Mommin’ – Hot Mess Mom

From the Crib to Kindergarten.

Landry has been a kindergartener for three months.

Life has been so crazy with a death, a birth, vacations, and my own school that I haven’t had any time to sit and reflect on his first day of kindergarten.

I think my emotions have been a bit of everywhere since my grandma died that I haven’t really processed anything else.

His first day. I was not ready for it.
Regardless, it came and it went.
They said that time would fly.
I remember hearing that when he was just days old.
It honestly annoyed me then.
How could time fly when the days seemed to crawl by?

But it did.
I cherished most moments.
Some I didn’t.
No matter how hard you try, you really cannot cherish every.single.moment.
And even if you did, the time would pass just the same.
There’s a ridiculous amount of unessessary pressure for new moms to make sure they are enjoying every moment… but, I suppose that is another whole blog post.

He was SO excited.
If there’s a kid more ready for school, I would like to meet him.
Landry was born for this.
He was born to learn.
He adores to learn. He adored preschool. And I knew he would excel.
I was happy for him, but I was sad for me.

How could he be this old? How?
How was my buddy and the one who helped me keep Zoe’s crazy in check leaving me all day?

He couldn’t wait for it to be the first day of school.
He picked out his clothes the night before and had them ready to go.
We had his bag packed and his lunch ready the night before (this hasn’t happened since the first week of school! HA!)
He was so excited he could hardly sleep.
I think I went into his room about ten times the night before just to look at him one more time. Like, somehow he would look different the next morning.

He woke up to his alarm (also hasn’t happened since), got dressed, and bounced down the stairs.
We had breakfast.
And soon we heard the doorbell ring. It was Jack (his best friend).
We took pictures and we walked to school.
Landry and Jack. Hand in hand.

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I videoed and snapped every single moment until we made it to that school.
They took pictures in the front and we all headed in.
Hugging him and saying bye to him is not something I had prepared for.
He was so ready.
I was not.

There’s something about thinking about saying good-bye to my first-born, on his first day of kindergarten, that still makes my heart ache.
It’s almost as if you are saying good-bye to a whole life that will never be again.

He will never again spend the days with just me and his little sis.
Our lazy mornings, after lunch naps (quiet time for him), and afternoon adventures would be no more.

I would likely not be the center of his world anymore.
But, not only is it that our days and old life are over.
It’s that I am no longer able to completely protect him, all the time.
I knew then, that he would leave that school with his feelings hurt, scared, angry, and maybe even a little disappointed about how his day went.

He would feel inadequate at times and even left out.
Kids will say or do things to make him cry.
And I know he will likely do the same to others.

It’s childhood.
It’s fun. It’s exciting.
And his momma can’t keep his heart safe forever.

I think that thought was the hardest for me.
I know he has to face trials and disappointments to shape his character.
Those trials and disappointments will make him strong and make him who he was meant to be.

But, I also don’t think God made my mama heart, or really any mama heart, ever ready or okay for their child to hurt. Even if it’s for their own good.

So I held him for a long time, sqeeezed him tight, kissed him an emarrassing amount, and then, put on my fake smile and pulled up my big girl panties, and walked out.

I made it completely out of the school before the tears began falling.
And then faster.
And then I looked like someone had died as I cried the ugly out of control cry.

It’s so funny how parenthood can make you feel all of the emotions and sometimes all at once.

It can make you want to pull your hair out, wonder if you ruined your life the first night home with your newborn, worry you’ll screw them up (you will), be completely brought to tears when you look at them, feel only JOY when they laugh or smile, and also want to lock yourself in the bathroom until their father comes home for the day.

So, I felt all the things. Cherished the moments. Didn’t cherish the moments.
And I now have a kindergartner completely thriving and also driving me crazy.
I’m now in a different life with him, a fun and crazy one.
I don’t wish for a second to go back to the days when it was just him and me.
I smile at those memories and I look forward to the millions of memories to come.

How lucky am I to get to be his mom? So lucky.

Chasing Perfect.

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Perfectionism.

It’s a daily struggle.
I find myself in pure bliss when every single thing has been checked off my to-do list.
The house is clean.
Kids bathed.
Appointments scheduled.
Dog fed/bathed.
Laundry done & put away.
Workout done.
Prayer time done.
Homework done.

The problem is, I’m either too exhausted by the end of that list to enjoy it or, it rarely happens. Which totally leaves me in a dangerous place of hanging my happiness on whether or not my list is complete.

In my (therapizing) myself, (What the hubs says I do to him) I have figured out that the to -do list makes me feel safe and in control.

While on those “magical days” I feel perfectly content, on those other days when all of the things don’t get done, I feel out of control.

