Survival Tips for Motherhood

Photo May 22, 12 09 20 PMThe following tips are for any moms in any walk of motherhood. Newbies, toddlers, tweens and all the in between… I’ve got you covered. However you should know… this is just if you want to survive. Like for real tho – surviving is all you’ll be doing here. These tips are for the days where you just can’t anymore. Survival is all that is gonna come out of this day. There will be days like this… a lot of them. And when they come, just embrace it and be proud that everyone survived the day. They may be gross and your kitchen is a wreck but there is a glass of wine waiting for after bedtime and that’s all yours, girl. Congrats on survival.

  1. Mac and Cheese… you’ll need a lot of that.
  2. Parks – I know it sounds like a lot but once you’re there they’ll most likely leave you alone long enough for you to sit and scroll on your phone in silence and if you’re lucky they’ll tire out and go to bed early!
  3. Either a garage you can go into and scream where no one will hear you, or a good pillow will do. We don’t want to scar the children but sometimes we need to let out a lil scream or two.
  4. Diaper Genie. This is God’s gift to new moms. Get that. Make the man take it out tho cuz ew.
  5. Wine. I mean duh. Hopefully you’re already on your second glass by the time you get to this one.
  6. Wipies – these are universal cleaning wonders. Poop? Wipies. Peanut butter? Wipies. Dropped the paci? Wipies. Last night’s makeup still on? W I P I E S.
  7. Netflix. This is an $8/month babysitter. INVEST INTO THIS.
  8. Laundry baskets – I’m assuming you already have at least one for the dirty clothes but think ahead… where you gonna put the clean clothes, girl? Get another basket for those to sit in until you can get your shit together long enough to fold it and (dare I say…) put it away in the dressers that you spent money on. 
  9. Delivery. Thank god for those little zit-faced hormonal teenagers whose only job is to bring pizza to your door. Not all heroes wear capes, right? Tip them well, momma. They’ve got moms out there wondering where college funds are coming from, too.
  10. Paper plates – we don’t use them enough as a society. As moms, we should only function on disposable items for everything. They’re going to ruin it anyway? Might as well feel okay with just throwing it in the trash. Also – less cleaning. We can recycle and take care of the planet in all sorts of ways. This isn’t one of them, yet. Mother Earth gets it…

 

It’s a mess out there, momma. I hope this helps. If I need to add anything, feel free to add it in the comments. It takes a village! 

Dear Netflix

First off… on behalf of mothers everywhere – thank you for giving us at least one episode’s worth of extra sleep. We sincerely appreciate your ability to retain the toddler’s attention on our phones while we get just a sweet 21 more minutes before the day really begins.

But… we need to talk.

I think you’ve heard us by now… and you have ignored it for long enough. Stop judging us, Netflix. Stop asking if we’re still watching after 3 episodes automatically play. The kid freaks out when that screen pops up and we have to stop the cleaning/folding/sanity composing/coffee reheating/wine guzzling to push “continue watching”. Also… of course I’m still binge watching my garbage TV show with cuss words after bedtime. I’m only on my third glass of wine. I’m not a quitter!

Besides all of this, Netflix, why on earth do you have random nonkid’s shows on my kid’s profile? Seriously. My daughters share a “kids” profile. At first I selected the option “little kids only” and that caused literal riots in my home as that option does not contain Tinkerbell. Tinkerbell, Netflix… my six year old daughter needs Tinkerbell. Come on. So I upgraded her account to “for older kids and below” and wow, Netflix. Chill. Once Upon a Time is hardly kid appropriate. As is Hater’s Back Off and Star Trek Voyager just to name a few that are way above her level. What gives? I’ve gone to the website and tried to figure out how to change this but to no avail. The only “Parental Controls” you have is for me to add a pin for their profile… my two year old also needs to be able to work Netflix on her own, guys. I mean that’s literally why I own you. For the two-year-old. We all know toddlers run this place, anyway.

With all of these frustrations, it’s important for you to know that no matter what happens, I’ll always have and appreciate you. You could literally jump your prices through the roof and I’ll still be loyal. Like I said, the toddler runs this place and she needs her Netflix… sooooo it looks like we’re in this together. Just hoping you could get more on my mommy level and stop catering to the millennials who really are just using you to Netflix and Chill… I promise you, more moms are using you than you will ever know.

