the hose incident

You know that moment when you realize that your house is very, very quiet and it shouldn't be? Someday that quiet might mean that my children have found quiet activities to engage in, like putting together puzzles or looking at books. Right now, however, silence means that my children are engaged in an activity that they know they shouldn't be engaged in. It could be squeezing toothpaste into the toilet or pulling their curtains down and using the rods as swords. It could be coloring every toy they can reach with a black marker or throwing baby powder around the room. The possibilities are endless and awful.
So of course, last Thursday when I realized that I could no longer hear the boys playing outside, I assumed something was going on. I didn't even make it to the door before Truett came running around the corner of the house soaking wet and crying. I asked him what happened and he told me that Jem had shot him in the eye with water from the hose. I ushered Tru into the house and told him to sit down while I went out to find Jem. I met him coming around the side of the house, also a little wet. When I asked him what was going on, he told me that they were playing with the hose. I said, "Do you think it was a good idea to play with the hose without asking me?"
Jem assured me that the only reason they didn't ask me is that they knew I would say yes. What?! I think he might have been hopped up on sugar or high on life or something to come up with that. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to play with the hose without permission. And then, as we continued to walk towards the hose, I ran through all of my discipline options in my head. I could:

a. tell him that they were never, ever allowed to play with water again, ever
b. have him apologize to his brother and then sit in a time-out
c. make the hose less appealing

I went with option c. I made him stand on the walkway while I sprayed him with the hose. At first, he seemed to think it was a big joke but quickly changed his mind. Eventually, he took off running, at which point I called him back and sprayed him again. I was trying to follow the whole "let the punishment fit the crime" thing and it seemed pretty effective. I was a little bit concerned about what our neighbors might have thought but then I got over that. He wasn't hurt by it and suddenly the hose became much less appealing. Mission accomplished.

photo by: photorhapsody  http://www.flickr.com/photos/52817760@N03/6956694772/

thanks for the smile

When I was pregnant, people held doors for me all of the time. I visited a few major cities and people gave up seats for me on subways and buses. I had someone give up a seat for me in a restaurant. It was fabulous! And stork parking was great. I used it every chance I had. But then I had kids and suddenly everything was back to normal. People would let doors slam in my face. A seat on public transportation wasn't happening and that special parking was a thing of the past.
And here's the thing: when I was pregnant, I still had both of my hands free. Yes, seats on the subway were great since my legs felt like wet noodles but doors were pretty easy to open and I only had to get myself into the store. Then I had kids and suddenly it took me five minutes just to get everyone out of the car. And those doors became a whole lot trickier to open. Push doors weren't too bad but pull doors required some fancy maneuvering. The door had to be opened far enough to push the front end of the stroller through with one hand. Then I would have to use my foot to prop it open and push the stroller the rest of the way through. I would end up in this weird straddle position and at the end there would be this quick hop/sprint to get myself through the door before it clipped me on the ankle once I let go of it. If the wheels got all cattywampus then I could just forget about getting through. And I can't even tell you how many times people just watched me struggle as they walked through the other set of doors.
And that brings me to the lady at the grocery store. I was there late in the evening with Jem and Caia. She walked into the cart area a few seconds after me. There was only one row of carts left so I grabbed the first one only to discover that it was stuck fast to the second one. I only had one hand free since I was holding Caia on my hip and I couldn't get enough traction to pull the carts apart. I noticed the woman walk out of the cart area out of the corner of my eye and grab a cart that someone had left outside. I realized I wasn't going to get the carts apart so I turned to head outside and grab one. And I had the small hope that maybe the woman who had watched me struggle was grabbing one for me. Her hands were completely free and mine were obviously not. However, she simply pushed her cart past me and gave me a very nice "hello" smile. Not helpful at all.
So please, when you see a mom with a stroller, hold the door open for her. And when you see a woman with her hands full, help her out with the carts. Smiles are nice and all but I'd rather have a hand with the door.

