, wrapping paper covered the living room floor; our bed was covered in bags of bows and gift tags and the entire contents of my daughters toy chest  lay on her bedroom floor.)

I went right over to my mother in law  as we were leaving dinner and said ,”I’m so embarrassed but the place is a mess…!”  She of course said she didn’t care and apologized for telling us at the last second.

We got home. I apologized again for the mess.  I tried to pick up as much as I could, set up the guest bed and get our little one off to bed. The adults?  We were up until 4-I usually can’t stay awake past 10. This was- to say the least- an epic night. My mother in law is  strong, beautiful, independent, and sexier than anyone I have ever met. She is raw and honest and tells it like it is. I usually find her intimidating because of all this, but late that night, I learned the most I ever had about her and her family and their extraordinary life that existed  worlds away and decades before I ever met them. I gained such insight about this woman and her son who grew up and is now my husband whom I love so very much. I learned this in the wee hours of December 24 when my kitchen was covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar and my sink was full of mixing bowls with now caked on cookie dough.

Take off your stockings and your Spanx- leave the dishes until tomorrow. Put on your yoga pants and grab a glass of wine. Life is so short. At the end of your journey, you’re not going to wish you had cleaned up your kitchen after every meal- you are going to wish you had breathed in every cell of those you love and dared to open your heart and filled it to its utmost capacity. The best moments happen when you get down from the perfectly set table and put on  your comfy clothes …that’s when you connect …that’s when we can all stop trying so hard to be perfect and just be ourselves.

 

I haven’t written in quite some time. I retreated to a loud, dark, self deprecating place in my own mind and remained there feeling pretty depressed…  Was it my birth control pill, the birthday blues, have my hormones changed since I turned 41..why cant I snap out of it.?  I re-read all of my posts and they seem to have a similar thread of  worthlessness and confusion about who I am and what my purpose is. I was beginning to feel that this is a society where men are allowed to EXIST in whatever capacity they want, but women-as women we need to EXCEL  in all aspects of our lives. We have to find a way to have it all, but when we do, we will still be judged. Then, on Tuesday a man that said ,“Grab them by the pussy” was elected President. It’s been a few  days and  I can’t shake this sick feeling in my gut.

On November 8, Donald Trump was elected the 45th President of the United States. My depression has  quickly turned to despair and is now switching to anger with an overall feeling that results in nausea.

I will admit I had romanticized the day a little…. I was emotional seeing so many women dressing in their pantsuits and all white ensembles as they hit the polls, many of them with their daughters.  Days leading up to the election , I was telling my daughter that history would be made; we are going to elect the First Woman President and I was so energized to think she would grow up in a country where that was a reality. I got lost in the excitement. I imagined the moment on election night when I would kiss her goodnight and walk out of her room with tears of joy. It didn’t quite go that way. My husband was shocked too, but tried to assuage my fears that the country wouldn’t suddenly change entirely. All of the progress that was made in the last 8 years would not  be overturned his first day on the job  and maybe, who knows, mayyyyybe he won’t be as awful as we fear he will be.

It didn’t help. My migraine had already started and I didn’t want to hear it. When I woke Wednesday, I was puking from the migraine…the shock , the disappointment, the fear. I realized the last time I felt this way in my gut was 9/11. I spent most of the day with my eyes closed and an ice pack on my neck while I let my daughter watch the Ipad. (What else could I do? ) I didn’t watch TV or look at the news on line . I did a quick scroll through social media and that made me physically ill again. I had to get it together for her ballet class at 3:30.I still had to Mom up. I can’t mope around the rest of my life. But this  hurts …I am in pain to my very core.

