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Are you prone to this as well? Oh, you probably exercise extreme self-control and moderate all expectations to a nice flat do-able level. So I’ll just share how I have blown each Mother’s Day (there have been 6!) up until now. Mind Reader. My husband had better read my mind and know exactly what I want even though I don’t want to say it aloud because it sounds selfish: LEAVE ME ALONE AND BRING ME DESSERT FOR BREAKFAST AND I DON’T WANT TO DO ANYTHING EVER ALL DAY LONG. So when he has hung to what I actually said demurely (oh, lovie, whatever! I just want to enjoy you and the kids!), I seethe inside. Doesn’t he know this hallmark holiday is supposed to alleviate all…
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Are you also an affirmation person? I need that verbal pat on the back–well–ask my husband–maybe often? But more keenly, as a mother, I’ve wanted to have external validation that I’m doing it all correctly. I’m doing it all right. I’m making the best choices I can for our kids and for my health. I want it from my doctors and care providers. I want it from my own mother. I want to hear it from my community. My sense of validation starts to pull apart, seam by seam, as I grow deeper into my role as a mother. The time I felt worse and worse postpartum but had multiple care providers tell me I was fine, and it turned out my uterus was infected…
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I am so in love with the fabrics I have for this spring & summer leggings collection. The new design of a more roomy bottom and less of a skinny leg works well for my (YES ALMOST 20 pound 4 month old) big little baby. You may also have a little lovie in your life that needs some summer leggings love. Every time I release new fabrics, I hear this from you, kind friends: you are out of stock in the one fabric I love! To try to remedy this, I’m doing an instagram custom-sizing sale on Monday. This means you hop over –> to here –> my instagram account. Then you comment on the photo of the leggings you want, tell me the size you…
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Dead giveaway. If you crane your neck to look past the baseball cards, unfolded underwear, used tape, and assortment of half-colored workbooks, and those weren’t the signal we have kids, welcome to my bathrooms. We live in a big ole house with lots of bathrooms. Some are rarely used. Some are frequent favorites. But nearly all of them have one of these fifteen characteristics of people-with-kid-bathrooms. 1) hand towel on the ground. It may be clean; it may be dirty. You just don’t know and don’t dare risk using it. It literally could have been anywhere. It’s also slightly damp. 2) garbage can missing. It was loaded with unmentionables and taken out to the kitchen to be tossed with the rest of the garbage . . .…
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Another 40 days and 40 nights (nearly) of Lent seemingly gone the way of failure. I sink into my hot cocoa mug, relinquishing the guilt that yes, our family gives up treats for Lent, that Jesus-diet guaranteed to break the monopoly sugar gut bacteria hold on my taste buds. My hot cocoa desires are based in a coping mechanism. Coping with another long recovery. Coping with the broken sleep that even the best little side-nursing cosleeper still bestows upon me. Coping with mental juggling and a touch of postpartum anxiety. I’m no coffee lover, so cocoa caffeination is all I can cling to. But this failure of really giving up treats brought me to another failure: my slow recovery. My pelvic floor took a number…
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We share a birthday, this newly minted 5 year old and me. I love that she was my birthday present my last year of my 20’s. She is sweet, fierce, smart, and kind. Her birth story is here (my one and only water birth–though I wish they all could have been!). Each day, SweetPea bounds into my room, even as her feet drag across the hallway carpet and her murmuring about “I’M TOO TIRED TO BE AWAKE” is less than a whisper. The bounding starts are the door handle’s creek. She clamors into bed to check on her sister. Where is she? Oh HI! This enraptured love of the baby that we share, this longing to snuggle her face off, this smelling up all her…
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