photo by: denissar  http://www.flickr.com/photos/82934380@N00/7986465707/

sandy

Apparently a large storm is heading our way. I had just been assuming that we were in for a few wet days but after talking with some other people, started to realize that I might need to take the whole thing a little bit more seriously. So this morning, I dropped Sam and the kids off at church and headed to the grocery store. We figured it might be a little bit less crowded this morning and it was. It also felt like I was picking through a graveyard. The bananas were gone. The gallons of water were gone. I didn't even bother to look for batteries. I did manage to get a few things to get us through if we happen to lose power for a few days.
Honestly though, while I am somewhat concerned about feeding my kids without a stove or microwave or refrigerated foods that isn't my main concern.
My main concern is how I will entertain my boys if the power goes out for several days. One day would be manageable but two days is pushing it, especially when you add in that it will be raining and going outside won't be possible. There won't be tv shows or computer games. We won't be able to dance around to music. There won't be preschool or play dates. We will be with each other in our house, rotating between the family room and the playroom. And I think it could get ugly. I can admit that my sanity is tied to our electronics and the fact that I can let the kids run around outside. So here's hoping that Sandy just passes on by and we all end up laughing about how people horded batteries and cleared the shelves of bottled water.

photo from http://www.wgal.com/weather/-/9362022/17128928/-/lgb9guz/-/index.html

moving forward

I have things I want to write about, like the lady at the grocery store or the incident with the hose but I can't seem to focus on those things. Probably because right now I'm too busy thinking about the way that I react to my kids. How there are those moments when it all catches up to me and I'm pretty sure that I'm going to lose it. So I have to leave the room to still my shaking hands and swallow down the words that want to fly out of my mouth. And I sit down and cry, not sure if it is the frustration with my kids or the disappointment in myself that brings the tears but not really caring either way. And it can take me a while to pull myself out of this place. Because this thing I'm doing, this being a mom thing, is so big and so scary and so hard. And the fear that I'm doing it wrong, that I just scarred my child because I yelled at him or that I sometimes count the hours in the day and wish the clock would go faster, is overwhelming. It lurks under the surface whispering to me that I'm failing, that my kids don't love me, that this stage of life will never end. And sadly, that is where I find myself right now.
But I will not stay in this place. I will not label myself a failure. I  will let myself have a good cry and I will give myself grace so that I can be ready to love on my kids when they wake up from their naps. This day isn't over yet and I can choose to allow a few tough moments to make the rest of it a waste or I can choose to let it go and move forward.

in a minute

It seems like I spend the majority of my day saying "in a minute" while I run from one small task to the next. Truett needs help with his socks but I'm putting on my mascara. Jem wants some more milk but I'm feeding Caia her oatmeal. Jem's seat belt is stuck but I'm on the other side of the car buckling Truett in. The boys want me to play outside but I'm making our lunch. So I have to say, "in a minute" or "just hold on one second" and they get frustrated and demanding. They have figured out that "in a minute" can actually mean 15 minutes or half an hour.
I think I need a new phrase. Or I need my kids to notice that I'm not standing around doing nothing and that I'm doing my absolute best to meet their needs and keep up with their requests but there are three of them and only one of me so I'm a little outnumbered. But my kids can't see that yet or just don't care and I'm guessing that magical day when they do notice or care is a long, long way away.
I feel guilty that I can't run out and play every time they ask me to. I feel guilty that I can't sit down and read books whenever the idea comes into their heads. And I know that people say the housework can wait, that it will be there later. But dinner doesn't make itself and the baby can't put herself to bed and my boys still can't peel a banana without turning the entire top to a pile of mush unless I start the peeling process for them. So for now "in a minute" will just have to a part of our lives.

A few nights ago Sam and I were watching Modern Family. During the episode, Claire and Phil started talking about their five year plan. They only had five years left before their youngest child headed off to college and they would be empty nesters. After we were done watching Sam turned to me and said, "Well, I guess we are on the 17 year plan."
I can't be on the 17 year plan. That sounds like ages and ages from now. The problem is that it is really tempting to skip ahead and think about what life might be like when my kids are all out of the house. What will it be like to have my time back? What will it be like to not have to pick up after anyone or to not worry about planning dinner? I can have my freedom back. Freedom to run out for ice cream at 8:30 with my husband. Freedom to make plans to go out with friends at the last moment instead of three weeks in advance. I miss that.
But if I let myself sit and think about all of the things that I miss, then I miss the stuff that is actually going on. I miss Truett being so excited about catching another salamander. I miss Jem's pride in his latest drawing. I miss requests to sit on the couch and read books. I miss watching how Sam interacts with the boys and how gentle he is with Caia.
It is hard to stay in the present and not look ahead to how things might be or look back at how things were. But I don't want to fast-forward and miss what God has for me in these moments. I don't want to come home to my empty house in 17 years and say, "I wish that I had been more present with them when they were here." There are going to be days when I am on countdown to bedtime. And there are going to be days when I miss my freedom. But there are also days when I realize how blessed I am and days when I wish I could stop time and keep them small. I just have to take each day for what it is and be present to it.

photo by: swisscan  http://www.flickr.com/photos/swisscan/1927990909/

bite your tongue, Grandma!