I am not upset because my candidate lost. This wasn’t about politics . This wasn’t about a difference of ideologies. I could move past something like that without feeling as if life as we know it will never be the same. This was and still is about hate, misogyny, racism, ignorance, and fear.  Over the last few days I have read of racially charged incidents all over the country….swastikas in a Maryland Middle School,(http://www.wusa9.com/news/local/bethesda/swastikas-drawn-on-walls-at-md-middle-school/351091865 ), students blocking minority classmates from getting to their lockers in DeWitt Michigan, (http://www.mlive.com/news/index.ssf/2016/11/students_at_dewitt_school_form.html) and at Council Rock High School outside Philadelphia, more vandalism was reported including swastikas and derogatory comments toward Gay Students…  (http://6abc.com/education/official-post-election-vandalism-harassment-at-council-rock-north/1600740/) ….I could go on and on sighting different attacks across the country.

The writing was on the wall. We knew that this would happen, didn’t we?  And that is what is so sickening. People chose him . He demonstrates behavior that is the exact opposite of what we teach our children! For people who exercised their right and voted for him or against her in any capacity, take an opportunity to prove you are not complicit in what’s happening all over the country. Speak out about it. Tell your fellow Americans who are feeling disenfranchised right that they still have a place at your table. If you see someone being harassed, stand by them. Show us that you didn’t vote for THAT.  Help us to not be afraid. And to President Elect Trump, please be so much better than we think you are. Take a stand on what is happening around this great country. Tell us you don’t support it or encourage it. Let us know that this country is still for all of us.

Talk about my unexpected life…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday I failed you. Yesterday, I failed to be patient. I showed you the best way to handle any adversity is to yell and grit your teeth. I showed you that one moment it’s ok to be sweet and the next moment it’s normal to be a raving lunatic. Yesterday, I taught you to yell and slam doors.

I failed you dear child and I am so so sorry. I have become a “do as I say not as I do” type lately. Please forgive me for not being my best self. Please believe me when I say that everyday I wake wanting to be the absolute best version of myself not only for you and Daddy but for me. I want to value myself as your Mommy and as a wife and as a woman. Since you have been born, I have had an undeniable desire to be better than I have ever been before, somebody who you could look up to and be so proud to call Mom. But lately, my frustration within myself for not achieving whatever goals exist in my mind that somehow prove myself worthy are getting the best of me. Trust me that I wake in the morning vowing to be positive and calm and within one minute of your very first whine out of your mouth, I am burning with frustration. I am frustrated by the constant sight of crumbs and clutter and I am frustrated when I realize that my one job the last 3 years has been YOU, so you should be absolutely perfect. The truth is YOU ARE. You are bright and funny and difficult as hell because your brain is working at a rapid pace taking all of this big world in! But I have been an adult for so long that I forget what it is to play, to wonder, to question, to challenge….I have forgotten the sheer joy that comes from the simplest things…balloons, bubbles, hide and seek, the big girl swing at the park and how it makes your tummy tickle… I have gone through my life with a shadow of myself following me holding a clipboard, tracking my every move; accomplishments or missed opportunities… Somewhere along the line, I decided that if I stayed home with you and nurtured you, you wouldn’t go through these challenging 2 and 3-year-old phases. I thought, if I am doing my job correctly then you will listen to everything I say, you will never need to be reminded to say please or thank you. You will transition from diapers to potty seamlessly. I will not have to bargain or bribe or threaten. If I am doing a good job being your Mommy, you will be a mini adult. (HAHAHA YEA RIGHT!)  You will put your napkin on your lap. You will use a fork. You will not shove food into your mouth. You will clean up after yourself. You will be calm. You will not yell or grit your teeth or slam doors because I …..Wait– just do as I say not as I do, ok?

Maybe take it easy on me every once in a while? You don’t have to object to every. single. thing. It’s ok to listen too. Aren’t you bored with the Crazy Mommy show? Aren’t you curious to see who I can be if we spend less time fighting and more time doing?

But- here’s the thing, I am discovering that I was chosen to be your mother because I desperately need to learn from you.(I am stubborn as we all are – yea family trait!) I can’t just suddenly change the way I  am , I need to see life through your eyes;  But I could never just read a book and understand something, I must live it. So I accept your challenges little one… You are my greatest teacher of joy and letting go. You will never let me watch my life from the sidelines. Thank you for encouraging me to get in the game and play even if it seems like I’m losing because truly the very opportunity to play it with you and Daddy is the winning. You already seem to know that and I am just now figuring it out. So thank you my dear daughter because today, you taught me.