I’ll leave you to fix this. I trust you will. But I mean either way you’re still getting my money so this isn’t a threat or anything… just a tired mom.

Love always,

the world’s okayest mom.

It’s just not possible to keep them away from the sick kids…

BearandNebfinal.JPGHer baby almost died, and it’s all the germs, asthma, parents, schools – the world’s fault. Keep them away!

I came upon a picture of a very sick asthmatic girl this morning while browsing social media. She was in the hospital connected to an IV and oxygen mask, suffering from a severe respiratory infection and asthma. I was well acquainted with the stress, terror, grief, anger, and helplessness that the family was experiencing. My heart wept for them as I read through the article, written by the mom about how parents should keep their sick kids home.

If only it were that easy.

Being a seasoned school nurse and a mom, I have experienced and seen all sides of this conundrum. Allergies, excessive school absences, no sick days, no babysitter, hypochondriacs, take time off and the rent doesn’t get paid… these are just some of the reasons.  It’s not always clear-cut and never an easy decision. For example, specimen one: my daughter – she has a runny nose, sneezes, and coughs fifty percent of the year. She was diagnosed early on with allergies. The problem with allergies is you never really know when it’s the actual allergies causing the symptoms, and not a virus or bacteria. The only way to know for sure is to have her mucous or blood tested every single time her nose runs. This is not feasible for anyone.

Specimen two is my son. He has had Reactive Airway Disease (RAD) then Asthma ever since he came down with RSV (Respiratory Syncytial Virus) at seven months old. He contracted this from specimen one. She had her typical symptoms and he ended up with a respiratory infection. She obviously was contagious. Unfortunately the natural order of being a sibling cooped up in a small space for most of the day, is sharing germs. It’s inevitable that they both will get sick. Specimen two has been in the same situation as that little girl; very sick and in the hospital.

The problem is I can’t keep him away from sick kids. Specimen one is THE sick kid among many others. I know other households have this problem. So how do we prevent living in the hospital? Certainly not by relying on others to keep their kids home and a human bubble just wouldn’t fit in the car.

I have answers!

  1. Teach him to protect himself by HAND WASHING, practicing good personal space, touch only what you need to, no licking communal toys, no sharing snacks, keep your mouth off the water fountain, staying clear of other kids with symptoms, not going to enclosed places heavily trafficked by children on a school-free day in the winter. Whatever your kid does to germ swap, try to stop the behavior. This is the first line of defense!
  2.  If your kid does have Reactive Airway Disease (RAD) or Asthma, during flu and cold season keep him on a small running dose of a mild steroid. I also start this in off-seasons the second I see even a drip from his nose. The medication (budesonide) takes 2-3 days of administration just to start working but can take up to 3 weeks for therapeutic levels to be reached. This regimen was prescribed by his asthma specialist and agreed upon by his pediatrician. Most people do not want their children on a maintenance dose of medication. I don’t want my kid on it. But in his case, it could save his life especially during flu season. It’s a scary thing watching your kid struggling to breathe. If you need further convincing, one burst dose of prednisone for severe respiratory distress is equal to 1000 doses of your inhaled maintenance steroid. Yes, ONE THOUSAND. Check it out. This is what you want to prevent.
  3. Teach your kids, practice prevention and talk to your doctor about a maintenance medication.  We cannot rely on others to keep their sick kids home and we certainly can’t keep the world away from our asthmatic children. The world is a petri dish and this is not going to change.

 

Fellow Okay Mom Jennifer Holston is an avid gardener, mommy of two, cook, crafter, writer, wife, nurse and improv tradeswoman aimlessly roaming the ranges of Texas.

Woman! What are you doing???

Photo Jan 26, 7 53 41 PM

Are you doing anything for yourself? Besides sitting on the couch scrolling thru this with your thumb on your phone while holding coffee in the other hand with the sound of fighting children or a mind numbing kid’s show on the TV in the background….

Are you actively pouring time into your goals and dreams?

Do you know what your goals and dreams are? Or have you not had enough sleep to dream?

