The Huffle

Brennan huffles.

Yes, this is a term I coined myself.

Basically she takes a few short breaths followed by a longer sigh. It's seriously adorable.

Last night she huffled up a storm.  It was a long night. One of those nights as a parent where our grace and patience is tested. I suck at tests. I'd reached my limit. There was no joy. Hell, I was so tired if prompted I couldn't even SPELL joy.  "Vanna, I'd like to buy a vowel?"

And then she huffled.
My heart broke and exploded at the same time. ( Hello motherhood, am I right?!)

The nights are long, but the days are short.
Such an annoyingly cliche term. Probably because the truth hurts.

Our children come barrelling into this world.
 They steal our hearts- the proverbial parenthood wand pass: a relay race as old as time, leaving us forever chasing. It's a race we won't win. But really do we want to? Who better to carry our hearts than our children.

Five years ago I rocked a different baby. She huffled too.

We just bought her kindergarten school supplies. She is five, fierce, and I can't even kind of keep up. I guess my point here is this: It's said this is a season. What is failed to mention is sometimes it feels like hurricane season.

But no matter how brutal the storm is- it passes. It passes mommas.
So damn fast.

Let's all try to take a minute and just soak in the now, soak in the chaos that is whatever stage of parenting you're in. As we ride the rollercoaster that is motherhood instead of gripping that handrail knuckle tight, maybe today we just let go.

You can hear the huffle better hands free.

Love and light ♡

Squirrel Mom

Did you guys know that animal type parenting is a thing? Why this surprised me I have no idea. I mean sugar free, gluten free, joy free cake is a thing.

A real, sad, gross, thing.
So duh, of course there is such a thing as dolphin parenting. Where the hell have I been?! I'll tell you:
Hiding.
I've been hiding.

But I digress, time for some research: hi-ho hi-ho off to google I go. There are apparantly three animal genres:
-Tiger
-Elephant
- Dolphin

And you know what? I just don't fit in any of these categories well. Can't fit in my pants. Can't fit in at PTA gatherings. Can't fit the mini van into small parking spots when the door greeters, or moms who wear real pants are staring at me (nerves yall).  Can't fit into an appropriate parenting animal group either.The struggle. It is so damn real.

So I did some soul searching. This soul searching happened when I was on the toilet and it was cut short when I had not one, but two volunteers offer to assist in the wiping process.

But in my exstensive (five minutes) of research I have identified my own animal parenting type.

The squirrel.
Why you may ask am I a squirrel mom? Many valid and poignant reasons to follow:

1. Squirrels spend like 65% of their life hiding nuts. The other 45% is spent with them unsuccessfully trying to find them again.

Me. So me.
I loose my keys.
I loose my kids.
I loose my sanity.
I always think I've placed them in *the* sweet spot(you know the spot you put things, thinking I will totally remember, never to see the item again) Cue me 3 hours later searching fruitlessly in my fruit of the looms.

2. Have you ever done any squirrel watching? They are ALWAYS chasing other squirrels. Just frolicking about all frolick like, not a care in the world.

That mom you saw in aisle ten last week at target? The one in toddler pursuit next to the shampoo? The pursuit ended in a slide tackle with a double soumersault lay out.
*and the crowd goes wild*
Me. That was me.
My crew, we frolick hard.

3. My dad has bird feeders. It mortally wounds his soul when the squirrels steal the bird's food, which is often. Every day when my husband comes home he asks what is for dinner. I usually have my signature response: "No idea, but I haven't eaten all day. I am starving.

Lies. All Lies. 
I have actually eaten.
A lot. I've had roughly 5 chicken nuggets, 3 soggy pancakes, half a bag of goldfish, 2.5 string cheeses, .046 of a yogurt container, and 4 half drank juice boxes.
All stolen. Kids aren't the only one with sticky fingers."Wow Meara that was a fascinating retelling of the time three years ago you wore mismatched socks to wal mart!"

- chicken nugget dissapears in her distraction-

4. According to my exstensive bathroom research squirrels actually zigzag to avoid predators. So when they are acting a fool in the middle of the road there is actually a biological purpose to that crazy drunk run.

Pub crawl. 2012.
I don't feel the need to elaborate past that.

5. Squirrels get bulky during winter months as a biological protection against food scarcity and for warmth. Four years ago the grocery store ran out of milk and bread before a big snow storm. The storm lasted approximately 2.5 hours and melted in another 5, but let me tell you shit got real. As in new pants size real. It's been my biological imperitive after that traumatic experience to gain at least 5lbs every winter.
I get you squirrels. I do.

6. Squirrels give birth to between 2 and 5 young. They are born naked and helpless.
Yesterday one of children lost her ever loving shit. Tears, drama, desperation,
despair. She went full blown lifetime movie on me. The problem: lost shoes. By lost I mean they were in her closet. sitting next to all her other lost shoes.
*checks off 2-5 helpless children, as the two year old streaks past proudly displaying his man junk*

7. Apparantly squirrel moms are incredibly aggressive and territorial of their young. I consider myself a kind person. I open doors. I give up my seat. I volunteer. But make my kid cry and it is on like donkey kong. That door I just held? Zero problem smashing your foot in it. Twice. Squirrel mom crazy doesn't have shit on me.

I know some of you are wondering how I know all of this super relevant, and useful to my every day life, squirrel information?  Yes, yes I did google squirrels. How did I manage this with four small kids to take care of? I'll let you in on a squirrel mom secret.

I gave them snacks, let them frolick, and prayed no one died in the process. I mean with two to five in a litter the odds of several surviving to adulthood is fairly high.