 

 

 

3 year olds….I love you kid but you’re makin me crazy!

For my 5^th birthday my Mom made me a chocolate cake shaped like a cat. My birthday is 2 days before Halloween so it was seasonally appropriate. I distinctly remember the picture from her Betty Crocker cookbook. I also recall that on that birthday, she gave me a party with my neighborhood friends. What makes this so incredible is that she had a NEWBORN baby . My sister was two-weeks old!  (Two weeks after my  daughter was born, I could still hardly move because of my nasty tear and my nipples hurt so badly that the pain took my breath away. I had 3 long, black, jersey cotton dresses in rotation because there was no way I would put my lady parts through the pain of pants or shorts. The disposable mesh panties accompanied by the adult diaper were just fine for me thank you very much.) I hope on my 5^th birthday I was appreciative to my Mother, but I’m sure I wasn’t as appreciative as I should have been. I was 5 after all. I didn’t consider that my Mother was exhausted from labor or nursing or caring for a newborn and 2 other children. How could I know? She made me a cake and gave me a party; of course she did – it was my birthday right?

My daughter turned 3 earlier this month and somewhere along the way I decided I would make her a castle cake. She’s going through that princess phase so I thought she’d get a kick out of it. I searched images on Pinterest  and had a vague idea of what I would do. I always feel that it’s not your birthday unless you’ve blown out candles on a piece of something delicious. Maybe it’s childish or old-fashioned, or perhaps  I just want an excuse to eat dessert. I have such a warm and fuzzy memory associated with that cat cake, I just wanted my  Issy to be blown away when she saw hers. I also (who am I kidding) wanted her to think I was the greatest Mom ever and …I wanted myself to think I was the greatest Mom ever .

I work part-time. My schedule leaves me one kid free day to do what I want and what I need.  But the week leading up to her birthday, I had to work on that day. So every night when she was asleep, I did one portion of the cake: I baked a layer, I covered ice cream cones with chocolate, I made icing…. Understand, these parts did not look perfect. I would be the first eliminated if I were on cupcake wars, OK? But, I wasn’t concerned about it looking perfect. I just wanted it to resemble a castle. If I had more time, I would have tried to make it look slightly better.   But there would be no birthday party. This wouldn’t be on the front page of The New York Times.  This was just meant for her (for me???) I just wanted to bring it out and see her smile and blow out her candles. Really that’s all. Sort of.  The night before her birthday I was figuring out how to assemble it together.  My husband gave me this look and I just said,” I know ….is this for her or me right? …” and laughed it off.  I didn’t need to make this cake. I could have bought one or ordered dessert at a restaurant. Know this –  I am completely aware of my issues…I am in touch with my feelings of not “mattering”. I am aware of feeling like I need to constantly justify my existence as a Mom who is not making a significant financial contribution by doing things like making cakes that look like castles.  I realize I compare myself to friends who are bona-fide self-made superstar working Moms; I KNOW THIS. It is a constant battle with myself DAILY to consider that I matter. I have been struggling with this for years. It is a constant theme in all of my posts. I need to get a handle on this or no one will ever care to read these….How do I get beyond this awareness? Hello? Tony Robbins are you there It’s me Vanessa , (the drama major who is indeed creating drama  in life, but how can I put the drama elsewhere ..like ..in a paycheck maybe?? Please help!). I mean what is the real issue? Why do I hold myself to this gold standard but no one else? Why have I set a standard so high for myself, it’s impossible to reach? Or am I expecting to reach it immediately or by a certain day? Can today REALLY be the day I accept that I am a work in progress…that l’m striving to be the best version of myself and some days the best way to get there is to consider myself? There’s an idea. As I write this, my husband is at work, our daughter is at preschool. I hear only the hum of the fridge and the sound of a lawnmower somewhere on my street.  It’s nice…The quiet… I exist in this quiet.  I am present.  It  feels  good to be writing. It feels good to be honest. It feels good to post this picture of my attempt at being a perfect Pinterest Mom. I tried. She loved it. She blew out the candles and ate a piece, and never really mentioned it again. She’s 3. I think I’m really fine not being perfect. In fact if I set up the standard of always being honest instead of always being perfect, I could really get somewhere.

