• the one about that someone

    January 6, 2016 /

    Wow.

    Where have I been the past two months?

    How have I gone two months without returning to this little space to write, document, and download my thoughts and feelings on motherhood and womanhood and other various ‘hoods?

    It’s like the movie The Hangover. Something happened. I don’t remember what, or how, or who. All I know is that I am now awake, and I’ve lost a tooth. Ok, I lied about the last part. I have all my teeth, but my Kindergartner is working on her first loose tooth, and I kind of can’t deal with how grown up that means she is.

    I have actually tried to write a few different times. I have tried to write about the holidays and the magic and the stress of it all. I have tried to write about sentimental feelings and even feelings of sadness and unworthiness. I have posts saved as drafts in hopes that I would either return to finish them or gain the courage to post them. In reality, they sit, unfinished and unspoken. A silent record of the past several weeks of my life.

    The holidays. They happened.

    And now here I am!

    Call it a goal or resolution or whatever you like, but I am most certainly wanting to get back to writing more regularly. It feels so good to unload my brain and it also feels so good when I know that someone else can relate to what I just verbally vomitted all over the inter web.

    While I don’t have much of a written record of the last couple weeks of 2015, I can tell you that I actually spent a little of that time reading books. Crazy, right? In the day of Kindles and Nooks and people spending their time doing anything but reading, I actually was able to carve out some time to read a couple of wonderfully inspiring and influential books.

    It sounds silly, but these books have actually empowered me as I begin the new year. There’s something about reading someone else’s thoughts as words and feeling validated because you have those thoughts, too. Suddenly, you’re not alone. You’re not crazy. Well, maybe you are still crazy, but at least you know someone else is your same kind of crazy.

    I’d like to think that’s why you’re reading this. You’re searching for someone to match your crazy.

    I’m sure I’m your girl.

    These two books, For the Love: Fighting for Grace in a World of Impossible Standards by Jen Hatmaker and The Fringe Hours: Making Time for You by Jessica N. Turner filled my heart with wonderful, affirming words and advice that will carry me through this next year — a year I hope is positive, happy, and rewarding.

    On New Year’s Eve, I was talking to Luke about 2015. We were going through the highs and lows of the year…our favorite memories…our worst moments. He had so many highlights to claim and be proud of, and I struggled to come up with one. This is sad for a few reasons. For one, it’s sad because “nothing” super amazing happened in those 365 days, but mostly it’s sad because I didn’t “view” the past year’s highlights as what they were — highlights. I had a hard time remembering any of the joy I had experienced. I saw 2015 as the year I didn’t run the half marathon. It was the year the girls painted Disney World in puke.

    2015 was also a year of extreme emotional stress for me. I took on too many commitments. I became a chronic and habitual yes girl. Being afraid of what people would think or say about me if I said no to a request became a monster I could not get escape from. By the time my day was finished with making everyone else happy, I would be frazzled, beaten down, and borderline unbearable to be around.

    In my last post, I wrote about the half marathon I stopped training for. This was a pretty big turning point for me, because the rest of 2015 basically turned into a blur of stress and anxiety. One yes after another, and eventually I found myself unable to sleep through the night (which had nothing to do with the fact that my 3 year old still doesn’t sleep through the night most of the time). I would wake up in a panic, making to-do lists on my phone at 3 a.m. or sometimes just waking up for good at that hour so that I could have some more time in my day.

    I stopped eating. Ha. Not really. I stopped eating real food. With no time for breakfast, I would grab Starbucks daily. Most of the days, lunch was fast food of some sort or nothing at all. I lived off of Diet Coke, so much so that Luke had to bribe me with an overnight getaway just to give it up for one month. I always managed to come up with some semblance of a balanced meal for dinner…because, of course, I actually cared about what my family was eating.

    Between the lack of sleep and poor food choices, I noticed my hair was dull and thinning in spots. I was sick more in those few months than I had been in a year. I weighed the same as the day I delivered Shiloh.

    So why am I oversharing all of this with you?

    Because somewhere, someone needs to read this.