Squirrel moms unite.

Love and light♡

In My Past Life I Was a Construction Worker.

I mom hard.

By mom hard I mean my kids eat frozen chicken nuggets and I make generous donation to the school bake sale instead of baking while flashing my " I've actually caught a house on fire while boiling water" paperwork.

This is why no one should've been surprised to find me surveying the local construction work about a mile from my house. Quality road work  matters. By surveying I mean nervously waving to construction workers and confused drivers while power walking with a purpose.

Let me backtrack. Audrey had a doctors appointment. A lengthy, scratch your eyes out, torturous doctors appointment. This left my mom (God bless her) with the buddha baby.

My baby is a boob baby. Girl doesn't miss a meal...Hell she doesn't miss a chance to motorboat herself catatonic in remebrance of a meal.(Don't act like you haven't done the same thing after a 2am taco bell cheesy gordita crunch run.) She does however miss every chance possible to take a bottle. God rest my mother's sanity, she was left with the 3 others, some pumped milk, and a long last look of pity.

May the odds be ever in your favor.
They weren't.

So after spending a few hours physically wrestling Audrey in front of some very confused parents and reassuring the nurse that her new elbow sized face bruise actually makes her look thinner we get the SOS call from my mom and head home.
Boob baby down.

We are hauling butt home. Im nervous mom sweating at this point. You moms know what im talking about. You know your baby has lost her shit so you're trying not to shit your pants. Cue road work from hell.

15 minutes we sit. 15 minutes. We are a mile away. You know those points in movies where the main character finally snaps and you know shits about to get real? This was me. Shit was about to get real, and not just in my pants.

I turn to my husband and say very calmy: " I'm getting out". Relationship goals yall. This is how you know you've reached them.

He glances at me and says:  "ok bye"
Clearly this man knows my brand of crazy. There was no um are you nuts, this is grid lock traffic, you're a mile away, the roads are torn up, there are no sidewalks, its hot. Nope, not from my guy. "ok bye".
Byyyyeeeeee.

Have you ever hit a deer? That deer in the headlight look is a real thing. I got this look from about 32 confused people sitting in cars who had the privilege of watching me scramble around chunks of road, cones, and do not cross tape.

It was almost as comical as the construction worker's faces. I decided to play it real awkward with them though, and just do some small waving and head nodding. Just taking a tour boys, great job. Love what you did with that corner back there!

So a mile later I arrive home. I roll in ( aka drag) my out of shape wheezing, sweaty, crazed look mom on a mission, give me that baby, roll in.

Baby is good. Kids are good.
Cue my husband pulling in approximately 3 minutes later.

What is the lesson in this story you may ask?
There is no crazy like mom crazy.
And my feet hurt.

Love and light ♡

Off the Beaten Path

I've sat and thought on this for months; debating what to share and what to keep private. In the end if by sharing our story I can help one person or raise some awareness, then it will have been worth it.

Let me tell you about my daughter Audrey.  She lights up every room she enters. She has a love for life that rivals any I've ever seen. Audrey has the ability to see the beauty and joy in things so many of us miss. She is a fighter and a free spirit.

Audrey has Autism.

I could tell you about the struggles. I could tell you about the countless tests, doctors, clinics; about the years without sleep, the seizures, and the brokenness you feel as a parent when you see your child struggle. I could tell you about the ignorant comments, the rampant misinformation out there, the fight you go through every single day as a parent to advocate for someone who can't do so themselves. I could tell you about the fears, the heartache, the lonliness that accompanies joining a club you never had any intention of joining: the special needs moms.

But instead I will tell you about my Audrey. She breaks every stereotype- even the ones within her diagnosis. She defies all odds. She fights harder and longer for things, but with each accomplishment the sense of joy is tripled. She teaches me every day what it means to love with abandon. She humbles me.

I once tried to explain Audrey to a nurse during a particularly rough test (EEG). I was translating Audrey's incoherent words after hours of fear laced tears for both of us. She looked at me mid speech- interupted, and said: "I suspect you and Audrey will always have a language of your own."

And that was that: understanding, acceptance, grace, and the beauty of our bond recognized by an outsider in the space of ten seconds.

Robert Frost has a poem I enjoy, specifically the line: "Two roads diverged in a wood, I took the one less traveled and that has made all the difference."

Having a child with autism is a different path; but sometimes the greatest beauty is found off the beaten road and our biggest journeys found when the destination is set to unknown.

Audrey has autism. It does not define her.  She doesn't let it.
Therefore, neither will I.

Love and Light ♡

We Cry Over Spilled Milk Here

An open letter to the sadist who came up with this brilliant phrase:

“There is no use in crying over spilled milk.”

I have so many words for you.

First off, I would bet every last penny in my kid’s piggy bank that you are one of those parenting experts who has all this vast child rearing knowledge only because the closest thing to a child you have is a pet iguana named Steve. When Steve spills his water you don’t cry. You create a lake of love.

And for those of you whispering behind my back about using my kid’s money for gambling endeavors you heard me right. My children have stolen my sanity, my snacks, and my skin's elasticity. They can spare me 45 pennies to do a little online gambling. Mommy needs her hobbies too.

Second off, have you ever cleaned up a large amount of water or food spilled on the floor? I think not. Because if you had you would be recanting your statement real quick. You know what happens when large amounts of liquid is spilled in my house? My kids suddenly think the splash pad has relocated in our kitchen. And not just any splash pad, a naked one. Have you ever had three naked children attempt to slip and slide in a gallon of juice? It isn’t pretty. Citrusy, yes. Pretty, no.

