Daschel, BIGFest’s Godson and youngest crew and entourage member who spent this weekend “around too many alligators and rappers”, Gainsville, Fl, April 2026
Daschel, 11 years old, Woodward Camp, PA with his Uncle Sagey
If only we could lay still long enough to remember how to get back up. Daschel on concrete, learning what falling really teaches—that it’s childhood in real time, part of being alive. Eventually you have to get up. But there’s no timer on how fast.
The magic and whimsy of raising a kid in NYC — one last pre-blizzard adventure on a Sunday afternoon. 20,000 paper planes before the snow grounds us all. #20000planes #mschf #nyckids #paperplanes
Last summer when Liam asked Dash to watch Stranger Things with him, Dash said no.
Tonight—very close to bedtime—he declared: “Last summer when you asked me to watch Stranger Things, I should have said yes. Everyone is talking about it at school.”
They didn’t wait for me to find it on the big TV. They just pulled up episode one on the iPad and made room—Dash, Liam, and the dog, all folded into each other.
Bedtime has come and gone. But sometimes you just have to take the crack in the door these pre-teens give you.
The world feels impossibly heavy right now, filled with horrendous things we can’t look away from. But here, on our little island in the Lower East Side, we’re safe. For tonight they were just father, son, and dog, watching a show about kids fighting monsters, choosing the small screen over the big one because being close matters.
They’ve finished episode 1 of season 1. I guess I should watch episode 1 too so I can join the rest of the cuddles.
Life is good. Even when it isn’t. Especially when we remember to hold onto these moments—the ones where everyone’s home and accounted for and warm.
I know not everyone gets to go home tonight.
I've said it once and I will say it again, Liam is annoying, but he’s a good dad.
Day 2 of 365 for 2026.
Wrapping up Daschel’s 2025, the year he grew rudely taller than me. 💙
A photo for every month. He changed so little but also changed so much.
Accompanied by my stream-of-consciousness early morning mama musings. Thank you to all who have supported him this past year, especially to his dad Liam who always holds him down when I’m away.
Daschel, 11, Time Square, NY, NY, October 2025
Yes, our 11-year-old is holding a “Fuck ICE” sign. Sometimes “Fuck” is the only word that properly conveys the sentiment. We’re raising a kid who understands that some things deserve our anger, that speaking truth matters more than polite silence, and that no one—no agency, no authority—is beyond criticism or karma. No kings.
They say the city is too loud, too crowded, … but Langston and I know better. Twenty-one years on the Lower East Side, and mornings at this waterside office remind me why we stay—and why I could never be a corporate worker. Corlears Hook, where the water holds the silence, carries many a story, and this neighborhood keeps all of our secrets. May you always be the best little corner of the island of Manhattan. I will proudly remain a downtown girl who doesn’t cross 13th Street—why would we, when we have everything we need down here?