    Somewhere, someone needs to know that all those things you’re yessing to are eventually going to suck the life out of you. With no time to exercise…no time to eat real, nourishing food…no time to read empowering books…no time to have meaningful conversation with friends…no time to soak up the little moments with your children…no time to simply be still and know…you will eventually run out of steam and make yourself sick, crazy, or downright miserable.

    Are you that someone? Don’t worry if you are…because I’m that someone, too. I’m still that someone, because it takes time to build confidence and form new habits. I am only one week into this epiphany of sorts, and it takes an effort each day to change my old ways. I am a People-Pleaser by nature, so I know that I will never be able to fully let go of my fear that if I tell a person “No” or “I can’t” that they will shun me forever.

    It’s a work in progress.

    I’m a work in progress.

    If you’re that someone, I invite you to try these steps to get you headed in the right direction. For the first time in several months, I have hope that I can overcome these obstacles and truly have not only a wonderful and memorable year, but a fulfilling and happy life.

    1. Read the two books I mentioned earlier. They are quick reads. Make the time to do it. Use the time you spend on Facebook and Pinterest to enjoy the words of these women. You will come away feeling inspired, empowered, and motivated. You’ll laugh a lot, too.

    2. Pick a mantra, and put it on a bracelet. I believe in mantras. When I was pregnant with Shiloh and on bed rest for 12 weeks, I chose “I can do hard things,” inspired by Glennon at Momastery. This phrase helped me to focus and get through a tough part of my life. I stamped the words on a leather bracelet and wore it even through childbirth.

    For this phase of my life, I chose three mantras.

    Be still. Choose joy. All I need is within me.

    I found the inspiration for these mantras at Mantra Band. I love the color choices and daintiness of the bracelets, and there are zillions of motivational words and mantras to choose from. I wear my mantras daily, and they are a great reminder for me when I struggle.

    3. Pull a Nike and Just Do It. Whatever it is that you’re wanting to do– read more, exercise, meet with friends, go to bed earlier…whatever you have been longing for and wishing to make time for…just do it. Write it into your calendar, arrange appropriate babysitting if necessary, and get it done. The first step is always the hardest, but after you do just one small thing for yourself, you start to think about other ways to be creative and efficient with your day to allow you to spend even more time doing what you love.

    4. Be like Elsa and Let It Go. Let go of the guilt and feelings of being selfish. Mom guilt is a crazy, huge, real thing. We feel guilty for working. We feel guilty for going to dinner with friends. We feel guilty for calling in pizza. We feel guilty for spending money on ourselves. We feel guilty for hiring a babysitter so we can be alone or go on a date with our husbands. We feel guilty for not making the baby food from scratch. We feel guilty for every. damn. thing. Or at least I do.

    It’s time to let all of that go. No one else is keeping score except you (and if someone else is, that person’s a real asshole).

    I am a better, happier, more pleasant person to be around when I am taking care of myself. I am more calm. I am more patient. I am absolutely a better mother and wife.

    I wish you a year life of letting go and doing it.
    Well that got dirty real fast, huh?

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  • the one about the almost

    November 7, 2015 /

    I woke up this morning in a sour mood. I didn’t sleep well for the 4 trillionth night in a row. As it turns out, sharing the couch with a 3 year old isn’t great for your back. Or neck. Or hips. Or anything.

    I decided to shower early so that I could start my day on a fresh note. In the shower, I realized there was another reason why I already felt defeated prior to starting any of my daily battles.

    Today was the day. Many months ago, I set out to run a half marathon on this date. There’s a large event in Indianapolis, and I had told my husband and anyone else who asked that I was going to finally accomplish a goal of mine and run a half marathon.

    Well, today, that isn’t going to happen. Here I sit, in a towel (sorry for the visual), listening to my girls watch The Magic School Bus in the other room. Cheerios have already been eaten. Husband is off to round at the hospital.

    This is me, not running a half marathon.

    When did I set this goal? I think it was back in the spring. I looked at my calendar and picked an event that would give me ample time to train. Surely I could get it done by November 7th. That’s half of a year away!

    I bought new shoes. I found running pants that wouldn’t slouch down with every labored step on the treadmill. I got those fun running headbands. I was all in.