Satan begins restructure my self-esteem in a way that tells me I am only as good as the things I have completed or produced. While there are many many issues with perfectionism, I think the most dangerous part is that it gives Satan a little bit of room to wiggle our lives.

If he can’t control my behavior, my mind is the next best thing. It’s not likely that you’ll find me shoplifting or engaging in another unlawful act. But, on any given day, you may find my mind in places it shouldn’t be.

If I haven’t checked my list off, if I haven’t made it to the gym, if I ate something I shouldn’t have, if I slept in instead of reading my Bible, if I yelled at my kids, if I didn’t really listen when my husband told me about his day, if I wasn’t patient with my two-year old, then I am a failure.

I’m not as good as my neighbor across the street who spends her days playing with her kids instead of doing homework and cleaning.

I’m not as good as the single- mom who spends all of her free time volunteering at church.

I’m not as good as the other grad student who has practiced her skills three times each week.

Or, as good as the girl who got a 98% on her midterm instead of my measly 95%. It must mean I am not meant to be a counselor. Who would want to come to a counselor who got a 95% on their midterm? Certainly not me. (Kidding. I am making a point about how DUMB my thoughts are).

…you do it too. You just may not be willing to admit it. But behind that screen, you’ve wondered why you’re not as…(whatever) as the person you’re looking at on social media.

If our self-image comes from a comparison with someone else or a comparison with the perfect version of ourselves we believe we should be, we will never ever be good enough. Hear that. We will never be good enough. The instrument we use to measure ourselves will always be changing.

If I want to lose weight…I do…but then I’m not thin enough.
If I want to make more money, I do, but then it’s not enough.
If I want to be a better parent, I am, but not as good as the mom across the street.

There’s always going to be someone who is smarter, prettier, thinner, more fit, funnier, wittier, richer, more acclaimed, more well-known, etc. It is a pointless race that keeps our mind on things that don’t matter.

Well, not that they don’t matter, but comparing ourselves to someone else is a futile endeavor. It gets us nowhere but frustrated.

Some weeks, I get up at 5am and read my Bible for an hour and pray for 30 minutes. Then, I go to the gym. Other weeks, I don’t make it out of bed at 5 and sometimes I don’t make it to the gym. I bet you can guess how my self-esteem is on the days I don’t do those things.

I wonder if you could guess where my relationship with God is on the days I haven’t gotten up early?

If you guess not close, you’re right.

I feel completely disconnected.
I used to think it was because I was not disciplined enough.
I used to think it was because God required me to give him that devotion every single day for an hour and a half. If I didn’t, it must mean I don’t love God as much as I claim to. The honest truth was that I pulled away from him because I felt that if I didn’t do those things, then I wasn’t worthy of his love.

I’m not worthy of his love.
But he didn’t pull away from me, I pulled away from him because I THOUGHT that he would only want me if I was coming to him every single day for exactly 90 minutes.

Then, one day, the Holy Sprit spoke to me and said, “You’re making our relationship a to-do list. It’s not about what you do or don’t do. It’s about me.”

See how Satan does that?
By setting this ridiculous standard for myself in all areas of my life, he managed to wiggle into my relationship with God. He shifted my eyes from Jesus and to myself.
It stopped being about who He Is and it became who I am.

I let Satan in.
I let him in my mind when I started comparing.

While those things didn’t immediately affect my relationship with God, slowly but surely my perfectionism ended exactly where I never intended.

The point of all of this? Be so very careful what you allow yourself to think. Your thoughts have SO much power. Control your thoughts. Don’t let them control you. While you may not have any control over what thought pops into your mind, you absolutely have the power to decide whether or not you are going to spend any time thinking about it.

“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought and make it obedient to Christ.” – 2 Corinthians 10:5

Styling the Nest without Breaking the Bank.

I LOVE to decorate.

I’m completely obsessed with the typical #basicwhitegirl style which is, you guessed it, farmhouse.

The thing is, I don’t live in a farmhouse or even anywhere near a farm.

I live in the suburbs. But I am FROM a small town so I feel like that kind of qualifies me to decorate with a farmhouse style. HA!

If I had all the money in the world, I would spend it on home decor, kids clothes, and workout clothes.

Well, and eyelash extensions. But…that goes without saying.

The problem is, I don’t have ALL the money in the world. More than that, I just don’t love spending a lot of money.

It gives me anxiety and a moody hubs…

So I have had to make AmazonPrime my friend and also my father-in-law who works at auctions! Totally winning for me. He brings me all kinds of fun antique finds.

I have changed this wall below ten different ways from Sunday.

