The Idea Of Him

The Idea Of Him 150 150 rebekahrosler

It’s incredible what 6 years can do to love. The shape it can take. What you feel love is in the early moments, early days – and then the transcendent truth love becomes.

6 years ago today I was going on a first date. A first date that I truly felt was going to be different than all the first dates before.

Not unsurprisingly I was sick. I had strep. An ear infection. And was on antibiotics.

Clearly the makings of a true love story.

But I had been talking to a guy. A special guy. It felt right. It felt natural. Dare I say, it felt meant to be.

Numbers don’t matter, but let’s just say the amount of firsts I had been on prior to this one – a movie could have been created from.

All that said. This was not going to be that. I could feel it deep, deep inside.

I loved the idea of love. But truth be told, my history wouldn’t show it. Flings too numerous to count, but nothing meaningful. Nothing that proved to me that love exists. I had been craving it for so long but was becoming certain it might not be mine to have.

Often discouraged, frequently disappointed – I questioned whether it was worth the effort, worth the struggle to keep searching.

And then I met him. And the flutter came back. And the hope came back. And the dream came back. It wasn’t just the idea of him. It was him.

So strep and an ear infection, ailments that debilitate me far too frequently were not keeping me from this date. This date, that the mystery man didn’t realize, was Valentine’s Day.

I often think about the movie sliding doors, I’m not sure I’ve actually ever seen it. But the concept at least. The concept that any step or any misstep or any different step can and will alter the course of your future, rings all too true to me. I was not going to risk what could happen if I didn’t take that step, that day, that moment, with this guy.

So just like Gwyneth Paltrow – as she stepped off the subway platform, and onto the train, the doors shut behind her; on February 14th, 2013 I stepped onto the M14, heading south, unable to swallow, deaf in one ear and the doors closed behind me.

Closing the doors on my history, and my worries, and my loneliness. And opening doors to a world that never in my dreams, never in my wildest fantasies – would I believe would be mine.

The Question

The Question 150 150 rebekahrosler

Five years ago today began like any other day.

Well that’s not entirely true. I was about to take my first real vacation with my boyfriend. A vacation, I believed, that was going to be the beginning of our history. This man – the only true real love, the only one I knew I could spend my life with – was going to ask the question we wait our lives to hear. I didn’t know for certain – but why else would you go away on a vacation together almost a year to the day from when you started dating?

Not a morning person, I giddily popped out of bed. Headed to the shower. Pondered the last day of work before this super special vacation with this super special guy. I got out of the shower, opened the bathroom door as steam billowed it’s way out, carrying me on a cloud with it. I was about to walk into my room and noticed the door was shut. Confident I had not closed the door behind me, my mind began to swirl. I just knew something big was about to happen. I opened the door and there in front of me was a glass table, a circle of candles dancing before my eyes, and Nathan, the love of my life, down on one knee.

He asked the question.

The question I had an answer for since the day we met.

Five years ago today changed everything.

I adored him then. I adore him now. But in so many more ways. So many deeper ways.

I knew he was one of the good ones. I knew he was kind, thoughtful, generous, caring, quietly emotional, unconditionally supportive. I knew our complements then.

Today, five years later, I fondly recall what days, nights and mornings once were. But I wouldn’t trade them for what they are now.


Happy engage-eversary Nathan. You are the light in my life. You hold my heart. I still have to catch my breath around you. You move me deeply. I love our life with a passion I can barely comprehend. I’m thankful every single day for the person you are, and for the moment our lives touched.

I am not one for fate. But I truly believe we were destined for each other.

The In-Between

The In-Between 150 150 rebekahrosler

Once a parent becomes a parent, vacations are no longer vacations. So you have to decide. Is this really something you want to take on.

You go back and forth with your partner on the merits of this idea being a good or terrible one. 

Then you decide. 

The choice has been made. 

You hold your breath. 

Press the “purchase tickets” button. 

And immediately question the decision. 

But the deed is done. You now have a few months to manage the anxiety of how the fuck to travel with a set of one-year-old twins and a toddler. 