    I began the training process. Slowly and steadily, I increased my distances for each run and found myself actually beginning to enjoy the process. It’s a strange thing when you go from hating each and every step and wondering if this might be the very last breath you take, to actually feeling stronger and better and happier as each mile ticks away.

    But honestly? It got hard. Life got hard. I was only able to run in the gym because at least I had childcare there. And have you ever tried to train for a half marathon on a treadmill? A few problems arise. One, when you run as slowly as I do, the 60 minute time limit automatically shuts the treadmill off, even when you have a few more miles to do. And then there’s the fact that scenery never changes. Sure, the people come and go around you and you can change the channel on the nifty TVs, but there’s nothing inspiring or exciting about staring at the 19 year old with no cellulite half-assing it on the stair master while she texts her boyfriend.

    And hauling 3 little ones into the gym with all their bags and snacks and demands is just a workout before the workout even begins.

    (Don’t forget you have to haul them back out to your car when you’re dead done.)

    But even though it got hard, I still managed to run nearly 7 miles without stopping. Yes, the girl who was called Trunks by high school baseball players while I was warming up for softball practice because my legs were so short and squatty (albeit quite strong) ran 7 miles and lived to tell about it.

    However, the week that killed it all was the week that my daughter started Kindergarten and the week my husband completed his half-Ironman triathlon. Not only was the stress of the new school routine a difficult thing to work around, but my daughter’s Kindergarten teacher resigned two days before school was to start and I was overcome with the need to eat cookies and chips until it all got sorted out.

    And then there was the packing and logistics and constant talking about Luke’s Ironman. With an out-of-state destination, there were lots of preparations taking place between making sure he had all he needed and also making sure our girls were taken care of.

    And honestly? I was more than a little concerned he was going to drown in Lake Michigan during the swim and so off to the cookies and chips I went.

    In a nutshell, I took that week of life off from the gym. And I never went back.

    What it was, I don’t know. Actually, I do know. I watched all of these tremendous people complete this incredible physical feat at the Ironman, and instead of feeling inspired, I felt defeated.

    I could never do anything like that. 

    I will never do anything like that.

    Who was I kidding to think I could run a half marathon in the first place? 

    So I quit on my goal in August.

    And I’m feeling it now today.

    It would have felt so good to cross that finish line and prove to myself that I could do it. It would have felt so good to have my husband cheering for me, instead of the other way around (like it has been through all his half marathons, triathlons, and the full marathon he ran 5 years ago).

    I am writing this because I am certain so many other mamas have goals they want to accomplish and things they want to do, but the fear of failing or fear of looking foolish or just the challenges of life continue to stand in the way.

    And so they never try.

    But take it from me. I’d rather be healing my sore muscles and aching bones than my heavy heart and bruised pride.

    Here’s to new goals.

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  • the one about when it isn’t all rainbow glitter and fairy farts

    September 23, 2015 /

    I have been struggling with a few posts for a while, and the reason for the hesitation is because, quite honestly, they haven’t been written in 100% truth. And truth is what I have promised and truth is what I shall deliver.

    It’s tough to admit when you’re in a rut. Or when things don’t go as planned. Or when you’re disappointed. I actually have a really, really hard time admitting disappointment when I do things like choose a restaurant that ended up being not that great, or pick a movie that was a giant waste of time. I guess I am just prideful in that way. I also can’t stand it when others aren’t having fun at an event I brought them to. For whatever reason, I feel a responsibility for their happiness and enjoyment– whether that’s right or not.

    So, a few months ago, my husband and I were so excited to plan a surprise Disney trip for our girls. We wanted to completely catch them off-guard, whisk them away to the airport, and make magical memories to last for years and years. We had such a wonderful time on our first trip to Disney World, and we couldn’t wait to go back.

    We were able to tie the trip into another medical conference for Luke, which greatly offset the cost of accommodations. We purchased the plane tickets, and I began preparing for the trip (interpretation – buying a gaggle of Disney shit prior to even setting foot on the premises).

    I checked the Disney dining website multiple times a day (…an hour), waiting for a table to become available for a princess dining experience. I had such fun picturing how my girls would react to meeting each character and the quality family time we would enjoy.

