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.

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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.

We all kinda suck

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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!

 

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. 

sometimes i just want to pee in peace.

 

I have been a mom for a whopping total of five years. Not much… but you should know that there are two of them. You know what happens when one kid becomes two kids? Everything. Everything happens.

The second one isn’t anything like the first one. AT ALL. So you think you have this whole kid thing figured out until BAM. You had no idea.

Not to mention I have complete responsibility for those kid’s past, present, and future. I have to make sure they don’t end up being little turds who grow up to be the kid that steals other kid’s milk money. But I also have to raise them to be brave so that they can stand up to the milk money stealing turds. Teach them their ABC’s, 123’s, and how to share. That’s totally up to me.

And you know what… some days… all I can think about… is how sometimes I just want to pee in peace.img_6759

Sometimes I just want to go to the bathroom, shut the door, know that no one is choking anyone, no one knows where I am nor will they even bother to search, no tiny hands will come from underneath the door frame like a creeping Walking Dead episode, no one will come crying to me. And I just sit there… and pee…. in peace. Oh peace… Maybe even pull my phone out and creep on a few instagram feeds… whatever I want.

When you become a parent, your whole life changes… duh. But there are so many little things that you are never prepared for entering parenthood. I mean obviously everyone wants to “prepare” you before you get to that point and it just doesn’t do much.

Always sleep when the baby does…. yea… because I don’t do ANYTHING else.

Make sure the baby doesn’t have too much screen time

Never turn your car seat front facing

NO CORN SYRUP EVER

Only overpriced organic food

Haven’t you lost your baby weight yet?

Breast is best!!

But you know what I wish someone told me?

You will never pee alone again.

Screw jeans. Just give up on them. They will never be good to you again.

Always talk to other adults as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

Wine… all of it… just do it… invest in a monthly wine delivery or just go ahead and commit to the box now.

Clean after they go to bed because as soon as you finish, they will only fuck it all back up immediately after.

It’s okay… it’s okay to be okay. 

Thankfully it has only taken me five years and two kids to realize these things are the truest things but I know I still have a long way to go. We just need to be better equipped by real people… not the “perfect” ones.

 

 

Hello, I am the world’s okayest mom

Being okay is completely underrated. Why are we always trying to achieve perfection? Perfection is impossible and even if you do eventually achieve it, it’s a huge disappointment.

Guess what.

My house is almost always messy. I take care of the basics, like the kitchen, the yuckyness… but laundry?? Oh man… laundry is always around. There are piles of dirty clothes in every room and piles of clean clothes in the living room. Piles of folded clothes on the coffee table and on top of dressers, piles of laid out shirts draped over the couch waiting for the closet… forget about it. My poor husband. Our mornings usually go as follows:

Him – hey babe… wake up. I can’t find any clothes.

Her – huh? whaaaat?

Him – where can I find pants?

Her – folded on the coffee table… or wait… the dryer. Yea, the dryer.

….five minutes pass…

Him – babe, where are socks?

Her – ummmm….. yea good luck with that.

Being a mom of two little ones takes up all my time. I am homeschooling the five year old and I’ll be lucky if she is counting to 15 by the end of this school year. My 18 month old is a baby genius which sounds like a good thing but ends up biting me in the ass more often than not. She is constantly testing things, like me… it’s exhausting and stressful as hell.

I live for nap time and the use of the Kindle Fire for the five year old. I look longingly forward to bed time when I can finally pop open that bottle of wine…. ok box… box of wine… and turn on a show with adults and cuss words.

Can you imagine what our mothers did before smart phones?? Thank God I have access to all my friends on a tiny device I can hold in my hands. And those mom’s who judge us for being on our phones too much…. we get it… you’re so much better than us. But if I don’t stay in contact with the people outside of my townhome filled with piles of laundry, my antidepressants will only go so far.

Can we just be okay with being okay? Can we stop striving for perfection? Our Instagram filtered pictures are killing other moms. Let’s just be OKAY for once. Just be okay with the fact that your child will eat that bug or that pile of mud… it’s good for their immune system!! Just be okay with the fact that one day our children are going to tell us they need therapy. Dip into that college savings fund and put it towards something that will actually help them.

Give yourself some grace, momma. It’s going to be okay. Being okay is okay! Take a nap! Throw some cheerios on the floor and let your kids fight for them gladiator style. Drink that glass of wine. Get on facebook and vent about it. Send me a message! I’ll level with you.

It’s going to be okay.

winemom

How to be a Hot Mess Mom

I know, people see me and they’re just jealous. I always look like I just have my shit together. So here is my How-To… trust me… motherhood becomes a lot easier once you just accept that you’re whole life is a hott mess.

Your attire:

Laundry is just a whole clusterfuck of who cares. Don’t do it every day. And once you do it, throw the clean clothes in a pile. You might want to invest in a second laundry basket so that you can have a clean clothes basket and a dirty clothes basket. Smell the pits if you are unsure.

The shirt will always have stains. Give up.

Hott mess mom hair is the messy bun you put in your hair the night before when you washed your face and then slept on it. It’s fine. The pretty girls are doing this lately. You look like you spend hours on it.

Yoga pants. Sometimes if you put them on first thing in the morning, you feel motivated to work out. You never will work out but at least you have the appearance that you do.

Flip flops – just to prove that you in fact did not work out.

Maekup? It’s not date night. Move along.

Shave above the legs? It’s not your anniversary or his birthday. Move along.

The list of your BFF’s:

  1. Netflix. It’s a very cheap babysitter. Anything with a screen will do.
  2. Dry Shampoo. Everyday. All day. Duh.
  3. Wine. Wine. Wine. Wine. Wine. Wine. Wine.
  4. Your other mom friend who understands why you cry yourself to sleep every night.
  5. A back yard. Fence is a plus.

 

What counts as a bath:

Moms who bathe their children every night aren’t real. They only exist on Pinterest. Or they only have one kid and they think that’s what they’re supposed to do. Do not kill you back and your knees every single night when they will only pour the milk all over themselves as soon as they get their breakfast. It’s a losing battle. Give up.

Here is a list of things that count as a bath. If any of the following happen in a day, you are excused of your responsibility of bathing.

  • spilling water on themselves
  • swimming in a salt water pool
  • running in the sprinkler
  • wipeys wipeys wipeys. Use all of them. They’re more expensive than a bath but worth every penny
  • a thorough diaper change
  • getting caught in the rain
  • holding them over the sink after a meal and splashing them with water

 

This is the hardest job on the planet. We are raising tiny humans into functioning adults. That is so much pressure! Give yourself some room for mistakes. Apologize often, and get real with yourself. Be honest! You will make mistakes. Big ones and little ones. Just admit that to yourself and move on. Be happy in the mess because the mess will be all you have on most days. Support each other. Let’s rise up, mothers! Let’s BE HONEST and tell it like it is. Maybe you’re reading this on your tablet in bed whilst covered with children or on your phone whilst pretending to poop in your locked bathroom. We have all been there and if we haven’t then we’re about to be and we need a head’s up.

Do whatever it is that you need to make this work. You got this momma. Don’t you fret none.

bye