My grandma was here for a visit a few weeks ago. While she was here, my mom and I spent an afternoon shopping with her. We took Caia along and my grandma pushed the shopping cart around and chatted with her great-granddaughter. At one point during our time, grandma walked past some pet beds and sparkly dog collars and said, "Those boys of yours need a dog. Every little boy should have a dog."
I quickly let her know that I have zero interest in a dog and told her that she needed to bite her tongue. Why is it that as soon as you have a boy everyone seems to think that you need a dog? I need a dog right now like I need a hole in my head. Yes, I know that my boys would love to have a dog. I know that the dog would play with them and tire them out. I know that coming home to a dog is really nice and that I would feel safer on those occasions when Sam isn't home. I know all of those things because I grew up with dogs. There was never a time in my life when we didn't have at least one dog and sometimes more than one. It was lovely and a lot of that was due to the fact that my responsibility was very minimal. My parents were the ones who potty trained the puppies and scooped poop out of the yard. They were the ones who took the dogs to obedience training and spent the evenings working with them on their behavior. They were the ones who paid vet bills, bought the dog food and found someone to take care of the dogs if we were going to be out of town. I filled the water bucket and played in the yard with them. And I complained every time my dad handed me a plastic baggie and asked me to go scoop up poop. 
So I am very aware of what goes into having a dog. And right now the thought of adding one more being to this household that can't poop in the toilet and doesn't come when I call is more than I can handle. But if someone else in our extended family would like to get a dog, we'd be happy to come and visit.

photo by: chrisinplymouth  http://www.flickr.com/photos/chrisinplymouth/6574163193/

my less than brilliant idea

Each Sunday, after church, we have lunch with my parents. We either head to their house or they come to our house. It is always a nice time to hang out as a family.
Today, I suggested to my Dad that we go out for lunch instead of heading to one of our houses. My mom was exhausted from a long week and I hadn't prepared anything. Plus, it had been a while since we had gone out for our Sunday lunch. Dad agreed and we headed to a local diner. After only a few minutes I remembered why it had been a long time since we had last gone out for lunch.
Jem spilled his milk on the floor and talked way too loud. Caia pulled place mats off of the table and dropped silverware on the floor. She also stuck her hands into Sam's cream chipped beef. Tru actually did the best until lunch was over and he realized that we were heading home instead of to Oma's house. That was when he had a meltdown and started crying huge crocodile tears and throwing his head back yelling that we needed to go to Oma's house now. It was not a stress-free pleasant time. Thankfully the service was fast and we were in and out in less than 45 minutes.
When we eat at my parents' house the kids can run around and be loud and we don't have to worry about anyone being disturbed or offended. They don't have to sit at the table while lunch is prepared and they can get down as soon as they finish. It's just so much easier right now to eat at home. And this morning was a lovely reminder of that fact. It will be a long time before I suggest eating out again on a Sunday and I'm sure that my husband, my dad's wallet, and everyone who does like to eat out on Sundays is thanking me right now.

photo by: britl  http://www.flickr.com/photos/truebritl/5192300484/

nightly visits

Truett visited our room five times last night. And when I say last night, I don't mean right after going to bed. I'm talking about the middle of the night. His reasons for visiting were as follows:
1. "Daddy, I'm so thirsty."
2. "Daddy, I really have to pee."
3. "Daddy, can I tell you something? Did you know I had a bad dream?"
4. "Daddy?"
He never managed to get anything out on the 5th trip. As soon as our door creaked open, Sam bounded out of bed, swept Truett up and carried him out of the room.
The only good part about the whole thing is that Truett goes to Sam every time. I'm not sure if it is because Sam's side of the bed is closest to the door or if Tru thinks he'll get more sympathy from Sam. Whatever it is, I'm grateful. The downside is that I'm a light sleeper so I still wake up almost every time. The 3am visit I handle better than the 5:50 am visit. The closer it is to the time my alarm goes off, the harder it is for me to get back to sleep. At 3am, I can tell myself that I still have over three hours to sleep. But at 5:50 the voice in my head is frantic, yelling at me that I only have 40 minutes to sleep until the alarm goes off. Now you only have 39 miutes! What are you doing? Go to sleep already! So I typically end up lying there for about 20 minutes until I give up and just get out of bed.
I'm not sure why Tru feels the need to come into our room to tell us that he is thirsty or that he needs to use the potty. I'm not sure why he thinks that we need to hear about his dreams the very moment after they happen instead of in the morning. I can count on one hand the number of times Jem has come into our room in the middle of the night. I used to think it was because I was such a great mom and I had trained him so well. Now I realize that he is just a deep sleeper and that, if he wasn't, he probably would have wandered in just as often. So the great mom theory flies out the window on that one. If there is one thing I can count on Tru to do, it's keep me humble.

