I was going through the photos on my computer and I found these. I took them the morning Husband was due to arrive home from Buffalo. The girls waited in the window for Daddy. Something strikes me about this image. Seeing them there staring out, bodies bent with anticipation and longing, is both wonderful and devastating. Wonderful because it is a depiction of deep love. But devastating because this is so often how I feel. Like I am waiting for Dad.

When Husband arrived home, he parked his suitcase by the door and the girls climbed him like a tree. He hugged them, and Little Girl, and me. It was a happy moment.

But I will not have that happy moment, that anticipated reunion. Dad will not come down the steps, the loose change clanking in his khakis, flashing his mustache-obscured and incomparable smile. He will not fumble for his keys while he hums some opera, and come through the door and capture me in a hug.

I know these things. This is reality. But still, on some level, I will always be that little girl waiting, my legs curled under me on the windowsill of my world.

It’s been almost three years. Will this ever change? I hope so.

And I hope not.

________________________________________

Is the death of a loved one something you ever get over? Do you ever find yourself waiting for the return of those you’ve lost? Do you think it makes sense that I both want my wounds to heal and remain open?

Can you spot Big Girl? She’s the one with the fabulously long hair I refuse to cut

Her first ballet recital. Daddy and I linger in the back. Our smiles are wide.

I watch her flit by, a brilliant blur of soft pink. She is remarkably graceful and confident and I’m swollen with pride.

My little girl leaps across the floor, arms out, loose locks flying. An indelible image. Of youth. Of innocence. Of freedom.

______________________________________

Is there anything better than the feeling of pride? Do you think I should cut her hair or do you applaud my Project Rapunzel?

“How little do they see what really is, who frame their hasty judgment upon that which seems.”

Daniel Webster

Yesterday. Yesterday I published a brief post lamenting the fact that our beloved Nanny is on vacation for the next two weeks. In that post, I wondered – somewhat seriously, somewhat in jest – whether I will be able to hack it on my own with my three babes over the next stretch of time. Honestly? It struck me as a softball musing, as nothing truly profound nor controversial. Ultimately, I wanted to clue you all in to what I’m dealing with these days and why I might have a difficult time posting with regularity over the next little while.

Boy was I wrong. Perhaps foolish, but I didn’t anticipate that I would stir up such a debate. I guess I assumed that when it comes to life and parenthood we all do things differently, that there are many legitimate, if contrasting, ways to approach existence and child-rearing. Frankly, I didn’t anticipate being judged for my decision to have help.

How silly of me. How silly of me to not see this coming, this visceral and predictable reaction to my words.

Today I am thinking about judgment and whether it can be avoided. I’m not sure it can. As humans, we have the ability to reason and to judge. It is these very critical faculties that define us as a species. We would not survive a day in the world without the capacity to judge – whether a person is trustworthy, an action is safe, etc. To put it very simply (too simply, I reckon) to live is to judge.

Fine. But what about moral judgments? What about judgments about the way other people carry themselves and live their lives and raise their children? What about judgments about things that are not black and white and obvious, but exquisitely gray in essence? What about judgments about areas as complex as choice, as amorphous as affection? What about these kinds of judgment?

I don’t pretend to know. It may turn out that these judgments are rooted in who we are as people as well. That they too are wholly unavoidable. I imagine this is the case. But don’t we also have discretion? Isn’t discretion a kind of judgment? Isn’t it up to us which judgments we articulate and which ones we keep to ourselves, tucked safely in our whirring minds? I think so. I know so.

When is it okay to voice our moral judgments? Again, I haven’t a clue. But I think this is an important question. One worth thinking about. Particularly as it relates to very sensitive topics like parenthood.

Parenthood is a thorny and treasured land. For the most part, we all live in this land with good intentions. We adore our children and want what’s best for them. We hope that our kids are happy and healthy and grow up to be the same. Every day is an exercise in effort toward these important ends. And we all take different paths toward these more singular goals, don’t we? Some of us stay home. Some of us go to an office.