It is OK to cry guys. In the iconic words of one of our nation’s wisest leaders (Justin Timberlake) cry me a river! Take that Steve the Iguana. You may have a lake of love, but my children have a river of their mother's own tears. I win.

All of this ranting is leading to today’s special story my friends, fear not.

First a little back story. Audrey cannot eat colored cereal. You know those memes of unicorns pooping rainbows? I have always known Audrey was some special kind of unicorn, but the fact that she poops rainbows when eating artificially dyed cereal only confirms this. This morning I busted out a brand new family sized box of cheerios. Audrey was pleased, and ate 36.876 helpings.

Today for lunch I made Chicken Tetrazzini. I knew it was more than likely my children would attempt to eat their napkin over any meal that I cook, but if I am anything it is ever the optimist.

Or stupid. Call it like you see it.

I have this casserole premade to give you a time frame of the crime scene.

I run upstairs real fast to put said torture device(aka tetrazzini casserole) in the oven. Then I pat myself on the back for completing my daily work out, as I do my cool down by slowly walking down the stairs gasping for breath.

Cue my eyes bleeding from horror. Rough estimate here, but I would say there are about 35,000 pieces of cheerios strewn about my basement floor. Audrey is attempting to do the breast stroke through this catastrophe while also shoving fistfuls of carpet cereal in her mouth.

Would you like to know how many cheerios remain in the box? 3.

What do I do you ask? I wipe a glistening tear from my eye, turn around without a word and get the vacuum. Audrey ever the helpful child that she is then attempts to shove the cereal up the vacuum as I work, one piece at a time, obviously. About halfway through my vacuum decides it hates me as much as my children do and decides it is done with this ridiculousness. Cue my crawling on my hands and knees picking up the 20,000 pieces of cereal I did not vacuum up, while Audrey gives me love pats on the ass.

When I finally finish, I turn around to find Audrey calming observing me while eating a bag of Doritos. Do I have any idea where these Doritos came from? Absolutely not.  At this point I just ask her to share and we split the snack that is only slightly wet from my salty tears.

The lesson here: Cry over the milk. Cry over the cereal. Then combine the two and call it dinner, because you know those kids didn’t eat that tetrazzini.

To my brethren in the struggle I say to you, we must find the humor in these situations or else we will find ourselves in a jail cell.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle <3

Life Lessons from Audrey

I have a beautiful little free spirit in my middle child. She plays hard, fights fierce, and loves with abandon. This strong willed little thing has taught me some big lessons.

 Here are a handful:

1. You don't have to match. At all. Stripes, plaids, mismatched shoes; If it makes you happy put it on. Its an outfit, not a peace treaty.

2. Food. Is. Awesome. Like seriously awesome. Eat all the food, but only when you're hungry.
Because moderation.

3. Forget dancing to your own beat. Step that shit up and create your own marching band. Life is short. Be fierce. Never apologize for letting your light shine. Shine that stuff everywhere, it makes the world a better place.

4. Enjoy the little stuff. The smallest things can bring the biggest joy. Take the time to stop and breathe it in. You'll be better for it.

5. Get dirty as much as possible. Lessons are learned when a little dirt and a lot of imagination meet. All good foundations have a solid layer of earth beneathe them.

6. Fall down. It's the only way you'll ever learn to get up again. Bruises aren't permanent. Walk it off. Scars give you character. Character gives you courage. In falling and failing, we often learn to fly.

7. Anger is healthy. It's necessary to be angry sometimes. What matters most is how you deal with that anger. Anger may be healthy, but hate is not.

8. Do not flush stuff down the toilet. In the case of plumbing what goes down tends to come right back up.

Eat the cake.
Wear the pants.
Stop to smell the flowers.
Make your own adventures.
Fail.
Apologize when your wrong.
Avoid poor plumbing choices.

Deep breathes friends, because every little thing is gonna be alright.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle. <3

Boobs.

I don’t often cover controversial topics, mainly because my kids like to clog the toilets for fun, so I get my share of pain and discomfort the good old fashioned way.

But today I’m feeling bold and bloated so here goes nothing.

I did not feed my child yesterday when he was hungry.

Cue the collective internet throwing tomatoes and judgement at me. I’ll take the tomatoes, those are a favorite snack of mine, and the judgement is routine as well but today I’m on your side internet, because no baby should go hungry. After hours of errands, and appointments, I had a very fussy nearly one year old who wanted to nurse while waiting to be seen for a doctor’s appointment. And I made him wait 15 minutes until we got home.

·         Because I was selfish and didn’t want to deal with the stares.

·         Because I had all three of my kids with me and feeding him in the car just wasn’t logistically feasible while also waiting for our name to be called.

·         Because he thinks eating under a blanket is ridiculous. When was the last time you pitched  tent to eat some cheez its?

·         Because the bathroom wasn’t big enough for all of us and Audrey when left unsupervised leaves a trail of tator tots and tears in her wake.

·         Because he does not take a bottle.

Here is the thing, I don’t give two hoots how you feed your kid. I think formula is awesome. I think Mcdonald’s double cheeseburgers are even more awesome.

I think if you have happy kid who isn’t hungry you are basically nailing this entire parenting thing. I don’t judge how anyone does anything. There are a million different ways to accomplish the same thing. We all have the same goal: happy, healthy, kids.

I DON’T think by practicing extended breastfeeding I am better than anyone. Lord knows, I think the opposite of that. I don’t think my children are going to be the next Einstein’s because of it either. My middle child likes to store rocks in her pants for fun. Its a real hobby of hers. I think she's basically the best thing since sliced bread, but clearly all the breast milk didn't squash her natural love of dirt down her pants or her passion for wearing miss-matched shoes with a headband as a belt.

