• 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?

    comment

    check these out, too

    Donate gently used makeup

    The one about how to donate your gently used makeup

    March 21, 2018

  • 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.

    comment

    check these out, too

    Donate gently used makeup

    The one about how to donate your gently used makeup

    March 21, 2018

  • the one about the Christmas pumpkin

    October 28, 2015 /

    Last week, a letter came home with my Kindergartner about a pumpkin decorating contest at school. Students could decorate a pumpkin and submit it for judging in one of four categories — religious (it’s a Catholic school), funny, creative, and scary.

    Oh yeah, Baby. Challenge accepted. We’re gonna win this thang.

    I began thinking of ideas in my head about what would be a creative and winning pumpkin. Surely, Pinterest would have some real doozies.

    We could paint it to look like a favorite character. We could make it funny like those emoji pumpkins that are circulating on Facebook. A trip to Hobby Lobby was certainly in our future.

    I left to go to the grocery store on Sunday afternoon, and when I returned, Noelle was so excited to show me something. She was covered in paint, and so was her pumpkin. The pumpkin. The contest pumpkin.

    Noelle came up with the idea that she would create a Christmas pumpkin. She hand-drew and painted snowmen and Christmas trees all around the giant pumpkin. She outlined the drawings in black Sharpie and could not erase the grin on her face.

    At first I thought that maybe we would just keep this pumpkin at home and buy a new pumpkin to decorate for the contest, but she was insistent that this was the pumpkin and she could not wait to take it to school.

    She began looking for a way to stuff it into her backpack. Unsuccessfully.

    At that moment, I knew I couldn’t squelch her excitement and crush her spirit with my recommendation that we create a better new pumpkin for the contest.

    This, after all, was a contest for the kids, not the parents. And this is a lesson I tried to teach over and over again when I was a 4th grade teacher.

    That super awesome science fair board with perfect hand-lettering and precision-cut shapes and computer-generated photos? You know, with the experiment that the child cannot even attempt to explain or make sense of because the parent did. the. whole. thing?

    That report with zero misspellings and confusing vocabulary? Over the book that child probably didn’t read in the first place?

    That perfectly imperfect log cabin replica, animal habitat, or human cell model made of clay that was just a bit of a hot mess when the child went to bed, but then was transformed by the Project Fairy by the time the child woke up?

    You aren’t fooling anyone, Guys.

    And I get it now. I totally do. We as parents know that neatness counts. And presentation counts. And creativity counts. We see the rubrics and know that our kids will need help (quite a bit) if they are going to score in the highest checkboxes.

    We see the hand-drawn stick figures and dripping glue. We see the coloring outside the lines and the cutting that would make Edward Scissor Hands embarrassed. Hell, we see that the kid can barely keep gum out of her hair and food off her chin. How can she do an award-winning, A+ project, by herself?

    Well. Maybe she can’t.

    Maybe it won’t be an A+. Maybe it won’t win first prize. Maybe another project will be better.

    And maybe that’s ok.

    Because knowing that there is something to work on…something to improve upon…something to try next time…

    That’s where the magic happens.

    Growth. Self-reflection. Responsibility.

    And the satisfaction that the grade, the place, the prize– it all belongs to the child.

    It’s not the parent’s A. It’s the child’s.

    It’s not the parent’s ribbon. It’s the child’s.

    It’s not the parent’s C-. It’s the child’s.

    I am reasonably sure that when Noelle goes to fill out a college application, she will not be asked about her design for her Kindergarten pumpkin decorating contest.

    However, the ownership of her work, the justification of her thought process, and the execution of her planning will all be skills that she will need from Kindergarten to college and beyond. That, to me, is worth more than any prize.

    So, here’s to you, Christmas pumpkin. Go get ’em.

    comment

    check these out, too

    Slime-Free Spring Break: Make Memories Without Making Slime!

    February 27, 2018

    the one about when I was 17

    July 16, 2017

    the one about Mary

    December 12, 2017

  • the one about your dreams

    October 20, 2015 /
    I’ve stared at you while you are sleeping hundreds of times by now. 

    Each night is the same. I carefully crack the door and then hold my breath while I push it open all the way. The hinges creak heinously and threaten my secret mission. A few times, you have caught me– you and I both with that ‘deer in the headlights’ look.