photo by: Andrew Burgess  http://www.flickr.com/photos/abombm1/497602709/

Over the past week or so, Caia has made it abundantly clear that I'm her go-to person right now. This is especially true if she is tired or teething. She pushes other people away and wails until I pick her up. And I'm not going to pretend, even for one second, that I'm not absolutely delighted. Sure, it has its moments of being very inconvenient like when I'm trying to make dinner and she is lying on the floor sobbing. Or when I'm trying to make a phone call and she is, again, lying on the floor sobbing. But it has been such a long time since one of my children showed a preference for me that I'm willing to look past the inconvenience.
I know my kids love me but I also know that I'm not the most exciting person to them. If I ask the boys if they want me to sit down and watch shows with them, they say, "No thank you." Then later that same day, they beg Sam to sit down and watch with them. And I get it. I do. Daddy is the one who disappears for ten hours a day and then comes home to wrestle and play. Mommy is the one who makes the peanut butter and jelly and prevents them from doing all of the fun things they have planned like wrestling on the stairs or hitting each other with sticks. So yes, when my baby girl cries and reaches for me, when she pushes other people away, it is like a balm to my weary heart. And I know it won't last so I'm planning on enjoying it while I can. It is nice to feel wanted.

things in common

On Monday I had my first play date with one of our neighbors. She had introduced herself a few weeks prior after driving past our house and seeing the boys playing in the yard. Our neighborhood doesn't have many young kids. Her  youngest just turned four so she was very excited to see kids, especially boys. We scheduled a play date at the park to get our boys together.
I will admit that it was a little bit awkward at the beginning. Jem was at school so I had Tru and Caia. She brought her boy and her new dog. The conversation was slow and there were long moments of silence. I've never been super at small talk and she seemed to be slightly reserved as well. Add in that play dates with small kids are always difficult since someone is typically running after someone or having to pause the conversation to referee and you can see how it wasn't the easiest morning.
But about halfway through our time, her boy just started wandering off towards the creek. She called him a few times while he just continued heading off. She excused herself to go get him. I started playing with Tru and just happened to look over in their direction in time to see him running as fast as his little legs would carry him with her sprinting to catch him. And in that moment I knew that even if we had nothing else in common, we both have little boys who do what they want and aren't great listeners.
Then shortly after that, I turned around to see that Truett had done this:

And I'm guessing that was when she realized that we also have in common little boys who do dangerous crazy things and make us look like terrible moms if we don't pay attention to them at every single moment of the day. Right now it's the only common ground that we have but it's enough. We both got a morning out of the house. We both had a chance to have adult conversation. Our kids ran a good chunk of their energy out. And we both realized that we aren't alone in dealing with all of this craziness. So I would say it was a successful play date.

warnings

You know how you can overuse a word and it starts to lose its meaning? For example, if you talk about how much you love ice cream or how much you love football, it might be slightly less impactful when you tell a person how much you love them.
I have a couple of phrases that I overuse but I'm not sure how else to get my point across. How else do you convey to a child that he shouldn't pull poop out of his pull-up and put it in the box fan except to say, "That's disgusting! We don't ever touch/do that!"? The problem is that the same phrase applies to dead animals, eating boogies,  and spitting on other people. And then you just end up feeling like you are saying it about everything.
Another one is "Don't eat that. It can make you really sick." That one runs the gamut from unidentified berries growing on neighborhood bushes to toothpaste. And finally, "Don't touch that! You could really get hurt," which seems to apply to 60% of our surroundings. And if you think that percentage is too high then I'm guessing that you have girls.
All of these phrases are used for a good purpose. I'm trying my best to keep my kids out of danger, to keep them healthy and to also keep them from forming some pretty gross habits.  But I'm worried that the frequency of use will start to diminish the effectiveness. I'm worried that we'll be at the park and the minute my back is turned they'll shove poison berries into their mouths because "Mommy said they can make you sick but we've eaten toothpaste and that hasn't made us sick yet."  
I figure all I can really do is continue to spout off my little warnings and do my best to stay vigilant. After that it's in God's hands.

photo by: rscottjones  http://www.flickr.com/photos/rscottjones/5735682652/

 

"Fear drives. Love leads."