This is my most recent masterpiece. I am sure I will change it again because I get bored with things quickly.

I adore canvas prints.

I think it gives such a classy and bol feel.

Gallery Wall

I purchased ALL of those canvases from Walmart.

I am not a photographer, and because I cannot tell high quality canvas from cheap, I choose cheap.

I bought the “This is us” picture from Jane.

I chose the “This is us” picture because again…#basicwhitegirl.

This next wall is my FAVORITE WALL OF ALL TIME.

I showed my husband a picture of what I wanted and it took him about two days to complete.

I found the sign at Smallwood Home.

I adore ALL of their signs and want them all over my house. They recently came out with the cutest wall scrolls that I absolutely need.

We are about to finish our basement.

I have pinned so many basement pictures of basements done in all shiplap.

Have any of ya’ll done that?

Any tips or tricks would be so welcome! Post them in the comments, please!!

I really like black&white photos. I decided to make a gallery wall of my favorite family pictures in our dining room.

The picture frames are from Walmart and were around $5 a frame.

Unfortunately, since we have two kids five and under, our dining room went from a playroom, to a dining room, back to the play room.

This decor does not match the playroom in any way, shape, or form. But, when we finish the basement all the toys are going downstairs and this will become my dining room for FOREVER.

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You need to stop what you’re doing right now and go to Target.

Hearth & Hand Magnolia is on clearance!!!!! Below is what I snagged.

The two large houses above were $12. One of those candles is from Target and was $2.

The other one is from two of my most favorite girls ever.

They make the most amazing smelling candles and they come in the cutest mason jars. Check them out on Instagram @southernscentcandle. They are made from soy and essential oils. They smell heavenly, are long-lasting, have no harsh chemicals, and you can snag one for $12

The greenery was in a box for $5.The blue candle holder was $2. Actually, I don’t know what it is. I’m using it as a candle holder.

Thanks for stopping by! Happy cheap decorating!

… and I was not paid by any of these companies. Wish I was, though! HA!

#homedecor #southernscentcandle #farmhousestyle #momblogger #hearthandhand #target #shiplaplove #magnolia # mynameismama #thenest #basicwhitegirl #givemethesimplelife #mystyledhome

Don’t Cry, Mom.

Don’t. Cry. Mom.

Those words were uttered by my sleepy five year-old about an hour past his bedtime (we are late to everything, even to sleep.)

I ~~jumped~~ fell into his bed after spending entirely too long trying to get my Chloe/Zoe to sleep (that’s a whole other post.)

…If you’re wondering, she wasn’t asleep. I gave up and yelled for her father to try again. Mostly because I had promised Landry I would put him to sleep and partly because I was exhausted with trying to get her to sleep.

My head hit this big brown bear laying in the middle of his bed. A familiar smell hit my nose and went straight to my heart.

This bear, it was my grandma’s. She kept it in her room (you know how old women do?) As suddenly as my heart recognized that smell, the tears began to fall.

Isn’t it funny how a smell can unravel us?

Isn’t grief weird? I wasn’t even thinking about her. It just hits you like a rogue wave. Moments after you were completely fine, you can be smack dab in the middle of complete heart ache.

When my sweet sweet boy noticed my tears he said, “Don’t cry, mom.”

Why do we say that? Why are we so uncomfortable with feelings we all have?

Sadness and grief are universal feelings. Every person on this earth will have experienced both feelings at least once before they die.

Yet, we dismiss them as quickly as they surface.

So, I asked him why he didn’t want me to cry. He said he “didn’t want me to be sad.” To which I replied, “But I am, Landry. And I’m going to be for a long time. I loved and knew my grandma for thirty years– my whole life.”

He said, “Wow, mom. That’s a long time.”

I said, “It is. And wouldn’t it be weird if I was only sad for a day? And I knew her my whole life? Does that sound right? Should I only miss her a day?”

He said, “Well no. You will miss her for a long time.”

I said, “Yeah, probably for the rest of my life. But you know what? That’s okay. She was so special to me. So sometimes I’m going to cry. When I do cry, I feel better. Do you feel better when you cry?”

He said, “Yeah, I do.”

I said, “Do you ever feel better when someone tells you not to be sad or not to cry?”

He said, “No.”

I said, “Or, do you feel better if someone says, oh wow. That makes me so sad too. I’m sorry you’re feeling so sad.”

He said, (rather enthusiastically) “Yeah, that!!”

I went on to explain that being sad is something that is normal. We need to let ourselves feel it when it comes up. Ultimately, that’s the only thing to help us to feel better.

I ended the conversation by explaining that it’s okay for boys to cry and it doesn’t mean he’s weak, it means he’s strong.