Who were you before you had kids? Were you a daughter? A student? A wife? … those things are all given to you by other people. You didn’t chose to be the daughter to your parents, you ended up with them. Sometimes that’s super shitty. And we have to grow up way too early and then we realize when we’re parenting our own little ones that we in fact were never really parented ourselves. That is a hard day. Or a student, a good one or a bad one… but you went to school for something, right? Are you doing what you had in mind while you were this young wide-eyed twenty-something with ambition? Did you marry your dream partner or are you stuck with a complete stranger? Are you taking to time to love your partner and date your partner, not just live with them like the two of you are roommates?

Who are you, really? Was your end all, be all to be a mother? Is being someone’s mother your goal? Girl… that’s a lot of pressure to put on a tiny human. How can they possibly be the entire source of your joy and completion when they don’t even know how to tie their shoes yet? Honestly, I fear that making motherhood your ultimate goal is more dangerous than living without goals. Kids grow up. They get married, they move, they have their own kids… they leave. Then what? Is your entire purpose in life gone? This is why most Empty Nester’s end up divorcing. They spent their entire adult lives focused on this one thing that leaves. When it leaves – they don’t know who they are. They don’t know who they married. It’s lonely, it’s sad… and frankly I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

So where are you, girl? What do you want? When was the last time you sat down and asked yourself what it is that you want out of your life? What are some goals?

Write a book?

Run a marathon?

Get a job outside of the home?

Go back to school?

Whatever it is – it’s going to take work. Work, time, and a commitment to yourself to just do it. It’s going to take daily work – even if it’s just five minutes to set your intentions and break old habits. It’s going to be exhausting. It might be the hardest thing you have ever done… but oh the feeling you will have once it is complete. Girl I promise you. If you take this time for yourself – think of the lessons you will be teaching your children. Do you want you children to grow up knowing their mom never reached her full potential and believe that it’s just not that big of a deal to take care of themselves or have any goals of their own? I have two girls. I want them to be taught how to set intentions, goals, create healthy habits, S O A R … who better to teach them than me? Can I be the one to give my daughters the fuel they need to become whatever it is they want to be? I tell them to chase their dreams constantly. Am I no different? How hypocritical is that?

When was the last time you got a pedicure? One hour. I’m saying one hour a week can you vanish? It can even be during nap time so that whoever is with the kid has it easy. And girl… your husband is NOT their babysitter. He does not babysit his children. You aren’t a babysitter. He isn’t a babysitter. The only thing you have to ask him is if he will be home… you are a grown ass woman. Tell your partner that you are leaving the house for one hour. Remind him where the diapers are and then G.O. Just go. If you are married to a man child who you do not trust to watch your children… then you need a whole different blog post. He is just as much of their parent as  you are and he has his part just as much as you do. He is not your babysitter.

If we are at our lowest of lows, lonely, depressed, missing what we love, lost our identity… how can we be parent our children the way they deserve? When they are old enough, they will thank you for following your dreams.

We are women. Who aren’t we? Who aren’t we to run after our dreams? Who aren’t we to have opinions that matter? It’s 2018… what do you want?? Tell us! Tell us what you want. Write it down! Put a timeline on it! GET IT. Get what you want and what you deserve, my love. You are a fierce woman who brought precious life into this world …. what can you not do?? Nothing! There is nothing you can’t do. Stop limiting yourself. Tell your family! Tell them what your plan is. Don’t ask. Tell them. This is not up for discussion. You have given up so much for the other people in your life to follow their dreams… they can do the same for you.

Get out there, girl. What are waiting for? It‘s never going to get easier. Now is the easiest moment. Now is the time to make the decision and LEAP.

Now.

Today.

Get it, girl.

Life Lessons in Social Etiquette (…for boys)

wordbadgerfacetransparentfinalcopy (1).jpg

(All antics have been honey badger tested)

Life Lessons in Social Etiquette 1-10

1. Laying across the entrance to the school will not stop school.
2. Biting your classmates’ hand when they try to help you at the computer because your hands are busy “typing” is wrong on all fronts.
3. Leaving your superhero underpants on the floor of the little boys’ room is not sharing.
4. Believing your classmates are “Stormtroopers” and you’re the only “good guy” is not fair.
5. “Pew-pewing” the “Stormtroopers” won’t make you any friends.
6. Throwing chairs when asked to do your writing work is not a bargaining tactic.
7. Stuffing your cheeks with wadded up balls of pink construction paper does not make you “Murl the Squirrel.”
8. Your game “Dangerous Windmill” which entails spinning in circles with your arms wide out and hitting classmates is not a team sport.
9. Your mouth is not a rock tumbler.
10. “Saving the World” by moving all the earthworms onto the grass is a pretty cool thing.

