I don’t remember having these model-like sets when I was a kid. There were trees and wheels and stuff, but no licensed shit like there is now. We just got a bucket and started building.

From our imaginations.

Gasp!

I know, I know. And get off my lawn.

But my son? He loves the Harry Potter sets, Star Wars, Alien Conquest – he’s all over it. And he builds them on his own, at a fairly quick pace. I see the merit in it – he’s essentially building models, just out of Lego. It’s good for his coordination, his fine motor skills, his “reading” comprehension – it’s generally benefiting his brain.

The girl… well, she never really shared his enthusiasm. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sit down, pick up a few pieces and start building. To be honest, I never believed she had the ability to follow the instructions.

She does love her brother’s finished projects, though. He built Hogwarts and she used it like a dollhouse for weeks. It’s great – it’s like he custom builds toys for her.

But when we were in downtown Disney, we took the kids to the Lego store. Man, that place is fucking cool. There are huge displays built from Lego, and I mean HUGE.

My son gravitated to the centre of the store, where for $9.00 you can build 3 Lego guys, complete with accessories. As my best friend says, “It’s all about the Lego dudes.”

My daughter, however, got a glimpse of purple in her peripheral vision and zeroed in on the new Friends Lego. For those not in the know, the Friends line is under a lot of fire, as it’s geared towards girls and features things like tree houses, pet grooming shops and the colours pink and purple.

But you know what? My daughter was fascinated. Because that’s exactly the kind of shit she loves. She took a good 15 minutes going through the different sets before finally settling on the tree house.

And the day after we returned to Palm Beach, even though it was beautiful outside and she could have gone swimming, she wanted to build her tree house.

Granted, she didn’t finish it and I had to give her minimal help with the instructions, but at freshly 4 years old, she built the thing herself. And she loved it.

And while I know this will raise the ire of many out there, I’m on board with the Friends Lego. I’ve written about this before – I can’t choose what my children are into. If she likes princesses and tree houses, I can’t make her like Harry Potter and Star Wars. If she loves the arts and isn’t obsessed by math, there’s little I can do. And I’m fine with that.

Just like my son can turn anything into a gun, she turned Hogwarts into a doll house. Fabulous! Let her use her imagination; let her express her creativity when it comes to the things she’s passionate about.

Isn’t that so much better than slogging her way through something she finds tedious?

Or watching endless hours of television?

It took me a long time to understand that I can’t change my childrens’ personalities. No matter how much I might want to.

I can introduce them to as many things as I want and gently guide them in certain directions, but ultimately they decide what they like. I’m FINALLY at peace with that. I’ll be damned if I let a stupid Lego line fuck that up.

And yes, I understand the argument that it’s fine to have both tree houses and Death Stars, they just shouldn’t be marketed based on gender. But for me, that’s a weak argument. If my daughter was nuts for Han Solo, the fact that the toy wasn’t marketed to her wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.

As a matter of fact, her interest in Star Wars is growing… thanks to Princess Leia.

And the things she’s passionate about now aren’t necessarily the things she’ll be passionate about 5 years from now. She can love barbies and still grow up to be a scientist.

Because the women who fought the fight before us made that possible.

I knew the hostess fairly well, and the other two women had children in my daughter’s class, so I knew them, too, just not as well. We started swapping stories about the expectations placed on mothers, the double-duty of working both inside and outside the home… the general lack of understanding from our partners about what it is to be a mother.

One of the elder women, who had been sitting in the background listening, said, “I hate to tell you, but women were never liberated.”

We all fell silent, recognizing the truth in her statement. And I was positively shocked when the silence was broken by one of the mothers saying to me, “You know, I always thought you had such a perfect life. And a perfect marriage.”

Clearly, she doesn’t read this blog.

But seriously, it made me think of a post I read last week, which I only found because of another incredible post by the same author which was so incredible it led me back to her archives where I found this.

In both scenarios, we were both awestruck at the notion that outsiders looking in saw a perfect little life. It just goes to show that you never know what’s going on with other people, in other homes.

We all have our problems. On that day, at that party, we all went on to share them. And I firmly believe that in doing so, we all got a little bit stronger. There’s power in solidarity.

