The Sleepover. Except Not Really.

Growing up sleepovers were a huge part of my childhood. My friends and I were constantly at each others' houses, staying up way too late eating snacks and sweets, giggling under sleeping bags and playing "light as a feather, stiff as a board." I have all happy memories. And the older I get, and the more I hear, the more I realize that having only happy memories associated with sleepovers isn't always the norm.

And so last night Henry had his first "sleepover." Except it wasn't really a sleepover, because his friend's Mom (one of my closest girlfriends) spent the night too. For us, that will always be the extent of sleepovers with friends. Either it will be with our longtime family friends, and it's more of a family affair with me there too at their house or ours, or we'll do more of a "sleep-under" where friends can come over in their pajamas, watch movies...then go home by 10pm. Or if it's a sleepover somewhere else Henry can do the same. And maybe that seems overprotective, but regardless of his age- four, ten, thirteen- I can't imagine I will ever feel comfortable letting him go to a friend's house to spend the night.

There are so many articles on the topic, and opinions vary, I know. But for me, there are too many unknowns, and hearing too many stories of sexual abuse has made me much more aware of those unknowns. At the root of it I wouldn't ever want my children sleeping somewhere where there could be someone else there that we don't know. An older sister or brother. A neighbor. A visiting relative. And it's not even that- I am fully aware that I cannot control everything and that abuse most often happens with people we already know, but I feel like if I can do anything to keep him even a little safer, I will.

And I know it's easy now to say "no sleepovers." I have a baby and an almost four-year old. Simple stuff because they don't know the difference. But I wonder what it will be like when I have a preteen begging to spend the night at a friend's house, and feeling like I'm making my child miss out on fun times? We'll see. If I've learned one thing over the past four years as a parent it's to never say never, so I won't...but I at this point in our life I can't imagine I'd ever be okay with it.

I'm curious on your thoughts, too. Where do you weigh in? Are you all for sleepovers, or will they be something you won't or don't allow? I'd love to hear your opinion.

Like a Safety Net

I've been thinking a lot about our day-to-day, and how all of these little moments roll into overarching feelings that define seasons and stages of our lives. When I wake up in the morning and I'm getting ready, it's weird because I know I won't remember this particular morning but I know I'll remember the feeling of morning, and be able to go back and pull little pieces and glimpses from the section of my mind where all the mornings in my little world belong. And I think of childhood in that way too. I can't remember everyday, or even many days, but I have an overwhelming feeling of happiness. Safety. Fun. Henry and Charlie might not remember me sitting with them every morning, sunlight streaming in through the living room windows, us on the couch, reading books...but they will remember that feeling, because it all rolls together, day after day after day. Same with our picnic lunches, walks to the mailbox, the quiet way Henry and I kind of sigh into each other on the couch before bed. And so that saying comes to mind, it's not what you do every once and awhile that is your life, it's what you do everyday. Or something. And it goes with the bad days too, you know. On the days when I lose my temper or feel frustrated, uninspired, use the television to fill our time, this is not everyday. The foundation we am building here, the feeling we have most days, magic and learning and excitement, all of that is there. The freedom to be whoever you may be. Acceptance. Positivity. All of this rolls and rolls and rolls day after day until one morning my boys wake up and they are no longer babies, but grown. And they'll take with them all of it, wrapped up neatly into little packages in their mind, all kind of tied up with little labels stuck neatly on top. If I'm lucky and keep doing my best, my greatest hope in the world is that the feelings we have now flourish into the defining themes of their childhood. Love. Trust. Fun. Acceptance. So I'll keep on keeping on, growing and loving day after day, and remain hopeful that they will always feel this great big love Hank and I have for them. And that on days they might feel anything but, my hope is that those feelings will rise up like a safety net, catching them wherever they may be, and remind them of where they come from and that no matter what, love has always been there.

In A Flash

So yesterday we went to check out a preschool for Henry. Before we even visited I had a feeling it would be "the one" based on what we've heard from friends and the research I did, and I was so happy to find that it was indeed everything I had hoped. But my goodness, I was not prepared for the emotions I'd be feeling as we sat in the class Henry will soon be a part of and watched them sing and laugh and answer questions. Henry jumped in and found his place in the circle, sitting right down there on the letter "P," singing the ABCs with all of his heart. And at the end he clapped, turned around and smiled at me, making sure I was still there and making sure I saw how wonderfully he had sang the song.