All of us work.

Because parenthood? It’s work. Incredibly important and intangible work. Work that compels us and confuses us. Work that makes us cheer and makes us cry. Work that is never ever over.

And so. I’m not sure this post has a tidy point, but that’s okay. These words – it turns out – are as murky as the topics they tangle. And perhaps that’s appropriate.

If there’s a message here, maybe it’s that we are human and fallible and that we are wired to make judgments. But maybe just maybe it is up to us to step back and evaluate our own judgments when and if they come. To pick them apart a bit and try to discern their origins. Maybe just maybe, it behooves us to realize that we are all really more alike than we are different. That we are all trying and failing, thriving and fumbling, living and loving and learning the best we can.

______________________________________________

Do you think it’s in our nature to judge? Do you think it’s also in our nature to use our discretion when airing our judgments or is this a skill we must learn along the way? Do you think some of us have less of a filter online given the quasi-anonymity that defines this space?

For the next two weeks, Nanny is on vacation. That’s fourteen days. Or 363 hours. Or 20160 minutes without help with the twinkling trio. Not that I’m counting.

Clearly I’m counting. And being dramatic. I will of course have the help of my dear Husband when he’s not working. We will be in Cape Cod for a long weekend over the Fourth of July with extended family and will have a ton of support. But. There will be several stretches of time in the near future when I will be flying solo with the girls. ‘Tis true.

I’m psyched. I know it will be a juggling act. I know I will be a stroller chauffeur between camp and home. I know the chaos will be legendary, but there is an important part of me that craves this challenge, and believes that I will – despite my trepidations – triumph.

I’m scared. I know that so many of you have very little assistance with your children and are graceful do-it-all-ers… But – for better or worse – I am not among this breed. Nanny has been with us since Big Girl was three months. I’ve gotten used to, and come to celebrate, good help. And maybe this makes me weak or spoiled or sensible – or maybe some combination of the three – but the next bit of time will be a departure from the norm for me and I’m nervous that I won’t hack it. That I’ll be outnumbered and overwhelmed. That I’ll get my mommy booty kicked by my beauties. (I will.)

Anyway. I’m here asking you to wish me luck. And I’m not sure what my blogging will look like over the next two weeks given all this. Initially, I thought this would be a good chunk of time to press pause and focus on family, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that you guys might be able to support me – and keep me sane – during this time.

Okay, I must run and grab that shower before the craziness commences

_____________________________________

Are you good at managing your life on your own or do you tend to rely on help? Do you think it makes me spoiled or sensible that I am so dependent on domestic support? Do you think that people are hesitant to admit that they depend upon, and need, help with their kids? Any tips on how to successfully survive the next bit of time with my bitty ones? Do you agree that blogs – and virtureal friends – offer us the friendship and support we sometimes might not get in our “real lives”?

Hands down, one of my favorite aspects of blogging has been the connections I’ve made in this odd and wonderful land. Truth be told, I didn’t enter the blogging ranks to find new friends, but it turns out I’ve made some. This has been a tremendous, if unanticipated perk, of being here. What’s even more amazing is that I’ve been fortunate enough to meet some of these blog buds in real life.

Who are these “virtureal” friends whom I’ve now encountered in person?

Well, first, there’s Lindsey. If you’re a regular here, I imagine you’ve visited Lindsey’s exquisite blog A Design So Vast as well. If not, please do so. I would say Lindsey is the first true blog friend I made. Over the past two-plus years, Lindsey and I have traded countless emails and have indulged in scores of meaningful phone conversations. Even though Lindsey lives many miles from Manhattan in Cambridge, Massachusetts I’ve hung out with her several times; she even attended my Life After Yes launch party. Lindsey has become a good friend of mine; Often, we blog about similar topics, about embracing life’s melancholy as rich material for our own thinking and writing. But even beyond our blogs, Lindsey and I have very similar attitudes it seems about life and love and parenting. She’s the real deal.