Then the week before, it sets in. The logistics are overwhelming. How many babies? Strollers? Car seats? Who is watching the dog? The cat? High chairs? What do we do with our car? How many bags? Toys? What do you need for the plane? How do you get to the plane? What do you do once you’re on the plane? Off the plane? Cribs for everyone? What books do you pack? 



None for me. As we said, a vacation is no longer a vacation. 

But we made the commitment to visit family in the south. The deal was sealed. So off we go. 

What we know now is the right number of adults (for traveling with three under three) is four.

Four high-functioning adults makes it just manageable. 

For anyone who has done it with fewer, you are my heroes. 

The thing you forget, or are less aware of, in the day-to-day grind is that (for many of us) other people are entertaining our children all day. Sure, we see them in the morning. Get them dressed and ready for the day. Pick them up at the end. And manage the nighttime routine. But in between, someone else is reading, feeding, playing with them. 

And to those people I salute you. 

We had one full week in Florida in a two-room Airbnb with virtually no plans. This could have gone one of two ways. 

The twins are down to one nap daily. And the almost three-year-old is fully refusing any nap while in vacation mode. 

This makes for a very, very long seven days. 

All that said, the trip could not have been more perfect. Everyone was (basically) on their best behavior. Everyone (basically) slept at night. And, in fact an extra hour plus in the morning. The Rosler kids apparently love vacation. There was pool. There was beach. There was family. And friends. But Nathan and I were ON every. single. second. of. every. single. day. 

Well, almost. 

There were two opportunities for “me” time. There were two days of glorious moments that were all mine. And I’ll be hard-pressed to forget them anytime soon. 

One day we went to the beach. A trip to the beach is not what it once was, certainly. After lugging the baby chairs. And the umbrella. And the towels. And the toys. And the shovels. And the buckets. And the beach chairs. And slathering up babies with SPF. And hats. And anti-UV bathing suits. And water bottles. Snacks. And diapers. And swim diapers and….yeah. And so-much-crap. Now what? Ok. We’re settled. Towels laid out. Babies on them. Shoes kicked off. What now? Go for a walk?Build a sand castle? Oh, it’s high tide? Right now? Cool. Move everything back five feet. Good? Set? Now? Nope. Not far enough. Pick it all up and do it again. Ok. Time to relax? One sippy cup ends up on the sand. One baby just took a fistful to the mouth. Excellent start. 

Finally everyone is good. I check my surroundings. All babies accounted for. I do not make a peep, take a breath. I slowly walk towards the water. My childhood. My respite. My calm. The beach should be my home. It’s where I am in my element. I was pulled towards my beacon and did not look back. My toes touched the perfectly crystal blue, aqua waves and then I dove in fully. I flipped over and floated. I was buoyant. And free. Body light as a feather. Floating in a little slice of heaven on earth. My ears right beneath the idyllic ocean water’s surface. Every time a wave swept through, the sound of sand and shells rolling with them sung in my ears. If shimmering made a sound, this would have been it. This moment was perfection. I have not had a moment like this, likely since our honeymoon four years ago. And yes, it was a moment. I was beckoned back not long after I took in the sky, and the clouds, and the salt water. I followed the waves back to shore. They carried me, effortlessly. I took a deep breath and returned to my other element: my beautiful family, awaiting me on the other side. But that in-between moment brought me life. Sometimes it really is just the little things. 

The next day (in between visitors, and feedings, and cleaning, and bathing, and shopping, and playing) I was granted close to an hour of alone time, which may as well have been an eternity. The babies napped. H took a car ride with N and I had the pool to myself. I floated. I took in the fresh air. The sun. The Florida heat. And for that hour nothing mattered. There were no worries. No anxiety. No tantrums. No bills. No questions. I took a break from it all and let the water carry me. 

This came to an end. 

As all things must. 

But those moments will stay with me for a long time. They rejuvenated me. Restored me. I love my family. And my new career. And the hustle and bustle of it all. But the calm. And the quiet. And the weather. And the “vacation.” And the family time. And the down time. And the break from reality. It was reinvigorating.