I truly believe that we do our sons, husbands, fathers, nephews, and friends a disservice when we enforce the false narrative that men shouldn’t cry. That men shouldn’t feel emotions.

Because, they DO have feelings.

They DO have emotions.

They should feel free to express those emotions without fear of being teased or called a “baby” or a “girl.”

Emotions are not “girl” things.

Emotions are “human” things.

In my house, I saw my dad cry.

I saw him do laundry, change diapers, clean the house, take care of my mom, buy tampons at the store, and anything and everything else because he was my mom’s partner and he was our other parent. He was/is strong because he was able to be both masculine and also emotionally available.

In this house, my children have seen my husband cry. They watch him do laundry, clean the house, take the trash out, take care of all of us, kiss boo boos, change diapers, take Chloe to gymnastics, and any other “girly” thing that needs to be done. My husband is strong because he is able to be both masculine and emotionally available.

We need to do better for our sons. We need them to understand that it’s healthy and normal for them to cry and to feel emotions. If we allowed for them to be who they are, we might just be so surprised at the society we could live in.

One day he will be able to say, “It’s okay to cry, mom. Just cry.”

Dear daughter, please don’t be like me.

Dear daughter,

Please don’t be like me.

I look at you, with your beautiful brown eyes and pretty long eyelashes, your chubby little thighs, and the prettiest smile I have EVER seen and I am just absolutely smitten. You are the baby girl I have always dreamt of. I feel so very in love with you. I want to protect you from everything and everyone. I never want you to feel not good enough, pretty enough, smart enough, nice enough, funny enough, or thin enough. I never want you to feel rejected. I never want you to feel that you need to lose ten or fifteen pounds to be accepted. And yet, I know some of those things will happen. It’s really inevitable. What I hope, is that you can learn confidence comes from within and that truly, your worth has nothing to do with the way you look. I hope that you aren’t constantly needing someone to validate you feelings or tell you that you’re beautiful. I hope you just know. So, while I can’t protect you from everything, I can share my story with you and hope that you learn from my mistakes. I hope I will be a role model for you.

I don’t think there is a girl alive that hasn’t dealt with feelings of not being good enough? If there is, I have yet to meet her.

I have found over the years, some of the prettiest girls, with all of the friends and all of the attention, are the ones who have the lowest self-esteem. Why is that? I asked my bestie one day and her response kind of surprised me. She said, I think it’s because they are so used to people telling them how beautiful and wonderful they are. When they aren’t being told that, they wonder why. Then they start trying to seek that approval once more. Makes sense. I can buy into that.

I was raised in a Christian home by great parents. I had friends and participated in extracurricular activities. I had boyfriends. I was invited to things. But, I have spent a majority of my 29 years feeling inadequate.

I truly believe, my feelings of inadequacy at times have taken me away from things that I should have been and was meant to have been a part of. I have gifts and talents I have refused to share because of the fear of rejection. What happened? A mixture of my personality, the personalities of those closest to me, and a few instances of being bullied. All of those, added up the the false narrative that I was not good enough. Not really just not good enough though, not pretty enough. Not thin enough. T H I N enough.

Body Image.

Never underestimate your ability to make someone feel on top of the world or underneath it. Sweet girl, your words are so very important. Never use them to break someone else.

6th grade. I was chubby. Not extremely overweight but not thin like all of my friends. I had a boyfriend from another town. He was cute, popular, and athletic. I had talked to him on the phone a few times and I really had a crush on him. I could not believe that he had chosen me to be his girlfriend. We had a track meet that day and it would be the first time I would see him as his girlfriend. He was from another town (BIG time stuff right there haha!).

I still remember how absolutely nervous I was to see him. Butterflies and everything. I don’t know if he had just seen me from far away or what? But when he saw me, I was apparently not who he had in mind. He said hi and then avoided me like. the. plague. the entire track meet. I was, of course, heartbroken. I needed to know why. Why was he avoiding me? What did I do? (Because obviously, I had done something wrong. Duh.) A friend of mine found me and told me he didn’t want to be my boyfriend and we were breaking up. Obviously, this was the end of my little 6th grade world. I had to know why. I had to find him.

When I finally caught up to him, he was with one of his friends. I asked him what was wrong and why we were breaking up. He told me it was because I was SO FAT. FAT. Ugh I hate that word. Then he and his friend proceeded to make fun of me. It was incessant. They told me I needed to buy a nordictrack treadmill. They told me to call Jenny Craig. They called me every single variation of the word FAT in the English dictionary. I ran away with tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t get away fast enough. It was humiliating. Luckily, the track meet was over and I ran to the bus, buried my face, and cried. Then, I hear them. They followed me to the bus and continued to taunt me. Throwing around that word. FAT. It was so embarrassing. Not only to be called that, but for everyone to hear it that walked by.

