For the first time in as long as I can remember, my 36th birthday fell on Easter Sunday, this year. So, we had a two-for-one weekend, complete with a lot of celebrating, family time, and too much food.

Sona and I had a food-a-palooza restaurant-hopping adventure on Saturday night. On Sunday, we woke up and the Easter Bunny had visited, left a basket of goodies for Finn, and had hidden eggs around the house. We did an at-home brunch in our jammies–which was my preference–and then we went out and bought 4lbs of fresh crawfish for a seafood boil for dinner (also my preference).

Here are some photos from our birthday-Easter-NOLA weekend!

It was Finn’s first time dying eggs, and he was SO stoked. All things considered, he did really well. I mean, we didn’t end up with Easter egg-colored walls. That’s the bar I set for success.

He got wilder and wilder as the process went on. Let’s say he was rather–enthusiastic?–about dunking the eggs in the dye.

Here are some iPhone shots from our birthday date night:

All I ever want for my birthday is shellfish!

Easter morning, Finn was  excited to see that the bunny had visited!

Will someone remind me to give him less chocolate, next year? 90% of the food he consumed on Sunday was chocolate. Clearly, he didn’t mind.

Doing chocolate egg shots…

Chocolate-induced singing and dancing…

Hello, lover! Finn said, “They not snapping anymore!” No, baby. No, they aren’t.

It was a great weekend, complete with the things that mean the most: my family, a lot of play, and a lot of good eats!

Be strong. Be brave. Be kind. These are all things I’m okay with your saying to my son.

Be tough. Man up. Don’t be a pussy. Be a man. These things? That’s a hard no.

I’ve thought a lot about how, as two moms, we’ll model masculinity for Finn–and for our next son, too. It weighs heavily on me, always, as I’ve internalized so much of what our society says about the importance of manhood. I think about the fact that Finn doesn’t have a dad (something about which another blog post is brewing), and I wonder how that will impact his ability to grow into a man.

This is ridiculous, I know. Most of the ridiculousness stems from the fact that the educated side of me–the kinda woke side of me–knows that our perception of manliness is almost entirely a social construct. When I wonder whether Finn will be a man, what I’m really worrying about is whether his expressions of manliness will align with what is perceived as normative. I’m asking, “Will he fit the mold?”

Still, even with my own gender biases, which I’m not proud of, I’m hyper-aware of how other people approach Finn’s masculinity. This is partly because I’m a mother of a boy in a very damaged culture. It’s partly because I recognize that, since Finn has two moms, some folks are hyper-vigilant, looking for any signs that his masculinity is, in some way, being suppressed.  And it’s largely because of what happened in Parkland, FL, recently, and what happens all too often in a country when perceptions of masculinity become toxic.

Toxic masculinity is a term that elicits confirmational head nods from some and skeptical eye rolls from others. I’m no sociologist. So, I think that trying to explain the theory underlying toxic masculinity is beyond my purview–both as a blogger and as a mom.

And yet, here is what I do understand: When we tell little boys, repeatedly, to man up–to be a man–that is loaded and coded language. What are we really saying, when we say those things? And, perhaps more importantly, what are they really hearing?

Here is what I hear when someone says be a man:

• your current behavior, whatever it is, doesn’t align with my expectations of manhood;
• a “man” doesn’t cry;
• a “man” doesn’t express emotions or vulnerability;
• if you allow yourself to feel vulnerable, you are weak;
• weakness is shameful;
• you should overcome your weakness by regularly and firmly expressing your power;
• you should behave like a man, you should not behave like a woman;
• women are vulnerable, weak, emotional beings;
• you are better than women;
• if you’re a real man, prove it;
• you wouldn’t want people to think you are like a woman, would you?

Of course, there’s a lot more to it than that. And I’m not trying to vilify anyone who has ever used this phrase. I think intentions, often, are innocuous. But impact? Impact can be difficult to measure, and it’s something we must think about, especially when it comes to our kids.

Here’s what I think we must acknowledge: something is broken about the way we raise our boys. In an era of #metoo movements and mass shootings on a near daily basis, which both provide a clear lens into the many insidious ways in which men, almost exclusively, are the perpetrators; when we have a President who jokes about grabbing pussy and bears virtually no consequences for that kind of language, which he uses regularly; when victims of homophobic hate crimes are more often male than female; when gang violence becomes a rite of passage for urban boys; when we chastise men for crying but respond with “boys will be boys” when they are cruel or violent; when mental health treatment is stigmatized for men, especially, because admitting any struggle, as a man, is admonished; when we buy young boys tools and toy guns and young girls dolls and princess dresses; when we laugh when boys are rough and chide girls who are too bossy; when we say to someone who is only two–who asks for Skittles for breakfast and insists on having a sock monkey on him at all times and who likes to shower with Momma and play with make-up brushes sometimes and who, without any guidance or pressure, exhibits such tender kindness to others on a regular basis–when we say  be a man,  we are doing harm. There is an impact, there–one that is often underscored by innumerable comments, gestures, implicit and explicit messages–and one that amasses over a lifetime.