It does us no good to envy the ideal family splashed across the pages of glossy magazines. The celebrities who have got it all down pat; who make it look effortless. Our neighbours, with their perfect lawns and well-dressed children.

I don’t believe they exist. It’s a construct, and I have no idea what its value is. It doesn’t make any of us feel better. It’s not like it gives us something to aspire to – it just makes us feel like shit because we’ll never be able to achieve that level of perfection.

Sure, some people take to parenting easier than others, and some people are just better at it. I’ll concede that point. But even those guys have their rough patches.

Reading those 2 posts on Momastery made me feel better. They made me feel jealous as all hell that I hadn’t been the one to write them, but they made me feel a little less alone.

I know we all got something out of that conversation at the party. Imagine if there were more of those. Imagine if, instead of being made to feel like you were doing it wrong, you were offered some support when you spoke out about the difficulties you were having.

How liberating would that be?

Just imagine.

We took our kids to Disney for the first time this year. We normally spend 2 weeks in Palm Beach over Christmas, and this year, for a variety of reasons, one major one being that the whole princess thing  would be just magical for the girl at this age, we decided to take a 4-day excursion to the House of Mouse.

My husband has been out of work for a while. When we planned the trip, back in August(!), we didn’t take this into account. I’m sure it would have been a much different vacation if money weren’t an issue, but thankfully we’d already paid off the trip months ago.

So we knew going in that we were going to have to watch ourselves, something that is incredibly difficult in a tourist spot where every ride ends in a gift shop.

[Funny aside: When I first heard about the film, Exit Through the Gift Shop, I thought it was about Disney World.]

On the first day, at the first park (Hollywood Studios), before even stepping through the entrance gate, I turned to the kids and said, “Okay, we’re in Disney World. You’re going to see a lot of things you’re going to want to buy. And each time you ask, we’re going to say, ‘No.’ Do you understand?”

Two solemn nods.

“So you’re going to say, ‘Mommy, can I have this?’ And I’m going to say…”

“No,” they replied, in unison.

“Okay. So it’s no use even asking.”

Yeah. Right.

Before I give you my tips, let me say in full disclosure that we went with my mother-in-law, who takes great pleasuring in giving her grandchildren gifts. She did buy them many things, but nothing extravagant – all great things that they’re getting good use from.

But this is just to say that even though we didn’t spend money on them, they did have some dough dropped on their behalf.

Okay. Here we go:

1. Try to stay somewhere that has a kitchen. It’s not so much that the food is expensive in the parks, because it’s not unreasonable, it’s just that the choices aren’t great, and after a day you get sick of the hamburger/pizza/chicken salad schtick. You’ll crave some home-prepared food, even if it’s just a cheese sandwich.

If you’re at the moderate level, and staying at a Disney resort, I’d recommend the Fort Wilderness Cabins. We didn’t stay there (due to lack of WiFi if you can believe it), but you get your own cabin with a kitchen AND if you’ve got young children, there’s a campfire every night with marshmallows and sing-a-longs with Chip and Dale.

2. That said, there’s good value in the meal plan. We got the mid-level one, the 1 sit down meal, 1 quick service meal and 1 snack plan. The only reason we did it was a) to get the discount on food, and b) we knew we were going to Cinderella’s castle for lunch, which is a cool $250 for a party of 5. With the meal plan, it’s just 2 sit-down meal credits swiped. That’s somehow less painful.

3. Sit down dining sucks. You need to make a reservation ages in advance in order to get a table at a decent time and if you’re traveling with kids, you’ll quickly find out it’s not so easy to know even 6 hours in advance when a good time for dinner will be. If you do the research and find the decent food, I’d go for the quick service plan, combined with your in-room kitchen.

If you do go to a real restaurant, you can always splurge for one meal.

4. The meal plan only has as many days as your night stays. So if you’re in the park for 4 days and 3 nights, your meal plan only covers 3 days. But here’s a tip: If you’re traveling with young children, buy them kids’ meals for lunch. They’re like $5, and have a variety of sandwiches, grapes, carrot sticks, apple sauce and a drink. Keep the extra quick service meals for the adults, which will run an average of $10 – $15 a pop.