    The night before, it could have easily been Christmas Eve in my mind. We put the girls to bed, and we were damn giddy at the idea of them having no clue what awaited them the next day. I packed all of our bags without them knowing a thing, and we loaded everything in the van the night before. The plan was for Luke to pick Noelle up midday from school, and we would head to the airport at that point.

    Of course we wanted to video the girls as we told them where they were going. We imagined quite a grand response. Do you remember that commercial that aired at Christmas several years ago of the parents telling the kids they were going to Disney World as a Christmas gift, and the children then began crying hysterically out of pure joy? That’s what we were aiming for.

    Well, what we got was the look of a disappointed Kindergartner when we told her she wouldn’t be going back to school that day. Pouty face and all, she was quite miffed that she would not be seeing her friends that afternoon.

    Great. There goes our chances of making the next Disney commercial. 

    Needless to say, that wasn’t the reaction I was going for. My husband likes to tell me, “Manage your expectations.” This was pretty sound advice, because our trip only continued to become the antithesis of the picturesque Disney moments every family dreams of.

    We stayed at the Grand Floridian Resort again (thanks to the medical conference), and if it weren’t for the airline’s carry-on regulations, I would pick that whole place up and take it back with me. I love it. The staff is helpful and friendly. The dining options are yummy. The lobby smells would I would imagine Heaven to smell like. The rooms are luxurious and beautiful.

    Well, imagine my chagrin when I went out for a little walk around the resort on the first night and received a text from Luke that included a picture of my dear Charlotte’s vomit ALL over one of the beautiful beds?

    So, what did I do? I stopped at the market inside the resort and bought a Diet Coke and chocolate frosted donuts because I’m healthy like that.

    I then proceeded to eat nearly half the bag on a chaise lounge in the lobby. Slowly. Very slowly.

    I am still on vacation, dammit!

    I was hoping that by the time I made my way back to our room, the Puke Fairy would have cleaned up all the vomit soaked sheets and all would be well.

    Close enough. I returned to find Charlotte asleep peacefully and the offensive linens piled up in the corner with housekeeping on their way.

    We chalked it up to eating too much sugar and really thought that was the end of it. A very nice lady came to our room at 11 p.m. to change our sheets and make everything good as new. I settled into bed and thought to myself, “This is the most comfortable mattress ever.”

    And then Charlotte threw up again.

    And again.

    And kids really just don’t understand the concept of getting to the bathroom before the vomit comes up.

    I had just started to cry as I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the ornate victorian carpet of our hotel room, when little Shiloh started to gag in her sleep. Luke quickly grabbed her and carried her to the bathroom, leaving a trail of 10 month old baby puke behind him.

    More tears.

    My girls were sick and miserable. Our clean and beautiful room now had an intolerable smell. We used every towel and linen in the entire room to clean up the mess, including the bathrobes in the closet.

    I lost count, but I believe each of the little girls got sick 3 times before it was all over. Noelle slept soundly through the ordeal, and I was too afraid to sleep for fear Shiloh would choke in the middle of the night.

    Night one was not a success. Memories were certainly made, however.

    The next day was a planned hotel pool day. We just wanted to hang around and enjoy the resort’s amenities, and I was thankful we hadn’t planned any character meals or park visits. The little girls seemed to be better by the morning, and I was hopeful we could still enjoy our trip.

    We enjoyed a fun day in the sun, had a delicious dinner at the Grand Floridian Cafe, took a boat ride around the lagoon, and then settled in for an early night, given the previous night’s events. The next day, the girls and I anxiously awaited the end of Luke’s meetings so we could get to Epcot for the princess lunch reservation at Akershus that I worked so freaking hard to get.

    The girls looked dreamy in their princess outfits, and I snapped these pictures. You would never have been able to tell that Charlotte was throwing up the night before or….

    …that Noelle would be next.

    Yes, as we were dining with the princesses, she started to say her stomach hurt. I took her to the bathroom a couple of times and generally tried to downplay it. Surely, she could not be getting sick. She was just nervous or had eaten a bad Swedish meatball. She was fine.

    But, as I was waiting in line to meet Aladdin and Princess Jasmine with Charlotte, Noelle tossed her cookies in the middle of “Morocco.” There went $24.99 worth of corn and mashed potatoes. Poor Luke was left to deal with the mess because Charlotte was not about to not meet Jasmine. I watched as kind strangers offered Luke a water bottle to rinse Noelle’s flip flops.