We spend a lot of time talking about gun control after mass shootings, as we should. It should be very, very difficult for a man who is angry and vulnerable–and one who wishes to express his frustrations through violence–to get a gun.

But we also have to ask ourselves: why are so many men angry and vulnerable and frustrated? Why are so many men resorting to violence?

As a mom, it is my responsibility to protect my son. I don’t do that with a gun. I do that by telling him: It’s okay to cry. Everyone feels sad sometimes. You don’t always have to be strong.

I do that by making sure that no on ever tells him to be a man.

Ain’t no valley low enough. Ain’t  no rational way to explain the highs and lows of having a toddler to yooooooooooooou.

I recently shared this photo on Instagram (@allthefinn), which is an amazing illustration by @common_wild.

When I first saw it, it resonated with me so completely. This is such a pitch-perfect depiction of our daily lives as moms: We count down the minutes until bedtime, but then we sneak in and wake Finn up with kisses an hour after he’s asleep. We wait, excitedly, for date nights, and then we spend the entire time talking about Finn. We fall into our own beds at night, elated to finally have some quiet time off-duty, and then we spend an hour flipping through old photos of Finn on the phone.

This is the paradox that defines parenting, especially toddler parenting. When I initially shared the photo, I made a comment about how only parents can fully relate to this paradox. A few friends reminded me, rightly so, that this is not something unique to parenthood. You can feel like this about your significant other. You can feel like this about your girlfriends. You can feel like this about your own siblings.

But I do think that the peaks and valleys–the highs and lows–are particularly and uniquely acute when it comes to parenting. While I’ve certainly felt the emotional push and pulls of all kinds of love, I’ve never felt so absolutely shaken by a relationship until we had Finn.

What can I say? I am simply a puppet, and that kid holds all of my strings. (Which, of course, he totally knows.)

There have been quite a few lows over the past few weeks, as Finn has continued to suffer from persistent ear infections and other toddler-related illnesses. When he’s in the throws of sickness, he’s–how can I say this kindly?–not so pleasant.

Sona and I spent four nights in San Antonio during Valentine’s week. We were so excited to escape, but our trip was threatened by the worst snow storm of the season. Luckily, we got one of the last flights out of Chicago before the snow hit and all planes were grounded for a 24-hour period. You better believe we were in the airport, monitoring the departures board like crazy people, saying silent prayers that the airline gods would come through for us and let us get a much-needed break from toddler mom-ing.

While we were away, my parents watched Finn. We are extremely lucky to have them, and they usually jump at the chance to get him to themselves. However, he gave them a pretty hard time during a couple of the days we were away, and my mom was quick to tell me that she wasn’t sure she could handle two kids, especially if one of them is a toddler in a cranky mood. (I feel ya, Mom.)

However, now, Finn is starting to feel better. His ears are finally back to normal, and so is his attitude. I’m telling you: he’s a different kid when he’s well.

So, for the past week, we’ve hit the highs, again, which are often so much fun that they make you forget the lows. It’s a sneaky little trick those kiddos have: they will charm the PTSD right out of you.

These last few days, Finn has been especially sweet. He’s been letting us cuddle him more. He says he has a “secret” and then whispers “I love you” in our ears. He asks to be rocked for a few minutes before bedtime (something he’s NEVER let us do) and he sings Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star to us as we rock him. Then, he promptly says “All done. Time for bed.” He’s eaten dinner at the table for several days, sitting in his new big boy chair (he now says the high chair is for Little Pizza), and he actually engages with us the entire time.

Last night, we were spinning him before putting him in his crib–something we always do, as he asks for “dizzy” every night–and we were singing a silly little song: “Spin, spin–we love our Finn!” He started singing back: “Spin, spin–I love my mommas!”

Stuff like that. The kind of stuff that makes us forget, almost immediately, the kid who will throw himself on the floor in an absolute fit if we dare remove his shoes without him sitting on his play table first.

Loving a toddler is an emotional rollercoaster unlike any I’ve ever experienced. But like most rollercoasters, the thrills overtake the fear, and–against your better judgement–you get off the ride thinking, “I need to do that all over again.”

I did not win any Mom-of-the-Year awards on Valentine’s Day, yesterday. I’d planned to help Finn make some Pinterest-worthy homemade goodies for his preschool classmates, but instead we bought a box of ready-made Peppa Pig valentines at Target, complete with questionable neon-colored suckers, and called it a day.

Since Sona and I just got back from our little trip to San Antonio, we are still easing back into mom life.  And, as it turns out, crafting was not part of the re-entry process.

Still, we wanted to have a quiet V-day celebration at home–just the three of us. We made heart-shaped pizza and chocolate fondue, letting Finn do all of the heavy lifting. We ate in our PJs, let Finn basically bathe himself in the chocolate sauce, and didn’t even bother breaking out the big camera (hence these pretty mediocre photos).

BUT–we didn’t touch a TV or iPad once, didn’t have any meltdowns, and we did  do a lot of laughing. So, I’d say it was a win.