Taking the time is so important. Most of us likely don’t do it enough. But this little vacation home in Florida, off the beaten path, was so perfect. We are so busy running, usually, from this place and that. We don’t take the time to appreciate the in-between. I’m so grateful I was given this opportunity. It made me realize I need to focus more on what happens in-between: the things that happen in the midst of us handling life. 

It also made me realize how insanely amazing it is to have a washer and dryer in your home. 

I single-handedly destroyed the environment last week. 

Sorry, Earth. 

Please, this one time. 

Forgive me. 

About Last Night

About Last Night 150 150 rebekahrosler

Last night was magical. The most beautiful thing happened. It was incredible, in a mind boggling way. It was stunningly life changing.

Oh wait. No, that was last year.

Last night was fucking awful.

I had only recently been thinking how smoothly things had been going as of late.

First mistake.

I was in a groove. Babies were too. Nathan and I hadn’t been bickering over apartment cleanliness. I had been cooking for the babies. We had been eating meals. I had some exciting meetings and events for

All in all I had been feeling really good.

But as we know, all good things must come to an end.

That happened on Tuesday.

I was pumped about my week ahead. Meeting some new expectant moms. Excited for our first working moms lunch. Then on Tuesday I get the dreaded call from daycare. Kid has a 102 temp. You must pick him up. Of course I felt badly for him. But also – I had so much work to do this week. And – shit – they were just sick for the ENTIRE MONTH OF JULY.

Alas, I went and did what any good mother would do. I rushed to pick him up. After finishing my leftover enchiladas and perhaps finishing an episode of Bachelor in Paradise while rattling off just a few outstanding emails.

The week went as one would expect. Motrin. Tylenol. Motrin. Tylenol. Then two days later the fever spiked. So I did what any good mother would do…three days into their kid having a fever over 102…called the Doc.

Turns out he has an ear infection. Which is of course treatable. But he was miserable. And it was breaking my heart.

This would all have been manageable except my twenty year old cat – during this exact time frame – became entirely incontinent and, apparently, started using our rugs as his litter box. So in the course of three days. One wood floor and three rugs were destroyed. Hours were spent on the floor trying to salvage them all. Hours well spent, I must say.

But I digress. JB was pretty hysterical after his diagnosis. Hadn’t given him his Motrin because I had thought he was on the mend. So I clearly needed to get meds. And some pain killers in him. So I did what any good mother would do. I stopped to vote on the way home.

Then I got home and was in a rush, inevitably. Had two other kids to pick up. But first my phone was dead and I needed to order his meds before I left. But the order hadn’t come through. So with an hysterical baby, dog who hadn’t been out all day (because who would ever walk a dog while the baby was asleep upstairs) I was juggling calling the drug delivery company and finding the goddamn syringe – that of course we only had one of, since that very morning – the other one broke – and was currently missing – and I had to administer the Motrin.

It was nowhere. So I grabbed a cup and attempted to force him to drink it.

Bad choice.

First he choked. Then he threw up all over himself. And the stroller. And me. The floor. And everywhere. But I still had to go get everyone else, thirty minutes ago. Of course, as I’m naked and dripping – and stepping – in vomit – the phone – that’s plugged into the wall because I can’t bring it with me since it was dead – rings before I leave. The drug company is glad they got me before I left. They don’t have the meds the doc prescribed. But it’s the only med he can take because this 364 day old baby has already been pumped with so many antibiotics – this was the only one he could be prescribed. But actually – wait – they do have it. False alarm. Cool. And they will happily order it for a delivery after 6pm. Which of course is after bedtime.

Fuck. Whatever – I need to rush to get everyone else.

Finally got all the kids. Past bedtime. I’m wearing JB. Pushing M. Holding H’s scooter while she refuses to scoot and demands to hold my hand. And walking the dog. While I’m holding a cupcake.