5. The above tip won’t work for sit down dining, where the kids’ dining plan only covers the kids’ meals on the menu.

6. If you need a stroller, there’s a great company called Orlando Stroller Rentals very close to the parks. I think Disney charges $31/day for a double stroller, and this place rented me one for 4 days for a total of $65.00. Plus, they deliver and pick up from your hotel. The things is waiting for your when you check in.

Except, in our case, we realized we were going to need the stroller at 6 am, and the earliest delivery was at 7. So the night before, I called their 1-800 number and they told me where they were situated and we went to pick it up – no extra charge for the additional night. And when we realized we weren’t going to make it back for our 4 pm pick-up at the hotel, I called them and they said, “Don’t worry. Just leave it at the hotel and we’ll come get it later.”

Awesome.

Plus, it was the best stroller I’d ever used.

(I was not paid or compensated in any way for this. It was just an excellent product with outstanding customer service. They deserve recognition.)

7. If you buy your kids one of those Mickey Mouse balloons, and it pops, bring it back and they’ll replace it free.

8. Before you get there, think about when, if everything goes well, you’d want to go back. Really think about it. Like, pull out a calendar and check school dates think about it. Because if you stay at a Disney resort, when you check in, the first thing you see is a big pamphlet on your dresser offering you a 35% discount on your next trip if you book before checking out.

You don’t want to be making any rash decisions.

9. You’ll see refillable resort mugs everywhere. Pro tip: there are no self-serve drink stations to fill up your cup in Animal Kingdom or the Magic Kingdom.

10. You’re going to want to get your kid at least one thing. Watch them through the trip and see what really excites them. I think it’s nice to give them each a souvenir. We ended up getting her a small Minnie plush ($12.95) and he got a Mickey sorcerer pin ($8.95). They were both over the moon when presented with their gifts.

A couple of bonus tips, non-budget related:

1. It pays to plan. Don’t get all crazy in the head like I did, but take a couple of nights to decide where you want to stay (hint: the closer to the parks the better), and then you can plan your itinerary on another night.

2. It pays to get up ridiculously early. If you get into the park early, especially with extra magic hours (earlier opening hour for Disney resort guests), you’re way ahead of the game. We were in by 8 am and by 9 had done 6 rides and toured Tom Sawyer’s Island. Seriously.

We used a site called TouringPlans.com. It builds an itinerary for you based on whether you’re traveling with children and the number of days you have to spend in the park and then configures it so that you hit the parks on their historically least-trafficked days and do the rides in the least-busy order.

No shit, it was brilliant. Combined with the proper use of fast passes, we never waited in line for more than 10 minutes for a ride.

3. Fast passes. USE THEM. You need all the park passes for the members of your party, you pick the ride (your priority rides, of course) and go to the fast pass machine. It’ll spit out a ticket that gives you the time to return to that ride, and BAM! you skip the entire line.

For the life of me, we could not figure out why people were waiting 2 hours in line when we just waltzed on it.

3a) Some tips on the fast pass. You cannot get a fast pass for a second ride until you’ve reached the time stamp on your first one. HOWEVER, you do not have to get on your ride at the specified time. The “cast members” don’t enforce late penalties – so if you’re return time is noon, and you show up at 2, you still get on.

But this means, at noon, you can secure your next fast pass.

4. If you’re traveling with 2 or more children, and one of them is too short to get on a ride, you can do a parent swap. All of you get in line, one parent and the smaller child wait at the loading area for the ride, and when the second parent returns with the older child, the parents can swap places. Each parent gets a turn, the kid rides twice.

5. Don’t skip the movies and shows. Seriously, the rides are great but some of those shows were the highlights of my trip. Fantasmic, at Hollywood Studios blew us all away. Mickey’s Philharmagic at Magic Kingdom was an amazing 4D experience, as was the bug one at Animal Kingdom. The Beauty and the Beast and Finding Nemo live shows were also both incredible.

And the Wishes fireworks display at Magic Kingdom is not to be missed.

