One morning before school, I walked into my children’s playroom as a mother and walked out as The Incredible Hulk.

Toys were everywhere. Scattered on the floor. Piled in the corners. Bins were overturned. Baskets were empty. Shelves were cleared. It was like the hottest college party in town, minus the one thing that would have made the situation more tolerable…booze.

There my girls were, standing in the middle of the room, looking at each other, looking at the ground, unable to think, unable to even play. They were overwhelmed, disinterested, and had no idea where to begin. One would randomly sift through a pile of McDonald’s toys, “searching” for something without knowing what she was actually looking for.

And then there was me.

I lost it. My mind. My cool. My patience. My shit. My everything.

I couldn’t fathom how they could take a room full of toys nice, thoughtful, somewhat expensive toys, a room that has bins and boxes and shelves and drawers, all perfectly labeled with a photo of what should be inside, and turn it on its head. Beyond recognition as a playroom, now transformed into a war zone.

I knew then, as I was pointing at each heap of pure chaos, instructing them to clean it up and put it away…threatening them with trash bags and telling them the toys were all going to disappear if they didn’t get things back in order…screaming in a way that I no longer recognized as human…

I knew then that this had to stop. Let me off the ride, Sir. I am done.

I went to my bedroom feeling guilty and ashamed. I violated one of my foundational rules as a mother — do not get upset with my children before school. I always think about the parents who said goodbye to their babies and sent them off to Sandy Hook Elementary School. Did they yell at them that morning about toys that weren’t picked up? Did they roll their eyes because a cereal bowl was left out? Did they shout, “Hurry up! We are late because you won’t get your shoes on!”? And were those the last interactions they had with their kids before they never saw them again?

Morbid, I know. Sad. Terrible. But I try my hardest not to let my girls leave for school on stressful terms because you never know what the day may bring.

As I sat there on my bed, seething with anger and freckled with anxiety, I knew that something needed to change.

It’s funny that something as benign as a messy playroom would serve as a metaphor for my experience in motherhood, but I spent a lot of time connecting the dots that day, and this is what I came up with.

First and foremost, the playroom is the epitome of chaos. There’s too much noise. Too much excess. Too much distraction.

There’s a lot of that in motherhood, too. Chaos. Noise. Excess. Distraction.

The playroom is full of systems that simply aren’t working. There are organizational tools and containers and labels and shelves and bins and boxes but they aren’t working anymore. I tricked myself into thinking that simply adding more totes and baskets will solve the problem, and it didn’t.

In motherhood, we try lots of things like charts and incentives and rules with the greatest of intentions, but sometimes they don’t work, either.

The playroom is packed with what we think our children need and want…what will make them happy…what will fill their hearts with joy and their minds with creativity… but somehow, they still want more, they are bored, and they are grumpy.

As mothers, we continue to give to our children, sign them up for every sport and activity, bless them with the best of the best… but it never seems to be enough, does it?

That day, I was introduced to a blogger named Allie Casazza, and her story and her mission hit me hard. To paraphrase her message… she believes that motherhood shouldn’t be something we just survive…counting down the minutes until bedtime…something that we just try to “get through.” Motherhood should be enjoyable and fun, because it is! But a lot of times, the stress brought on by extra clutter and material possessions can bring on so much anxiety, discontent, and overwhelm that we can’t possibly enjoy raising our children. We are too busy cleaning, organizing, spinning our wheels, and yelling at our kids to help!

And much like a playroom, a room that we just accept as being messy, chaotic, and an eyesore, many times we just accept that motherhood will be exhausting, stressful, and difficult. It’s just the way it is, right?

No. Not for me. Not anymore.

So that day, I made a plan. I was going to rid my house (and my mind) of all the extra things that we simply do not need, and I wasn’t going to feel bad about it. I spent 8 hours on that first day sitting paralyzed by inaction and overthinking what I was going to do and how I was going to do it.

Finally, that night, I poured a glass of wine and got started. Here is what I did first, and how it was a catalyst for decluttering the rest of my house, and eventually that infamous playroom.

THE EMPTY HAMPER METHOD

I had laundry baskets full of clothes, both dirty and clean, and I dumped them out on my floor and used them to complete “The Empty Hamper Method.”

I went through my house and pulled everything off of a horizontal surface and put it inside the laundry basket. I cleared night stands, end tables, dressers, tables, and counters. All of the lip balm, hand sanitizer, ponytail holders, paperwork, lotion bottles, candles, pictures, pens, candy wrappers, water bottles.. all of it. I filled three laundry baskets with all of the items we had been keeping on our surfaces.