Stay tuned for lessons 11-20 next month!

 

This month’s life lessons are brought to you by our fellow Okay mom Jennifer Holston

When You Finally Grow the F Up

Another post written for you by one of our Okay Moms ::

KT Kinsey

I have never been the socially acceptable “normal” person I was intended to be by the people in charge of my education and upbringing. I’ve always taken the road less traveled, and that was usually the more difficult path. Baby was never meant to be put in a corner and was never meant to be told what to do! Painfully awkward, filled with incredible amounts of pent up rage from tragic events of my childhood, and lost in a big world with no real role model, I spent the first almost 30 years of my existence, well, lost.

My life never had a clear path. I didn’t have much in the way of future goals, I couldn’t see past the end of my nose and the borders of my small hometown. You know the type of place, small town, booming in population growth, where everyone either works for a plant or teaches school and everyone knows everyone else’s business.  I knew I wasn’t meant to be there, but I had no clue how to get out unless prison was involved, and I’m too in to my self-preservation for that shit. The opportunities for me weren’t plentiful and I had no idea how to get out there and make things happen myself. I was usually shut down before I could even try.

I was forced to attend college even though deep down I knew I wasn’t ready. I was too naive of the real world and had absolutely no clue what college involved or what I wanted to be when I grew up.  Seven years, three majors, three minors, and three institutions of higher learning later and I finally trucked out a half decent degree with a $40,000 price tag in student loans. I was finally done with the monotony of “formal education”, married and on my way to the state of New York for my husband’s first duty station with the Army.

The first tastes of real freedom, and what did I do with it? Immediately had a baby. Don’t get me wrong, I was so ready to have a child and I love my little boy more than anything else in the world, but I never gave myself time to consider options for just what exactly I would want out of life. By the time my husbands first contract with the Army was complete we had spent three years in the frozen tundra of upstate New York, racking up credit card debt, and doing nothing but hiding at home with my baby and eating. I was “that” military spouse. I made a couple of friends and tried a few new activities but my only true solace was junk food and fighting with imaginary people on the Internet. I was just a miserable person living a closeted miserable life.

All of the education and training and experience I had built up in the first 25 years of my life were going to absolute waste. This impasse basically slapped me in the face in 2013 when I decided to compete for the last time in an International pageant system I had been involved in for almost 10 years. I was aging out and decided to give the International competition one more go of it. I prepared my vocal selection for talent, shopped for the clothes, got in shape, had professional headshots made. I was ready! Or so I thought. I was 27 and aging out of the system and the part of the process that I hadn’t given much thought to was also the part that always came so easy to me, the Interview competition. About a month before the pageant I started thinking about things I could potentially be asked in Interview. It didn’t take me long to realize I had messed up. Questions that came to mind were things like “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” “What is your greatest accomplishment” or “How do you plan to make an impact on the world”.

That’s it, time to call the whole thing off, I’m doomed. I can belt out a song and glide across the stage in a gown all day but I had absolutely no real substance to back it up. I am not a person who cries easily. I am also that solid rock in a rocky storm type of gal. I went into sheer panic mode. I ended up in tears during a conversation with my mother, whom I was living with at the time while my husband was deployed. I realized that while I had gone through the “expected” steps of graduating high school, graduating college, marrying a respectable man, and having a beautiful child, I had absolutely nothing to really show for myself that was any indication of who I was as a person and absolutely no future path in sight other than to raise my child.

Now, before anyone wants to rake me over the coals for my last statement, I’m not saying raising my child isn’t respectable. I consider it the hardest and most rewarding job I have ever had and will ever have. This is merely my way of saying that I had never given any thought to being capable of anything other than being a wife and mom. I love those parts of my life, but in this epiphany mess of tears I realized that I was a capable human being who really did want more than what I had settled myself to.