I know, I know… one time? One thing. One instance of being bullied was that big of a deal? I don’t think it was that one time that did it for me. But that day was the day I started absolutely obsessing about my weight. I never wanted to feel that way again. I never wanted to give someone the chance to make me feel that small again. I think because of those feelings, I learned to kind of protect myself. I wouldn’t put myself out there for someone to hurt me like that…not again.

Satan has used that story and many more stories in my life to block me from things God had in store for me. He has stolen moments and opportunities from me because I believed the lies he told me, instead of believing what God says about me.

We all have stories. We have all been bullied about something. We have all probably said some things that we are not proud of about someone else. I’m sure those boys would not be proud of themselves today. They were kids. Kids are mean. What’s interesting, is that I have probably been told I am beautiful a million times over (mostly by your dad and brother haha) and yet when I think of that story, those feelings of shame and inadequacy creep in. Dr. Phil says, “It takes 1000 ‘atta boys’ to erase one ‘you’re an idiot’. I would agree.

Thankfully, my self-confidence and body image have evolved from that sixth grade girl. I would love to say I no longer have body image issues but that would be a lie. What I can say, is that I don’t define my worth any longer by the number on the scale or by what someone else thinks of me. My worth is defined by what God says about me. It is defined by the type of mother I am. It is defined by my accomplishments, my resilience, my faith and tenacity in the middle of some very dark times in my life. It is defined by the type of wife, friend, sister, daughter, and granddaughter that I am. By the way that I treat others and by the heart and love I have for those that are hurting. It is defined by my purpose in life, my calling, and by the gifts God has given me. It is defined by my work ethic and by my undeniable crazy amount of determination.

Don’t spend the first 20 some years of your life looking for validation. Don’t equate your worth to the number on the scale or by what some boy thinks about your body. Learn from your momma’s mistakes. What matters is what you think of yourself. If you love yourself, the opinion of others really won’t matter to you. Build your confidence on what your Heavenly Father says about you. Understand, your worth is based on who you are on the inside and how you make others feel about themselves. It is based on the impact you are leaving on this world. Are you leading others to Christ? Do others see His light in you? Are you thinking about others before yourself? Are you kind? Those are the things you should use to build your confidence.

My beautiful daughter, you are so worthy. You are so loved. You are enough. You are our dream come true and I hope you always know how breathtakingly beautiful you really are.

but please…don’t be like me.

All my love,

Mom

We meet again…

Photo Cred. Janean Gray Photography.

That baby. That boy. That husband. This life.

I have dreamed of it. All of it. Since I was little. A boy and a girl. A great neighborhood. A job I am passionate about. A husband that I adore and who adores me.

I have it all. I’ve had it all. And yet, I can’t seem to capture the happiness I should be blissfully entangled in. I know why. I’ve met her before. Our last encounter was horrible, unwelcome, and completely by surprise. Her name, Postpartum Depression.

She’s the worst. She used to tell me ugly lies. She used to make me cry for no reason. She used to make me feel worthless. That was the first time we met.

Now, I don’t cry. Ever. She makes me numb. She puts a filter on my sunshine. She used to make me feel less than, not good enough, anxious, like everything was wrong. I’ve become wise to her tricks. I have outsmarted her. I no longer think those things or feel those feelings. This time, her approach is different.

Now, she makes me tired. The kind of tired that is never relieved. The kind that is exhausted just thinking about the next day. She makes me feel nothing. Empty.

I feel happiness, most days even, but not to the extend that I should.
I feel sadness, sometimes, but not to the extent that I should.
I mostly feel nothing.
My babies, they bring me happiness. The kind that makes me laugh until I cry and the kind that makes me thank God endlessly for the sweetness he has placed in my life. Other than them, I feel nothing.

The first time we met, I was utterly and completely sad. I cried ALL. THE. TIME. I wanted so desperately to be pregnant again. The anticipation and excitement of a baby coming was over and I was distraught. I loved my boy. Blissfully so. He made me so very happy. But, I still cried. Every day. I was still sad. Every Day. Blissfully in love and yet so sad. Can those two things coexist? Yes. they can.

Those first few days after birth, you are asked to fill out the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale. It asks you a variety of questions. The fist few days after birth, I felt happy. Exhausted. But HAPPY! So…I passed that test. Each time I took it. I passed. For each child, each time I took that test, I passed. Postpartum depression? NOPE! Not this girl. Not the first month…or the second…or even the third…and then month four came and HELLO SADNESS!