I then sat on my rug, sipped my wine, and sorted everything into piles according to where it needed to go (pile for the girls’ room, pile for my office, pile for the trash, etc). And then I put it all away.

I am telling you, I slept so well that night. I woke up in such a calm state because I wasn’t staring at a cluttered dresser.

Did you know that clutter is actually psychologically bad for us? According to psychologytoday.com, clutter…

• Overstimulates our system (visual, olfactory, tactile), causing our senses to work overtime on stimuli that aren’t necessary or important.
• Draws our attention away from what our focus should be on.
• Makes it more difficult to relax, both physically and mentally.
• Constantly reminds our brains that we still have a huge to-do list.
• Causes anxiety because the idea of sorting piles is overwhelming
• Creates feelings of guilt and embarrassment, particularly when someone drops by unexpectedly.
• Frustrates us by making it hard to find anything we need- keys, bills, checkbook, etc.

After completing the empty hamper task, I was extremely motivated to keep going. I spent the next day working in one of our bathroom closets. It had become such a catchall for anything and everything, and my behind-the-door shoe organizer was no longer serving its purpose. After a few hours, I ended up with a closet full of only what we actually need and use.

Gaining momentum, the next day I felt ready to attack the playroom. My initial plan was to do it while my kids were at school, but Allie really encourages you to make the kids a part of the process. I was fearful of meltdowns and having to pry toys from their little hands, but that was not the case at all. They were actually really excited to rid themselves of some excess and create a space that they actually enjoyed playing in. If clutter does all of those things to our minds listed above, don’t you think it is the same for children?

We worked with one “category” of toys at a time. First, we began with the dress up clothes. I had them go in and bring them all out into the living room. We laid them all out, looked at everything, and each child was allowed to save 3 dress up costumes (with applicable accessories like shoes or a wig that belongs to the outfit). I was shocked at the items they wanted to keep. They would not have been my preferences (goodbye, expensive Disney princess costume!), but they chose what they really loved and agreed to wear, and I guess I had to accept that. We packed up the remaining costumes into trash bags and agreed to let some other little girls play with their pretty dresses.

We continued this with their stuffed animals (each kept 10 special stuffed animals), Barbies, baby dolls, doll accessories, etc. It took us the entire day, but we took breaks every now and then, and I rewarded them by going and seeing a movie because they did so well. We ended up with about a dozen trash bags full of toys that we are going to find new homes for. I plan to pass them along to our local Foster Closet, an organization created to provide toys and clothes to foster families in our area.

I did the remainder of the clean up after they went to bed, and they were absolutely ecstatic when they woke up the next morning. They actually preferred to play in their playroom instead of watch TV. My oldest took a running leap and did a twirl and said, “Now I can DANCE in here!”

Has it stayed clean this entire week? No, but it is so much easier to clean up now. There is so much less to put away, and this puts their hearts and my mind at ease. I haven’t had to bark orders at them all week, and they have truly enjoyed spending time in this room. They are no longer overwhelmed by all the choices and by the task of picking up after themselves, and I am no longer turning green with my muscles bulging out of my shirt in a fit of rage. It’s a win-win.

I am aware that not everyone feels the same way about ridding their house of excess, especially toys. Afterall, toys are expensive, and many times they are given to children as gifts from family and friends, and it feels wasteful and disrespectful to donate those items. There is also a lot of sentimental attachment to toys, especially stuffed animals and dolls. I get it, believe me! I went through all of those thoughts as well, but it came down to these principles that kept me going.

THE WASTE COMES FROM BUYING THE OBJECT IN THE FIRST PLACE, NOT FROM RIDDING YOURSELF OF THAT OBJECT AFTER IT NO LONGER HAS A PURPOSE.

It is hard thing to accept — the concept of “wasted money.” Sometimes we buy toys because we think the kids will really, really love them, but as it turns out, the toy wasn’t that big of a hit after all. Other times we buy toys because our children beg us to and we feel like we should give in, but then the toy just gets tossed in a pile. Sometimes we buy toys and our children love the crap out of them, to the point of outgrowing the toy or simply draining the toy of all its resources, and that is great! Regardless, the “waste” came from purchasing the toy to begin with, as Allie Casazza says. The money has already been spent. Getting rid of the toy, either by donating it to someone who can really find use, or trashing it if it truly has no purpose anymore, is not wasteful. Keeping something that will not get played with or taken care of because there is just.so.much.stuff is wasteful (in my opinion).