    Ah, yes. This truly is the happiest place on Earth!

    So, what are you to do when you have a sick child at Epcot? You find some really nice ornamental bushes and let her continue to get sick in those because we are. not. leaving.

    Again, after about 3 go-arounds, she felt better, and we somehow were able to enjoy a few attractions at Epcot (before the torrential downpour).

    We all left with a renewed sense of excitement because we knew we still had the Magic Kingdom to enjoy the next day. We hopped on the monorail and arrived back at the resort, but not before Noelle felt the urge to throw up one more time en route. Have you ever wondered what the record is for quickest reaction time to a vomiting child? Shopping bag turned sick sack in 1.7 seconds.

    And that record is all mine, Baby.

    Somehow, we managed to get everyone back to our room without another incident. We got the girls put to bed, and I anxiously awaited the next morning, which involved getting the girls up and ready to have breakfast at Be Our Guest (Beast’s Castle) at 8:00 a.m. in the Magic Kingdom. Luke and I both LOVED the Magic Kingdom the first time we visited, and we couldn’t wait to have a wonderful time together as a family of 5.

    I somehow managed to get all 3 of my girls on the monorail and through the park to the restaurant on time. Alone. We enjoyed our breakfast of pastries and eggs. I asked each of them every 5 minutes, “Do you feel OK?” “Are you going to be sick?” “Does your tummy hurt?” Thankfully, they were feeling good.

    We somehow managed to luck into hopping in line to meet Anna and Elsa just as the exhibit was opening, so we waited a grand 5 minutes to meet the Frozen girls. This was pure, dumb luck, as the wait time is generally at least 90 minutes.

    Elsa was beautiful. I admit, I was even a little star struck by her as well.

    I was feeling good about life and my Disney conquests at this point. We killed a little time before Luke was able to join us at the Magic Kingdom after his final morning of meetings.

    Noelle thought she’d like to try Splash Mountain.

    You can see how that went.

    And then, Luke’s time became a little less magical by the minute.

    Yes, my dear, loving husband, who was so excited for the Magic Kingdom, started to feel queasy and sick. I took the older girls on the Dumbo ride and watched from the air as his face turned a little more white each time we came back around. I knew there was no way he could be enjoying himself.

    The first time we took the girls to Disney World, our absolute favorite thing was the midday parade. It is so beautifully done and captures the true essence of Disney. This time, we arrived early to get good seats along the street. Unfortunately, just as the parade was beginning, Luke found himself on an emergency bathroom run and missed the entire thing.

    At that point, we decided it was best that he take Shiloh back to the resort and try to get some rest. I was left at the Magic Kingdom with Noelle and Charlotte. The plan was for Luke to try to meet us back that evening for fireworks so that we could at least enjoy them together as a family.

    With tears in my eyes, I told myself that I needed to be the mama my girls deserved, and we went to cash in our Fast Passes for some of our favorite rides. We even endured an hour long wait for Peter Pan’s Flight because Noelle was desperate to ride it.

    We also had ice cream. Ice cream makes everything better.

    Thankfully, Luke was able to meet up with us for our final character meet & greets with Tinker Bell and Mickey Mouse. We also were able to watch the fireworks at the castle together. I was so thankful we could enjoy these moments as a family.

    I can’t lie. A part of me died when I saw so many families enjoying their time, getting pictures in front of the castle, and experiencing the togetherness that I longed for. It is so difficult to accept when things do not go as planned or live up to the expectation you have in your mind.

    But I suppose that’s part of life. It’s part of growing up.

    Life isn’t always rainbow glitter and fairy farts.

    It isn’t always Disney commercials and castles.

    When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.

    And when life hands you a sick family at Disney World, you hand them a sick sack and keep on moving.

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  • the one about how I hate packing lunches

    August 13, 2015 /

    As you know by now, my oldest daughter has started Kindergarten. The process of starting “official school” has brought about many changes in our household.

    First, because she attends a private Catholic school, she wears a uniform everyday. There will be days when  she can wear what she wants, but so far, each day has been a uniform day.