~Emily Freeman

I came across this a few weeks ago and it struck a chord. I can be a very fear driven person. Fear of what other people think. Fear of what it will mean to fail. Fear of rejection. It's a long list. And I've realized that I can sometimes use fear to drive my children towards good behavior. It's so easy to say, "Do this or such and such will happen," or "If you don't stop that right now, I'm going to..."
I drive my kids with fear.
I want to learn how to lead my kids with love. I want them to honor and respect people because they have hearts that are turned towards God and filled with love, not because they are fearful of the consequences.
I'm not 100% sure of what it looks like to lead with love. It's another part of being a parent that I don't understand. Another place where I might mess up a lot before I start to get it right. But, thankfully I have three kids to practice on and the rest of my life to figure it out. And maybe along the way I might learn how to let love take the lead in my life as well, rather than the fear.

photo by: NgKKH  http://www.flickr.com/photos/ngkkh_studio/6848643/
 

wisdom

A few weeks ago, during a conversation with my in-laws, Sam's dad began talking to me about my blog. This conversation was taking place shortly after another conversation with someone else that had left me feeling wounded and vulnerable and on edge. So I can't say that I was super excited when he brought it up. I was worried that he was going to say more of the same things that I had already heard. But instead, he thanked me for my blog. He told me that reading it has allowed him to understand and know me in a way that he didn't before and that he has come to love me even more through seeing my realness.
Then he talked about how often I refer to myself as a bad parent and offered me these words of wisdom that I feel compelled to pass on. "You are not a bad parent. You are a struggling parent." It might not seem like a big deal to change that one word from bad to struggling, but it makes a huge difference. So to all of my fellows moms out there, when you are starting to question your decisions and your abilities and your sanity, just remind yourself that you are not a bad mom. You are simply struggling with a hard task.

and i thought the slug was bad

Last week, we piled the kids into the van to go get some ice cream. Both boys had a great week at school and a Friday night ice cream cone was their reward. As we were pulling out of the driveway, Truett leans forward in his seat and says, "Here Dad. This was in my ear," and hands Sam a slug. A slug! After asking him how a slug got in his ear, we figured out that it was behind his ear, not actually in it, although I can't say that made me feel much better. Tru said the slug must have crawled up his leg, then up his body, all the way to his ear. So how long did he let that slug crawl over him before he decided to pull it off? Was it there during nap time, happily sliming it's way across his belly? Was it there during dinner, tickling up the back of his neck? Ew!!!
That same week, Sam and I gave the boys showers instead of baths. He took Tru into our bathroom and I had Jem in the boys' bathroom. I had just helped Jem out when I heard Sam yell to me that he needed the tweezers. He had found another tick on Truett. This was the third one in two weeks. The first two had been on his back. Gross but not a big deal. This one however had made it's home in the last place that any male would ever want a tick to be. You know the place I mean. That place that every little sister seems to target at least once, watching in wonderment and glee as her big brother drops like a rock, only to have Mom and Dad explain that she can't ever, ever hit him there. Or maybe that was only my experience. Anyway, that was the place and if you are still unsure of what I'm talking about, you'll just have to guess. I definitely don't want to write it out and start getting really strange comments on my blog from people who are searching for very different things.
I'm not sure who was more freaked out about that particular tick, Sam or Truett. Can't say that I blame them. "Ew!" doesn't even begin to cover that one.
Finding a slug behind my ear and a tick in an unmentionable place would put me off of being outdoors for a few weeks. But not Truett. He still happily spends a good portion of every day outside, turning over rocks and picking up another salamander or cricket or slug. Just another part of being a boy that I don't quite get.

