Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

We all want to be Detroit Hipsters but with less robbery.

The night before my sister's wedding The Hipsters showed up. When The Hipsters show up you better go to the bar with them and watch while they drink all the Miller High Life in the entire Upper Peninsula Of Michigan. Or at least all the Miller High Life at the bar that night.

I do not recall fighting with my sister in law but the pictures say otherwise. I think she was asking me if she is a hipster.

Please note Logan's index finger behind us pointing at that lovely curly haired Hipster.

Now look below and note my sister in law and I acting like feral cats readying for a fight. It looks
as if I'm limbering up my knuckles, but rather I'm considering my sister in law as a hipster.

Meanwhile, behind us, Curly Haired Hipster and Logan have come to terms with each other. He's quite handsome isn't he? My goodness when will Logan be home?

The next day we were at the reception location helping to hang about a billion paper cranes and scissors were hard to come by. My sister in law ran to her car and grabbed her emergency office supply kit. When she came back she said, "Do you think The Hipsters have emergency office supply kits in their cars?"

"Well, no....but they should. You're a new kind of hipster. One so hip they don't even know you're hip yet. You've got #2 pencils in there don't you? Next year all the hipsters will have emergency office supplies in their hipster jeans."

As we drove home, my sister in law text messaged me, "Your brother says I can't be a hipster if I have monogrammed beach towels. Is this true???"

I'm thinking we were definitely fighting about my sister in law's hipster-ness in the pictures above.

Can't Help It....Must Chime In....

Maddie would like to speak to someone about The Secret, maybe Oprah Winfrey.

"Dear Mrs Winfrey,

Every day since fourth grade started I have prayed to be sick. I have thought about what kind of illness I would like to have (a low fever with a stuffy nose perhaps) and have envisioned my day wrapped in blankets on the sofa, but most importantly, not at school.

Yet I continue to be a perfectly healthy child. The neighbors are sick and get fevers and still, I do not. Now my brother, who never wished to be sick at all, has a fever and gets to stay home from school.

He is only in first grade! First grade is EASY.

Please advise.

Maddie."

Max is home sick today with a fever and a throat which is sore "when I swallow my spit." This sounds like strep and God help me Oprah, I better not get it. I'm not even giving that thought any attention.

There's a little shit storm going on over at Sweet Juniper and I have to tell you when Dutch emailed me about this, I thought 'Wow that was stupid.' I was annoyed and surprised and it sealed my decision to officially cut ties with Strollerderby because I'd been thinking I needed to give more time to other projects but also because it felt weird having my name tied with something I found so....unpleasant.

However, I still wasn't particularly outraged.

But since then more people have come forward saying Babble did the same thing to them. More (copyrighted) pictures from Flickr users have been identified on the site and the Nerve CEO has lashed out in a defensive and unbecoming manner.

At Strollerderby there's a post about how they said they were sorry so why can't we just move on? They are not just a faceless corporation there are people behind the scenes here and they are sorry! (For the 3,4....5th time....because they've been sorry all along....I mean every time they've stolen other people's photos they've been really sorry!)

There are two messages coming out of this story currently. One is, "We're not just a big faceless corporation! We're bloggers too! We're part of this community!" The other is, "You're taking this out on us because we're a big corporation!"

Let's say tomorrow I create a new masthead with an image of someone else's child from another blogger's (copyrighted) Flickr stream. I think people would be a little annoyed with me and might wonder why I'd do that.

So I'd apologize, take it down and move forward. Until a few months later I do the same thing, someone catches it, I apologize again and take it down. Then a few months later I do it again.

I have a feeling the outrage would be pretty similar in this community and rightfully so.

I don't think any blogger would be surprised at this reaction. I suspect the reason Nerve Media is so defensive and surprised by the reaction here is the exact reason people are a little turned off by corporate blogs especially in the parenting realm.

Speaking of writing for commercial sites where we do not steal images from others and apologize for it 35 times before being taken to the mat for it, new posts!

What not to wear this Halloween @ The Buzz Off

and

My very boring but very exciting new workspace is taking shape @ Ordering Disorder.

He craves the human touch.

Tonight we're sitting by the trampoline and the wood fence trying to lure the neighbor's kitten, Maggie, into our yard with a dandelion. She's surprisingly easy to lure. Just shake a common weed through the fence and she can't help herself. She's coming over.