I didn’t know what it was. Because, the media, and even the doctors make you think postpartum depression is being huddled in a corner, rocking back- and- forth, crying. You have thoughts of suicide, self-harm, and no attachment to your baby. Maybe even thoughts of harming your baby.

By that account, I absolutely did NOT have postpartum depression. Not. Even. Close. I cried, albeit, a lot. But not a scary crazy amount. I felt sad. But I also felt happy.
I never, not one time, thought about harming myself. I never contemplated suicide. And my baby, I was smitten. I was attached. I adored him. I never thought about harming him. Ever.

Which is why it took me until month six or seven to reach out for help. To understand that I did, in fact, have postpartum depression. That I did, in fact, need help. And… help I got. Within a few weeks of reaching out, I was SO normal again. No more crying. No more sadness. Praise GOD!

I have fought back, I have. I have worked out, ran, prayed, got out of the house, talked for hours to my husband, and here I am, still feeling nothing. I will continue to do all of those things, until my hormones even out and I am back to the girl I used to be. But it is exhausting. I know, by doing those things, it will eventually bring me back to where I need to be. I know, from experience, that this has an end. It has an expiration date. It happens. It isn’t embarrassing. In fact, it is quite common.

This time, I know how to handle her. I know her angle. I know what she plans to do. I know how to combat her. I am fighting. Every day. If she becomes too combative, I will seek help. Right now, I think I have a good handle on her.

This post is for the girl who is experiencing this and doesn’t know what to do. SEEK HELP. Talk to your doctor. You don’t have to be suicidal or even unable to get out of bed to have PPD. You don’t have to spend the first year of your sweet baby’s life with a filter over your eyes. You CAN be happy. Reach out to someone. Let them know how you feel. Let them know what is going on in your mind and your heart. Talk to your doctor if it is seriously affecting your life.

And…most of all, know that you are not alone. You are not crazy. You are not a bad mother. You did not cause this, your crazy baby making hormones did. This is not something to be embarrassed about. A lot of women suffer from this. A LOT. Society makes us think we have control over this, we don’t. Society tells you that you are a crazy lunatic. You aren’t.

Postpartum depression, She is a crazy hag. Get rid of her.

You will be happy again. You can be happy NOW.

Motherhood is not for {you}

If you like to collect accomplishments, love checking off a neat to-do list, and live for words of affirmation motherhood may not be for you. There is no end of the year evaluation. There is no boss critiquing you and then praising you for all the things you do well. There are no goals waiting to be demolished. There is no clock- in time and sadly, no clock-out time. There are very few breaks, if any. There is no paid vacation time. HR does not exist and you are left to handle any problems you might have with your coworker (aka your child) to yourself. There is no continuing education that needs to be completed. No conferences or seminars. There are no sick days. There is no one to call when you need a “mental health day”. If you need and thrive on these things then motherhood may not be for you.

These are all things that I need. I am THAT personality. I collect accomplishments, demolish goals, I live for words of affirmation. I love challenges and I LOVE checking off a to do list. I love all of those things because they reinforce all of my strong suits. Motherhood forces me to confront all that I am not. It forces me to be humble and selfless. It forces me to have patience, to rearrange my plans or even cancel them. It forces me to give up my desires and needs and put someone else s above mine. It forces me to live in the moment and leave the rest to God. Motherhood is an endurance event which is an event that I have some experience in. However, this endurance event doesn’t have a finish line. Motherhood, in a sense, forces me to become a different person.

Life is interesting. Sometimes God places you in situations that you never saw coming. I went to school for six years. I loved school and then I had a job for two years, that most of the time, I adored. It was challenging, it was rewarding, it was something that I was good at. Exhausted or not, at the end of the day, I felt accomplished. This mommy thing…leaves me exhausted and often times, most times, without a sense of accomplishment. It leaves me unsure of myself. I am not positive that anything I do is the “right” thing to do. It sometimes leaves me jealous. At times, I am jealous of working moms, jealous of single girls, and jealous of couples without children. Most days I am jealous of my husband. He gets to go to work and have his own thing, is own life, then he comes home and gets to be daddy. He doesn’t worry about his little man being in a stranger’s arms because his wife is the one taking care of his little man. Men have it SO good.

