Anxiety is a bitch.

Sometimes I feel it grab hold of me. It starts by clinging to my ankle and slowly but surely climbs me like some wind-worn mountaineer making its way to the top. I want to swat at it, to tell it to back up off me because ain’t nobody got time for this. But, before I know it, it’s clutching my throat. Once its icy, Voldemort-like fingers are pressed there, making breathing an arduous task, I know the real struggle has begun. It’s much harder to shake the feeling of constant panic once it’s reached this level.

What is it with Daniel Tiger? Any kid I know who has watched that guy is completely mesmerized by him. And any mother I know spends her days singing his songs in hopes of somehow dislodging them from her brain.

I might not remember what I’m supposed to do today, but I sure as hell can sing to you about getting to the potty on time.

The more I thought about this, the more I began to believe that that tricky little tiger has an ulterior motive.

The Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood website says that “Through imagination, creativity and music, Daniel and his friends learn the key social skills necessary for school and for life.” What they neglect to mention is that he’s also sending out secret messages to moms.

On preschool nights Ellie has the worst time falling asleep. So many thoughts and conversations are swirling around in her little head and she just can’t shut them up.

I’ll read her a story (hopefully one that does not include Barbie) and get her all snuggled in bed and she’ll keep popping her head up, remembering a mermaid Katie brought in for show and tell or how the new boy didn’t know the rules (“He got up when we were in the circle, momma!”).

By the time her eyelids start drooping, I’m pretty sure she has given me a play-by-play of her entire school day.

I came downstairs one night, particularly exasperated at the length of time it took for her to fade and my husband just stared at me, smirking.

“Apples and trees, my friend.”

I looked at him in exaggerated horror. “What are you implying?”

There has been a whooooole lot of togetherness this winter with all of the snow we’ve been getting here in the northeast. I’m pretty sure we haven’t had a full week of school since before the holidays (this is one of those times when I could really use the wide-eyed emoji).

But all of that togetherness has meant some pretty funny conversations with the girls. I’ve been tucking away the things that crack me up so I could pull out another edition of Things My Kids Said when I need it most—like when a snowstorm threatens to turn a four-day weekend into a mini-break (I could use another one of those wide-eyed emojis right now).

This year I have set a goal for myself to write 52 Essays: one finished piece every week. I’m not sure what you can expect from them because I’m sort of winging it. Some will be good. Some will be less good. Hopefully you’ll love them. Maybe you’ll hate them. We’ll just have to wait and see. 😉

Guys, I’m pretty sure my husband is the worst person in the history of the universe at describing people. I mean, it was bad enough when he gave a “meh” shrug at the mention of Natalie Portman and said “She’s cute, I guess” (um, no dear. She’s gorgeous). But I am now convinced that if I were the victim of a crime, my husband is the absolute last person on the face of the earth that I would want tasked with describing the bad guy.

Bad Dad would leave even the most seasoned of police sketchers (that’s what they’re called, right?) with a drawing that looks like this:

Think I’m exaggerating?