Parenting
I’m not at my best. I look in the mirror and see the little kisses under my eyes called cosleepernumber3 and guiltily gave up sugar again as I was abusing it//turning to it for an afternoon pick up instead of a healthy snack//my clothing doesn’t fit like I’d like it to. But I can’t wait around for life to suddenly hand me a week of full-nights sleep, a personal trainer, and a chef. Instead, I’m determined to feel my best that I can be right now. And here are my seven areas of life that help me look & feel like I’m still rocking it. Wrinkles be d@mned. warning: selfies taken in the kids’ bathroom. Nell making solemn & goofy faces at herself. Again. Sorry. H A I R My hair needs to be colored. Sorry, ladies, I tried to go ombre. I tried to go natural. I hate the brown. I have lots of postpartum thick hair (hasn’t fallen out yet, except on the fringy sides) and want it to at least be blonde at the roots, even if it’s not going to be brushed or styled. So cheerfully I went to my hairdresser to “remind” it of its blonde roots, literally & figuratively. I can find ways to creatively make my hair look decent without much time & effort. Do you follow Kate on instagram? Because she has hair tutorials that are amaaaaaazing. Do something with your hair that makes you feel put together. Even when you’re coming undone. C L O…
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Dear Mama, You managed to raise five children! We all felt we were the specialist in the world, for our ages. And we all felt we had your undivided attention, but only when we had the floor. Which may have been for about two secs before someone else jumped in. It’s my turn to have the floor and tell you all my unsolicited thoughts about you. In our childhood, you taught us to always mind our p’s and q’s (that’s politeness & quietness for the uninitiated). You taught us that we always had to share with our siblings, but warned them not to take too much. You taught us that if we felt awkward socially or uncomfortable around people who were old, differently abled, or from a different country, we should push past our insecurity and get outside ourselves to make sure we were extra polite and friendly. You taught us to never ever let a stranger talk to us or try to entice us to come to their white windowless van for “candy.” You taught us to be fiercely loyal to each other and always side with our sibling in public, or else . . . In our early adulthood, you loved baking chocolate chip cookies, fudge, and caramels and ensuring this diabetic coma in a box was delivered to us when we lived out of town. It made us real popular at school with our newly-gleaned friends. You loved leaving us lengthy voice messages that started with “Now, listen”…
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If you’ve had the joy of becoming a mother, you know this to be true: it takes a village. Or else you die doing this. If my daughter is ever a mother, I want her to know about the village. I’m sure she will, given I’m raising her with one. And in this dress, made by my friend Sarah for her company, Sassy Knitwear? To die for. I’m hoping I can partner with her to bring some to you. But I digress. Someone asked me the other day how I seemed to positive in the abysmal cliff of parenting young children. I didn’t have a really strong answer. I thought about how long the days are with small kids. I thought about what I shared over at Blessed is She about how we can justify anything through our emotional lens, and how it’s a struggle to be kind and keep our temper with those who are closest to us. I thought about my interview on Michelle & Amy’s podcast called Little House Mothering about weaving children into the fabric of our daily lives to stay sane. I thought about my many dirty toilets. I gave her query more thought and realized, really, it’s all about the village. If you have a village of women supporting you while you’re going through the body-breaking and heart-breaking and mind-bending moments of motherhood, you will be okay. You will survive. You will even thrive. But in the modern day norm of moving away from our…
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It’s been six amazing years together as a married couple. Six years ago we were all aflutter and said “I do’s” and danced with this band playing in our front yard until the stars wore out. We ate & laughed with over three hundred friends and I almost didn’t get a piece of my wedding cake but for 10pm quick slip to the kitchen. Friends & family who were there have died since, and new friends have been born. It was the most fun and thrilling day of my life. Hands down. But really. We had no clue what it would be like. Because no one does. We knew we wanted to experience life together. And we certainly have. I love him more deeply–by about a billion–since that day, but specifically more betterer for six simple reasons (and enjoy a few blurry pre-baby pics): 1) He encourages me to do completely frivolous things, like blog, because they make me happy. He will take photos of me for my blog, like, while holding the baby and juggling the toddler and pitching with the big boy. He will encourage me to invest money, time, energy, into this nebulous space that holds a hunk of my sanity and heart swirled around, this blog. He will listen to me wax and wain about it, and whine too. He’s my biggest cheerleader and happiest reader (he reads it for the photos, just like my mom does). He genuinely has never complained about the time I spend…
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If you aren’t into giveaways of books, skip to my last post on shouting at your kids. If you never shout at your kids, skip to my friend Abbey’s awesome story about being okay with quitting a field trip with her kids. Loved it. Two books to share about today. One is a compilation of essays by many of my friends who are excellent writers, the other is a unique children’s book that encourages exploration of feelings and verbalizing them through word art. The first book, Rosaries Aren’t Just for Teething, was compiled by my friend Michele, a lovely blogger & writer. We met at a conference earlier this year and was struck by how comfortable she was in her own skin, and how genuinely interested in reaching out to others she was. All at the same time. A beautiful combination. She brings together twenty authors whose essays are reflections on each mystery of the Rosary through the lenses of their experiences as mothers. Let me just say 180ish pages and I was one weepy lady. So much packed in joy & beauty & suffering. A must read for the woman interested in the life of Jesus’ mother. Just. Must. If you aren’t the winner, or you like paperback instead of e-books, head to amazon & get it. The second book, Happy, Too, by Victoria Marie Hamaty and illustrated by Kiara A. Sanchez, is one my kids can’t put down. Perhaps it is the last page, entitled “talk time, by your side” which…
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The other night we were praying night prayers. I asked my oldest what he wanted to tell God, or ask of God. He began, “Dear God. Please help me to be a better boy.” I choked up. I actually felt the sting of a tear swell up in my dry eye socket. He was really getting this whole prayer thing. He continued, “And God, please make my mom a better mom. Please make her stop shouting at me so much. Thank you very much. The end.” Indignation replaced sentimentality. I bit my tongue and almost gasped out, Speak for yourself, buddy!!! When I realized it. I had become a habitual shouter. The kids knew it and now I knew it too. I remembered the great book I read last year about habits (The Power of Habit) and started to make a plan for breaking this habit. 1) Accept that you’re a shouter. It has taken me a long time to acknowledge this isn’t just one bad day, or one bad instance that really set me off. I now have the habit of letting my frustration get the better of me, and am a habitual shouter. It’s not everyday, but it is definitely a lose-my-temper-a-few-times-a-week. And immediate remorse. And apologies. And feeling like I will never let myself do it again. Until I do. 2) Replace the undesired shouting with a different activity instead of quitting cold turkey. I’m replacing shouting with a deep overly dramatic exhale and digging my fingernails into my…
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