MANY CHILDREN ARE OVERWHELMED BY TOO MANY TOYS AND OFTEN FAIL TO UNDERSTAND VALUE.

We all want to see our children’s eyes light up on Christmas morning or on their birthdays. It is such a fun thing to witness when they jump for joy over opening that perfect toy that they have been wishing for. I get it, I really do. In fact, that “dream” of mine is what has gotten us into trouble — overbuying on special occasions just so I can get that perfect reaction. However, it never fails…by Christmas evening, my children are so overwhelmed by all of their new items that they don’t know how to deal. In fact, this past Christmas, I had a meltdown because I went into my girls’ bedroom, where I thought they were peacefully playing with and enjoying all of their new toys, and they were literally destroying them. I walked into every single new toy out of its packaging, items thrown under beds, dolls without clothes, tiny parts strewn about — and I had a panic attack! I spent Christmas evening lecturing my children, even throwing out the word “ungrateful” a time or two. It was an awful moment. But now that I have had time to reflect, I don’t think they did that because they were ungrateful. In fact, my children are extremely sweet, thoughtful, and generous little girls. I think they didn’t care for their new (expensive, hard to find, etc) toys because the amount of “stuff” they had made the toys seem dispensable. Disposable. Replaceable. Break that toy? Oh well. I have 4 more just like it. Lose that piece? Oh well. I have another set right here. And whose fault was that? Not theirs. They didn’t buy the stuff. We did. No, Santa did. But you get my point…

Three year old Shiloh insisted on getting a Snackin’ Luke Baby Alive doll for Christmas. I was so excited to find it for her. She was excited when she opened it, but honestly? I never really saw her play with it past the first day, and wouldn’t you know that Snackin’ Luke was one of the dolls she chose to donate in our playroom purge session. I asked her multiple times…are you sure? This is what you wanted for Christmas! Are you sure you don’t want to keep him? She was sure. She didn’t want him.

She didn’t know the value of the doll or what I paid for it. She didn’t know that I made a special trip out during a sale to snag it for her. She only knew that she preferred other dolls to him, and therefore he was no longer important to her.

I feel the same when I see my girls not properly caring for their $100+ American Girl dolls. It’s not to say that they can’t come to appreciate how much things cost and learn how to take care of these special items, but perhaps they were too young to be entrusted with such possessions — and again, that’s on me. Damn you, Santa.

This is not meant to paint the picture that no child can possibly function with lots of toys to choose from, or that no child can understand the value of special toys and enjoy them with great care. This is only to point out some issues in our own home. Maybe your family struggles, too.

CHILDREN CAN MAKE ANYTHING A TOY AND THRIVE IN OPEN-ENDED PLAY ENVIRONMENTS.

A child’s imagination is magical. She can play in a cardboard box for hours — turning it into a house, a boat, a car, anything! Some toys come off as engaging because they light up, play music, or do something super fancy, but often those toys, which are usually pretty expensive, are the ones not played with much because they don’t allow for children to really use their imagination. A light up, noisy, battery-operated fill-in-the-blank can really only be that….a light up, noisy, battery-operated fill-in-the-blank. But a box can be castle. A stick can be a magic wand. A blanket can be a cape. And all of those things can be something completely new the next time or for the next child.

A child’s imagination needs to be cultivated. You can’t just expect kids to know how to play if they have never been given opportunities to make up their own games or develop their own pretend worlds and characters. They need space and freedom to do this, and I feel like a streamlined playroom with the right amount of the right toys will get them there.

I am not saying that we shouldn’t listen when our children are really wanting something special. Maybe that would be a great opportunity to discuss saving money for something big. And I’m not saying that we shouldn’t cave and get them that one thing that they have been begging for since their last birthday. But stuff for the sake of stuff? Things for the sake of things? Toys for the sake of toys? Presents for the sake of presents?

It’s time for a change in our house. What about in yours?

Happy New Year!

– yeah, I know it’s February.

If you were to ask me where the month of January went and what I was doing, I honestly couldn’t tell you. There’s just so much going on. We are weeks away from being able to move into our home (yay!), and so it feels like we have been eaten alive by to-do’s and must-do’s and be-here’s…and it’s just something we have had to get through!

But — I see the light!

I wanted my first post of 2018 to be something of importance, and I thought I would start with this. Below you will find something I wrote and shared with my sister-in-law’s MOPS group a couple weeks ago. She had asked me to come and speak on a topic that has become my mantra, my lifeline, my hope.