    I know many who turn their noses up at uniforms, stating that they remove the individuality from the child and force them to look like everyone else. I get that, I do, but uniforms have made my life significantly easier and less dramatic.

    My children have beautiful clothes. Really, there’s nothing they own that makes me cringe when they wear it (otherwise, why would we own it?). However, there are things that are best not to be worn to school. And those things, without fail, are the things my daughter would LOVE to wear to school.

    Thank you, Uniform, for sparing that aztec-legging under the floral dress with the giant popsicle stain power struggle.

    Another change for our house is preparing a school lunch for her daily. We are allowing her to eat a school lunch once per week, but the other days are lunch box days. The only problem with this is that I abso-freaking-lutely hate packing lunches. HATE.

    For whatever reason, I just find the task to be daunting (first world problem, I know). I refuse to do it in the morning because we never wake up early enough to avoid the inevitable cluster that is the final five minutes before departure. Then, often times I am too tired to pack anything worthwhile the night before. Truly, it is a crapshoot if I am going to brush my teeth before I go to bed, so packing a lunch that is anything more than a box of Cheerios with a note that says “Love, Mama” slapped on it is kind of asking too much.

    I decided to find a way to make packing lunches less of a chore. I took to Pinterest (duh) and found a few promising ideas. I decided to give one a try, and I am so happy I did!

    I combined a few ideas and came up with something that has been an absolute life saver. I literally don’t have to think about packing lunches, and most of the time, Noelle can pack her lunch herself.

    I purchased mini plastic crates from Target, 3/$3.99, and some plastic baggies. I determined that one bin would be for “Starches/Salty Snacks,” another bin would be for “Sweet Treats,” another bin would be for “Cheese/Yogurt,” another for “Meat/Protein,” one bin for “Fruit,” and a final bin for “Veggies.”

    The bins that do not need to be refrigerated sit on my counter. They are stackable, so they don’t take up a lot of space. For the refrigerated items, I cleared a spot in my refrigerator and also used one of the crisper drawers in the bottom.

    (I tried to take photos of this system, but my kitchen does not photograph well!)

    I then filled the bins with 2 choices for each category. To start with, I placed appropriately portioned baggies of popcorn and pita chips in the “Starches/Salty Snacks” bin. For “Sweet Treats,” I measured out serving sizes of chocolate covered yogurt raisins and trail mix into snack baggies. Her “Cheese/Yogurt” choices were Chobani yogurt tubes or Babybel cheese. For “Meat/Protein,” I placed two pieces of salami in a baggie and hard boiled a few eggs. Her “Fruit” choices were baggies of grapes or strawberries. Her “Veggies” were baggies of baby carrots or celery with light ranch dressing cups to dip.

    She can choose one option from each bin and pack her lunch herself. It took me approximately 45 minutes on a Sunday to baggie up enough food for two weeks’ worth of school lunches. It takes her less than 2 minutes to pack her lunch herself, and she enjoys the job. By giving her healthy choices, I know that no matter what she chooses, she is packing herself a healthy lunch.

    Once all of our bins are empty, I will refill them with new options. She knows that I also won’t add more of one choice simply because she ate all of that one choice first. For example, she ate all of the baggies of grapes first, so I will not add more grapes until she eats the baggies of strawberries.

    The one thing I don’t care for is the amount of plastic baggies we use in this system, but I am having her bring all of her plastic baggies home in her lunch box, except for the ones with sticky fruit in them, and I will try to reuse them a couple times before throwing them away. We try to recycle and be as environmentally friendly as possible, so there might be another way to replace the baggies. For now, this is working for us.

    What I love about this is that it is cost effective (I am estimating each day’s lunch costs less than $2).

    It is time efficient. As long as you have an extra 45 minutes or so on the weekend to wash and cut fruit and vegetables and bag up the other items, you can save yourself a lot of time and chaos throughout the week.

    It is healthy. My daughter is obsessed with one day receiving a “real” Lunchable, but at $3 each and not the greatest nutrition facts, I just can’t justify it. This way of packing lunches puts her in control of “choosing,” even though I have done the guesswork for her. She feels like she is taking control of her lunch, and I am happy that no matter what she chooses, they will be nutritious.