6. Animal Kingdom was kind of disappointing.

7. Try not to have a lot of expectations. We surprised our kids with the trip, which may not have been the best idea, given their personalities. But even if the kids had known they were going, I’m not sure it would have been different. We had to learn, quickly, how to put aside the expectations we’d been building for 6 months and let the kids guide us.

We expected them to run around the park, wide-eyed and smiling. Instead, they napped in the stroller between rides. Neither of these kids had seen the inside of a stroller in about 2 years, so thank god we’d heeded the advice of friends and rented one.

We thought they’d be excited about some things, but in the end they were excited by others. We had to adjust. And we did. Quickly. And the result was that we all had an incredible trip we’ll remember for a long time to come.

8. Have fun. Grab a photo pass and let the park photographers take lots of pictures. I spent so much time looking through my camera I feel I missed a big chunk.

Turns out, a CD with all the park-taken pictures is only like $150. I realize that sounds like a lot, but if they take even just 100 pictures (we averaged a few more), it’s still so worth it. Especially when I managed to get in and out of the park in 4 days for under $250 (pocket money, plus kids’ meals and breakfasts – remember our rooms and meal plan were already paid for).

If I’d have known that, I’d have put my camera away a lot earlier.

It’s Disney, people. Let the memories begin.

It reminded me of just how fast it all goes.

Enjoy.

***

Tonight, My daughter saw the moon. I mean, really saw it.

She’s a 17-month-old ball of urgent precociousness, just learning that the world around her has its own agenda. A few nights ago, she was out in the cold with her friend and nanny while my wife and I cooked supper. It was dark, in the early evening. The weather was cold and crisp, a beautiful Montreal January day. The moon was nearly full and the stars were bright, painting everything in a deep blue glow against the thin crust of snow.

She came in, and launched herself into the kitchen. She was thrilled, yelling “up!”, “moon!” and “big!” – too busy pointing at the ceiling to take off her big purple snow pants. She was utterly consumed by what she’d seen outside.

In the next hour, she insisted on going out back three more times to see the moon as it moved up in the night sky, each time, she yelled “HAPPY!” at the top of her lungs.

During dinner, when my wife asked her to describe the moon, she struggled for words.

“Up! Big! BIGGER!”

Then she stopped. Her body tensed up. She looked around, deep in thought, grasping.

Suddenly, she blurted out, “Double-big!”

Imagine what it would be like to suddenly realize there was a sky. How overwhelmed with a crazy, huge, life-changing idea you’d be. How you wouldn’t be able to repress this new notion, bursting from within. How you’d want to tell the world.

I think that’s what I just saw.

I can’t even begin to describe how much my daughter enjoyed Disney World. The trip was a surprise – I mean, an up until the very last minute surprise. I mean, we were driving from Palm Beach to Orlando and we told them, “Oh, we’re just going to see a different part of Florida.”

It could have gone either way. She could have been so incredibly overwhelmed that she cried, pouted or threw tantrums the entire time. Instead of her usual 10 hours, she was getting 6 hours of sleep a night, MAXIMUM, due to our schlepping her around the parks. She could have been difficult and clingy. But she was not.

Instead, she blossomed. She clutched her autograph book tightly in her hands the entire time, running to meet every princess and “puppet” we stumbled across. She cried in every ride line, then lit up like Christmas on the ride itself.

“More!” she yelled. “Again!”

And the cherry on top was meeting her 2 idols – Snow White and Mary Poppins. Not only was she not shy, she engaged them in conversations, talking about dresses, her favourite colours, whatever came to mind.

It was a dream come true.

For both of us.

The other night, I told her to try singing My Favorite Things aloud, since The Sound of Music is her current favourite film.

“But those aren’t my favourite things.”

In that moment, I resolved to write her a song.

Please forgive me, Dame Andrews.

Her Favourite Things
(To the tune of My Favorite Things)

One little girl who likes pink frilly dresses,
Doggies who poop on the floor and leave messes,
Paper and pens and the drawings they bring,
These are a few of her favorite things.

Baby and Tigger and bears meant for sleeping,
Small little boxes of stuff for safekeeping,
Barbie and Princess and Fairies with wings,
These are a few of her favorite things.