So OBVIOUSLY H tells me she has to poop, way before we’re close to home. So somehow I get her to green grass in time. Tie up the dog so she doesn’t get the stupid cupcake. Make sure the stroller doesn’t roll away with twin a in it. I pull her pants down – hold her in the squat position, and notice that apparently the ground is not flat and the scooter is rolling towards the goddamn road. So I have to make a gametime decision. Keep holding the kid or run to get the scooter. I won’t share which direction I chose. Needless to say H did in fact not need to poop. The dog did not get the chocolate cupcake. And most importantly – the scooter did not get run over by a car.

From there bedtime was relatively uneventful. Everyone went down. Got meds in the boy while he was sleeping. And thought – ok, maybe will actually sleep tonight. As this week had been a series of 4am or 4:30 wake ups – I was hopeful tonight would treat us well.

Then I remembered I hadn’t been able to work all week – and really needed to GSD (get shit done). So I set out to work. Three hours later I called it a night hoping I’d actually get to fall asleep. Shut my computer and laid down.

Haha! Joke’s on me.

Apparently the apartment above us thinks that 11:30pm is the most opportune time to either move their entire apartment around. Or drop bowling balls on their floor. Either way. I cannot fathom why a drill needed to be involved. After calling security twice. It did not stop.

But I fell asleep. Only to wake up to “Mommy I have to pee!” So of course. Off I go. She pees. Only cries for 3 minutes before going back to sleep in her own bed…I climb back into bed yet again, hopeful.


“Mommy Mommy Mommmyyyyyyyyyyyyy”. Screeching and screaming. I don’t want her to wake the sick kid. Or the other one. So I get her. Knowing full well this is a downward spiral. But at least I will be able to sleep a little. So I lay her next to me…


Foot in the face. Elbow the rib. But mainly I was used as a bed while 23 pounds of toddler laid on top of me until….screaming and crying from the baby room again. So this time I get the sick one. Meanwhile I have zero idea what time it is because my 4027 year old cat decided to knock every item off my night table, one by one – at the one point in the night I was actually sleeping.

So now I have the boy in bed. My side of the bed at one point literally had the cat on my feet, dog in the crook of my knees, boy on a boob and feet of a toddler in my face.

This morning I had had grand plans. We are having a family day. I will keep all the kids home. And cook our big kid one year olds a birthday feast. Eggs. Sausage. Sliced fruit. Yogurt. Pancakes.

But man plans. God laughs. They ate a stale bagel with some peanut butter.

Somehow 17 hours of labor feels like a vacation right about now.

Happy 1st Birthday Kiddos. The days are long but the years are short. We love you with every ounce of our being. But for the love of god, just let us sleep.

What Will You Remember

What Will You Remember 150 150 rebekahrosler

I read an article, a story, a something recently, and it was just so poignant, it stuck with me.

It was a woman recounting a memory from her childhood. She reminisced about the special nights she had enjoyed with her single mom. What she remembered most were the evenings they ate together, when her food was sliced into tiny, tiny pieces. They would sit on the floor eating hot dog and chicken nugget bites, just the two of them. When she shared this memory, her mom was shocked at her retelling of those nights, as she recalled them too, but for a different reason. Those were the nights she had thought she had failed as a mother. She was so tired by the end of the day, working two jobs to support them, that she didn’t have the energy to cook. So she opened the refrigerator, found what they had, warmed it, cut it, and sat down with her daughter to finally get off her feet.

This is such an important reminder. In this day and age with social media as our dictator, we see our friends cooking their kids kale and quinoa and colorful plates of beautiful gourmet food, that in a million years I wouldn’t even consider whipping together. So from time to time, I question my abilities as a mother. “I can’t even feed my kid well. I’m failing her.” And yes, the pictures present well on Facebook, and yeah, maybe the kid is getting the nutrients they need. But, reality check, I will never be able to do that. And guess what? What the kids remember aren’t those meals.

Earlier this week, Nathan was stuck late at work. The plan had been for him to cook dinner, as he does, but now it was up to me to prepare something. Lacking the cooking gene, I asked Harper what she would like, listing off the things in our freezer. She opened the cereal cabinet and said, “cereal, with Mommy. Sit on the floor, with a mommy bowl and a mommy spoon.”