And then there’s Danielle. Again, many of you have likely heard of the fire-starting genius Danielle LaPorte. Well, I stumbled upon Danielle’s brilliant blog White Hot Truth when I first began blogging myself. Immediately, I was in love with her musings; It’s not often that you encounter a brethren modern day philosopher. I first met Danielle when I hosted a Firestarter gathering in my old apartment. And Danielle didn’t disappoint. She sat cross-legged in my big white wing chair and inspired us all. To think big and do big. To be who it is we are supposed to be. Recently, Danielle was in town for business and she made the effort to stop by and meet my girls. We sat in my garden sipping water from blue plastic wine glasses. She fed Little Girl a bottle while the big girls skipped around us. We talked about books and babies, about life and loss. I said to myself, She is a friend of mine. A real friend.

And then we have Gale. Gale was one of my first and loyal commenters here at ILI and these days writes beautifully at her own blog Ten Dollar Thoughts. I can always count on Gale to make me think, and to notice things I might not have otherwise. Gale and I email regularly and she is an exceedingly thoughtful and generous person; She checked in all the time during my pregnancy and sent me an incredibly meaningful baby gift when Little Girl was born. I’ve had the privilege of meeting Gale in person twice now. The first was a double date with our respective husbands. We went for a yummy Mexican meal and had a great time. More recently, Gale came to Manhattan on business and she and I went for dinner a-deux. Again, the conversation was rich. Another good and genuine friend.

And most recently? One week ago, I had lunch with Kristen of Motherese. Kristen is a fellow Yalie and mother of three. In fact, Kristen just welcomed her littlest babe (Baby Sister) one month before I welcomed my littlest babe (Little Girl). Kristen’s blog is one of my all-time favorites; She writes eloquently and uniquely about the world and wilderness that is modern motherhood. Over salads and ice coffees, Kristen and I covered much territory; the delicate balance between parenthood and prose, the dilemmas that come with blogging, the postpartum haze from which we are both just now emerging. I guess it could have been weird having lunch with someone I’ve never met before, but it just wasn’t. I sat there and quickly realized something: This is just a lunch date with a friend.

And there are others, wonderful others whom I’ve met more briefly. At BlogHer last summer (when I was newly pregnant with Little Girl and feeling terribly nauseous), I met some fabulous other bloggers: Mama from The Elmo Wallpaper, Denise from Musings de Mommy, Corinne from Trains, Tutus & Tea Time, Becca from Drama for Mama, Sarah from Momalom, Christine from Coffees & Commutes, Heather from The Extraordinary Ordinary and Heather from Theta Mom. I wish I felt better at the time and could have spent more time getting to know these women, but I trust we will all cross paths again. I hope so at least. And many months ago, I had pastries and coffee with Nic from My Bottle’s Up and her handsome husband. A few weeks ago, I finally had the privilege of meeting the fabulous and smart Kathryn of Marbury v. Madison Avenue at a delightful book party downtown.

I’m no doubt forgetting a few of you here. Hope not. The point though is not to rattle off a laundry list of names. The point, I think, has something to do with the fact that there are real and amazing people behind the blogs we all read. I think it’s easy to forget this, to lose ourselves in well-polished words and stunning stories, to stop at the screen. Blogs? They aren’t just cyber-stops. They are bits and pieces of real creatures, living and breathing and thinking and worrying individuals.

And I’ve been lucky enough to meet some of these individuals. To glimpse the smiles and souls behind the screens. To meet some new friends.

______________________________

Do you ever forget that there are real people behind the words you read – online or off? Have you made any friends online? Have you met any bloggers in real life? Were these people like you expected them to be or do you think we are all probably quite different in real life?

Are you a blogger in the Manhattan area? If so, would you be interested in possible “real life” meet-ups?