Maria and Mary and Annie the Redhead,
Cuddles and tickle fights each night before bed,
Soft cotton blankets that keep her all warm,
Hopefully will tide her over till morn.

When the night falls,
And the dark comes,
And she’s feeling sad…
She opens her scrapbook and looks at the pictures,
And things just don’t seem so bad.

Bonus verse!

Sweet stuff like chocolate and ice cream in cones,
Cream cheese on bagels and jelly on scones,
Pasta with red sauce and butter on bread,
Make nice pretty pictures that dance in her head.

(Repeat all verses… until hopefully she falls asleep)

“What number on the clock that I can come cuddle in your bed?”

“Six or 7,” I said.

“But what about the other numbers?”

I walked over and pointed at the digital display on her clock.

“You just worry about the numbers on this side of the 2 dots. Just make sure it’s either a 6 or 7.”

“Okay.”

“Not a 3 or a 5 or a 1, okay?”

“Okay.”

She was quiet, so I got up to go. That was easy, I thought.

“But mommy,” she said, right as I’d reached the door. “By 7 o’clock you’re already in the shower.”

I thought about it for a moment.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s true.”

“So actually,” she said, enunciating each syllable. “I have to be up at the 6 to come cuddle with you.”

“I guess so.”

Beat.

“See you at 6, mommy.”

“See you at 6.”

I turned out the light.

“I love you, mommy.”

“I love you, too, little girl.”

Beat.

“Good night.”

I generally like to bake for the holidays, give something indulgent for teacher appreciation day, chocolates for Valentine’s (cliché, but how could you not?) and something kick-ass at the end of the year.

About a month ago, while grocery shopping, I spotted these cute paper and silicone square gift pans. They came 4 in a package and I quickly calculated his kindergarten teacher, her two daycare teachers and the daycare coordinator. Perfect. I also wanted to get a gift for the daycare’s chef, but I know she loves plants, not sweets.

I recipe tested for a bit and decided to go with toffee squares. They were sublime. Then I sat down, looked at my schedule for the next couple of weeks and realized I had to get the baking done fast. Like, the next night.

As it so happened, I had the car the next day and when I picked the boy up from school, I realized, Oh, shit. His after-school care teachers.

And as we were handing in our guest pass and signing out, And the woman at the sign out desk. I love her.

I looked at my watch. It was 5:35. The dollar store and the daycare close at 6. I mumbled out loud, “Okay, so 2 after school care teachers…”

“Three,” my son said.

“What?”

“Three. There’s another one you never see because she leaves at 5.”

Oy.

We ran into the dollar store and I found these super cute snowman-themed plates. Perfect, I thought. I just had to make some more squares, slice them, plate them and wrap them up in cellophane. I even thought to buy cellophane.

We picked up the girl and driving home I realized I didn’t have enough chocolate chips. Or Skör bits. Or butter.

Off to the grocery store we went. We then raced home (relax, dramatic value here, I didn’t speed), the kids sat down to eat supper and I got to work with the baking.

By about 9:00 pm, when I was melting the chocolate on the third batch, I realized I had forgotten about the almonds. I didn’t have enough almonds to make a fourth batch.

The gift pans had already been filled with batter and baked. I technically had enough to fill 4 plates, but those plates would be shy about 4 or 5 squares in comparison to the gift pans.

I, being me, started to panic.

At 10:00 pm, I went to wash my dollar store plates. I was tired and it was time to get plating and wrapping. Imagine my horror when I turned the plate over to dry it and saw, in big, bold letters:

CAUTION: CONTAINS CADMIUM AND LEAD
DO NOT USE FOR FOOD

My panic grew.

“Uh, sweetheart?”

“What is it?” my husband asked.

“I think I need you to go to your mother’s. I need a few plates. They can be paper, I don’t care. But at 10:00 pm at night, I know your Jewish mother is my only shot at getting Christmas-themed plates.”

So off he went. An hour or so later, he returned with 4 beautiful red, snowman-themed plates. Lead and cadmium free.