What I do think is this:

I worry for my daughters who are being raised in a world where feeding a hungry baby is taboo. I think that it is totally ridiculous that breast have been so sexualized that their natural God given purpose has been lost. I think its incredibly sad that we live in a world where anxiety and publicly feeding a child go hand in hand. I think after over 4 years of nursing I still have much to learn.

I think next time I will just feed my baby. Or gasp, my TODDLER.

Because haters gonna hate.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle <3

What a World

Today I dressed my kids in red, white, and blue. Not because it was an appropriate holiday, not because I am proud of the state this country is currently in, but because I have hope amid this despair.

I have hope that despite this terrifying world filled with senseless violence, and unfounded bigotry that our children will see past what is, to what can be.

Every morning I wake up and pad through my quiet, dark house. There is a baby on my hip and other children in tow. I make a cup of coffee, sit in the rocking chair (usually with at least 2 little lap mates) and I prepare myself.

I prepare myself for the state of this world, to learn of the most recent act of terror, the next lives brutally lost, the next senseless loss of a nation torn.

And amid children’s laughter, with sweet baby breath on my shoulder I mourn.

Today I dressed my children in the colors of our flag. The red signifying to me the blood of the innocent, the blue the bruised and battered heart of our country, but the white: hope.

Pure and unadulterated hope.

Because you see, we can change this. We can change this through Meara, and Audrey, and Sullivan. I can raise my children to see the good in the world. I can raise my children to be empathetic and understanding. To have a heart full of love and a mind so open it knows no limiting boundaries so small such as prejudice. To raise the next generation to know that hate is a vicious poison that kills both the victim as well as the wielder.  Children who know love is a universal medicine.

The world is a terrifying place.

But we can change this.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle<3

Oh CRAP. Literally.

Join me friends for a little story. I hesitated sharing this for fear of judgment, cps involvement, and future unemployment. In fact I've sat on this little diddy for a few weeks but I decided that although painful to relive, the first step in this process of emotional recovery is acknowledgment. 

So here it goes: The Night my Two Year Old Took a Dump on the Table: A Story of Loss and Trauma.

It started out like any other day. I made my kids cry in all the usual ways: not letting them eat toilet paper, intervening when the chose to hash out confrontations using moves that make the WWE wrestlers  look like amatuers, trying to empty my bladder every 6 hours. You know, the normal ways we parents ruin our kids for life. After spending the day with my sweet angel babies from heaven, dinner time approached. I once again made a meal they requested and then sat and watched while they threw it at me like I was the worst stand up comedian on America's Got Talent(everyone's a critic.)  After this literal and proverbial blood bath I wiped the macaroni out of my eyebrows, removed chicken from my bra, and decided our next bonding activity where I cried as much as them would be bathtime. I begin by undressing Audrey. She makes eye contact and pats me on the back. At this point  a code red should've been blaring. Audrey was preemptively comforting me for her next planned attack, but I was distracted by the feeling of corn in my hairline, and let's be honest, I'm not that bright.
 Rookie. Mistake. 

So, now that Audrey is naked and glorifying in the breeze between her butt cheeks, I move on to undress my next 2 kids. As I strip Meara down I watch Audrey run to the couch and jump on the end table. Cue me yelling: Hey, Hey, Hey NOOOOOOOO, while waving around Meara's underwear like the white flag it was. SOS. At this point I realize shit is about to go down. Literally.

Audrey turns.
Looks at me. 
Makes direct eye contact. (Evil smiles.)
Takes a large dump on the table.


Cue collective gasps. Audrey takes this time while we are all trying to process the fact that she just deposited her nuggets of love from lunch on the table in our living room, to jump down and immediately flee.

Because my life is ALL about timing this is also when my husband casually strolls in, glances down and then yells: THERE IS A TURD ON THE TABBBBLEEEEEEE.

Yes. Yes there is a turd on the table and the turd depositer is currently rubbing her butt on a pillow like an African cat in heat. After you've collected yourself dear husband, please grab poopy pants Mcgee before she marks anymore of her territory.

When I relayed this story to friends most people's first response was: "why weren't you watching her."

Um I was. Every excruciating second I watched her as she executed her plan of terror. I watched, yelling, waving someone else's underwear, holding onto 2 other naked children, with total horror and a smidgen of respect for her quick maneuvering and blatant screw you attitude.

So for any moms out there who may be struggling. It could be worse. You're 2 year old could let you know just what she thinks of you in the form of bodily waste deposited on antique furniture: her opinion of you a literal display of pulic crap.


Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

And the struggle. It's real.

The New Tribe

An Ode to All my Momma’s

This one is for you.

This is for the tired momma, who wears her kids as accessories, and the closest thing to designer bags she carries are the ones under her eyes.

This is to the mom who holds everyone and everything else together even when she feels like she may fall apart.

 This is to the working mom who tip toe on a tight wire balancing family, career, kids, and still manages to make it work while look beautiful doing it.

 This is to the stay at home moms who pour their heart into their homes and their children and yet still feel the need to defend themselves in a world where you are damned if you do or damned if you don’t.

To my mommas who balance a little of both.

 Here is the thing I’ve learned my sweet mommas:

 In a world that is so set to divide us, a world that is so determined to assign labels, and use those labels to place boundaries among us that lead to fissures in friendships, and undue heartache.

We are more than this

 

 I have heard the tribe is dead, but it just isn’t. Because you see, we are the new tribe, and we live in every small smile across the waiting room and offhand chat at the park.