You see, there was a night a few weeks ago where I just couldn’t deal, couldn’t function, couldn’t manage, and the easiest, most possible thing for me to do, was feed us cereal on the kitchen floor. And this 2 1/2 year old’s tiny brain, even now, a few weeks later, remembered that night, that memory, and wanted to share it again with me. It made me realize what’s important. What really matters. And that’s the special time we get to spend with our kids. Sure, maybe roasted squash is better for her than Frosted Mini-Wheats, but she is still going to grow up, she is still going to get the nutrients she needs (somehow), and to me, right now, impacting her memories is the most important thing.

When Harper was less than 2 months old, I demanded that we take her to the museum (what?!). I thought it would be so good for her to be surrounded by art at such a young age. In retrospect, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Was I presuming that by osmosis she would become cultured? She couldn’t see 10 inches from her face. To get a baby from downtown, in a massive Bugaboo stroller, to the UES, to schlep her around a museum, where she slept and shat the entire time, was a complete and utter waste of time (and anxiety levels).

When the twins were born, I tried to get out immediately with them to do things. I soon realized that the amount of stuff, the amount of schedules, and the amount of stress was simply not worth it.

Needless to say, we have not strayed far from Stuytown in the last almost 10 months. Who am I kidding? I couldn’t walk for the last half of my twin pregnancy, so it’s been well over a year.

Sometimes I get sad that my kids aren’t experiencing all that the city, all that life, has to offer. But I have to tell you: When we walk into their room when they first wake up in the morning, and they are all lying there, teeny-tiny eyes open, and they see me, and they see Nathan, and their little faces light up, nothing else in the world matters.

Harper and I are home together tonight—just us. I could pretend I’m already planning dinner, making sure the fridge is stocked. But we all know that’s a lie. We will be eating Frosted Mini-Wheats, in a mommy bowl, with a mommy spoon, on the kitchen floor, and I simply can’t wait. And I’m willing to bet, she can’t either.

Father and Son

Father and Son 150 150 rebekahrosler

I’m 38 years old. 39 in just a few months. And I am one of the lucky ones.

When I was born not only did I have 4 grandparents, I also had 3 great-grandparents. They all lived close by and were in my life for a pretty significant amount of time.

Like I said, I was one of the lucky ones.

Fast forward 38 years – I, incredibly, still have 3 of these beautiful humans in my life.

They left the City/Westchester a while back for the other Jewish state. I would travel to Florida multiple times a year to spend time with them. I never took for granted how fortunate I was.

In the last two years, due to goddamn Zika – I haven’t been able to visit. We traveled there in March of 2016 with two month old baby Harper.

Everyone got to meet and spend time with her.

I have not been back since.

I don’t know about you. And I don’t know if it’s only recent, but any time I hear Cat Stevens, “Father and Son” I start weeping. Ugly crying. Heaving.

Now, I’m not an overly emotional person. And maybe it only changed once I had children – but holy shit. This song gets me every. single. time.

For years I would call my grandmothers multiple times a week. I was the first grandchild – on both sides – and had a very special bond with each of them. Before I was married I had all the time in the world. Then I had one baby. Time was a little less available. But I was still pretty good about the calls. Then, as happens, life gets busy.

We all know the excuse.

It has the luxury of being true.

But nonetheless – important things become “less important” – and not that they are, but there are just so many hours in a day.

Recently – because time has a strange way of sneaking up on us – they have gotten older. And with age, comes other things. Other things I’m unable to (won’t?) write, as tears well up in my eyes.

The visits haven’t happened.

The calls happen less frequently. And when they do, they are…different.

I mean to call more. I want to call more.

I don’t.

My parents and cousins’ visit down south just last week sounded hard. Really hard.

I started looking into flights. How can I get there? I must get there. I need to get there.

But with three babies. And a new business. How? What are life’s priorities. How do we make it all work?