Maddie is in charge of the luring, because she knows how best to do it. Never mind we're just shaking a weed at Maggie to make her come under the fence into our yard.

Max and I are sitting in the grass watching Maddie do it best and his hand goes to my back.

Not to get my attention, just because he's talking to me. I swat at a mosquito on my arm and he pulls away. A minute later he puts his hand back where it was. "Remember the other night when Dad showed me that flip he can do?" [On the trampoline.]

I look at him, waiting for the joke or the goofy voice. No, he just wants to share that flip, earnestly.

"Yeah, I remember. That was fun," I tell him.

"I love those flips."

Sometimes at dinner, when he's sitting next to Logan he puts his hand on his back while he eats his dinner. He keeps shoveling food into his mouth, but his hand rests on Logan's back. It's as if he doesn't notice he's touching the person sitting next to him.

It's like he feels grounded by physically touching the person next to him.

It heals me.

It's practically a jacuzzi.

So far the best thing about having 2.5 bathrooms isn't the fact that we don't have to pee in front of each other. It's also not the fact that we'll never have to spit into the same sink at the same time, maybe (once.....or twice) getting spit on the other person.

No, the best thing about these bathrooms are the four sinks Gary sleeps in each night. He's pretty pleased with the current living situation.

I have lots and lots of great costume inspiration for you at The Buzz Off and also at Ordering Disorder, I made muffins out of what appeared to be dog food. But they taste pretty good. I mean good enough to eat three of them in a row, if you lack self control.

That side door holds endless possibility.

For a few years now I've said I wanted to move. I've also mentioned my desire to move to an entirely different state. Logan shudders to hear this because he happens to live with two people who react to change like a cat being dunked repeatedly into a cold pool of water.

Additionally, it's taken me 31 years of my life to find my very best friends and I'm not actually very good at making friends. Note please the prior 31 years where I did not have best friends. So I have to forgive Logan for not jumping on board the Melissa Wants Out train.

Then, right before we signed on to this house, he was offered a transfer. For the last five years I've hoped there would be a transfer or an out of town job which would call out to him and say, "Hey! Let's have an adventure!"

And here it was, at just about the most perfect time. We had no house commitments, the kids hadn't started school. We were at a perfect place for this kind of transition. I felt dizzy with the sudden possibility dropped in our laps just as we reached what I thought was our ultimate goal. The Dream Neighborhood.

When Logan came home that night he said, "You don't want to move out of state now do you?"

And my mind flipped through all the places his job has offices. "It's just for 18 months," he said.

Where could it be?

London? New York? CHICAGO!!!!

But no, it wasn't any of those options. It was Los Angeles.

Los Angeles is more than a lovely place. People love it. When I mentioned to friends this was an option on the table, they assured me not everyone in southern California is totally insane. That there are tons of places to live where people are just like any other people you'd ever meet. I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb they told me.

The thing I couldn't get past is that cost of living thing. I didn't want to be the crazy lady at the market, roaming around screaming at the grocer, "You're charging HOW MUCH for yogurt? It's YOPLAIT! It's just yoplait! How can you charge this much for yogurt? How do you live with yourself? Why are you walking away from me?"

I also looked at the price of housing and I started screaming at the screen, "You're charging WHAT for 900 square feet!?"

I realize it's expensive to live in Chicago and even more so in New York. But perhaps it's the Quaker in me, but I can see myself living in these places. Enduring through the winters, appreciating the summers for what they are. I can easily picture myself raising a family in Chicago and I can imagine raising a family in a suburb of New York, at least for 18 months.

I can't picture what raising my family in London would look like but when I conjure up what I think it might look like it seems reasonable. Maddie would just change her name to Frances and Max would get a real haircut, not that lame half a haircut his dad keeps getting for him. We could do this, at least for 18 months.

Somehow I couldn't get my brain to really wrap around Los Angeles. So we decided to go forward with our lease and let Logan's boss know we were interested in relocation elsewhere if the opportunity arises. (Another reason a year lease was more appealing than buying right now) (Also appealing: Continually dropping housing prices!)

All of that seemed smart at the time and the new neighborhood has worked out as fabulously as we dreamed it would.

Except Logan still has to go to Los Angeles every few weeks from now until quite a while and uh.....this is kind of a drag. Refreshingly, it's not a drag because I have little kids and they wear me out.