 This is what motherhood looks like for all of us fierce warrior mommas just trying to get by:

It looks like sleepless nights.

It looks like kisses of sweet skinned knees.

It’s wiping countless tears away.

Chasing monsters from the closet.

Its fairytales, and tonka trucks.

It is the sound of those precious babies laughing

And the heart wrenching sound of their cries

It is brutal.

It is so damn beautiful.

 You see, we aren’t so different all of us.

There are a thousand different ways to do this thing right and hot damn, good for you for figuring out just the right way to nail it for your family.

 

Love and light from another momma in the struggle <3

Thank God I Paid for My Friends in College

So back in the day when I washed on a regular basis and owned clothes that weren't 95 percent lycra I was in a sorority.

Some people might assume my bachelor's degree in education or my minor in early childhood has prepared me to be a mother of small children. They'd be wrong. 

What prepared me were my sorority days. 
Indulge me and I'll elaborate.

Mini cheeseburger lunch days made my heart swell, crazy dance moves happened on the daily,  and getting ready to go out was a community event.  Basically I just described my three year old's dream day. Therefore, I've made this notevenkindofcomprehensive list. ENJOY.

1. Recruitment: long hours spent incessantly singing the same damn song loudly for hours.

Um. I do this daily except now I yell "PLEASE PUT YOUR PANTS BACK ON" while singing Barney to unimpressed toddlers.

2. Weekly meetings: at times tedious but usually provided information I needed to prepare me for the days ahead.  In truth  these meetings prepared me for potty training.  Now I'm the "president" and my recruit is rolling her eyes at my speeches and pooping behind the couch.

3. The sorority girl look. I was first introduced the the glorious concept of looking homeless out in public during my college years. I've taken this notion to heart and honed it to a tee. I'd like to thank my sorority for introducing me to over sized tshirts, leggings as outerwear, and the concept of spacing showers based on when you have to wear pants with buttons.

4. The sorority bathroom was pivotal in developing me for motherhood. It was here that I first peed surrounded by other people, while simultaneously  discussing the weather and our opinions about sonic chili cheesedogs. 

5. Most people don't realize that sororities are very philanthropic. I spent many hours doing services projects to better our community.  I'm super philanthropic now. I cut the crust off of all sandwiches and have been known to give up my last cheese stick to a child in need. The time in my sorority taught me how to be a servant to others. There is nothing more selfless than cleaning someone else's poop out of the bathtub. True life.

6. Socials: We worked hard, and played harder. All nighters were common and usually involved drinking questionable things out of large plastic cups,  followed by eating 5 tacos in bed, and possibly crying while watching Lassie with 5 other girls.

Yesterday I stayed up all night, then drank my coffee out of a princess Sofia cup, ate 2 tacos, and cried when the seek part of hide and seek became a reality. So I'm consistent!

7. My sorority had a great designated driving program. Basically we took turns making sure our buddies got home safely if they decided to go out. These car rides involved crying, laughing, Britney Spears lip syncing, glitter, sadly at times vomit, and often ended with cheeseburgers.

I basically just described every road trip I've ever taken with my children.

8. Anyone who's been in a sorority, fraternity, or basically any club knows they can be pretty competitive with each other. My college held all sorts of events where we competed: highest gpa, dance competitions, community service, float building, athletic games. You name it, we probably competed in it. Surprisingly enough one of my strongest talents is eating. I'm super good at it. I seem to possess a natural ability to enhale food. I once led my sorority to an eating competition victory by enhaling an entire pumpkin pie only using my face in under 2 minutes.

I did the same thing with my bacon and eggs this morning while my 2 year old tried to nail me in the face with a plate. Touche sorority life, touche.

I could continue, but it's time for another team meeting around the toilet. To my sorority- I give the glory.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

Nailing it as Usual

Sometimes I make bad decisons. We all do from time to time. Some people do drugs, other people wear glittery jeggings. 

Mistakes happen.

This morning I made the mistake of going to the restroom. It was a cruel twist of fate when God decided one of the bi-products of giving birth was the necessity to empty ones bladder frequently. I need to invent mommy pads. Similar to puppy pads, but covering a larger surface area. Trust me after three labor and delivery experiences I would have no problem dropping my pants and peeing in a public corner.

But I digress: the bathroom break. I should've known something was seriously wrong because I actually peed alone. Warning signals should have been flaring but clearly I'm not the brightest crayon in the box.  I emerge from the restroom proud  that I've finally succeeded in teaching my children to respect my privacy and personal space.

HA.

Cue me walking into what can only be described as a cereal explosion. Audrey had only had four breakfasts at this point, so she must have gotten extremely hungry in the 30 seconds I dared leave her side. She had helped herself to the supersized, brand new, box of cereal. I've been trying to teach her about portion control but in her rush she decided to go for the portion titled: dump entire box of cereal over my head. 

Meara has been pretty sad that the snow has all melted. She hasn't actually communicated this sadness with me but since she was making cereal snow angels I can only make this assumption.

This isn't my first rodeo with Audrey attempting to impersonate the contestants on top chef and I'll take my lumps where they are due. I left the cereal out. Rookie mistake. 

I accept my bad decison karma and begin to clean up the 5 million pieces of crunched up cereal. Olaf(aka snow loving cereal eating Meara) pitches in and we have just about gotten it cleaned up when Audrey comes strolling over.

My heart drops.

She is carrying the bottle of laundry detergent.

The empty bottle.

Never one to miss an opportunity, when I went to get the vacuum she went to do some cleaning. She couldn't find a rag or soap so she opted for some dirty underwear and a full container of laundry soap. 