So, I thought that maybe I should share it with you all in prayer that it resonates with you. I am not perfect at this. I fall everyday, but I am getting better.

Here’s to 2018!

—–

I’ve spent the first 33 years of my life anxious, afraid, worried, and hopelessly trying to control each and every aspect of my life.

As I sat down to make notes for this discussion, I opened up my Jesus Calling devotional, and I found this:

“Strive to trust me in more and more areas of your life. Anything that tends to make you anxious is a growth opportunity. Instead of running away from these challenges, embrace them, eager to gain all the blessings I have hidden in the difficulties. If you believe that I am sovereign over every aspect of your life, it is possible to trust me in all situations. Don’t waste energy regretting the way things are or thinking about what might have been. Start at the present moment – accepting things exactly as they are, and search for my way in the midst of those circumstances. Trust is like a staff that you can lean on as you journey uphill with me. If you are trusting in me consistently, the staff will bear as much of your weight as needed. Lean on, trust, and be confident in me with all your heart and mind. ‘But I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever.’ Psalm 52:8”

This entire passage is beautiful, but it is also overwhelming. “Trust me in more and more areas of your life?” “Trust me in all situations?” “Anything that tends to make you anxious is a growth opportunity?”

These ideas are bold and exciting, but for a control freak like I can be, they also seem extremely far-fetched and nearly impossible.

But what if I didn’t worry about everything, all at once, right now? What if I didn’t try to give up control of all my days and all my situations, all at once, right now? What if, I simply sighed and said, “God, sustain me for today.”

If all I am able to do is ask God for what I need for this day, and this day only…if all I am able to pray for is what I need in these moments that make up these hours that make up this day, and this day only…if all I am able to trust is that God has me in his hands this day, and this day only… if all I could manage was to ask God to sustain me for today, and we’d worry about tomorrow, tomorrow…

…Well, that would be enough.

And my tired, weary, anxious, exhausted mind and spirit rejoiced and said, “I can do that.”

Sustain me for today.

It came to me as I was lying awake in my bed — Luke peacefully passed out beside me. I wish I could sleep like him, I thought. We have an 8 month old son (and 3 girls, ages 7, 5, and 3), and when he isn’t waking me up 2-3 times a night, I sometimes find that I am not really sleeping anyway. The day’s shortcomings creep in…tomorrow’s uncertainties slip in through the cracks…and before I know it, I am distraught about who my daughters will end up marrying or what if the world is really ending soon or have I messed up my children’s high school sports careers by not signing them up for a team by the age of 4?

But that one night, I told myself to get a grip. I laid awake in the quiet, dead of night, and intentionally tried to turn down the sound of my own inner voice, and listen for the voice of God. And at some point, the phrase, “sustain me for today,” found its way into my mind, melted over my anxious heart, and then I fell asleep.

The next day, I looked up the word, “sustain.” I had heard it 100 times on all those court drama TV shows I like to watch, but it’s not a word I would normally turn to as a source of strength and peace.

But when you look it up, it’s perfect.

Strengthen or support physically or mentally.

The word sustenance means something regarded as a course of strength and nourishment.

Focus on what will get me through this day. What will sustain me? What can I ask God for? What does God already know that I need? I don’t know about tomorrow, or next year, but I do know what I need today, and that is enough for now.

I know the worries I listed above seem relatively small and silly, and you may be wondering if I know what real worries and fears are.

Well, let’s see.

I’ve had four children, two of them were high risk pregnancies involving preterm labor and bedrest. I’ve also had two miscarriages. While my husband was in medical school, I was the sole financial provider in our family, on a teacher’s salary. I have a very small extended family, partially by chance and partially by choice, but I unexpectedly lost my last two living grandparents in the same month this past summer. I’ve been sued (I will write about that another time).

Though I have been blessed immensely by a loving husband, beautiful children, and great friends, I have experienced tremendous pitfalls that left me without much faith in anything except that inevitably, bad things will happen to good people, and life sucks sometimes.

I started dating my husband in high school, and he is part of a big, Catholic family. At the time, when I was 16 years old, I knew I was a Christian because that’s what I was supposed to be, but I had no idea what that actually meant. I was baptized in a Methodist church, and I remember attending when I was younger. Christmas Eve and Easter were favorites of mine because it was an occasion to buy a new dress. I probably wasn’t the most firmly rooted, religious gal, so when my husband, then boyfriend, began dating me, who was not Catholic and saw church as a reason to buy a new outfit, his parents were probably a little concerned.