My mom talked me off the ledge, we managed to collaborate on some believable bullshit to put on my introduction card for the pageant, and off we went to spend a week in Vegas full of hairspray, rhinestones, and memories. I ended up pulling off my second trip to the Top 10 for my age group, and while I didn’t return home with a crown I did come home with a new found thought: I am not done living my life yet.

Fast forward four years and we now live in Tennessee where we own a home, send our son to a nice private school, I have an incredible job, and now know what I want to be when I grow up. In those four years I took a long look at where I came from and decided to embrace what I was capable of rather than wallowing in my pathetic past. I cut myself off from a lot of Internet connection, a lot of toxic “friendships”, even more toxic family relations, and decided to be who I really am.

I now rock purple hair, I got my first tattoo recently, I embrace my full on love of Harry Potter and all things nerdy, and decided to stop letting everyone else tell me who I am supposed to be. I saw a picture on Instagram recently with a quote on it that I have really fallen in love with. It said, “Teach your daughters to worry less about fitting into glass slippers and more about shattering glass ceilings.” I’m done trying to fit myself into the molds I was never meant to fit into. I may not cure cancer, save Social Security, or win Miss America but for my child I’m going to be the best example of living my one and only life exactly the way I want to with absolutely no shame or doubt involved. If I can encourage one other person to be who they are without apology, then my work here is done.

Why Okay Mom’s Don’t Volunteer…

Monday is unique in the world of moms. It’s the day little zombies are pulled out of their beds after two days of a low demand schedules and whine their way through the morning routine; add in a school field trip and it results in deaf, screaming creatures with amnesia running in circles. They have little ability to function, but somehow mom pulls things together enough so that everyone is semi-groomed, dressed, and crammed into a car on their merry-ish way to school. I forgot to mention, in a moment of insanity, I volunteered to be a parent driver for said field trip.

The morning was further complicated by a rebellious stomach, starring a gaseous repeat of last nights chicken dinner and it was too late to find a replacement. 9:15amwas the hour of departure. Kids were due at a theater tour at 10am. I had one hour to prepare after the initial creature drop. Gas filled,  GPS programmed, grocery store trip for a variety pack of cereals (frosted mini-wheats were the only thing I could tolerate), child-friendly movie, garbage and clothing collected and ejected. I even removed the goo that lined the bottom of the rear cup holder! We were totally prepared for a smooth drive.

At 9:15 I lead a line of four vibrating 7-year-olds to the car while toting two booster seats, water bottles, and simultaneously unlocking and opening the doors. I felt like a sour-stomached super hero. They funneled in.

The normal whining that inflicts my daughter every Monday morning continued, except at a volume several decibels higher than normal. Having to use her brother’s 5-point harness booster ruined her day. I wrestled with seatbelts while the creatures hooted, hollered, and bounced. Even with each one safely buckled in, they still managed to make the van sway. I slid into my seat, flipped down the tv screen and started “Robin Hood” in one swoop. Cheers ensued as they rooted about their snack bags. The rocking motion of the van stopped, and I put the car in reverse.

“Wait! I brought the wrong bag. This is my lunch.” exclaimed one creature.

I put the car back in park, the glowing 9:35am caught my eye as I looked back. The theater was a 30-minute ride. “Isn’t there something in your lunch bag you could eat as snack?”

“Nope,” he said self-assuredly.

I remembered the boxes of cereal in the back of the car and ran to grab them. I held them up like a victory beacon for all the creatures to see. “What would you like?”

“Ummm…,” he contemplates.

A couple minutes go by and the whistling number starts on “Robin Hood.” I start making cereal suggestions. He finally settles on Rice Crispies.

I put the car in reverse.

“My snack is old,” piped another creature.

I put the car in park and held up the cereal. “Anyone else want a box?”

Prospects of sugared cereal caused a frenzy amongst the creatures. Songs were sung, gleeful shrieks rattled the windows, and once again the car shook.  One of them escaped the seatbelt to examine the cereal choices and the others followed.