As I watch my babies get older. And see my age in numbers rise at a hyper-speed rate, I intellectually understand what this means. But can’t quite emotionally allow myself to get there.

I just got off the phone with my Grandmother.

The call was short. Too short.

I don’t know that she knew who I was.

I’ve not been here, in this space, before. I don’t know how to do this. I love them so much. There has never been a time in my life I’ve given myself a moment to think what life would look like without them (as the “them” I’ve always known). In my mind – we are all frozen in time, on this earth – and things will just continue to exist the same way they always have. Because. They must. There’s no other reality I’m willing to see.

How is life so beautiful and just so painful?

I don’t have a final line to leave you with.

I guess, just, call your loved ones.

If not for them, for you.


Gratitude 150 150 rebekahrosler

I think the most eye opening thing about having children, is how everything else in your life shifts.

It’s almost like your past life never happened.

I’m only 2 years deep into this whole thing, and as I scroll back through pictures of pre-babies, I’m reminded life wasn’t always spit up and poop – but almost can’t even remember those days.

I caught up with an old friend recently, we hadn’t had quality time together in ages – and we reminisced about the good old days.

College – yikes.

Post College NYC – even yikes-ier.

If I attempted a fraction of what I once did in a week then, now, I would be dead. It’s truly incredible the phases our lives take on, with us in the passenger’s seat.

I imagine I will not be alone in thinking or saying this, but what might get neglected the most, once you have children, is the thing that brought them into this world.

When I met Nathan, that moment – I knew, everything was about to change. There was absolutely, unequivocally, something different about him, about us.

Maybe he didn’t know, but I knew – he was the one I was going to be with and create a life with.

Now, I am not one to believe in ‘meant to be” – in the esoteric sense – but after simply talking to him, I knew I would love him.

Our courtship was a relatively quick one – met online, first date two weeks later, dated a year, engaged/moved in and married within the next year. But I appreciated every day in that brief dating experience. I had waited an insanely long time for the right guy, for me. And he was it. He fit absolutely none of my long list of criteria.

And thank god he didn’t.

Rarely do I have trouble finding words – but around this, I seem to. Nathan is my everything. And I hate to say it, but since this brood expanded, I believe I haven’t said it enough, haven’t appreciated him enough.

Relationships often work best when there are complementary personalities within them. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, that is us.

And it works…

For the most part, of course.

The choice to have children is a big one – your life changes – entirely – and there is no version of going back. The quick trips out of the city. The long walks, holding hands, aimlessly. The vacations. The sleep. Just the two of you. They all become fond, albeit distant, memories while scrolling through pictures.

Do I regret anything in this current life? No. Do I wish there were more hours in a day where just the two of us, could be just the two of us, again? Absolutely. Will it happen at some point in the future? I’ve heard it does – though from this vantage point, I’m not sure I see that light at the end of the tunnel.

Along with my recent near miss, came a new found appreciation and sense of gratitude. I adore my husband like no one I have ever encountered. He is a good, good person. He is kind and thoughtful, he is loving and warm. He is moral and honest. He is creative and smart. Dedicated and loving. Funny and inquisitive. He has amazing ethic and an even more incredible heart. And supports me being me entirely. But most importantly he is a true partner and the most adoring father.

He doesn’t ever meet me half way, he goes way, way, way beyond. He is the strength to all my weaknesses.

I am not here to brag. Hardly. We have a TON of shit we should be working on. But ain’t no one got time for that. We had an incredible year of therapy right at the outset of our marriage because (I believe) everyone should. Two different people with two different communication styles and many different approaches to life and what matters. Get that crap sorted out at the beginning so you can start on solid ground. (And if not at the beginning, find another time. It’s so important. Ok, I’ll get off my therapy soapbox now).

I know there are more things, ahem, we should be doing, as a married couple. And I know we will again. But right now, we are raising the next generation, of good, kind (hopefully!) humans. I can only hope that when their time comes to begin their true adventure of life, we can be role models, in our marriage, so they too, seek out the right person for them – to build something beautiful and spectacular together.