He makes his “own” money. He has his “own” accomplishments. When people run into him they automatically ask him about work. When people run into me…there is that awkward silence because…I do nothing. I sit at home all day, watching TV, taking bubble baths, doing my hair and makeup, going tanning, laying by the pool, and spending hours at the gym. Occasionally, I might change a diaper here or there. At least that’s what I imagine they think I do all day. When we…or I should say he pays for dinner the other person automatically says thank you to him. That bothers me SO much. Because, we might not be able to pay for their dinner if we were paying for daycare. I am so jealous of him. But then…he is probably jealous of me. He is probably jealous that I get to stay home with my little every day. He is jealous that we have such a unique bond. He is jealous that I don’t have to worry about all of the stresses a job brings. And…make no mistake, I know how unbelievably blessed I am to be in a position where I can stay home with my little man.

I know, you are thinking, why not just go back to work? A legitimate question. I feel like this is a calling. A calling on my life. I am home with him because it is where I am supposed to be. It has to be a calling, I have been doing it for nine months. If it wasn’t my calling I would already be back at work. I am called to be his mother. I am called to be my husband’s wife. I am called to serve. I have peace with that. Even when I sometimes really wish I had a different calling.

I have said all of that to say this. If you have the calling to be a stay at home mom, know that others recognize your sacrifice. I know how you never get a moment to yourself. I know that you were a woman with hopes, dreams, and life plans before you had a child. I know that you have much more to offer the world than just being someone’s mom or someone’s wife. I know that you contribute just as much to your household as your husband does. I know that most of the time you get no recognition. I also know that the reason your child is meeting every milestone is because YOU played, taught, and nurtured your child. I know the reason your baby knows baby sign language, can say “mama” and “dada”, can drink out of a sippy cup, knows how to read, can count to 10, can throw a ball, is nice to others, and always says his prayers before bed…is because of YOU. I also know the reason your husband can be so successful at his job is because of you. I know you are the one picking out his wardrobe, having a healthy dinner for him every night…OK most nights. I know that you are the one challenging him to reach his goals and to set new ones, the one who makes his lunch, and makes sure he has shampoo and deodorant. You are the one washing his clothes and then covering him in prayer daily. I know that you are his biggest cheerleader.

When you are having one of “those” days, when you are becoming jealous of others, remember that motherhood is not for you. It is for your child. It’s not about you, it’s about your child. You are doing this for them and because of them. With or without recognition, know that your tears, time, and prayers are making a difference in your little’s world. And know…that there is no one else in this world that has the calling to be your little’s mom. That is a job that no one can fill.

*Working moms…I know that you do all of these things and go to work. I know that is so challenging. Please know that I admire and am sometimes envious of you. This blog applies to you as well. You are inspiring. You are a superwoman.

– Court

{I’m better than you}

I feel as though this may be more of a rant so bear with me. When I found out I was pregnant I was so beyond excited. I couldn’t wait to be a mom. I worried about my little man from the minute I found out I was pregnant. I was constantly asking my doctor…and Google what was safe and what was not. From nail polish to hair dye to caffeine. After worrying about miscarriage or birth defects I had a new set of worries. I had to be induced. I had pregnancy induced hypertension. Well according to the internet and message boards… I was at a high risk for excruciating pain (worse than normal labor pain) and there was a good possibility that I would rupture my uterus. Then of course there is the awful, horrible, no good, very bad….epidural. Yes, I had one. Yes, I loved it. I had been told that it would delay my l labor and that I would eventually end up with a c-section. This is interesting because it actually sped my labor up! like…a lot. I ended up with a “natural” delivery…although, I’m apparently not worthy of the medal because I didn’t do it without drugs. Doing it with drugs makes me selfish, a baby, and it means that I don’t care about my baby. I loved my labor and delivery and I wouldn’t change a second of it. WHERE DOES THIS NONSENSE COME FROM?

I did not know that becoming a mom puts you under this unwanted scrutiny from others. Every decision is constantly questioned. I did not know that I would be receiving advice from everyone and their dog. I actually don’t understand why everyone cares so much?!? There is the circumcision vs. uncircumcised, breastfeeding vs. formula, disposable diapers vs. cloth, pacifier or no pacifier, homemade baby food vs. store-bought, bed sharing vs. crib sleeping, cry it out vs. no sleep at all, working mom vs. stay at home mom, oh…and you CANNOT forget the vaccines! Then a little further down the road there will be home-school vs. public school.

It’s as if with each decision I will be awarded a gold star if I make the right decision. If not, I could be at the mercy of other mom’s who think that I should be put away for child abuse for giving my child a pacifier. Why do we tear each other down? Why does using cloth diapers and not giving vaccines make you a better mom? I briefly worked for the Children’s Division…and I can ASSURE you that none of those things constitutes child abuse. Nice try though. If you use cloth diapers and don’t do vaccines…good for you, you get two gold stars! If you are a working mother, use disposable diapers, and formula feed…you also get two gold stars! Why do we feel that we are better moms because we chose to breastfeed? How does breastfeeding make us better moms? It doesn’t. I am not trying to get into an argument over the benefits of breastfeeding. I actually took that class…I know. I breastfeed…but I have given my child formula too. I actually couldn’t care less what you do with your child (as long as you aren’t abusing them). The bottom line is that it’s none of my business.