    But most of the time, you stay asleep. Booty in the air, hands tucked under your chin, and mouth open for the slightest snore.

    I do my best to memorize the way you look each night, counting your eyelashes, inspecting for freckles, because I know when you wake up, you’ll be just a tiny bit bigger and a tiny bit older and a tiny bit less of my baby (in that always-be-my-baby kind of way).

    And when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll be one year old.

    I often wonder what you dream about. Is it overflowing bottles and an endless supply of Cheerios and pacifiers? Or is it something more? Do you dream about who you might become when you grow up?
    Or about the legacy you might leave behind?

    – one month old –
    Do you dream of becoming the face of feminism like Rosie the Riveter?
    – two months old –
    Or maybe you dream of living a life of style, courage, and poise like Jackie Kennedy Onassis? 
    – three months old – 
    Do you dream of politics, power, and justice like Janet Reno?
    – four months old –
    Are your dreams made of Amelia Earhart-worthy adventure?
    – five months old –
    Do you dream of being the change like Rosa Parks?
    – six months old –
    Are your dreams royal and regal and fit for Princess Diana?
    – seven months old –
    Or are they full of laughter and love like Lucille Ball?
    – eight months old –
    In your dreams, do you shoot for the stars like Sally Ride?
    – nine months old –
    Are you the portrait of grace and class like Audrey Hepburn?
    – ten months old –
    Or do you have First Lady dreams in the style of Eleanor Roosevelt?
    – eleven months old –
    Do you dream of giving everything of yourself like Mother Teresa?
    – twelve months old –
    Perhaps you dream of becoming your own kind of icon. 

    Your own kind of superhero.

    Powerful…
    …and pretty.
    Curious…
    …and courageous. 
    Smart…

    …and strong.

    Maybe you dream of developing a cure for cancer. Maybe you dream of owning a business or becoming a talented chef. Maybe you dream of teaching children. Maybe you dream of being President. Maybe you dream of holding your own babies one day.
    Just whatever you are, be a good one.
    Happy 365th dream, Shiloh. 

    comment

    check these out, too

    the one about the state of the motherhood address

    September 18, 2017

    Slime-Free Spring Break: Make Memories Without Making Slime!

    February 27, 2018

    Slime-Free Spring Break Shopping Lists

    February 27, 2018

  • the one about the middle

    October 14, 2015 /

    Some of the best things in life are the middles.

    The creme in the Oreo.

    The peanut butter in the sandwich.

    The pizza in the pizza roll.

    But our favorite middle looks like this:

    And today, she is three years old.

    Yes, three years ago today, well, tonight, she came speeding into this world, barely giving us the time to make it to the hospital before her stunning arrival.

    And she’s been keeping us on our toes ever since.

    She’s funny and sweet.

    She’s ornery and mischievous.

    She’s happy and healthy.

    She’s truly her own kind of gal, and I love her like that.

    Her deep, scratchy voice wins over strangers.

    Her pale blue eyes tell her story.

    She’s never been a great sleeper, and she probably won’t ever be…but her zest for life and starting the day hours before sunrise will probably pay dividends when she’s saving the world someday.

    She’s a simple girl. Easy to please. When I asked her what she’d like for her special birthday breakfast, she excitedly proclaimed, “Cereal!”

    Charlotte is a homebody.

    In fact, while we were in Disney World, she asked many times, “Can we go home now?” The first few times, I was irritated. Why, Child, would you want to go home, when we are at the happiest place on Earth? 

    But then, I realized that her happiest place might look a lot like the place with the comfy couches she likes to lay on, and the stuffed animals and dolls she loves to play with, and the blankie she has been snuggling with since birth.

    It doesn’t take much to make her happy, and to her, there’s no place like home.

    To give our children a home so loving and comforting and happy that they prefer to be there over anywhere else in the world? I suppose we have succeeded.

    Happy Birthday, Dear Charlotte!

    Don’t you dare ever change.

    comment

    check these out, too

    Slime-Free Spring Break Shopping Lists

    February 27, 2018

    the one about when I was 17

    July 16, 2017

    the one about the state of the motherhood address

    September 18, 2017