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A few weeks ago, we took our family to Storyland in New Hampshire. We met dear friends and were excited about the prospect of our kids exploring the park and spending time getting to know one another better.

Emelia was thrilled immediately. She practically pulled off my arm dragging me here and there trying to experience every ride possible. Helaina, generally my braver child, was more tentative. She walked slowly between her sister and me, holding our hands. When we took her on her first ride, she sat still as could be, gripping us in fear.

And then we went to Cinderella's castle ....

It was a long climb on a hot day to the top of a hill where the castle lay. Standing at the front door was Cinderella. The young woman in front of us had very blond hair up in a bun, she wore a simple, slightly worn blue and yellow gown. Jewels dangled from her ears and blue eyeliner rimmed her eyes. She smiled to display crooked teeth. This was no Disney princess.

Emelia was was mildly impressed. "She doesn't look like the Cinderella in my books," she said. She walked around the castle. She thought about sitting on the throne, got a closer look and decided there were better things to see and do.

Helaina was memorized. She pointed to the woman.

"That Cinderella?" she said.

"Yes," I said, "That's Cinderella."

"I see Cinderella," she said smiling. She stood there, just watching her for what seemed like a long time.

Emelia was ready to go first, but Hallie didn't want to leave. She cried as we pulled her away.

"No, she wailed, "I stay, I see Cinderella."

As the day progressed, she begged to go back. When we didn't respond to her pleas, she took matters into her own hands and headed out on her own, in search of her beloved princess. Her dad acquiesced first, he took her back while I took Emelia on more rides. No sooner did he arrive back, that she began begging to return to the castle again. My turn, so we climbed back up the hill in 90-degree weather to the princess with the crooked smile.

She ran ahead of me. "I go see Cinderella, Mama!" she cheered.

But when we got to the castle, Cinderella wasn't there. Hallie was stumped. She walked around pacing, looking everywhere. I learned that the young woman was on her lunch break, but would return shortly.

"Cinderella is eating lunch," I told Hallie.

"Lunch?" she asked confused. She seemed baffled that even princesses need to eat. The next 10 minutes or so were probably the longest minutes of Hallie's life. She paced around the castle anxiously. She walked to the front door, poked her head back in and shook it. "Cinderella not here." She paced and poked and poked and paced looking for her beloved princess. "She done lunch?" she kept asking as she teetered in and out of the doorway.

All of the sudden Hallie cried out, "SHE HERE!" She took off, running as fast as she could, her little legs and arms pumping back and forth charging down the long, asphalt road to meet Cinderella walking back to the castle. "Wait! Stop!" I called after her. "You'll fall, wait for Mama." But it was no use.

She ran right into Cinderella's skirt, threw her arms around the poor woman's knees and cried. "Cinderella, you here! I wait for you long, long time."

Cinderella was gracious. She held her hand out to Helaina who took it in hers. Hand in hand they walked back up that hill. When they got to the castle, Hallie did not let go. Cinderella led her and all the other waiting girls around her castle. She showed them her glass slipper and her fairy godmother's magic wand, and she showed them her thrown.

"Good bye ladies," said Cinderella sitting in her throne. "It was nice to see you, would you like a hug goodbye?

Hallie nodded and jumped right in. She threw her arms around Cinderella just as 10 bigger girls threw their arms around her too. Hallie was gone, swallowed by a sea of pink and lavender shorts and dresses. I gasped, trying to make sure she was okay. The woman seemed concerned, too, and drew back. All the girls let go, and there was Hallie still clinging to the skirt. She let go and looked at me smiling, "I hug Cinderella."

"Are you okay?" I asked her. She nodded. "I OK."

As we left the castle, she looked at me and said, "Cinderella is my fend."

She cried as we left the park. We sent Cinderella letters when we got home letting her know how much we missed her. We still talk about meeting her almost a month later.

What really struck me that day was how real it all was to my two and a half year old. In her mind this woman was Cinderella, and we visited the very castle where the princess lost her slipper. It was a magical experience for Helaina. We get so jaded and cynical in our adult lives, and it is easy to forget how special these simple, yet fantastical life experiences can be: treasure hunts in the woods, forts made from pillows, magic carpets made from blankets, and all that a little mind can imagine.