I know next week when he actually goes off to his first day my tears will come, but tonight I'm feeling them too. I've written countless times about how I feel like such a huge part of parenting is letting go a little more everyday. And it really is. There was a part of me that thought the day when Henry would be starting school wouldn't happen for a long time. And I guess three years is a long time, but it doesn't feel that way. Not at all.

But even as I type this I'm filled with so much excitement. It's a small program- 2 teachers for 14 kids, and it's a really special school that focuses on "the whole child." When we took our tour I saw art everywhere, music, a community garden, and in the preschool classroom itself I saw learning mixed into everything they were doing. It's hard, because there's a huge part of me that would love to homeschool my babies all of their life, but what's right for my family and our boys is this. And so off he goes next week, taking those first teeny tiny steps towards growing up. Leaving behind a bit of his baby-hood and stepping into these new bigger-boy shoes. And I guess that means I'll have to step into some new shoes too, as I navigate this next phase of our life, dropping off and picking up and filling time. Like I always tell Henry, we're both learning. And next week he'll be stretching those wings a little bit more all while I'm learning how to let go a little more. We're both growing up in a way, and even though tiny bits of me may be sad about change, I know the best is really yet to come.

Be Careful

This morning the boys and I walked down to the park to meet up with my friend Lauren and her daughter Brooke, toy cars and a bag to collect rocks and leaves in tow. We've had the most beautiful weather lately, those kind of days that start out really cold but then slowly, slowly warm up ever so gently as noon rolls around; the kind where you begin the day bundled up but by afternoon you're in a t-shirt and jeans. Pretty perfect.

And today we walked down to the park in this gorgeous weather, and ran into another friend and her boys. I always find it fascinating to watch Henry interact with other kids, and even more fascinating to hear a lot of the things I say to him come out of his mouth. One of the boys had a toy car Henry so badly wanted to play with and I was curious how he would handle the situation with an unfamiliar playmate- we work on sharing all day, everyday, but with each other and our familiar friends, like Max and Brinley- not always with people we don't know. So I stood back and watched. I heard him say so politely, "hi, may I have a turn? I'd really like to try out your toy." And this very sentence just so happens to be what I say to him when we're playing, almost verbatim. It was wild to realize that yes, this parenting thing is working, and also crazy to think about how much he is taking in, even when I don't always notice.

So the morning went on and the kids kept playing, and soon the boys ventured away from the climbing equipment and onto the hiking trail that's directly behind the larger playground. My first instinct was to tell Henry not to go (what if there were snakes in the grass! or sharp, thorny bushes! or...something!) but I held back my immediate urge to yell "Henny, be CAREFUL!" and instead thought about my own childhood. I grew up in the forest, trees on all sides, deep, deep woods for acres and acres. My sister and I would spend hours exploring- turning over rocks, collecting leaves and acorns, digging in the dirt and taking the trails behind our home when we got a bit older. I remember so much of that, and I remember feeling safe and protected. But what I don't remember is my Mom yelling, "Danielle! Be CAREFUL!" every two minutes, or anytime she may have felt like we could get dirty or hurt.

Parenting, in a nutshell, is letting go of your child a little more everyday. It's growing together while growing apart, and giving them enough room to become who they will be. I'm learning this. And although it's hard for me to embrace my laid-back side, the side that doesn't mind when Henry jumps into a mud puddle with his "good" shoes on, or wants to venture into uncharted territory without holding my hand, I'm realizing that all of this is important in Henry's growth. Outside of normal situations that are just plain unsafe, he needs to be free to explore and learn and figure out things on his own. At almost three my baby boy is truly turning into his own person, and the only way he will ever fully become that person is for me to let go of my own tendencies to hold on maybe a little too tight.

So today when I held back my "be careful" and instead watched Henry run through the fields of thorny bushes and yellow flowers, I got to see my little boy grow a little older and gain a little more confidence. And guess what? He was careful, without me even saying a word. And when playtime was over and it was time to pack up and walk home, my wild-child dug a half-crushed flower out of the pocket of his gray jeans and said, "for you, Mommy."

This parenting stuff is tricky, but I'm learning a little more everyday, right alongside Henry and Charlie. And this yellow flower is sitting here on my desk, to remind me that it's okay to let kids be kids. I don't have to control every moment, hold Henry back because of my own fears. We work on building him up, and everyday we need to teach him to fly, little by little, until one day, he can do it all on his own.