After a bit, the creatures settled, were reseated, and buckled up. A murmur settled over the car, with only an occasional spastic shout. I looked back to see feet swinging in tune with the movie and looks of contentment.

I put the car in reverse.

The sound of pressurized plastic forcefully torn open, followed by a shower of crispy rice hitting the seats and windows made me freeze.

I heard “OH SNAP!” from the back seat and then complete silence.

I put the car in park and slowly turned around.

Everything, including the creatures, were covered in a fine sheet of Rice Crispies. They were even heaped along the window like winter snow. One creature stared in horror at the empty Rice Krispies box in his lap. The rest were like statues. I brushed the crispies off my shoulder and laughed.

One of the creatures shouted “It snowed in Texas today!” and they all laughed. After we cleaned up a bit, I put the car in reverse and had all the kids roll down their windows to hear the “Snap, Crackle, Pop” of our 10am departure.

unnamed.jpg

Today’s post was brought to you by fellow World’s Okayest Mom::

Jennifer Holston at dirtybadgerpaws.com  

Avid gardener, mommy of two, cook, crafter, writer, wife, nurse and improv tradeswoman aimlessly roaming the ranges of Texas.

We all kinda suck

IMG_8998

My bad.

I am totally the worst.

 

A hypocrite to the MAX.

I spend my entire time worrying about how moms are being judged or shamed – trying to give okay moms a voice. Trying my hardest to tell moms from every walk of life that it’s okay to be okay – to ignore the perfect instagram mommies because there’s a lot we don’t see behind their perfectly filtered pictures.

 

But at the end of the day – I took that voice away from the okay moms and used it for harm.

I digress.

My eyes were opened to my hypocrisy because of a peanut butter sandwich.

Not just any peanut butter sandwich… but a peanut butter sandwich made from a professional. It was for a peanut butter ad and it was targeting moms who pack their kid’s school lunches. The ad showed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with perfect tiny star shapes cut out of the top of the bread so you can see the perfectly smeared thin layer of (I’m sure) organic jelly and the thick layer of the protein packed peanut butter. No mess. Crust not even cut off – because of course this kid eats crusts. Perfect little lunch packed for a perfect little kid by a perfect mom. Every time this ad popped up on my Facebook feed, I wanted to throw my middle finger up. OVER IT. STAHP. No one is that perfect. No one takes the time to do this. And if they do take the time to do this – it is for a filtered instagram pic and not for their kid. Right??

 

Well I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

 

For nearly a year I have ran a mommy support group on Facebook called the World’s Okayest Moms and it’s pretty freakin perfect. We’re coming up on almost 2,000 members and it is a well oiled machine – so far there has been very little drama (WHICH IS IMPOSSIBLE HELLO) and a huge support from all over the world… literally the world. It’s amazing and encouraging and I couldn’t be more proud of it.

A few weeks back, one of the world’s okayest moms took a screenshot of said peanut butter ad and posted it in the group with a caption along the lines of – who actually does this. The comments were hilarious. A bunch of woman, including myself, got on the thread and bashed the ad for being so fucking perfect and not messy. It was exactly what I thought would happen. Until a mom commented something I hadn’t thought of :

 

I won’t quote her directly but basically she was hurt. She said that her child had the hardest time eating and would go through bouts of refusing food for days on end (who doesn’t have that every once in a while). So in a desperate attempt to get her child to eat some protein, she made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Perfectly, no mess, cute shaped cut out of the center of the bread, and it was beautiful. The kid ate the sandwich and she finally found something that worked. It became a ritual for her to make these special sandwiches for her kid who she was worried wasn’t getting enough nutrients. She said that the comments on the post hurt her directly and she was debating leaving the group over it – she thought this group was a place without judgement and here she was, feeling completely judged. She was hurt. We hurt her. Suddenly a memory hit me that four years ago I had an extremely stubborn two year old refuse to eat for days on end with the exception of cheerios. So I did this! I used cookie cutters and cut her sandwiches into shapes for months. It was the only thing she ate and I was relived she was getting some protein so it didn’t matter to me that I had to go the extra mile for my typical two-year-old.

 

I wrote her back an apology and validated her hurt. I thanked her for not leaving the group but I think my apology was too late. I never got a reply back.

I felt terrible.