Now I could go ahead and curl in the fetal position and cry, but I've decided to see the positive in my morning. So here they are:
1. No need for lunch, they've taken care of this themselves.
2. No necessary to vaccum again today because my last bag is currently full.
3. Audrey smells like a lavendar spring rain. Yum.
4. Don't have to do any laundry. No more detergent
5. The floors are super shiny. If I step on them I may fall and die but they're super shiny.

Look.

Motherhood can be incredibly thankless at times. It's messy, exhausting, and never ending. It's beautiful. It is the most important thing I will ever do.

But it's the hardest.

Sometimes as a mother I want to beat on my chest and scream: LOOK!

LOOK at what I do. Look at the hours of sleep lost, look at the laundry, the dishes, the floors. Look at what I've done!

Look at those perfect little hoodlums. I bathed them. I fed them. I read 5 million books, broke up another 2 million fights. I listened. I patted. I rocked. 

I was frustrated.
I was overwhelmed.

I sacrificed.

And then the human in me begins that beating again. Look. Look at what I have done.

Except a sacrifice is inherently selfless. And my need for recognition negates the purpose of all my giving.

I give because they make me a better person every single day. I give for the moments my child grabs my face in her hands, rests her cheek to mine, and giggles. I give for the quiet sighs. I give for baby snuggles. I give for when Meara whispers in my ear "you're my best friend mom." I give for 30 perfect fingers and toes. I give for garbeled secrets and happy shrieks.

I am certainly not here to say we do not deserve recognition. We have the best work. We have the hardest work. It should be valued.

But this is for any other mommas who may be beating on their chests sometimes too.

I see you.
I know your quiet sacrifices.
They matter.
And they're worth it.


Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

Be the Light

Yesterday tragedy reared it's ugly head:  We live in uncertain times. My heart aches.

And aches.

It aches for the city. It aches for the victims. It aches for the families. It aches for my children who have no choice but to grow up in these uncertain time.

I don't know how to solve these huge problems. I don't know how to negate this terrible thing that is terrorism, this huge growth of global hate. I fear for my children.

I fear for their children. 

Here is what I do know. I do know my children are the future. How they navigate this world will decide what the world becomes. I cannot solve this global crisis. 

But here is what I can do.

I can teach my children love. The real unconditional truth of love. Loving your neighbors, loving your friends, loving your enemy. Loving the strange kid in their class that talks funny, loving the little girl down the street that looks funny. I can teach my children that although there is hate in this world, nothing is bigger than love.

I can teach my children kindness. I can show them what it means to give the most life changing gift there is: compassion.  I can show them that sometimes the smallest acts can make the biggest impact in other's lives.

I can teach my children about diversity. The beautiful thing it is, and how to celebrate our differences. I can teach my children about this world, about how the differences in race, culture, and religion do not divide us. We choose that division out of ignorance. 

I can teach my children empathy. This world is lacking in this. Let's raise a generation who pauses and walks a day in someone else's shoes before they judge. Let's raise children who will be unable to walk passed the homeless without pausing, who will be unable to watch a stranger in distress without reaching out. Let's teach our children to use their hearts to reach others.

I can teach my children their most valuable asset is their minds and not their fists. I can raise children who's greatest weapon and asset is not their physical strength, but their strength of character.

Will this stop all of the hate and fear of this world? Will this end the needless violence, the overwhelming bigotry prevelent? It won't erase it. I will not pretend to believe that.Where there is light there is darkness. 

But we can teach our children to shine brighter.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

I see you.

This is to you, the mom who is tired. This is to the mom who gives, and gives, and gives, until she has nothing left- and then gives some more.  This is to the mom who wants to quit. This is to the mom who questions her value or worth.

I see you. You are worth more than you could ever imagine.

I see you up at all hours of the night. You're exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally, but you still get up and rock that baby. You still get up and comfort that toddler. You nurse, you pace, you fetch, and you worry. You constantly put others needs before your own.

I see you. What you do matters. 

I see you take a deep breath as your children fight with each other for the millionth time today. I know your nerves are frayed. You're patience is gone. But I see you take a deep breath and tackle that tantrum.  I see you choose kindness when it wasn't the easiest path.

I see you.  What you do matters.

I see you glance at your reflection in the mirror. You don't even recognize the tired eyes staring back at you.  You have forgotten what it feels like to feel beautiful, to be comfortable in your own skin. I see you throw your hair up and prepare for the day. There are breakfasts to be made and stories to be told. Here's the thing, the choices that cause you to feel less than beautiful are actually what make you stunning. You chose a sleepless night. You chose to skip that shower because someone desperately needed you. You choose those yoga pants because there are mountains to climb and adventures to be had.

I see you. 

To the mom who has mountains of laundry, the mom whose sink is overflowing, but isn't half as full as her plate.

What you do matters.

What you give matters.

Who you are matters. 

So much of motherhood is unseen. But momma I see you. I see you read just one more book. I see you sing one more song. I see you feed your babies firsts, seconds, and thirds, before you try to eat yourself.

Your sacrifices do not go unnoticed. You're in the trenches right now and it's messy. But soldier on momma because you're doing some of the most important work there is, and you're doing amazing.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

The 5 Rings of Hell: A Toddler's Public Meltdown

So you've made the  extremely unwise decision to venture out in public with your little sugar pies of Satan. You've probably dressed them in their cutest little outfit. If you're me, that means matching bows and cowboy boots. You admire the fruit of your loins. Look how sweet they look, look how nicely they're listening and playing. You breathe a sigh of relief and attempt direct eye contact with your nugget of love. Next comes a cleansing sigh of relief. You've got this shit. You're basically super mom.