Henry's Big Kid Bed- Making the Transition

You know that saying- "if it ain't broke, don't fix it?" Well that exactly how I felt about the whole "big boy bed" situation. Although I felt size-wise he was absolutely ready to make the transition, he had never really climbed out of his crib or even attempted to do so. He seemed perfectly content, and I was perfectly content to have him contained in his crib.

But with Charlie on the way and Henry getting potty-trained, I felt like this was a big, important step in finishing up the leap into the world of being a big boy. We'd been talking about what being a "big boy" meant for awhile as far as potty training and responsibilities around the house (big boys do this, boys act like this, and so on), and Henry was very into the whole idea...while I of course, held back tears thinking of my boy growing any farther away from that baby self.

Although Henry's bed transitioned to a toddler bed, I didn't want to even deal with another move when we eventually switched to a twin bed, so we decided to just go directly from crib to twin. Hank and I talked about our bed, the "big bed," and asked him if he would like his own in his room, and we asked if he would like to pick out his own sheets, blankets, etc. The answer, of course, was "YES!" That weekend we headed down and picked up this bed from IKEA. We chose this particular frame primarily because it's a modern design we love without breaking the bank. Every other bed I gravitated towards was no less than $400 at best, and that was just not going to fly. I happened upon this IKEA frame while looking on Pinterest one night and fell in love. It fit into our aesthetic and was a cool $99. Awesome. I also knew that I wanted a bed close to the ground. One HUGE minus to this frame though, are the very angular and sharp corners. Henry sometimes forgets that the bed sits on and inside the frame, and we've had a few instances where he's went to run and jump onto his bed and rammed his shins. Other than that though, we love it.

The next weekend we went as a family to our local mattress store and let Henry try out all the mattresses and "choose" one to bring home (although we had already chosen the twin one he'd be getting). This was a really fun experience for him and gave him some ownership over his new bed. After the mattress store we headed to Target and he got to pick out some sheets, which only added to the excitement.

We got home before naptime, so Hank put the bare mattress on the ground in Henry's room and let him nap on it as a test. At this point we still had the crib up in his room, and although we didn't preface the nap on the mattress too much, we did tell him that if he didn't behave like a big boy (again, that term!), then he would have to make the move back to his crib. The nap went well and he didn't get up off of the mattress once. Once he woke up later, we put together the IKEA frame and we all made the bed and got it ready for his first night in it (again, still leaving the crib up and reminding him he could easily go back). Henry was so excited, and again, rather than make a huge deal about getting out, we just told him how proud we were, and reminded him once that if he got out of bed the crib would be waiting for him, and did our normal bedtime routine.

the 1st night in his new bed
 

I think because we never made a huge deal about staying in bed, and just left the crib in his room for a week as a gentle reminder, he hasn't had too many problems staying in it. One evening about a month after the switch he was extra-excited about life and couldn't bear to stay in one place (let alone a bed!) but I just said "hey, the crib can totally come back if you'd rather sleep in there," and within a minute he was ready to calm down. Ha! Honestly though, he's so into his bed and being this big kid now, that the last thing he'd want to do is go back to his crib.

I wasn't too sure what to expect because hey, we've never done this before, but both Hank and I were pleasantly surprised by the outcome. And now, we have our big boy loving his big boy bed, and sleeping even better than he was before with all of his comfy pillows and blankets. It's been almost two months now, and it's definitely been a success.

 yesterday at naptime

Do you have any tips or tricks you'd add? I'm sure readers would love to read about your experience too, so feel free to chime in below!

LYLAS

When I think back to my junior high days, so many things come to mind- really bad top 40 rap, Luvs Baby Soft and Sunflowers perfume, a Cover Girl compact in my back pocket, after school walks to Barros, awkward dances on Friday nights...and handwritten notes. If you read this blog regularly you know of my penchant for nostalgia, so I'm sure you can imagine my joy this past weekend when I unearthed an orange shoebox full of notes from the glorious 90s, tucked away in a closet at my parents' house. I spent a good hour or two getting lost in 7th grade drama all over again, remembering all sorts of long-forgotten memories. It was the most hilarious trip down memory lane, but even more than that, it got me thinking about the whole idea of note-writing.

First though, let's set the mood with this classic junior high song:


I can't remember too much about those good old junior high days as far as classroom and learning time (except being forced to remember EVERY country in the world in World History while in the 9th grade- seriously insane), but what I do remember is the social stuff. And the way we all communicated when we weren't in the same class, or able to talk on our landline phones, the cords wrapped around the corner and under our bedroom doors, was through notes. The "does he like me" note to a mutual friend of a crush, the making plans for that weekend note, the group note (which later turned into a whole notebook my girlfriends and I passed around between every class period), the gossipy note full of secret nicknames and abbreviations, the list goes on.