Maybe in some ways, that's part of what having children does for us as adults. It takes the edge of our cynicism. It softens us and gives us an opportunity to get back in touch with our own childhood dreams. While know in our head there are no such thing as fairy dust, wizards or warlocks, in out hearts we reconnect with those little nuggets of magic. Magic we can only see when we wear our kid-colored glasses.

As you know from my previous entry, it has been a long few months for us. The balance between writing and being a mom has been harder than ever. And there has been yet another curve ball.

Hallie's ear infections have returned in full-force. We've had three since March, and cold season is supposed to be finished!

We have tried it all -- a homeopathic physician, pediatric chiropractor, elimination diet, and massage treatment. Nothing has helped her little ears. A benign cold for everyone else turns into a major issue for her. She is stuck in a cycle: Each time it is the same. Her eardrums become concave as they fill with puss. My doctor calls her condition "sub-acute," my husband and I call it heartbreaking.

Hallie has been a clown since the day she could move. At six months she discovered that if she put underwear on her head, she would make us laugh. She began putting underwear on her head daily -- sometimes twice or three times after that. At 2-1/2 this little toddler knows what is funny. She hides groceries as I unpack my bags and stares at me straight-faced as I seek them out. A few weeks ago, I discovered a loaf of bread hidden in a spaghetti pot deep in a cupboard. She looks at us, tests us, and decides how to proceed. She's constantly asking herself, "Is this funny?"

So while she's wandering around our home singing at the top of her lungs ("I pay pano and sing loud when I go up," she recently told me), her nose is oozing and her ears are swishing. She pokes and pulls a little but no longer seems to feel the pain.

"How do your ears feel?" I ask her.

"Okay, Mama," she says as she plays.

"Do they hurt?" I prod.

"They okay," she says, smiling. Impossible. The doctor just told us your eardrums have no movement!

So, after falls, probably due to her impaired balance, three recent infections, and too many sleepless nights, I'm giving up. I'm going to see the surgeon. I suspect she needs tubes and possibly her adenoids removed. To be honest, it freaks me out. The thought of putting her under general anesthetic makes me cringe and shudder. I have horrible imaginings of a procedure going wrong.

She deserves better than a life of muffled sounds and chronic ear congestion and pain. In this season of epiphanies, I have learned yet another lesson: Sometimes the right decision is the scariest.

Months ago, I decided to take on a freelance project that seemed so exciting. It was something I've wanted to do for a long, long time. And then, finally, the opportunity presented itself. I jumped on it. I overlooked the fact that I was doing the work for a project fee instead of my usual hourly rate. I underestimated the hours the project would take. And, I underestimated the real costs.

The project turned out to be bigger ... way bigger ... than I'd anticipated. At first, I told myself it was okay. I wouldn't be making much money, but the work was fun.

I had to work during time generally allotted for cleaning up the house. No big deal. I had to work during evenings when I usually catch up with my husband. No big deal. The phone was ringing with important calls I had to take during dinner prep time. So we'd eat a little later. No big deal. I had to work during time I'd allotted for my kids. They could watch a video. No big deal.

But it was a big deal. I hadn't planned for this much work. I'd committed to other things. There were laundry piles everywhere. I was sleep deprived, often sick and crabby. My preschooler and toddler were feeding themselves crackers right out of the box and eating cream cheese with their fingers all the while watching video after video. My work materials were spread throughout our house. We had no food to eat. Dinner was macaroni and cheese or hot dogs almost nightly. My kids became distraught. My husband was ticked off. I wasn't taking care of anything or anyone - including myself.

I needed help, but I couldn't afford to hire any because I had so severely underestimated the project hours. I was making less an hour than the college kid who watches my children.

"Who is taking care of us?" Emelia asked me one day. "You're just letting us watch TV. More than ever."

It's funny how we assign costs to the various sacrifices we make. For me, this project wasn't about money. It was about a vision I had of a fabulous freelance gig. It seemed exciting, sexy almost. I was thrilled to be doing something that felt professional again.