In fact, I think I’ll consider myself right now and get a manicure because tomorrow my husband and I have a date!  (And, if we’re being honest, my hands look and feel like a 90 year old carpenter’s.) So, ill start there.  I’m also going to wear heels tomorrow . I’m going to wear make-up too.  I’m going to carry a purse that’s too small to hold wipes and a change of clothes just in case my kid has an accident.  And you can believe I’m 100% going to eat a piece of cake.

 

The Castle Cake

The Cat Cake as pictured in The 1978 Betty Crocker Cookbook

*Photo courtesy of the 1978 Betty Crocker Cookbook

 

 

 

 

 

My first ever post was about dropping my daughter off at preschool and spending the day crying, worrying about losing my Mommy title, and feeling overwhelmed at what I would do next….WELL, I’m still not exactly sure what I’m doing or who I am BUT I most certainly do not spend my days without her crying while scrolling through the hundreds of photos of her on my phone- THAT is certain. (Let’s just say if I could safely slow down my car and have her jump out of it as I drove by the preschool twice a week, I would….just kidding… )  She’s not even 3 and she has all the attitude of a brooding teenage girl in her adorable little toddler body. There’s a big storm a comin’ and I’m not sure there’s enough bottled water and xanax on the store  shelves to prepare for this one!

She’s just moved to the 3 year old class…It hasn’t even been a year and shes already moving to the next level.  This milestone did indeed take me to my photo library to find her “first day of preschool shot”. I don’t even recognize that baby. She was a BABY. She had recently turned 2 and was just about 6 months out from breastfeeding. No wonder I cried!!! I remember my mother telling me the value of preschool before she started, how I would look forward to it and come to need it. At the time I couldn’t imagine my baby, who fed from my breast at night until 18 months  would be with other people for 2 entire days of the week. I felt I was abandoning her so I could, what…poop in private with the door closed? Go to the grocery store alone? Clean the toilets without interruption? Figure out who Vanessa was??? It seemed so selfish to want those things but now…? Now? YES PLEASE YES PLEASE  I want all those things and more! I was so against preschool. I thought why are we putting these babies in school so young? For what?  I thought we would just be together forever…going to the park and the market….long walks in the neighborhood…. She needs me and I need her and we love eachother  and  we can live forever in harmony with enough Cheerios and Trader Joe’s Inner Peas right? Well somewhere along the way our relationship changed. We’ve become that couple who come for dinner and always fight. Then when they leave you say, why are they even together??? Because we love eachother okay? Because she’s almost  3, and I’m 40 and I’m her mom and I love her more than life but we’re just going through a tough time okay?! !? She loves me too (I hope). She just loathes me because I ask her to clean up her toys and tell her she can’t have lollipops for breakfast. I keep counting to 3 and putting her in time out.  I’m kind of a buzzkill for her right now and I get it, I do. I get that she is constantly pouting with her arms crossed because I am SUCH a tyrant….Are they casting for print models to be featured on the first page of Chapter 3: Age 3 in a child development textbook because….I’ve got one!  I expected to be better at this but she’s testing me and  I . HATE. TESTS. I must stand my ground . I must remain calm. I must NOT go from zero-batshit crazy mommy  in seconds. Really I can’t.  I must do better. She is watching.  Every morning I lay in bed and say the  God grant me the serenity  prayer because -this is hard. This is much harder than I thought. My mom has told me she’s a tough cookie, so she must be because my Mom is a baby/child whisperer. She knows all. She has all the tricks. Let me tell you, they don’t work on my girl. She is a force to be reckoned with. I know one day I will be standing on my feet in the audience applauding her accomplishments, but until then-SERENITY NOW!!

September of 2015 and Now…Slow down !