I had set out to create this environment for mommies who felt like they didn’t belong and here I am shaming mommies.

Is it possible that we are so worried about not judging and shaming okay moms that we end up shaming and judging the instagram moms?

We hate their perfect yoga pants and their skinny bodies and their avocado toast. But aren’t they doing what they need? They need the marathons, they need the cookie cutter sandwiches, they need their protein shakes in the morning. Some of them even need the likes. They need to post their filtered devotional and coffee pic in the morning so that they feel validated and noticed. It’s their way to feel creative and appreciated. Who doesn’t want that?

 

I am a creative but not with my instagram pics… I am not a photographer and I don’t spend 15 minutes working on the perfect placement of my latte on the cafe table for the perfect picture. But these women who do are only expressing their creativity in a different way than I would.

Point is – we don’t know. There is no way we could ever possibly know their life. We don’t know why they feel the need to post Breast is Best or Fed is Best posts. We don’t know why their house is pristine and their coffee always hot. We don’t know why their kids wear name brands and eat their perfect organic sandwiches every day. Just like they don’t know us.

Isn’t it time we push through that divide? Can’t a mom just be a mom? At the end of the day – we all have the same end goal…

 

don’t raise an asshole.

Right??

Let’s chill out, mommas. It’s okay to be okay and it’s also okay to be sub par and it’s also okay to be spectacular. You do you. That’s the best we can do, right? We all kinda suck – there’s some common ground!

 

Mommas – we need each other

21083530_10100788841034987_7959066621833002811_o

Every once in a while there comes a morning where you just don’t know how you’re going to move. Your eyes are already bloodshot from the lack of sleep due to a colic baby or kicking spider ninja kids who have to sleep with you after a bad dream. You literally have to drink a pot of coffee in order to make the pot of coffee brew a pot of coffee. There is spit up on your shirt that you’ve been wearing for two days and there is no future shower in sight. You decide to commit to lazy parenting and give them the pop tart instead of cooking scrambled eggs and oatmeal. You shuffle your way to the couch and stare at the TV which is playing the 24587023rd episode of whatever annoying kid show has been on repeat for hours. Stupid Netflix keeps asking if we’re still watching. YES. DON’T STOP. HE WILL LOSE IT.

On these mornings we forget who we used to be before we had kids. I used to wake up to the sound of the first alarm without snoozing, took my daily shower, brushed and dried my hair, had painted nails, put makeup on, put on pants with a button!!!! How did I get here? What did I think would happen? I’ll tell you. 

I thought I was going to have all of this parenting thing figured out before I became a parent. You cannot prepare yourself for parenting enough. Like, just chill out. You won’t have it figured out for years. Just be okay with flying by the seat of your yoga pants. That’s all you can hope for on so many days. If homeschooling your kids is driving you insane and your kids are starting to hate learning – take them to school! If your kids won’t go to sleep on time at night and become total sleep deprived assholes when they wake up, then give them some melatonin on those crazy nights so they can actually go the fuck to sleep and you can sit on the couch with your glass of wine and watch raunchy TV in the silence. If you are sitting in your pj’s at noon and are about to lose your shit, put the kid in a crib or in front of a TV and go take a shower…. shave your legs! AH! I KNOW!

But you know what is the most helpful? Having an adult you can bitch to. More than just a play date, moms. Because I don’t know about you but play dates can be just as stressful as sitting in front of Cailou for the millionth episode. I’m talking about making a girls’ night happen. Even if it’s after the kids have gone to bed and she brings her sleepy kids to pass out on a pallet on the floor and as soon as everyone is passed out, bust out the tequila and Sex and the City binge! 

Adult time is crucial. And other women who don’t have kids are fun and all but you’ve gotta find your best mom friend. She really gets you. She hasn’t showered in days, either. Don’t only ever talk to your friend who can afford Starbucks every day and will actually go inside the Starbucks instead of the drive-thru because she isn’t toting a million children and her hair is brushed enough to appear in public. You can talk to her every once in a while and sometimes it can be a nice break to not talk about being a mom and hang out with single girlfriends. But I’m telling you – get with another hot mess mom. You need one. We all need one. We need to find a judgment-free zone where we can say to each other “You do that, too?” or “ohmygod I have no idea when the last time I bought a bottle of wine instead of a massive cheap box”.