By the time I wrapped everything up it was about 1:00 am. I was exhausted. It was 3 hours past my bedtime. But as I surveyed my work, I realized I had no idea which gift to give to which teacher.

When all presents were equal, that was fine. But now, while they’re balanced, they’re not exactly equal. We’ve got a decent-looking pan with a greater quantity of sinfully delicious toffee squares, and we have a a beautifully wrapped holiday-themed plate which makes a great gift, but with fewer squares.

Who gets what?

I quickly decided that each institution gets one kind – either a plate or a pan – not a mix. So what do I do? Who’d appreciate what more? I shit you not when I tell you I spent a good 45 minutes worrying about this, trying to figure it out.

My husband just shook his head.

I finally settled on the daycare getting the plates, his teacher getting the remaining plate and after-school care getting the gift pans.

I crawled into bed at 2 am, closed my eyes and thought, There are almonds in the squares.

Shit.

I got out of bed, went downstairs and foraged through my daughter’s crafty things until I found a small, flour shaped pad. I dutifully wrote out the ingredients 8 times, affixed each sheet to a pan/plate and went to bed.

It was 2:30 am.

The next day, I went to work bleary eyed, relieved that it was done but somewhat grumpy from the shortage of sleep. At about 10:00 am, I got an email from the daycare coordinator, thanking me for the squares. I, in turn, texted my husband to thank him for remembering to bring them.

A few minutes later, he replied, saying, “She was shocked. Really, really, really shocked. Couldn’t believe they were for her.”

Fuck.

My husband is constantly telling me I make things too difficult for myself, that I set impossible goals and unnecessarily complicate my life. At first I thought he was gaslighting me, but I’ve come to see he’s right.

And this was just further proof.

There are no expectations placed on gifts. There are no expectations of gifts. Gifts are a gesture; a way of showing appreciation, of telling someone you’re thinking of them.

Who cares who gets a pan and who gets a plate? Why do I care? It’s clear no one else does. Hell, the people with pans didn’t even know about the existence of the plates, and vice versa. Well. Until now. But still – why do I place such high demands on myself for something that should be so much simpler? Why do I drive myself nuts?

But maybe there’s a lesson to be learned here.

Maybe it’s time I stop striving for perfection all the time, and learn to be content with good enough.

I KNOW!

Not only did we go out – we went out LATE. Like, MIDNIGHT late.

It was some crazy shit, y’all.

We were invited to a surprise party to celebrate the 40th birthday of one of our old friends. I won’t get into it much except to say it was a beautiful night filled with beautiful people, we got to meet lots of new friends and reconnect with some old ones.

It was a huge success all around, mainly, as the birthday boy’s mother pointed out, because the birthday boy has a way of making everyone feel good in his presence. It’s true. It’s a gift he’s got.

Truth be told, I really wanted to stand up and thank him, publicly, for introducing me to my husband (which he did) and for forever changing the course of my life. But when I realized my husband wasn’t the only in the room he had introduced me to, nor the only one in the room I had dated, I thought…. AWKWARD! and let it drop.

But the reason I bring this up is not to regal you with wonderful stories of my night at a fancy restaurant. No, the reason I bring this up is to draw your attention to the fact that I CANNOT stay up until 1 am on Saturday night and then be functional on Sunday.

Or Monday.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s rewind to Sunday morning, when I had to wake up at 8:00 am(!) to get my son to a birthday party called for 9:30.

I would have traded my left arm for an extra 1/2 hour of sleep when my alarm went off that morning. And that’s saying a lot because I’m left-handed. But I got out of bed, woke my son up and we got ready to go to a bowling party.

The entire time, all I could think was, Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to crawl back into bed right now. Going to that party was the last thing on earth I wanted to do.

I don’t know why, but right before we left the house I checked my email to make sure I had all the details right. It was only then that I noticed the note at the bottom of evite: Parents should drop their children off between 9:30 and 10:00 to get their bowling shoes…

I know. You’re probably thinking that I’m thinking that I could’ve sneaked in another 15 minutes of sleep. But you’re wrong. I was focusing on the “drop their children off” portion.

This was his first drop-off party.

I couldn’t stay.