It's only a drag because I miss him. Even when his clutter and stupid fucking yearly marathon training is driving me completely insane, I am still so happy when he walks through the side door at the end of the day. This might be the night we make fabulous plans for our future. It might be the night we commiserate over our sometimes difficult daughter. Maybe we'll have a night where we make each other laugh breathlessly. Or maybe he'll work until 2am and we'll slam doors and be irritated with each other. You never know.

When I'm by myself I know what the evening holds: endless hours of really bad television in the form of Law and Order: SVU. I can't help myself. If, God Forbid, I ever end up permanently solo, Internet, promise me you'll come to my house and block all Law and Order from my cable and forbid me from getting any more cats.

Los Angeles really wasn't the right move for us, not without a significant raise (not offered). But still tonight I'm thinking maybe Maddie would look great as a blonde and Max might never have to know the hell that is the long gray winter.

Also this is a very big house to be alone in.

We'll be there.

The swearing thing is probably already blown.

The other day I attended a meeting at the New School which was a sort of orientation for volunteers. Volunteering is something I did not do a lot of at the Old School apart from standing in the hall motioning people toward the voting booths and the occasional open mouthed gaping in my son's out of control kindergarten room. My position was Parent Gaper.

I've made it a personal rule not to write very much about the new school because writing about school in general has gone REALLY AWESOMELY for me in the past. But I will say the new school has been a great experience entirely free of the freaky long haired swinger of the past. There may be swingers there but they don't corner you and make you fear for your life. If they're here they're quiet and maintain some grooming habits and that's all you can ask for.

I've been doing a little work for Maddie's teacher each Wednesday and the other day she asked me to make a double sided copy, "So we can save paper." She said, as if making a double sided copy is something so easy anyone can do it! Like you just hit a button and Bam! You've got yourself a double sided copy.

If we ever wondered where Maddie gets her divine sense of worry and doom it is once again confirmed it is my fault. I take total responsibility. It's Logan's fault though she has so many clothes they won't fit in her dresser. The mass of stuffed animals are also his fault.

As I walked down the copy room I fretted over the double sided copies and how stupid am I that I can't figure out a copy machine? That I have no idea how to do this off handed thing the teacher wanted and I'm no help at all to this woman if I can't even make a double sided copy. The week before she asked me to unwrap a set of books and stamp them with the name of the school. But I couldn't find the stamp so I just spent an hour writing the name of the school inside about 165 books. I'm getting an F in volunteering.

So that's why I decided to attend this meeting and now I know how to make double sided copies and die cuts and I can even bind a book for you if you need it. But only if it's for the school because that would be abusing my volunteering skills.

During the meeting the principal came in and said thank you for volunteering and mentioned how the policy in the district for volunteers will be changing and soon we will all need fingerprints on file.

I really wanted to sigh loudly and mutter, "That God Damn mess in Idaho keeps chasing me down."

But I didn't because this is the new school and at the new school they will think I'm nice. And I never swear. And am not a fugitive.

I need all kinds of professional help.

This entire house is painted Fuck It White.

The man who owns this house (who may or may not be reading this website) is a bachelor and he spent a lot of time and money fixing a lot of things which were wrong with the house.

Mainly the second floor which was inconveniently on the first floor. The house was empty, it was winter....something with pipes and water. I'm pretty sure the man who owns this house felt a little about this house like I felt about the old house. Defeated and maybe a little hostile.

So when he finished all the work replacing the floors, windows, roof, furnace, cabinets, counters.......I think he just said, "Fuck it. Paint it all white."

It's Pratt & Lambert I'm reasonably sure.

Painting a great number of rooms at the same time has proven beyond my capability. A neighbor, one of the many we often converse with and enjoy the company of (how novel!), brought us an entire color deck from a certain paint manufacturer. Paint manufacturers make a lot of different colors and it was a little overwhelming.

Logan and I often remark how silly it would be to travel to, say, New York City, and go to a Bennigans restaurant. Not just because Bennigan's is a place void of any local flavor at all, except the manufactured kind, but also because Bennigan's makes food which tastes like average. You go to Bennigans in New York City because you recognize the name and it narrows down your choices when you don't know where else to eat.

However, with paint, I admit it, I need a narrowed playing field. Looking at that color deck on the floor of my den made me briefly consider painting my back room neon yellow. That's not good for anyone.