    It gets us off the PB&J hamster wheel. I love a good PB&J. I really, really do. But we simply were not thinking of anything else to feed our children, and I realized that there are other (and better) options out there. For a peanut butter fix, I can add peanut butter in small containers for her to dip her celery in, or we can save it for the weekends. A lot of schools are not wanting kids to bring peanut butter in their lunches anyway because of the allergy risk.

    I have created a chart that I will be using when I am trying to think of new ideas to add to the bins. Feel free to download and use it, too! Just click the image and right click to save it! What would you add to the mix?

    Now…if I could only convince her to sleep in her uniform the night before…

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  • the one about the things I said when I was tired

    March 26, 2015 /

    I stumble and fumble around the dark room, dodging pointy Barbie doll parts and a fleet of ride-on toys. Swaying to the imaginary waves on the imaginary ocean, I hiss profanity under my breath when my shin meets the corner of my solid wood bed.

    I’m dizzy and disoriented.

    But I’m not drunk.

    No, that would be too enjoyable.

    I’m. Just. Tired.

    Where am I?

    Who am I?

    Looks at husband. Who is this?

    I think this makes trip number 3 down the hallway and back. The first time for the oldest who had a bad dream. The second time for the newborn who decided she was starving. The third time for the 2 year old who had a diaper so rancid I could smell it halfway to her room. I sincerely considered just pretending like I didn’t smell it and heading back to bed, but I am sure that is some form of punishable abuse.

    So after 32 wipes, new pajamas, starting a load of laundry at 4:30 a.m., and considering (then reconsidering) squirting dish soap directly into my nostrils to just make sure I got it all, I was ready for sleep.

    But the 2 year old wasn’t ready for sleep. Honestly? It was probably physically impossible for her to sleep in that kind of stench lingering in her bedroom.

    So I gave in to her request for Sofia the First at 5 a.m. and found myself drunk-shuffling down the hallway again and walk-of-shaming my way out to the couch with her on my hip.

    Fearing judgment from all the people who advise against such parenting practices, I forgot where I was for a moment, and I said (to no one), “What are you looking at?”

    Half-lucid (and half-crazy), I managed to find Sofia On Demand, and I squeaked out 22 minutes of peace before her marshmallowy hands were smacking my forehead. “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM! Sofia’s over! Mom. Mom. Mom.”

    “Why am I the only one who knows how to find Sofia? You’re old enough to do this now!” I said to my 29-month-old baby child.

    I can laugh now at the ridiculousness of this statement to a child who still poops in a diaper, but at the time, it made perfect sense.

    As did the time when my children found me on the couch after another long, sleepless night, and my husband had already gone to work for the day, and they stared at me for a good long while before asking, “Can we have breakfast?”

    And I was like, “Why do I have to feed you breakfast everyday?”

    Of course I know how that sounds, but in my sleep-deprived fog, I just say the darndest things.

    My husband isn’t exempt from my delusions, either. It’s just that some* of the time, he’s too passed out to hear them.

    *Disclaimer: He does get up and help quite a bit. I just despise how easily he can fall back asleep.


    Like when I’m in the middle of a breastfeeding marathon at 2 a.m. and I sneer at the back of his peaceful, sleeping head, “How NICE it is that you don’t have boobs!”

    I mean, really, it is nice that he doesn’t have boobs, because…weird, but still.

    Or when he can easily tune out the sound of our screaming toddler during an attempt at “crying it out,” all the while dreaming of golf courses and running half-marathons and fishing lures, and I’m awake trying to shove an entire pillow into my ear canal to block the sound, I say things like, “I don’t understand WHY having a job that involves SAVING PEOPLE’S LIVES requires you to sleep more than me!”

    Or “The DOCTORS on GREY’S ANATOMY don’t need that much sleep!”

    But after some time to wake up, a Starbucks (or two), some online shopping, and some personal reflection, I realize the silliness in my words and strive to make up for them the rest of the day by not rolling my eyes when someone wants a meal again.

    So, to my girls and my husband, I’m sorry for the things I said when I was tired.

    But for the things I said when I was hungry? That’s for another day.

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