So I got to thinking about today's junior high and high school kids. Do they still write notes? I'm pretty sure the majority doesn't. And I'm pretty sure that can be attributed to the instant gratification of texting. When I was in high school texting wasn't around. We had pagers- mine, a super cool sky blue Motorola model- but no cell phones outside of those first really big car phones and then the only-in-emergencies-extra-large-flip-phones we'd use to call our parents and check in while out at river parties (pretending we were safe and sound at a friend's house of course). So yeah, even in those years notes were still regularly happening. And later when I actually taught high school, I rarely saw notes being passed or being written. Texting in class, yes...ALL THE TIME...but hardly ever real, handwritten notes.

I think every generation likes to pretend their own generation grew up in a time when things were the way they should be, lived their lives properly (whatever that means), and that anything prior must be archaic, and anything after is just crazy. But of course time keeps on moving, things change. Life now is awesome- technology is wild and amazing and really great, but I think one of the major things kids today miss out on is a social media-free adolescence. I can't say what's better or worse because honestly, all I know is my own experience, but I often get sad thinking about childhoods that are so, so plugged in...and I say this while trying to avoid being totally judgmental in a "my generation was the best" kind of way.

I'm so grateful for that forgotten shoebox up high on that shelf in my old closet, filled with memories and stories and little bits of written history, ones that make me cringe and smile and laugh and think "oh my god, was that really me?" I can't imagine not having those pieces to look back on- I can't imagine what it would be like to have all of those little exchanges and communications via text only, here and gone in the blink of an eye. Maybe I'm just being a cranky "old" person waxing poetic for times gone by, but to me, note-writing is an art form of sorts, a lost art for sure, but something that shaped so many of our lives growing up. I sure love my technology now, but I'm also sure thankful that I have these tangible pieces of my adolescence to remind me of just how far I've come.


LYLAS,
Danielle

The Days are Long, but the Years are Short.

It's weird, to think about Henry being older than he is now. And I know I said that when he was just an infant, then when he turned one- I said it constantly. It was hard to picture him one day talking, walking, doing anything other than laying there on his baby blanket making those cute little sounds. But lo and behold, he grew more and more (and more), and at every stage I thought the same thing, surprising myself every time he was suddenly onto the next stage.

Lately though it's been different- I've been having these flashes of what our little guy will be like when he's much older. And I can imagine it, suddenly. I can see his little preteen eyes rolling, I can see that look he gives me now, the one that says, "C'MON MOM..." and I can envision him giving me that look in years to come. His hair, those hands, those running feet, one day all grown up and doing their own thing.

It's wild isn't it, how fast it goes. I know, I know, how cliché can I be? I say it all the time, everyone says it all the time. It's a well-discussed topic on my blog. And before I was a Mom people said it constantly; "oh, wait until you have kids, those days will fly by and before you know it you'll have a grown adult on your hands." I would always smile politely, but in the back of my mind I'd be like, come on- time is time! But as you can probably guess, it is not. Time is indeed much faster when there is a child involved- double speed, triple speed, and through every day-week-month the pace only quickens.

So these little mornings Henry and I have- regular old mornings like today- where we go out to breakfast, go to the park, adventure somewhere new, these days are numbered. I realize this. There's a little hourglass of his childhood whose sand is always falling. And although he is only two and we have a long way to go, it's always on my mind. The days seem so slow sometimes, but I know how quickly they all go by. So I savor them, I put pieces of them in different places- on my camera, in my mind, I stamp them permanently onto my memory.

Henry was once an infant, an unbelievably small little thing that cooed and hiccuped and nestled into the space between my neck and my shoulder. And then he was rolling, crawling, walking, running. He was making noises, then words, then sentences- and now he tells me everything on his mind, stories and hopes and plans. And now that I can see my little guy becoming a big guy, I can finally envision it and see it happening. It's hard and it's beautiful, and true to human nature I want to stop it all at once and keep it going to see what's next.

And I think this sums it up perfectly: "The days are long, but the years are short." Hourglass sand and bits of memory, days and weeks and months, all rolling into the big picture.


Quote source- and be sure to watch the video too.

Right Smack Dab in the Middle

It's weird, isn't it, how when we're right smack dab in the middle of something we don't realize just how important that moment might be. Or how even when we're just living- just doing our thing, day after day, it's tough to take a step back and know that where we are is someplace so good, someplace we'll one day look back upon with so much fondness.