At the end of the day, we don’t need criticism from other moms. We don’t need a reason to question our mothering skills. Because we have beat you to it! We are already questioning every decision we make. We are already worrying that by working we are missing out on our children. Or…we are worrying that we won’t be able to give them the best because we aren’t working. We worry about vaccines, diapers, formula, pacifiers, choking, development, car-seats, bullying, our bond with our child, sleeping, SIDS, abuse from babysitters, accidents, car crashes, lotion and rashes, intelligence…I could go on forever. We need to empower and uplift each other. We need to encourage each other.

Whether or not you breastfeed or you use pacifiers is irrelevant. That is not what makes you a great mother. Loving your child, spending time with your child, kissing boo boos, reading books, going to after school events, working hard to provide for them, holding them when they cry, and being their biggest fan…THAT is what makes you a great mother.

– Court

A {not so} glamourous life.

This is my first blog. And…my first time to admit this internal and very constant struggle I have. Should I continue on this journey of a stay-at-home mom or should I return to the career world? Usually, when I am upset, I can do one of three things or a combination of all of them, run, write, or eat. Sadly, more often than not, I revert to the last of my three escapes. Today, it’s freezing outside and we have nothing to eat, so writing it is! I never in a million years pictured myself at home in my exercise clothes, changing diapers, tackling the never-ending task that is laundry, and making my baby food. Yet, that is exactly where I find myself. I had grand plans for myself. Plans that looked something like college, career, marriage, kids. I have had all of those things but not in the traditional order.

I planned to “have it all”. The perfect job (where I can prove my worth and independence and one where I get paid vacations, holidays, and I am at home by 5:00 everyday) , the perfect home (where all the laundry is done, house is spotless, dinner is healthy and on the table every night), the best body (you know…that picture you have in your head…you have one, we all do) perfect marriage (date night every Friday) full of romance and of course amazing you know what, and last but not least the perfect children (3-4 the number has yet to be determined). The problem with this picture, this life, and this woman is she may not exist. This picture may not be attainable. Yet, I am constantly striving to be her. Oh how badly I want and need to be her.

I try to have the house perfect but that usually ends with me in the middle of baskets of laundry and a screaming baby who wants his mama’s attention. I try to run/train every day or at least sneak in one insanity DVD but some days…most days, that doesn’t happen. Supper is sometimes perfectly on the table and other days it’s on the table made by someone else. If I spend the day playing with the little man I am thinking about how I should be cleaning and cooking. If I spend the day cleaning and cooking I think about how I should be playing with my little man. It’s Christmas and all I have this thought about lately is how much better I would feel about myself if I had a job…a REAL job. Yes, I said it. Before you start your rant on how being a mom is the hardest job there is…I KNOW, I DO IT EVERYDAY! But for some strange reason I don’t feel as I have as much worth when I am in my “mom mode” complete with a t-shirt smeared with baby food and spit up and of course no makeup. My husband commonly refers to this persona as “sporty spice”. Because these days, all I wear is workout attire even though I rarely make it to the gym. Then there are those six years of school and two degrees I have…and you can’t forget those student loans. Those 6 years and two degrees are doing nothing for me now.

The point to this ramble? I’m not sure there is one. Except…why do we put so much pressure on ourselves? Why do we let society paint this unattainable picture in our head? If I was working I would be thinking about all the time I was missing with my precious boy. You know… “the grass is always greener”. I’m at home because I chose this. I wanted to stay home and be the best mom I could be to this precious baby. Now, I am second guessing myself. But tomorrow I may be totally at peace with it again. That is exactly how this internal battle goes. The one thing I go back to is, at the end of my life, I will never regret the time I spent with my sweet boy. I keep seeing this poem and it gets me every time…

If you are somewhere in this battle with me, just know you aren’t alone. If you are working, good for you! You are making your child’s future brighter by the opportunities you are providing. You are teaching your son/daughter that women are just as independent and capable as men are. You are teaching them to go for their dreams and that they can have a family and a career. You are an awesome mom! To the mom trying to keep her home clean, child alive, and somehow manage to be halfway presentable, you are a great mom! And…no mom is perfect. That picture you have in your head of the “perfect” wife/mom…isn’t real. Instead of worrying about laundry and dinner, cuddle your little one and be thankful that you are able to stay home

– Court

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