And even though, mere minutes before, I was dreading having to go to this party, all of a sudden it was the most important event in the world to me.

I wouldn’t be able to watch him bowl.

I wouldn’t be able to watch him laugh and have fun with his friends.

I wouldn’t be off to the side, getting to know all the other moms and dads.

I wouldn’t have any photographs to mark the occasion, to look back on and say, “Remember your first bowling party?”

I wouldn’t get any cake.

I walked in with him and we found the room reserved for the party. Along the way, I chatted with some other moms, all of them wondering if we were really just dropping them off.

I spoke to the birthday boy’s father, and yes, sure enough, it was a drop-off.

I was devastated.

But I left. And joined almost every other parent at the grocery store across the way, killing 2 birds with 1 stone.

And while mostly I thought about food, I did have a moment where I was struck by the fact that this was just another step in the journey of him getting older. From here on in, he’ll only drift further and further away.

Relax, I told myself. It’s just a party.

And so, 2 hours later, when I went back to the bowling alley, I found 1 slightly frazzled father and a group of very happy kids on a sugar high. I couldn’t wait to hear about the game, his lunch, his friends.

“So,” I asked on the way out. “How was it? What’d you do? Tell me everything.”

“It was great,” he said.

And that was all I got.

Further and further away.

You can be damn sure that the next morning, when I walked him to school, I held on to his hand just a little bit tighter.

I figured it was Trouble falling down the last few stairs, as she often does. But my husband was in the living room and I knew he’d tend to her.

But a few minutes later, I heard him coming up the stairs. I fell asleep before I could figure out what was going on.

Turns out, as I learned the next day, my daughter had fallen out of bed. It was the first time. It was her whimpering that drew my husband upstairs.

He walked into her room and found her sitting cross-legged on the floor, pretty much asleep.

“Hey,” he said.

She opened her eyes and looked around.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“In your room.”

“What am I doing?”

“You fell out of bed.”

And then true to form, she narrowed her eyes into that squint we’ve come to know so well and said, “No, I didn’t.”

Even in the deadest of sleeps her first instinct is, deny, deny, deny!

***

The other day I wrote this post about how my character completely transforms the moment I get behind the wheel of my car, and how as a result I’ve been taking public transportation to work.

Public transportation is great, but there are drawbacks. Like, sometimes, you get stuck on a crowded metro car with someone who just stinks. I know, I know, it’s awful to say, but we’ve all been there.

On Wednesday, it happened to me. I was sitting on the metro, my bag in my lap, reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close on my Kindle when I noticed that someone smelled really bad.

Jeebus, I thought. What the fuck is that smell?

I looked all around but you can’t tell from looking. I suffered through a painful 8 minutes until we got to my stop.

I got off the metro and headed up the escalator. But I noticed the smell was still with me. I whipped my head around to see if I recognized anyone from the metro car… but no.

And that’s when it hit me. It was me. I was the smelly one.

Let’s take a few steps back.

On Tuesday evening, I was riding the metro home with my friend/colleague. I mentioned I was going to swing by the bagel place because my son loves when I make him bagels and cream cheese for lunch.

“Oh,” she said. “I love everything bagels. Do you  know where they sell them here?”

Everything bagels are essentially bagels with poppy seeds, sesame seeds, garlic and onion.

“I”m pretty sure they sell them where I’m going.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m thinking of having a friend ship me some from New York.”

We parted ways and I continued on to the bagel shop. I bought my bagels, and of course, bought one everything bagel for my friend. When I got home, I realized that if I put that bagel on the counter, my husband would zero in on it with that bizarre radar he has for things that are edible and don’t belong to him.

So I did the smart thing.

I put it in my bag.

***

So I swear to you, when I wrote that post about road rage, I knew absolutely nothing about the following movie. And that’s a pretty big admission on my part, seeing as IT’S MY JOB TO PROMOTE THESE MOVIES.

But in my defense, it had just gone up on the site that week, and I’ve got a pile of screeners on my desk a water bottle high.

But when I saw the title, my jaw dropped. Then I read the synopsis. Then I watched it. And then I knew I had to share it. Enjoy.

Gentleman Jekyll and Driver Hyde