It’s been suggested to me that I tell MY story to start. I know I posted the cliffs notes version of my life in my first post, but I was talking with a girlfriend who is, in my opinion, quite exceptional at looking at things from a different point of view. When I asked her thoughts she said, “but you haven’t explained who YOU are to any readers. Who are you to them? How do they relate to you? Why do they want to keep reading? I know you can tell a story, Alice, but to keep the interest they need to be invested in YOU.” And she’s right (she’s actually always right). How would I possibly expect you to have any interest in anything I have to say if you don’t even know me? So here I go. 

I’m Alice. Named after my Great Grandmother before it was cool, and in a generation where nearly all my classmates were either an Ashley, Brittany, Jessica, Jennifer, or a Stephanie. I’m 28. I have 2 kidlets with my husband of almost 7 years. 

I grew up as a middle child and only daughter. I have 3 brothers, one older, two younger (twins). We were all born in NYC, but as I’m sure you can imagine, apartment living gets pretty small when you cram 6 people into a 2-bedroom. So, like many in the early 90’s, off to the suburbs we went. It was your typical childhood, both of my parents worked outside the home, so they commuted daily. I have a ton of super happy memories of playing with my brothers and our neighbors down the street, terrorizing our au pairs, and just being a kid in general. 

I was a very active athlete. I tried anything and everything under the sun. The one that stuck though, was swimming. I was good. There were definitely people who were better than me, but I was a contender. I am a hard worker. And persistent. And competitive. Almost to a fault. So I trained and trained. But I don’t think I ever LOVED it. I liked winning. For instance, when I was in college, I got clobbered by one of my team mates in warm up before a meet one day. I mean clobbered. I was swimming one direction, he was swimming the other and our hands collided. This guy was like 6’6″ (no exaggeration) and probably at least 270 lbs. So imagine that wing span and the force that would’ve been behind it when it collided with my little 5’6″ 130lb. hand. It  legitimately shattered. I ended up having 5 pins put in it. I still can’t close my hand completely. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d gone to the hospital then and there, but my coach needed me to swim the meet and win my events. So I did. 

See? Competitive. Can’t help it. Even when my own health is at stake. 

My life as a wife, caregiver, and mom is no different. I love fiercely. My family is my whole world, and every single thing I do is for them. As much as I wish I could stay home with them, that’s just not possible at this juncture, so I’m a working mom, and I work hard for them every single day. My job is demanding and I struggle with the whole work life balance thing. This has been sort of stress relief, kind of just getting it out and somewhere where I can see it. If I can see it, it’s not just floating around my head gathering the usual ammunition of choice sarcastic comments that accompany many of my human interactions. This and Instagram are my “things”. It’s my way of trying to document that whole, “the days are long and the years short” thing that really seems to be the motherhood mantra. So here’s where I’m going to do my best to work out my guilt in giving A chocolate chip mini muffins for breakfast instead of avocado toast, or not doing baby led weaning with R because truthfully I’m absolutely terrified of her choking, or blowing off date night with C AGAIN in favor of us both falling asleep on the couch in front of The Big Bang Theory. But I’m also going to share my wins. Like the day R finally crawls. Or A’s first day of kindergarten coming up in the fall. Or when we can finally get C a socket that actually fits his leg. I do all that, with a combination of sarcasm and happy tears. 

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