Then all hell breaks loose. 

The following are the psychological stages a parent goes through during a toddler meltdown. Reader discretion is advised. This isn't pretty.

1. Denial.
Surely that is not your sweet angel baby sobbing on the floor of walgreens. No child of mine would ever have the capabilities of  producing those inhumane screams. Even the cashier is crying from the trauma of witnessing this spectacle. My child would never throw a can of corn at my head at the grocery store, or rip her pants off and run away in protest of being asked to eat another chicken nugget. Surely this snot covered little muffin, who may be having an epileptic seizure in the middle of this very public playground did not come from my uterus?!?! That's it. We've officially lost our invite to play group. Way to go peanut.

2. Anger 
Since several people and several documents do in fact confirm that this is your child.  Denial is no longer an option. Cue the anger. You start sweating. Angry tears are forming. You did not watch 13 hours of Callioux that taught the valuable life lessons of patience and self control for this to happen. You have spent too many hours teaching that little nugget how to act only to have them act the opposite. You begin to have rage flashes. These are very similar to hot flashes. There is a lot of sweating and hormones involved. You're overwhelmed with the desire to start screaming and banging your head against the next available hard surface.

3. Bargaining
This is your toddlers very "faborite" stage.  You've moved on from the anger since screaming at your child at the top of your lungs is generally frowned on in public. Now comes the bargaining. Hey there cute kid currently screeching while performing an alligator roll on the floor, would you like a cookie, maybe a sucker, maybe a new corvette, or even new mother?! At this point I'll give you my own kidney and the keys to the car to get you to cease and desist.

4. Depression
So your child just turned down three juice boxes, two unicorns, and a 3 months stay at grandmas. Cue the cloud of depression that falls upon you. You glance at your child, they seem to have broken out in hives from lack of oxygen. That is your kid.
F o r e v e r.
18 to life, can't send them back, forever yours. You start to envision the thousands of tantrums ahead of you. You shiver in fear. Your child is now rolling around on the floor while randomly doing a jujitsu move on their sibling. Where did you go wrong?!?! Too many chicken nuggets? You should've started them in piano. I've heard musically gifted kids are better behaved. You're child can't spell their own name but has no problem punching a doctor. What did you do to deserve this?! It was that one time you cheated on that chemistry test in college. Karma has come back to you in the form of a small psychopath. The cloud of depression grows deeper. 

5. Acceptance.
This is my favorite. Sure your kid resembles several of the characters from the exorcist. Sure you can never leave the house again. Hey, there might be a chance you're raising the next Jeffrey Dahmer, but by God that is YOUR little sociopath and you love them just the way they are. Kind of. Now gather up that little bundle of toddler terror, give them a snuggle, remember what those 4 minutes were like last week when they were sweet, and move to the next town where they don't know about your child's ability to break glass with one cry.

Now that we've reviewed the stages we as parents go through when our children lose their minds in public. I've got nothing more for you. Good luck. Lets hope for the best and maybe buy some more beer. We've got some years ahead of us.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

A Holiday Buyers Guide that Won't End in Divorce

With the holiday season quickly approaching many of us are begining our shopping preparations for all those special someone's in our lives. I don't know about you, but I've received some really remarkable gifts over the years. Because of these little gems I have created a holiday shopping guide. Feel free to print this out and tape to your husband's forehead, because husbands learn through osmosis. Also, he is more likely to read it if you tape it over his mouth and eyes. You know he won't be missing any football or snacks so this increases the chances he will remove it and possibly glance down(disclaimer, no husbands were hurt in the pursuit of better gifts this year.)


A list of things NOT to buy me for Christmas:

1. Any sort of cleaning supply or device.  On the day we celebrate sweet baby Jesus being evicted from his mother's uterus, I do NOT need to be reminded that I am surrounded by play dough encrusted carpet or that my counters seem to be covered in hardened maple syrup. If you buy me clorox wipes your day will not be merry or bright. You've been warned.

2. Kitchen supplies. I do not care if my pans are from 1982. I do not care that my baking sheets look like they've been in a hail storm. My thighs look like that too, are you going to replace those as well? Because that would be a better present. You know what I do all day? Feed people. All day. I dole out more snacks than your local food truck. Except I don't get paid, and it is usually smeared in my kids hair or thrown back at me like a weapon. So please no utensils that will serve as weapons for my small rug rats to threaten me with when I don't cut their sandwiches correctly. I fail them often.

3. Linens. Listen I know that I probably need them. Audrey enjoys pooping on the floor so we've had to toss out a few too many towels. We've also had to begin therapy because motherhood is traumatizing.  We could probably also use some dish towels and sheets, but I'm sorry nothing says you don't really matter more than a pack of wash cloths. "Abby I really value your selfless service to this family. This is why I bought you this lovely assortment of wash cloths. I know you don't bathe, but you can use these when you're slaving away washing your kids butts or cleaning up their vomit."

4. Any sort of organizational tool. Listen I do not have my shit together. I will never have my shit together. You can buy me 3 planners, 2 address books, a shoe rack, 28 storage bins, a desk organizer, and a mail sorter. I will still lose my children. I will still lock the keys in the car while the car is running. I will still put my pants on backwards once a week. Do not waste your money. This is a lost cause.  Accept it. Move on. We will all be happier for it. 

Now that I've crushed your shopping hopes and dreams let me build you up a bit. 

Here are some treasures I would like to receive:

1. A cleaning lady. Please sweet, baby Jesus buy me a good house scrub, but make sure it isn't a cleaning lady who runs her mouth. I don't want it to get around how many snacks my kids shove in the couch cushions or that I sometimes hide trash under the rug. 