Hank and I rented our first place together in the summer of 2005. We'd been together for about a year, and after a particularly eventful July and August I packed up my things and made the trek to the town I now call home. It was an out-of-character move for me and I remember my Mom and friends asking, "well, are you sure?" But I was sure, as strange as it was at the time. I was positive this was the right move for me, the right choice even for a girl who was more often than not unsure when it came to matters of the heart. But I did it, I made the decision along with Hank, and I drove myself up to that little town, car full of my belongings.

It was a tiny, tiny place up there over that antique shop, and old too, having been built in 1917. It was charming of course, in the way only a falling apart, ancient building can be, but to us it was new and fresh and all we saw was a beginning. We made that tiny place our tiny home over the next year, the kitchen that was only three steps long, the miniature living room, the even smaller bathroom, and our bedroom-closet that was literally only big enough for a twin bed, with no room to walk on either side.

We spent our days that year in such close quarters, we lived and loved and built the foundation of us in that little apartment. We'd get tarts at the bakery downstairs, we'd go on midnight walks around the square, we'd sit on the stairs in the hallway for hours, stealing internet from nearby businesses. I think back to those nights in that twin bed, limbs tangled together in that small space, trying to stay warm as the ancient furnace died more than it worked. And as much as I loved the simple romance of that first place on Cortez Street, I remember thinking about how badly I wanted to move into a bigger place, onto our second home, to see what was coming up next, right on the horizon.

Life went on and we experienced all of those "nexts" we dreamed of, and now as I sit here at my computer with my husband at work and our baby asleep in his crib, I think about that time- I recall that little bed in that little space, think back to when we'd sit around and talk forever about the dreams we had for our life and ourselves. It reminds me how looking back, everything seems so clear, but when you're in it, sometimes it's hard to know where you're headed. I have a tendency to want to rush, to get to the next thing, the better, the best, but I think sometimes it's good to just sit back and enjoy the journey you're on, the place you're at, the tiny bed you're in. It reminds me of this. To just stop and embrace the now, which might just be the beginning of so much more than you know.

xoxo

Hello, I'm an Adult.

It's pretty amazing, isn't it? This whole growing up thing, even when you're already grown. It's weird to me to be 30. And a wife. And a mother. And to be walking around this little town with my friends and our strollers and our hot drinks in our hands and I think holy, holy, holy shit. How did I get here? It's a question I wonder about a lot. Lately I've been having all of these moments where I'm smacked right in the face with YOU'RE AN ADULT, DANIELLE! And it's weird because it's not like I don't know this and it's not like these moments are really monumental. It's the simple, everyday things that floor me, and really, I've been living on my own since I went away to college. This age didn't just sneak up on me. Hello, I'm closer to 40 than I am to being a kid- I've had some time to think about it.

But sometimes, like this morning, I'll be doing something, like ordering a bagel and cream cheese to split with Henry. And we'll go sit and I'll break it into two and I'll have that same odd realization that I'm doing the same things my mother did. Like somehow buying that bagel and splitting that bagel is so bizarrely parental and adult it is mind blowing. It's the simple things, grocery shopping and looking at the labels on this or that, sticking stamps on bills, or talking to a friend on the phone, Henry balanced on my hip as I glide around the kitchen multi-tasking. Or this past weekend when Hank and I went on a date. We had a babysitter come over to be there while Henry was asleep, and to me, THAT is adult. That's what my parents would do. They would call Karen Kowalski and she would come over, we'd get our snacks and open her backpack of crafts, and that was just how some of our Friday nights were. But now we're doing that? What?

I wonder then if this is just how it feels for some people. If maybe this is a part of growing up, the disbelief that we are in fact growing up. I think ahead to 40 and 50, wondering if I'll still feel the same way I did at 20 and 30, "how did this all happen so quickly?" in the front of my mind as I look back and all around at my life. Will I be sitting at the table on my 80th birthday, eyes crinkling into a deep smile, feeling 30 still and thinking about how fast the time went and how on earth is it even possible that I'm 80?! I wonder...