photo by: luis  http://www.flickr.com/photos/xrm0/151546497/

that one kid

Jem has been struggling at his new preschool. At his old school, he would have a rough day every once in a while. But at the new school, bad days have become much more frequent. I would walk into the classroom and see the teacher start to walk towards me out of the corner of my eye and I would want to hustle the kids out of the room and run away. My easy going kid had suddenly become that kid. You know, the one who doesn't listen and can't seem to control himself. The one that all of the other moms warn their kids about. "Don't play with that Miller boy. I don't like the things he does." That kid. There is usually one in every classroom and you just hope and assume that it won't be yours.
I had no idea what was causing this change. I would drop Jem off at his new preschool and when I picked him up he would be out of control. Calling me names, laughing insanely at everything, kicking anything in reach. It was such odd behavior and so out of character for him. And nothing seemed to help. I would take away privileges, I would offer rewards for good behavior. It didn't matter. Sam and I talked about it. What should we do? What could the problem be? How did this happen?
I would tell my friends about it and they would look at me with sympathy. No mom wants to have a child that is misbehaving at school. Because as a mom, the one thing you know for certain is that you are to blame for that behavior. If only you were more strict at home or if only you taught your child to be respectful of adults and kind to other children. If only you spent more focused time on your child, he wouldn't act this way. If only, if only, if only. And you start to feel like a failure and you start to question everything that you've ever done with that child from the day of his birth. It's an ugly downward spiral.
I was worried that I was going to have to pull Jem out of preschool. And I was envisioning him being suspended in kindergarten or expelled in first grade. But then I calmed down and started to regain my ability to think rationally and I noticed a trend in which the same three to four boys were consistently on yellow or red. When I asked Jem who he was playing with at school he named one of the boys who is also on red and yellow alot. So I suggested to Jem that he pick out one boy who stayed on green all of the time and start playing with him instead of the boys who are on red. And it seems to have worked. This past week he was on green all week and my visions of being called into the Principal's office on a weekly basis for my unruly child started going by the wayside. I have no idea if the good behavior will continue or if last week was a fluke but for now I'm going to just assume that it will continue. I have enough to worry about as it is.

lowering expectations

Last Saturday evening, Sam went out hunting so it was just the kids and myself. And I had the genius idea to take them all to one of the local parks that has nice walking paths. The boys could ride their bikes while I pushed Caia in the stroller. The kids would get some fresh air and exercise, they would use up some of that vast energy supply, and it would eat up the clock. It seemed like a win-win for everyone.
Things did not go according to plan. We got to the park and I got everyone situated. The boys had their bikes and Caia and I were ready to walk. Tru took off but Jem instantly started crying, saying that his legs hurt when he pedaled. I continued to walk hoping it would motivate him to just push through it since I was pretty sure he just didn't want to pedal up the very slight incline. It didn't work and I found myself caught between the two boys. Tru was 50 yards in front of me, stuck on the hill waiting patiently for me to come and give him a push. Jem was 50 yards behind me crying and screaming as if his legs were being poked with sharp needles. Meanwhile, people were walking on adjacent paths or through the neighboring fields, most likely judging my poor mothering skills.
I finally caught up to Tru and told him that we needed to turn around so that Jem could put his bike back in the van and walk. That went over like a ton of bricks so then I had two screaming kids. Without going into even more detail I will say that at any given point I had at least one child crying or screaming. It was either, "My legs hurt!" or "I don't want to walk!" or "He's in front of me. I want to be in front." By the time we got ourselves back into the car, I was feeling rather frazzled. And then I looked at the clock and realized that my original goal of getting the kids some fresh air, working out some of their energy, and eating time off of the clock had actually been accomplished. The only difference was my expectation of the experience was much different from the reality. Would it have been nicer if my boys had actually enjoyed their time at the park? Of course. But in the end I realized it just wasn't worth getting worked up over. One of the things I've learned since having kids is that things rarely go according to plan. Sometimes things go better than you thought they would and sometimes they go worse, much worse. It's just how life works and it's okay.

starting again

I would love to say that I used the extra time I had when not writing my blog every day to do something productive, like organizing the basement or learning to play an instrument. Alas, I spent most of the free time stumped by level 13 on bubbletown and catching up on episodes of Project Runway.
I am happy to say that the break is over. I found that I needed to step back from the blog for a little while due to feeling that I was being misunderstood. It can be tricky to lay stuff out there, to try your best to be completely real and honest. Sometimes, people take it the wrong way or only see one side of things and you end up questioning if it is wise to allow people that much access into your life. But I didn't start this blog to impress anyone or to impart my awesome parenting techniques. I started it partly as a record of my kids. And I started it mostly to let other moms, who are desperately and madly in love with their kids but still struggle through the days, know that they aren't alone. That there are other moms out there who lose their cool, who go to bed convinced that they didn't get anything right that day, who feel that they can't live up to the expectations, and who sometimes wish the day would just go faster.
So the blog vacation is over and I'm ready to dive back into the nitty gritty of writing about this mommy thing with all of it's beautiful, ugly, overwhelming, breathtaking parts.

photo by: oscarpico.girlshopes.com