So I called the same women, from Menagerie Redesign who came to my house before it went up for sale.

I did this after I spent just over $30 on quarts of the wrong paints. I thought I wanted a chocolate brown and I chose first something resembling someone's unpleasant poo and then something which was mostly gray and brought out the gray in the mortar on the exposed brick in the room. Which is like using makeup to bring out the dullest feature on your face.

You can see the colors I chose under the window on the left side of this image.

So Julie and Jane came over and narrowed in on a color. They had the big deck of colors which a month earlier perplexed me and flipped through with precision. They ended up debating 3 or 4 colors as I watched with my mouth hanging open.

They landed on one option with such certainty I was ready to paint every room in my house that color. Instead they recommended I go to the store and buy the little paint samples to try it out. Yesterday I finally put the color up on the wall.

It's true hiring someone to help you choose a paint color is an extra expense but I could have saved myself some money and effort by starting out with the help. We don't hire painters so if I change my mind about the color after it's on the wall, I'm repainting it all. I don't hate painting but I lose patience with it about halfway through. If I have to do it twice, I'm unhappy.

And, since it's my goal to not whine about anything house related for the next year, this just can't be.

Thankfully it worked out very well. It's a color (Benjamin Moore Shelburne Buff HC 28) I never would have chose on my own, but it is the perfect color for these walls.

Best of all it isn't white.

Struck Mute.

I had no idea the kind of vitriol the Duggars would elicit. Or perhaps I had no idea how much disdain my post referencing the Duggars would elicit. Everyone turn on your period and let's move along.

I sort of wish babies came out of the womb going to school all day.

This new experience of having everyday to get things done AND have time for myself has been everything I thought it would be. I worried maybe I'd become jaded about how nice it is to be free to fill my time with what I need/want to do for seven hours everyday. But no, it's still thrilling everyday. Especially once I've completed my work. Please see here, here, here and here. (Back log. Sorry!)

All summer I had grand plans for these hours. I'll go to yoga everyday! I'll go out to lunch! I'll see a movie in the middle of the day! So far I've done none of these things, although today I plan to paint the back room and that is excruciatingly exciting.

But still the fact that I can do these things is pleasing.

I keep waiting for the comment to come along: "My God, aren't you ever unhappy?"

If only it worked this way a lot of people's problems would be solved.

My friend is telling her six-year-old daughter about the Duggers and how they just welcomed their 17th gift from God.

"That's a lot of babies. I guess she forgot to turn on her period."

Trifecta.

While we were in Texas this spring my friend's dog sniffed at a dead bug and then, because she loved the smell of that dead bug so much, started rolling around in it. Jamming her face in it, spreading her back all over that dead bug.

Since we moved here I've felt like a dog trying absorb all the good on my fur. I keep rolling around in it over and over.

The house, the neighborhood and, now that the kids are settled into school 7 hours a day, I'm living in a trifecta of good.

I sort of want all this good to get into my skin.

Tag Team Insanity.

I'm so proud of Madison this week.

I'm so proud of me.

Each day of school has gotten easier for Maddie. She is, again, just like me in the way she convinces herself when something feels bad or not right, it will always and forever feel that way. Amen.

Logan and I patiently listened to her discontent and I told her it would get better. I told her it would get better, even though I wasn't sure it would. Even though I spent several days at home without her with a lump in my throat and heartburn worrying about how it was going.

I reminded her of times she was afraid and did it anyway, like on the big slide at the pool in Indy. I told her about times she made new friends quickly, like at the wedding when she met a new girl and then played Go Fish with her a lot of the night.

I told her people like to talk to people who smile, that a frown on your face, no matter what the reason, puts a lot of people off. I told her to be herself, to show them all how fun she is to be around.

When Maddie picked out a 'mean girl' on the first day of school and then the 'mean girl' walked up to say hello on the third day of school I gently suggested maybe she wasn't a mean girl after all.

I pulled all this parenting out of my ass and unbelievably, it worked. Things have gotten better for her.

The other day while Maddie and I waited for the bell to ring a little girl walked up and said, "Are you Maddie? Weren't we on a soccer team together in first grade?" Maddie didn't recognize her but I did so I said, "Oh yes! I remember you. Remember Maddie, she was our star player?"