Your husband will survive watching the kids one night a week. Make it a priority. Put a standing appointment in his calendar. Demand it. Because momma, if you don’t take care of yourself, your whole house will fall apart. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen it so many times. Look your husband in his eyes and tell him that if he needs weekly sex then you need a weekly break. Meet your hot mess mom friend at a Barnes and Noble to sit in a comfy chair for free. This does not have to cost millions. But for what it’s worth, ladies – you cannot put a price on peace and sanity. If spending some extra money on yourself for a night out once a week will save you from becoming a murderer —- then DO IT. JUST DO IT. Women have literally killed themselves, mommas. Suicide. Over silenced depression. Spend $5 at Starbucks and don’t sit in your depression. If you’re a single mom, budget for a sitter or get a relative on board for free sitting. One of my mom friends and I babysit for free for each other all the time! We barter! It works. Get out there and do it. It really is that simple. 

We need each other. Find a hot mess mom. Like now.

Bye.

7-year Reset

rings“Seven-year itch” what does that even mean?

“The sevenyear itch is a psychological term that suggests that happiness in a relationship declines after around year seven of a marriage. The phrase originated as a name for irritating and contagious skin complaints of a long duration.” – literally what I got when I googled it. 

Getting married when I did came off as crazy since we were so young. But he was my soulmate. My one and only since I was 12 years old. We had several years in between where I had a few boyfriends and lots of mistakes but this boy waited for me. Me. Like I was someone special. We have the fairy tale story. Anyone who knows us will attest to that. We are soulmates. In the truest sense of the word. Does that mean this is easy? Fuck no. Not even a little bit. Does that mean it’s more worth it. Fuck yes. All the way.

Our eighth anniversary is next month.

To say this has been the hardest year is like putting butterflies and rainbows all over a Lifetime movie. There were a few times this year where my soulmate and I looked each other in the eyes and didn’t know where to go next. Leave? Stay? Walk out the door? Fight? Snuggle the shit out of each other? I’ll let you take a wild guess what we did.

Neither of us had any affairs, neither of us “wandered” or committed any unforgivable offense. It was just hard. So fucking hard.

There have been more “I’m sorry”‘s out of my mouth this year than ever in my entire life.

What now? Do I keep apologizing? Do I keep fighting?

Y E S.

We hit this moment in the fight where I realize we are having the same fight we have had for seven years and I want to bail. My mind is telling me this is all bullshit and he will never listen to me. My heart tells me something different. I have finally begun listening to my heart. It tells me that no matter what, I will take it. If he wants to fight then lets fight! Tell me how I hurt you. Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me all the mistakes I have made in the past seven years. I will lay down and welcome it. He could be wrong. He could be so wrong that every single person in my life will tell me to leave him. But I love him. I love this man with every fiber of my being and that means that I will hurt for him. I will sacrifice for him. I will cry for him. I will die for him. After I finally figured this out, it hasn’t been streets of gold but it’s been so much easier. Easy for me to fight. Easy for me to chose him every day I wake up tired from the kids staying up late the night before. Easy for me to listen to him venting and hurting just so I can tell him I understand and he’s not alone. I love this man so much that I will hurt for him. No matter the cost. He will not take advantage of me. He will only ever protect me and love me unconditionally for the rest of his life. This man fights for me every day even when I don’t see it. That doesn’t stop him, though. He keeps fighting until his eyes are swollen and his knuckles are bleeding. Because I am his soulmate. I am his one and only. The girl he waited for. The girl he has been in love with since he was twelve years old. That’s the kind of man I married.

Seven year itch has turned into the seven year reset.

Tomorrow my husband is going to take me on another first date. Coffee. No talk of kids or bills. Just us, getting to know each other. Like it’s the first time. A reset. A new beginning. I want to get to know the man I am married to. We were married so young, the man I married eight years ago is not the man I am married to today – this is not a bad thing, just a new thing.

So, here’s to our first date. I can’t wait to meet the man I married.
***edited to say that our second first date was definitely better than real first date. I am hopeful and excited for our future as a couple. I never doubted we could get through anything.