Like many glamorous daydreams, it was neither sexy nor exciting. There have been some perks, but I've been too tired to appreciate them. While I thought I was just giving up money, what I really gave up was my commitment to my book writing, to this blog, and most importantly to the stability of my home.

There's more to my life's equation than I thought. I choose a patchwork life because I want to experience it all. I want to be at ballet recitals, and read stories in my daughter's class. I want to have evenings with my husband and fun family weekend outings. I want to express myself creatively through my writing and story telling.

The truth is, I can't have it all. At least not the "All" I imagined. For me, having it all means recognizing I can't do it all.

So the short term plan is to finish up this project. I hope to get most of it done in time for a lovely summer vacation with my kids. It's going to be another long month of work, but I've decided to hire someone to help me out. It means taking a loss financially, but its worth it because the real costs of these past few months have been too great to even assign a dollar amount.

 "Mama, do wishes come true?"

This was the question Emelia asked me last week while we were driving.

"Why do you ask," I inquired.

"Because I made a wish on a star a few weeks ago, and it didn't come true," was her reply.

It was a tough question, and I didn't quite know how to answer. Thoughts went whirling through my head. What if I tell her wishes come true, and then the things she wishes for don't happen? What if I tell her they don't, and then I crush her little spirit forever, sending her into years and years of therapy?

"Well," I began. "Wishes are tricky because some come true and some don't."

"There are some wishes," I explained, "that no matter how hard you wish and no matter how hard you try just can't come true. Like if you wished that you could grow wings and fly, that can't happen because people don't have feathers and don't grow wings. But if you wished that you could learn to fly a plane, that wish could come true. Because you can make that wish happen. You can set your mind to anything you imagine possible."

I thought back to my eight-year-old self.

"I hope my grandmother doesn't die from the cancer? Please don't let her die."

And then after she died:

"I wish that my whole family -- my mom, my dad, my sister and me can be healthy and happy forever. I wish that nothing bad ever happens to us, and that we all live together forever."

I looked up at the stars every night wishing frantically, begging the powers that be to spare me and my loved ones for things that were totally out of my control.

I don't mean to be a total downer here. It's just that this whole topic of wishing has me thinking about how we prepare ourselves for the road ahead, and how we deal with the things that are beyond us. I'm pretty sure that Emelia's wishes are far less dramatic than mine were. I mean, she's probably wishing she could be a princess or a fairy. She's wishing for that skirt she saw in a catalog, and for another tiny rubber Disney princess to add to her collection. But dreams and aspirations are an important part of who she is right now, and how they play out will impact the person she becomes.

"So Mom," she continued. "Is there really such thing as an Easter bunny? Or is it just a grown up wearing a bunny costume?"

Argh. She was killing me. We certainly don't celebrate Easter in our Jewish home, but her grandparents celebrate and her school holds an Easter egg hunt. In my head I imagined myself saying, "There's no such thing as the Easter bunny, there's no such thing as Santa, and before we even get there, forget that whole tooth fairy thing, too."

 This time, however, I was a little smarter.

"What do you think?" I asked her. "Do you think there is an Easter bunny?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "I think it is just a grown up."

I thought I'd be relieved to hear her answer. I have been working hard to teach her some of the religious and cultural differences between her grandparents and us. But in truth, I felt a little sad. She is just beginning to figure things out, and I'm not ready for her to lose her sense of wonder.

 We all need to have wishes. Dreams and goals that we aspire to meet. I want my kids to reach for the stars and do everything in their power to try and reach them. But wishing touches on other important issues like faith in yourself and faith in whatever religion you follow. It makes me realize that part of raising a secure, happy little person is fostering in her a sense of belief both spiritually and personally. Egads, there's a lot of work ahead.

"Ok Mom," she said, "I think I have a good wish then. I wish that I can go to Disneyland someday."

I laughed. "Now that is one wish that might someday come true." And it just might.

"That's a great wish," I added. "You just keep on wishing and wishing because you never know which ones might come true."

She looked out the window smiling, surely entertaining visions of Cinderella, Snow White and Emelia in her head.