And this little girl looked at Maddie and said, "I thought you were a really good player."

I know there are mean girls in school, and I know there will always be difficult people in her life. But I hope Maddie finds all those nice girls and surrounds herself with them.

Of course things are better with Madison and now Max is fighting back tears at the beginning of the day. He's a lot like Logan so he'll have to tackle this with him.

*New posts at Buzz Off and Ordering Disorder. Bento lunches, recipe binders, yard sale tips and small chairs all just waiting for you.

Tales Of A Chronic Pack Rat

We bought a lamp to go in Logan's apartment right after we were engaged in 1996. It was a very simple lamp, clean lines in silver with a round lamp shade and a handy pull chain to turn it on and off. This lamp cost about $20 from Target and we had it in Logan's apartment, then that same apartment when we shared it after our wedding and finally in the home we bought.

We've had the lamp for about 11 years, we replaced the shade twice and in the move the latest shade broke and a couple weeks before we moved the pull chain fell off the lamp making it entirely unusable since, you know, it couldn't turn on.

I thought, when we moved we might consider just dumping the lamp since it was a $20 lamp from Target and not a priceless antique. It gave us 11 good years and when you amortize the purchase, we spent less than $2 a year on the lamp and we could maybe just buy a new lamp.

But no, we couldn't dump the lamp because Logan could fix it! It'd be fine! He'd get to it.....at some point. Logan has a hard time parting with the things we have. It doesn't matter if we use them, need them, could replace them with something a little better. If we have it, we need it. Last night he realized I'd discarded a (sort of ugly) table he purchased 20 years ago for $10 in the move.

"Where's that table we used to have the on the porch."
"I think I left it at the old house."
"What?! I love that table. I bought that table when I lived in Chicago."
"Baby, it was an ugly, unstable and dirty table. You don't need the ugly table so you can remember Chicago. I promise."

I have a very hard time holding onto things I don't like, don't need or don't use. I give away so much the donation guys at Salvation Army know my name and recognize my car coming up the alley. I don't want it in my house and if I miss it at some point, you know what? I'll buy it.

Yesterday we cleaned the garage and found space for Logan's beer brewing supplies, though he hasn't brewed beer in over two years. I also found space for his large collection of unfinished model cars, he hasn't worked on one for seven years. Oh and the two motorcycle helmets he still has even though he hasn't owned a motorcycle for over six years. Oops! Forgot the collection of glass and stained glass tools....though he hasn't worked with stained glass for around eight years.

When we started the process of preparing the house for sale Logan said, "I love living with less stuff!"

Over the last six months I've realized Logan actually likes living with less of my stuff so there's more room for all his crap.

As we finished the garage, I once again held up that stupid non-functioning $20 lamp and asked, "Uhm...where should I put this?"

I then helpfully suggested a few places, "How about there? Oh....that's where your beer crap is. Oh! I know how about there? Hmm....model cars. Okay I know over there! Darn it! Motorcycle helmets."

Finally he had a suggestion, "Just throw out the damn lamp."

Done.

Now to tackle the basement. There may be fist fights.

I think I love my landlord.

Right after we moved in to the new house, we realized the washer was leaking water all over the basement. At first this was upsetting because I don't really want to pay for it to be fixed, or worse buy a new washer. But then I remembered the thing about how we don't own this house so we called our landlord and he called back and said, "A new washer is coming today."

And I decided right then I never want to own a house again, except for the tax issues involved. But otherwise, never again.

Then last night, I suddenly realized I was drowning in a pool of sweat. My mother is afraid of using the air conditioning in her house (and her car). In fact she often tells me all about her thermostat settings with great pride. "I set it at around, you know 88 degrees, just to cut the humidity."

When I didn't have central air in my living space I honestly had to chew on my arm to keep myself from slapping my mother. I had to change the subject before suggesting she just get it over with and go live on the surface of the sun or better yet, maybe she should trust the air conditioning and the fact that God invented it so she could be comfortable in her own home and car.

So last night when I discovered myself sitting in a pool of sweat I wondered why because I actually enjoy being comfortable in my own home and often set the thermostat at 70 degrees, or if I'm feeling especially hedonistic 68 degrees.

After setting the thermostat at 32 degrees and noting the temperature in the house was still 88 degrees, I figured out something was wrong with the air conditioning.