I began attending mass with Luke when we were in high school and college. It became something we did together, but I never felt like I was ready to go through the conversion. When we got engaged and were going through marriage preparation in the Catholic Church, I was encouraged not to go through RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) just for the wedding. My priest wanted me to make sure it was for my own personal reasons, not because I felt like I had to.

We went on to have our children who were all baptized Catholic, and we enrolled them in Catholic school. I still wasn’t sure when or if I would ever go through RCIA. I always seemed to be pregnant or about to have a baby when the classes would start, and it just never felt like the right time.

But this past summer, my grandfather became unexpectedly ill, and he passed away. He was 91 years old and the sweetest man you could imagine. My grandmother had passed away many years ago, and he remarried a Catholic lady with many children. He decided that he wanted to convert to Catholicism as a man in his 80s. As I sat at his funeral mass, admiring the beauty of everything around me, I knew that I needed to go ahead and do it — become Catholic. If my 80-something year old grandfather could get himself to RCIA classes each week, I could, too. I wanted to make him proud of me and share something with him, even though he is not here on this earth with me anymore. A few weeks after he left us, his wife did, too.

So, I began my RCIA classes this past September, and I will officially enter the Catholic Church about a month before my oldest daughter takes her first communion. It will be a special Spring for my family.

I say this to share that my faith walk has not been simple. It has not been without questioning, without fear, without disbelief. It has not been a straight and narrow path but rather a winding road with potholes and U-turns.

And to the controlling, disbelieving girl of my past, doing what was described in that Jesus Calling devotional, trusting and leaning and not worrying and finding the blessings in the struggle, would have once sounded like a bunch of junk.

It still sounds easier said than done. It may sound that way to you, too.

But if we can focus on what we need to sustain us for today? I think we can do that.

So what does it look like in action?

Some days, it looks like me thinking ahead of what I have going on, and what challenges I see myself facing. Maybe it is knowing I will be doing bedtime alone without my husband, and I see my children melting down, wanting Papa, and fighting me at every turn. So, either prior to or during those hard moments, I take the time to ask God for what I need — I need patience. I need kind words. I need calm. I need grace for my children.

Sustain me for this bedtime. Please.

Other days, it looks like me staring down a giant to-do list with too many things on it and not enough hours in the day. So, before I start to tackle it, I pray for productivity. For focus. For happiness while I do the work.

Sustain me during this to-do list.

Sometimes, it’s me worrying about my child’s school. Does it have the best teachers and the best facilities and the best programs and will it get her into the University of Notre Dame? So, when I feel myself caught up in those worries, I take a breath and talk to God. God, I don’t know the future. I don’t know about tomorrow. But for today, can you help me not to worry about these things? Can you give me what I need to focus on all the great things about my daughter’s school? How can I serve the school better? Can you protect me from the people who focus on the negative and help me not to be one of them?

Sustain me for this after-school pick up duty.

Let’s focus on today — focus on right now — and make our prayers with God not something we simply do right before we eat or right before we sleep, but a conversation that we have all day, everyday, asking him for what we need, knowing that He already has it figured out anyway.

Sustain me for today. Sustain me for tomorrow, tomorrow.

Luke and I were watching some old videos of the girls before bed one night. It is one of our favorite things to do. We like to snuggle up, pull out a laptop, iPad, or phone, and we like to reach back as far as our device will go and find the oldest, cutest, sweetest videos of our kids from their younger days.

Even though our children are relatively young at 7, 5, 3, and 6 months, we still yearn for those times when they were even smaller. We ache for those times and cherish these videos.

Luke found one that we hadn’t watched in a little while. Some of them, I know by heart. I can remember what the date was or why we were taking the video…I can even remember what I say or what the kids say…like the script of a favorite movie you just want to keep quoting (and annoying your friends as a result). This one, however, I had forgotten about.

The girls were being cute. Little Noelle, toddler Charlotte, and baby Shiloh. Luke was speaking to them in a soft voice, asking them questions and capturing their adorable responses. Where was I? What was I doing?

I was storming around the house, griping about shoes not being put away and how I have to clean up everything. You hear it all on the video. You can’t see me at all, but you know, you know, I was there. I wasn’t interacting with my girls. I most likely took the opportunity to do anything but be on camera so as not to preserve the extra baby weight I was wearing or the stress acne that had erupted on my face. Never thin enough, never pretty enough, never perfect enough to be preserved forever in a video.