As we drove home from our date that night we cracked the windows just a bit to let in some of the cool Fall air. We turned up the stereo and sang along to Broadway Calls as we drove, the moon lit up like a Chinese lantern bobbing among the stars as we dipped up and down through the hills. We talked about all of it; about being parents and about having babies, about how weird it is to be talking about being parents and how weird it is to be talking about having more babies. We were 16, we were 25, we were just what we are, a Mom and a Dad driving home to tuck their little one back into bed at the end of the night. It all goes by so quickly doesn't it? I think the key is to just try and grab hold of anything you can, and tuck it away in a safe place, to pull out and remember when you need it. And I think it's okay to wonder where the time went, to feel strange at how you were there and now you're suddenly here, and to think holy, holy, holy shit- how did this happen? And I think if we still feel this way when we're 80, still feeling like we're so young and wondering how this wonderful life happened to us, I will look back on all of it and feel like we did it just right.

How to Get to Sesame Street...

 source

Growing up we didn't have cable. We didn't have Nickelodeon or MTV, HBO or the like. We did have those few basic channels though, which were just enough for my parents to always catch Seinfeld, fuel our TGIF Friday nights, entertain us with Saturday morning cartoons when Saturday morning cartoons were still awesome, and then of course supply us with PBS for all of our favorite shows.

My earliest television memories are a mix of Sesame Street, Reading Rainbow, Mister Roger's Neighborhood, and 3-2-1 Contact. LeVar Burton and all of those amazing books were my world. I lived for the different stories I'd hear every time Reading Rainbow came on, my "to-read" list a mile long. I learned my ABCs from my parents and pre-school, but Sesame Street helped to reenforce all of those lessons every single morning. Mister Rogers and his always changing shoes and cardigan, Big Bird and his songs, the science projects on 3-2-1 Contact...these were all a huge part of my childhood.

It was a time when I'd measure time by my favorite shows. My "how long until we leave, Mom?" answered back with a variation of "one Sesame Street and one Mister Rogers honey." It was when I'd try and recite "a loaf of bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter" to myself to see if I could remember it too. It was Telly Monster and Grover, Oscar the Grouch and Kermit. It was the age of Lady Elaine and Daniel Tiger, of hearing that 3-2-1 Contact theme music and knowing I was about to learn something neat. It was seeing books come alive on Reading Rainbow and singing along while imagining that cartoon butterfly turning a scene out of my book into reality too. It's all of that and so, so much more.

So when I heard Mitt Romney say he wanted to cut funding for PBS, it upset me. While watching the debate I even stopped to rewind it, having a bit of a "say whaaat?!" moment. Let it be known that I am firmly in the Obama camp, but even so, after hearing this I knew I had to do some research before I totally and fully started disliking Romney more than I did. So I followed up, I watched him on The Situation Room, I realized that he meant exactly what he said. To be fair, I can understand where he's coming from, and I get the want (need) to cut the spending and borrowing. But it's beyond that.

Cutting PBS funding goes way past just taking away Big Bird. We all know Big Bird will be fine on his own. It's about taking opportunities away from areas that NEED that programming more than most of us can even comprehend. It's about taking that programming from rural areas where children may not get the same educational opportunities that kids in larger areas get. It's about taking that programming from kids who may not get to go to preschool, where the only "schooling" they might get as a toddler is in fact Sesame Street, or one of the other educational programs PBS offers. Yes, PBS will probably be fine if there was a cut in their funding. But things would absolutely change in how their service is provided, and I'd say it's safe to say that PBS would not be available to everyone if it was no longer a public access channel, as cutting funding directly affects those stations (some big, some small) that provide PBS to viewers.

I can't imagine a world without PBS and all of the wonderful people and things that were such a large part of my own development and growth. I think of Henry and our mornings- sitting around in our pajamas, eating breakfast while we watch Sesame Street. I think about the other day in the bathtub when out of nowhere he began singing a song about boats he had heard Grover singing that morning. And I think about watching Gordon talk to Elmo about how it's okay for boys to play with dolls- and watching them discuss gender roles and how it's okay to like what you like, regardless if it's a "boy" or "girl" thing. PBS is important. Education is important. And PBS is education for so many children. And although this may be a smaller issue than equal pay for women, a woman's rights to her own body, or marriage equality, in a way it could be just as big when you think about the ripple effect. Every action yields a reaction and quite simply, this will affect our children...and affect our children and you affect our future.

It's scary, really. I think about the bigger picture and it frightens me to imagine the loss of such a huge influence in so many kids' lives. I wholeheartedly hope PBS is always around and available to everyone, and I hope that every single child has the opportunity to visit the magical world of Sesame Street sometime in their lifetime too.

How about you? Did you grow up with Sesame Street and PBS? Did you have a reaction to Romney's statements? Or maybe you're on the opposite end of the spectrum- I'd love to hear from you too!