Summer Reals

Though in reality, July 4th weekend is the very early stages of summer, to me, it feels like a half way point of sorts. I've been climbing a mountain for at least a month, so it feels like maybe we are in for a break some time soon.

Today, after spending the entire weekend preparing for and then hosting a friend's bridal shower, I took the day off from work. However to cope with a 4 year old that is more akin to a European dictator than a cuddly toddler many days, I had to dress as if I was going to work, and leave at my usual time. Underneath a shift dress I wore gym clothes and changed in my own garage. Luckily, this ploy worked and my husband was able to drop him at camp with minimal resistance (as a full time working mom, a day off for me signals a weekend for my son, and we could not have another epic meltdown like last week when I made the foolish mistake of thinking I could work from home and that he would still agree to leave the house at 8 am).

When we are on the emotional roller coaster with our mostly sweet, but sometimes difficult son (after school ends, before camp begins, when the teacher is absent and their is a sub, when the wind blows west instead of east), I need to stay away from social media where pictures of compliant, smiling children and their easy going, happy parents flood my news feeds and make me feel inadequate, foolish, and completely isolated. The 'this too shall pass' motto is hard to muster with any sincerity, and 'one day at a time' feels like a Tough Mudder competition.

To any parents out there that may relate, let this be my hand reaching out to say you are not alone.

Summer Struggles

Its June, my son's preschool has been out for days already, and camp is still weeks in the future. What are working parents to do? We have patched together a string of activities, days off, grandparents and pure begging to bridge the gap, but everyday is a break from the routine which causes me intense anxiety.

The other weekend after a fabulous day in NYC visiting our friend (and Tucker's Godfather), 6 train rides in and almost home the engine stuttered and died. I felt my chest tighten. The snacks were long gone, juice boxes all drank. No iPad. No toys. Sweat forming all over my face. But as if sensing we needed calm, our son simply looked out the window, asked how we were going to get home, and then said 'its OK'. He has told me 'it's OK' at least a dozen times recently, which makes me first realize what a sweet, compassionate boy he is, and second, that perhaps my son already knows I am an insane stress case that can barely function in the face of the slightest adversity.

Instagram is filled with parents doing crafts, taking trips, and just enjoying moments frolicking in the grass with their tots. These images make me feel inadequate while I slave away at a desk in Melville for countless hours each week, and then guilty when on a weekend, I am eyeing the clock to know how many hours of entertainment I must provide before dinner. Often we have watched 2 shows, decorated many sheets of paper with our stamps, built and dissembled 2 train track displays, and its not even 9 am. I wonder how we will pass the next 3 hours until our play-date, or soccer practice. Then of course, the guilt hits. Because these moments are the life we live between planned activities, around the iCalendar, When its real life, and real life is not always an Instagram moment. So perhaps this summer put away the iPhone, take less pictures, and inhale more deeply.

Insta-Round Up

striped dress from nordstrom for work + tory burch tote

my prince turns 4!

birthday drinks

happy toddler + mom

boarding my moms boat for memorial day

memorial day mimosas on deck

first beach trip of the season

head to toe j.crew for the office

The Real Parents of Long Island

May has been a beautiful but hectic month. The usual daily stressors are ever-present (work, bills, a temper tantrum, too many loads of laundry and too few hours in the evening) and some new ones have cropped up. The thought of moving to an entirely new place, starting an entirely new life has been discussed. But the fear of leaving holds us back. I love our home, our friends, but the pressures I see for Tucker as he enters school and the crazy expectations that engulf the youngsters on the North Shore of Long Island are sickening. Bravo has a new show shot in the town abutting ours, with women who frequent the same exercise classes, schools and shops as us, and has made me really examine what we are doing. I have read reviews of a new book written by an insider on the insanity of parenting on the Upper East Side, some parts all too close to home (parents hiring therapists to train toddlers on the art of having a play date). A show about our life would be filled with mundane commutes to work, the same dinner every night for our son (Annie's mac and cheese), cleaning, negotiating bed time, and then wine. Lots of wine. No one would watch.


All I want for my child is happiness, satisfaction, and fulfillment. When his teacher raves about his sweet nature, social skills and book smarts I am thrilled. Then she tells me that despite this, he doesn't pick up and hold his pencil the correct way unless prompted, or follow 4 step directions independently, and perhaps he should repeat nursery school before moving on to pre-K. I am stunned, and at this point, I can actually laugh. But alas, this is what parents in the area want- brilliant 3 year olds ready to tackle Harvard upon graduation from preschool. And so I come to work every day to pay for said preschool, unsure of the path to take, I examine every sentence my son speaks for clues on what the right choice is for us, where to go next month, next year. My husband works hard (with vision in only 1 eye), building a law practice in a town overrun with lawyers to help fill the income gap inherent in living where we do, as fairly normal parents who had their first child before turning 30. With a few good friends that help ground me and remind me we are not alone in our exhausting marathon, we will see what the future holds. I know it can always, always be worse and there is much to be happy and ecstatic about on a daily basis. More of that, less of the rest.