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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.

 "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.

When I was little, my favorite book was The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I read it over and over and over again. I loved how little Mary transformed herself from a sour, sad little soul into a happy, playful girl through the discovery that she could make a garden grow. Mary learns that even plants that seem completely dead can revive if someone takes the time to give them a little TLC.

We're all a little like Mary and her plants, really. Life beats us down between the daily grind, work and home life stresses, and the sometimes frantic pace of getting it all done. A hug, a snuggle, a squeeze is all we sometimes need to take the edge off. If we can find some activity or hobby that really makes us happy, that levity can spread its way into our everyday selves.

Up until a week ago, winter was really getting me down. We'd been mostly healthy for a few weeks, but then Hallie fell down, hit her head on a radiator and needed three stitches on the back of her head. It was bloody, and it was awful, and that's all I'm going to say about that terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. The next day Emelia came home from school sick. She was at home for duration of the week, and then on Thursday night Hallie developed a raging ear infection. Back to the doctor on Friday. By the weekend, I was spent. Fried. Begging for Calgon to take me away.

But Sunday was Emelia's 5th birthday party, and there were plans to make, foods to prepare, and two sets of grandparents to feed.

It was all over by Sunday night. Ear was better, party was over, Daddy was happy the house had quieted down, and Mommy was ready to snack on leftover ice cream cake. Yum.

On Monday afternoon, I noticed the first green shoot pushing its way through my garden. Today, I noticed about ten more ... tiny little leaves beginning to make their way up towards the sun. Tulips, crocuses, and hyacinths. (Sorry Mom and Dad, I know you have something like 3, 4, or 20 feet of snow in Montreal, Canada right now.)

I cannot begin to tell you all how happy these tiny leaves make me. For me, it is the sign that spring is just around the corner. I'll annoy Emelia and Hallie by showing them the leaves regularly until flowers begin to bloom. (Mama, you showed us this one leaf already 45 22 3 times!) I know, I know. I just can't help it.

When spring comes, the colds begin to go away. When spring comes, we can play outside. The whole world is filled with a delicious, fresh smell.

When the leaves poke through, we all get a chance to be like Mary. We get to shed our sad, sour winter selves, plant some seeds, and tiptoe through in the tulips.

Just call me Eeyore, my husband does. I can't help it really -- I'm just not one of those glass-is-half-full kind of people. I've always been someone who plans for everything, but usually everything means planning for the worst. To be honest, I always considered it one of my better traits. Find yourself suddenly in need of first aid, I have a whole kit in my diaper bag. Need a pen, I generally have one, too.

But my husband doesn't see it that way. He thinks my constant Eeyore-ness hampers my ability to have fun. He thinks it hampers my kids' ability to have fun while they're with me.

I think he may have a point there, but I also think moms and dads play very different roles in their kids' worlds. Like it or not, most moms can't afford to be the life of the party. There are too many people and things to take care of.

But watching my daughter Emelia play this week got me thinking.

It was a cold day, a really cold day (something like 23 degrees Fahrenheit with no wind chill factored in). It snowed the day before, but Emelia couldn't go outside to play. Her snow boots from last year were too small -- way too small. The pair I ran out to get her, too small. Clearly I'm not boot-sizing savvy. So she went to school in running shoes, and I insisted she could not play outside. The second day we borrowed a pair of rain boots from a friend. I knew they weren't warm enough, but it was all I had, so I put on her thermal socks and sent her off.

"It was too cold to play outside," she told me, "so I didn't get to crunch in the snow."

"That's probably better," I replied. "You're wearing rain boots. They won't keep your feet warm."

"I'm fine," she said beaming. "I'm not cold." She paused. "Can I crunch to the car?"

I nodded. While I walked slowly along the pathway, Emelia crunched through the snow-covered grass to school. There wasn't a lot of snow -- just about an inch -- but it was enough to meet her needs. She stomped her foot down and looked up and smiled.

"CRUNCH!" she said. She then proceeded to walk around the lawn for 10 minutes, stomping her feet up and down.

"Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch," she said with a wide smile on her face. "I'm crunching, Mama, I'm crunching."

"I'm shivering Emelia," I said. "Shivering."

She wasn't done crunching. She crunched a few minutes more until I couldn't take it anymore.

"Time to go. I'm freezing!" And I was. The cold has never been a friend.

She rolled her eyes at me. She wasn't done crunching.

As I buckled her into the car, she said, "Mama, winter is my favorite season. I just love crunching in the snow."

"That's great!" I said. "I love winter, too. You can ski, you can make a snowman, and the world looks so pretty covered in snow."

She paused for a minute.

"But summer is pretty great, too. You get to swim and go to the beach, and you don't need a coat."

"That's true."

"Summer is my favorite season, too. After that, I like Spring best, because the flowers grow. Fall is my next favorite season because the leaves change colors, and you can jump in them ... and it is Halloween time, and we have pumpkins and apples ...."

Our conversation got me thinking a lot about adulthood. It's no secret that kids have an amazing sense of wonder. Maybe their wonder is what makes them mostly optimists. Emelia can find something great, something new or exciting, in every day.

Maybe it's time for me to learn from my kid. Maybe it's time to begin looking for something exciting every day.

Perhaps I should get my boots on, and go crunching in the snow.

Crunch ....