At first, we laughed. It was kind of funny hearing me go on this mini-tyrade in the background. And then, I became sad. This. This is what my children will have of me when I am gone. A video of just my voice, bitching about some shoes that needed put into a basket.

This sparked something inside of me that said, “Enough.”

Actually, it screamed, “ENOUGH!”

Enough.

I have always placed a tremendous amount of pressure on myself to make sure that my house is put together, cleaned up, and organized. However, these desires strengthened ten-fold during my most recent pregnancy. Call it “nesting,” but I almost think I developed a weird OCD-meets-manic-meets-neurotic mindset where if the house was dirty, if things were out of place, I would feel physical illness. My head would pound. My stomach would knot itself. My neck would ache. It was a feeling like nothing I had ever felt before. I couldn’t sleep if dishes were in the sink. I couldn’t walk by a spot on the floor without getting a rag to clean it up. I couldn’t deal with toys left out, books on the couch, or laundry piles on the floor.

And when I say I couldn’t deal, I mean that I would express my frustration in crying, yelling, and really just throwing a big ass fit.

While those feelings have lessened over the past 6 months since having Leo, I do still feel that pressure. I worry that we will have unexpected visitors who will see our mess, and then they will think less of me as a mother, wife, “housekeeper.” I worry that my children will tell their friends that our house is a mess. I fear that if everything isn’t “just so,” people may get the impression that I am not OK, that I am not handling motherhood well, or that I am in over my head.

Luke has never placed this pressure on me. It is all self-imposed. But where did it come from? Honestly, in college, I was a slob. It was a well-known fact. My roommates would laugh at the fact that I would barely have a clear patch of floor in my room. Sometimes, I would stand at my doorway and take a flying leap over piles of clothes, magazines, and shoes, just to make it to the bed. It was the ultimate game of Hot Lava.

I don’t remember feeling stressed or anxious about the mess then. I don’t know what switched inside of me, except that maybe it is an undying, unending, never-satisfied desire for control.

In many ways, my life is very chaotic. I have four children that are ages 7 and under. My husband works a lot of hours at times, and we are building a house that has taken up 80% of his free time. Between transporting my children to and from school and activities, volunteering both at the school and in my community, working on my own businesses that I run, and keeping up with the general tasks of life, there is nearly zero time for self-care or self-control.

Cleaning my house and forcing my children to comply is one way that I can exert control. But it is not healthy. It is not right. And it will stop, today.

Everyone agrees that a clean home is desirable because it is about taking care of what we have. It is about treating our possessions with care. It is about having pride in ourselves and our home. I would never want to “let it go” to the point of embarrassment or filth, but is there enough wiggle room to allow a toy to stay on a rug overnight or a sock to get put in the laundry basket the next day or a shoe to take its time finding its way to the bin?

Hell yes there is.

I will not let something that takes 30 minutes to clean up ruin the chance for me to be an interactive, present parent.

When my husband graduated from residency, he made a speech in front of his peers, supervisors, and future colleagues. This is customary for all residents to do. He stood up there in front of everyone and said that his “wife was the Pinterest queen. I walk around the house and wonder, ‘How does she do it all?'” While that earned several smiles and sweet giggles from the audience, I immediately felt like a fraud. I thought, “He sees me as the Pinterest queen…the one who ‘does it all,’ yet I feel less like a queen and more like a horrible, evil wench who pretends to have her shit together, when really she does not. Even my husband can’t see it.”

I do get asked a lot, “How do you DO it? How do you take care of your kids and get involved with so much and keep up your house and brush your teeth?” I hear, “You are Super Mom” or “Wonder Woman!” I do not say this to brag about myself — in fact I get very embarrassed just like I did in the story above. It highlights to me that I am doing a terrible job of keeping it very real. We are all guilty of posting and sharing the shiny, glittery moments on social media and leaving out the ones we wish to hide or forget. We all know how to crop a photo the right way or find the best lighting or pick the most flattering filter. I am no different. I am no Super Mom or Wonder Woman. I am a human who struggles, just like everyone else.

As part of this cathartic post, I wanted to share photos of our everyday, real life, right now. These are less for you and more for me. I need to be OK with sharing my imperfections, my flaws, my real self. This is the only way that I will eventually learn to accept myself for who I am, and hopefully find myself IN the videos with my kids and not just complaining in the background.

Join me as I thank God for every messy, out of place flaw in these photos.