Instead of sobbing about money and trying to fit in all our expenses into our income and OH GOD WHY DID WE BUY A HOUSE!!!??? I called our landlord and he's sending someone over to take a look. Of course, this all hinges on a contractor making time for this job in his busy schedule and it's 88 degrees with a lot of humidity and unlike my mother I don't consider this very comfortable.

Madison is doing a little better at school, her teacher is giving her plenty of opportunities to meet people and there were far less tears at the end of the day. I don't think the girls in her class are particularly unkind, Maddie complained no one liked her last year even when each morning I'd watch a group of three girls run up to greet her excitedly at the door.

We'll get through this and I'm just going to have to hope I'm helping her as much as I can (without becoming a helicopter parent) so she can hate me for other reasons as an adult.

As God as my witness she won't hate me because I can't properly utilize air conditioning! I promise you that.

New post about Growth Charts at The Buzz Off and I'm organizing things over at Ordering Disorder as well.

Anxiety: it's what's for lunch.

In shocking news the internet reaches all the way into the upper peninsula, they must have a very large extension cord. The drive was so long. So very, very, very long. Every time I started to feel sorry for myself I had to remind myself that my brother and his wife had to drive up from Indianapolis and that's even longer. I also had to remind myself of the idealistic people of the world who don't believe in portable dvd players in the car. Thank God we have no ideals and plenty of dvds because everyone arrived alive. If I were to do the trip over again, I'd probably break out the orange triaminic since my kids slept for about 35 minutes total in our 20 hours of travel.

The wedding was a lovely affair. My sister folded 1000 paper cranes which several family members helped to string up and put around the room. If you ever wondered what about 250 paper cranes looks like, here you go.

While we strung the cranes someone drank this. This drink I thought was a joke. It's like water....light!

Still the cranes turned out lovely at the reception.

Logan also made this for my brother (along with several others) after a florist mishap screwed up the order. The man can do anything, except fill the ice tray and put his clothes into the laundry chute.

In the end it was a beautiful wedding with a radiant and incredibly happy bride and that's all that matters.

Well it also matters that my sister in law, who has had the same bottle of vodka in her freezer since Logan and I's visit in August of 2006, drank four drinks plus a shot. Yes, they were bitch pops (plus a very girlish shot), but still.

Maddie was in the wedding and I worried a little that the stress of having people, you know, looking at her would be hard. The one time I was a flower girl, I walked down the aisle until the row my parents were in and then ran to them. I was so ashamed of myself I am looking down at the ground in all the pictures from that wedding. That particular uncle remarried and I was not in the wedding and I didn't ruin all their pictures either.

I braced myself for the worst as we rehearsed the event and kind of mentally prepared myself for the distinct possibility she wouldn't be able to do it. Maddie acknowledged she was nervous before we went down the aisle, or rather into the courtroom, but she marched out and was everything you'd expect a nearly 9 year old to be as a flower girl. Poised and happy. (Score another for expecting the worst and getting the best. Thank you Universe, again.)

Armed with this new side of my daughter, I thought she might just do great on her first day of school in a new school as a fourth grader. I expected the best so much, since she went to bed without tears and only expressed her concerns mildly throughout the day, I never once let a negative thought cross my mind. She'll be fine, I thought, she's grown up so much.

I didn't worry all day. Logan left her in the room talking to a couple girls and I thought she'd be fine. I didn't worry about it all day as I wrote this and then this. I was foolish enough to expect the best when I picked her up in the afternoon.

Max came out and told me what an "awesome" day he had. Who he played with, what he learned and all about his new teacher. Then Maddie came out and there were tears and many tales of the meanest girls you've ever heard of. They don't want to play with you even though they said they would, the lunch monitor thinks it would be better if you jumped off a cliff (she's certain that's what she was thinking), the new music teacher is the one you had a year ago and you hate her.

 

I thought if I expected positive, I got positive?

Tonight I'm saying lots of things like, "Every day will get better." And, "Remember how hard kindergarten was? That got better right?" And, "All you need is to find one friend. One friend will make it easier, you just have to keep trying."

And I'm saying all that and I'm trying to believe it. But I also know fourth grade is the prime time for cliques and I know how hard it is to get used to a new place and my heart is breaking for my daughter. I wish this wasn't so hard for her.

I wish it wasn't so hard for both of us.