Unfortunately the doubts are in my head, so I can’t squish them like blood sucking mosquitoes, or pause my tv and then speed up past the commercials.

Questions plague my days and nights. Who are these two beings in my dreams? What do they represent? What’s the hidden meaning behind my dog and cat sleeping together? It’s possibly something very perverse.

When I wake up the day time doubts take over. I ask myself questions about what to do. Should I straighten my hair or should I let it go wild? Should I clean and do the laundry or should I sit on the couch and watch Dora, while secretly routing for Swiper? Should I get Botox?
I should definitely, most certainly wax my eyebrows.

What about them?

Will she be ok?

Will she get to a healthy weight?

Will he be all right wherever he goes next?

Why is his picture so small? Because for some mysterious reason it was gigantic when I tried to download it so I had to put it as a thumbnail – some type of omen maybe.

Are people looking at my lips because they are nice and plump or because there’s something stuck on them?

Me, answers? I have no clue what I want for dinner!

What are doubts mommy?

I’m ok, I found this little headband and look I’m smiling now.

Too much thinking, just climb on the subway poles for crying out loud!

Still smiling!

Take this jacket off me instead of wondering whether it’s too hot in here!

And then the big guy chimes in.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I’m becoming obsessed with Nancy Drew. Maybe it’s because I grew up in Italy and we didn’t read Nancy Drew, but I love her and her dad.

Luisa and I are reading this book right now:

Sometimes when she falls asleep I keep reading, then doubts assail me and I’m not sure I can justify reading the book to myself. Eventually I stop and fight the urge to wake up my daughter to tell her that we have to find out what happens next.

My six year old Anna and five year old Eva are really into this book right now:

They are fascinated by the vascular system and even though the discovery that the heart isn’t really shaped like a heart, or that the brain seems squishy makes them laugh and run around the house screaming that we’re so weird inside, they’re actually learning something.

Most importantly they are certain that they’ll never become doctors, nurses, or people who give shots.

Livia who’s 3 yrs old and Nina who’s one and a half love the kinds of books that they can touch:

Sometimes we spend a long time reading books – an activity which is interspersed with fighting and hording as many ‘cute’ books as possible.

But it’s fun.

All of it is a ride I wouldn’t want to miss.

Lately I had been feeling that I couldn’t keep up with my work because my daughters need my attention, and I want to give it to them. We”, I can;t keep up with it so I’m learning to stay in these moments, which I wouldn’t change for anything in the world.

Plus Livia even takes her books to the splash pad because she simply has to ‘read’.

I got in the van early in the morning and had the girls wear pretty dresses. I wore black pants and a black shirt and no make up. I consider the fact that I managed to look decent a great accomplishment, make up would have been pushing it — too much stress on myself.

Holidays are tougher for me because I always miss my loud and warm Italian family back in Rome. It’s an ache, not a pain, but my thoughts wonder to the holidays with them and my heart grows a bit heavier during these occasions.

Easter, Christmas, birthdays….back home they meant relatives, great food, gossip, more great food, more relatives, more gossip.

Today I tried to create the traditions I grew up with for my daughters. I admit, doing it alone is a bit tougher than doing it with my peeps.

The church was packed. I could tell before I even got to the parking lot. I parked on the grass, where I shouldn’t have and where many other cars had already parked because I didn’t want to walk with all the girls without the stroller. Lazy on a sunny and windy Easter day.

When we got to the church we were 10 minutes late. As soon as I approached the entrance an USHER opened the door for me and urgently informed that:

“THE CHURCH IS PACKED THERE IS NO ROOM”. I kid you not, he stared me down. And I heard attitude in his voice and saw it in his guarded posture.

I replied:
“Are you telling me that there is no room for me and my family TODAY? In this church?” You can imagine my tone. I reserve that tone when I interrogate someone hostile or when my children throw objects at each other and fail to stop at the first warning.

Of course, I didn’t wait for his reply. I just walked inside the church and shook my head vigorously mumbling some mysterious Italian words.

Is it just as bad on the sin scale if I swear in a different language in a church? No one could hear my words ….or read my lips for that matter. Maybe it’s not as bad.

Anyway, we made it inside the church and the girls and I stood in a corner. My daughters miraculously made it through the entire mass without yelling or killing each other. In fact, some good Samaritans came over to comment on how well behaved the girls were, and offered us their seats.

I tried to keep a positive attitude after the mean USHER episode, because I really wanted to make my time count. I haven’t been very good at going to church, and by going to church I mean elevating myself beyond the mundane stuff and my own torturing doubts.

I find myself inpatient or short tempered often, while driving in heavy traffic, writing for a deadline, trying to keep the girls on track, arguing with my husband about my speed and his lack of speed and the worse stressor of all:

Bad, bad pizza. It triggers bouts of anxiety and panic that there isn’t a decent pizza joint within a 50 miles radius from our home. I checked, and checked and hoped only to be disappointed.
How many times can a heart be broken?

Today I tried to forget about my broken heart, to be above the things that get me and to be thankful for all that I have which is truly a lot.

Hope you all had a great Easter.

Click here to view the embedded video.