I hope they learn, it is always worth the wait.

My final quote in my wedding vows was by Anne Bancroft, on her marriage to Mel Brooks:

“Whenever I hear his key in the door, I think, o goody, the party is about to begin.”

Nathan, if you’re reading this, I owe you everything, I do not take any of it for granted, I love you, I thank you, there will be vacations one day again, you will sleep through the night at some point. You are what keeps my heart beating…and no, I still haven’t done the dishes.

About Last Night

About Last Night 150 150 rebekahrosler

About last night…

Actually, let’s start 48 hours ago.

Generally we’re up from 11:30-12:15 and 3:00-3:45 and 5:15-6:00. Ish. We expect this. What we don’t expect is to wake up in between to a shit explosion from the dog. Poop. Diarrhea all over her pad. Awesome. Something else to deal with in the middle of the night – on top of the cat peeing on our bath mat.

In an exhausted haze in the morning we got Harper ready. Then we hear “lucky” (yucky) – she stepped in a pile of crap. Gross. So we quickly did a cleaning and costume change and got her off to school. All day I felt like the apt smelled like poop. Because it probably did.

Nathan got home and I told him I thought I smelled something. After we both got on all fours sniffing around the apartment. We found the culprit. The dog had – apparently – during her bout with an internal colon hurricane – found herself behind all the baby swings, in the corner of apt – and pooped UP the baby gate and all over the floor. Fucking gross.

Then last night. Oh last night. The usual spit up. Diaper changes. Etc. But on one special occasion I rolled over and felt like my leg and arm were wet. I hoped beyond hope that the dog had just peed on her mat and what i felt was her having just cleaned herself. That would have been the best case scenario. I knew in my gut that was not to be true. When i rolled over i felt a squish. Yup. Poop. The dog had pooped in the bed. Fucking disgusting.

So we dealt with that – in between the midnight and 3am feeds. Then, obviously the babies wouldn’t go back to sleep. At 6:45 i decided I needed to shower before Nathan left for the day and I didn’t have a chance. So I walked towards the kitchen. Squish. Fucking poop.

I yell that I’m about to get in the shower and I hear Nathan scream – Oh Goddddd. I thought someone was dying. Nope. JB had a total diaper blow out ALL OVER. All over himself. All over Nathan. Nathan says, I get to shower first.

After clean up he walks towards the bathroom. The cat had peed outside his litter box.

Now I have done laundry every morning this week – today was no different.

Go to wake Harper up. Guess who has a cold.

And to top it all off. THERE’S NO MILK FOR MY COFFEE.

I truly hope you’re all having a better week…i must go, I have two screaming babies.

Happy Hump day (what’s the earliest it’s acceptable to drink?)

This Guy

This Guy 150 150 rebekahrosler

If you see this guy, be sure to stop him and give him a high five. He’s 40 today. And absolutely deserves to be celebrated.

This man, is a wonderful man. But more importantly he is a wonderful father. He does more than his fair share of, well, everything. He is a kind and generous person. He’s quiet and thoughtful. Loving and giving. And I absolutely, without question, know I landed one of the good ones.

He’ll likely shy away from the attention – because he prefers to stay under the radar. But today we should all pat him on the back.

I adore you Nathan and thank you for everything that you are – and everything you do for our family. We absolutely could not function without you, not just anyone, but you. You are the glue to our lives, the epicenter of our world.

I didn’t know you before you were 35, but I can – with pretty strong conviction – say this is not where you thought you’d be five years later.

Maybe you thought you’d be on tour. Perhaps in gallery with late night showings of your incredible art. And I’m sure there are days, probably more nights – where you have visions of that life. All I can say is, thank god this road led me to you – and we are living a different dream.

I can only hope I fulfill in you – what you fulfill in me.

Happy Birthday, you should be celebrated all days, but for now – we’ll start with today. See you tonight, we’ll celebrate by arguing over what to order for dinner – and then with lots of poop.

I love you ‘soooooooooooooo much’. ??