2.  A baby sitter. As much as I love these beautiful little sweet potatoes I've taken one too many diapers to the face lately. Several of them are so attached to me I'm beginning to think they are going to attempt to re-enter my uterus soon. Momma needs a break. Although I'm sure even if I got one, the echos of their piercing cries would still reverberate in my ears.  Buy me a baby sitter and you win for life. I would even consider gifting you my first born. She has a bit of an attitude and does poop her pants occasionally, but other than that I really think she could be going places one day.

3. Food. Good food. Food that doesn't have cartoon characters on the box. Food that I don't have to share. Food that isn't in the shape of extinct animals. Food that isnt eaten off a disney princess plate. Buy me a good meal that isn't stolen or slobbered on by my kids and you will be my favorite.

4. New work out clothes. I haven't worked out since 2012 but I'm considering getting into acting, so I thought I'd practice by pretending to be Mia Hamm everyday for 3 years. But seriously I'm 5 years behind in laundry and the only pair of yoga pants I have left have a hole in the crotch. I mean, I still wear them but I'm worried I may get pregnant again if I keep it up, so some new pants would be appreciated.

I could continue but if you follow these basic guidelines for that special lady in your life I think you'll be pleasantly surprised, or at least not sleeping on the couch for a week and being sent notarized divorce paperwork. I can't promise anything though, I don't know how often you unload the dishwasher. Unloading the dishwasher has been statistically proven to lower ones couch sleeping days.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

Famous Last Words: Stop Saying This Stuff!

Mommas we need to talk: heart to heart, nursing bra to nursing bra. Let's let our desperate tears and cheeto fingers intermingle as we get real.  I repeatedly hear phrases that I just don't agree with. And if I don't agree with them they must be wrong, because I'm always right. Just ask my husband. So here is a small list of phrases we all need to cut out of our vernacular.

Shit we all need to stop saying:

1. "Can I take a shower?"

Um are we under a water restriction? Did I marry the shower fairy? Last I checked my husband was the co owner of these little hoodlums and therefore shares equal responsibility for them. Did motherhood rob me of an equal right for a clean butt? I missed that memo.

 We should instead say "hey watch the fruit of your loins, while I practice my daily right to not smell like my children's defecation."

2. "Oh it was no big deal"

 Um actually it was a big deal. It took a lot of time and effort. Or, yeah it was an inconvenience but I dealt. Instead us idiots are baking 62 minion cookies for our 6th cousin's birthday and hosting 3 exchange students. Do you happen to speak french?! Me either, but I think that kid either asked for a bagel or has some phlegm in their throat. Luckily we have another six months to work on the language barrier.

  Instead we should acknowledge the bad asses that we actually are: " yeah it was a big deal but I'm an amazing multi tasker who poops glitter and sweats sparkles. I'm glad I was able to gift you with my awesomeness"

3. "Sorry about the mess"

No. Just no. First off, the mess is an indication that actual people live here. Why do we feel the need to justify the biproducts that inherently come from living? These biproducts sometimes include dirty underwear on the ceiling fan. It happens. If you're doing parenting right more than likely there is play dough embedded into your ear drums and walking across the carpet is similar to walking barefoot across fire. Have you ever stepped on Legos before? I have a friend who lost two toes to the transformers Lego set. Not the transformation she expected. Second, if I'm apologizing for my mess that usually means I did not have a heads up to your arrival. Had I had a heads up I would've been stuffing toys and children under the couch cushions while eating all the crackers off the carpet. I'm a conservationist. Just because I'm at home knee deep in rug rats does not mean you can just come over willy nilly to observe my naked, peanut butter covered children.

Instead we should say: " I'm not even slightly sorry about the mess but if you'd like to clean it the vaccum is in the hall closet. I'll be in the kitchen with a beer."

3. "Sorry I am such a mess."

First, why are we even acknowledging our disheveled appearance. They have eyes, no need for a discussion. Second, ladies we brought life into this world. Now we are in charge of making sure that life doesn't kill itself or its siblings by eating glue or jumping off the bunk bed. I don't know about you, but trying to make sure my kids don't meet an untimely end is a full time job. This full time job doesn't involve hair curlers or mascara. 

Instead we should say " sorry if my appearance makes you uncomfortable.  My boob sweat is currently making me uncomfortable as well, but I had to sprint to stop my toddler from eating a snail, so we both are going to have to learn to deal."

4. "I'm really sorry to ask but..."

Why and when did asking for help become such a crime. Where the hell did our village go? I tried to do it all once. I caught my house on fire. True story.  If Who Wants to be a Millionaire has the phone a friend option, why shouldn't I?

Instead we should say: "I've caught the kitchen on fire. My children are wearing their pants as hats, and I have string cheese in my hair. Can I come over?!"
And there shouldn't be shame to that. The response should be, "as long as you bring wine."

5. "Yes."
I know I'm not alone here in this, I swear the second your child is born the yes monster is born as well. You find yourself agreeing to groom the neighbors dog (you don't own scissors) and bake a cake for your best friend's aunt' 4th wedding (your cake baking abilities do not extend beyond purchasing the pre made kind the day of at Wal mart.) Motherhood is inherently selfless and we all tend to extend that natural tendency to other areas of our lives.

Instead, what you should say mommas, what is OK to say is: "No."
Just this. No explanation, no justification. Give yourself the grace to accept your sacrifices are many and, sometimes it's ok to give to yourself the gift of being a priority.

Take these words of wisdom from a