A Mother's Message

Part of my Mother's Day gift this year came a week ago.  I kept it to myself for six days,  and now it's time to share.

It was a message.

Last Sunday, I was in church, as I am almost every Sunday morning.  Worship is my favorite part of the week, but last week, I was struggling to be in the right space with my heart and my mind open and free.  I didn't realize it on my own until a gentle hand from beside me came, followed by loving guidance and prayer, commanding the enemy to flee.

And just like that, the tears began, as they often do, as I suddenly found myself in worship, really in worship.

And seconds later, I realized what was hindering me.  You see, the week before was tough in momma-land.  I struggled through it almost every day, having been sick for multiple days with a nasty stomach bug, the kids and I both feeling the strain of it mentally and emotionally.  Each day was fraught, on some level, with challenges between my children and I, my children and each other, or myself and myself.  And I had, on multiple occasions, doubted myself as a mother.  More than once, I was wondering if I was a good mother at all, if I was really able to do it all as the only parent involved in my childrens' lives right now.

Much of the time, I believe I'm a good mom, because I know that I've got God with me in it all.  I always know God is with me, even if I don't feel him, but I'm not impervious to the self-doubt that seems to plague most all mothers at some point.

But, in that moment, I was given a message.

"You wonder if you're a good mom, and you fear you are a bad mom.  You fear you are not cut out for the job.  But, you KNOW and you BELIEVE that I made you perfect in MY image.  You know that I called you to be mother of those children.  So, if you believe that you ARE perfect because I SAY you are perfect, then you must KNOW and BELIEVE that you ARE THE PERFECT MOTHER for your children.    You are perfect."

Oh goodness, did I cry.

There was the answer to my doubt and my struggle.

Am I always a great mom?

Of course not.  I struggle. I make mistakes.  But, I try to learn from them, and I try my best (almost always) to be a good mom.  I've prayed countless times, asking God if my purpose really is to "just" be a God-loving mother to my three children, raising them in the Spirit, and He seems to tell me that it is my job now, in this season, to focus on them.

So, I know that I'm called for them.  But, I've doubted anyway.  I'm human, after all.

But here I was, weeping, as I felt the Father telling me, so clearly, that I'm not good.. I am PERFECT.

Up until tonight, I hadn't shared this word with anyone.  I've been keeping it in my secret arsenal as I began the week leaving church, thrown into battles and fires as a momma always is.  But this week, it was different.  I didn't doubt myself. I didn't doubt my parenting.  I saw each battle as a lesson in growth, grace, mercy, persistence, and patience.  Yes, I am sure I was imperfect in parenting.  But, I AM the perfect parent for my children.

Tonight, in silent meditation on a two hour drive home, with the children sleeping in the back seats, I felt the pull to share my personal message.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.

And I realized, this message isn't for me alone.

No.

This message is for all women out there in mothering roles- biological mothers, adoptive mothers, foster mothers, aunts, grandparents, sisters, close friends, mentors, teachers... and anyone else I may be unintentionally forgetting.

YOU are PERFECT.  God made every single one of us, whether you accept Him yet or not.  And knowing He made you, the Bible says that we are each fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), and we were made perfect in God's image (Genesis 1:27- because God is perfect).

Each child you are given is a blessing from God, and if you accept your calling to be in the lives of child (young or grown, really), then you need to know that you are the perfect one for them.

Yes, you're going to make mistakes.  You're going to be imperfect as a person, but you ARE perfect for the job.

In being imperfect and simultaneously perfect, it is your duty to embrace the imperfection, to learn from it, grow because of it, and share it.  Because we are made stronger and we are formed more beautifully when we do.  And, it's a blessing to others when we do.

Each of us is going to struggle.  It's a given.  But, knowing you're made wonderfully and specifically for the purpose of being a mother of any kind to any child in your life, you can carry on when you do fall short.

But, you have to be willing to accept God in it all, to live up to your true perfection's potential.

With God, you are renewed each day (Isaiah 40:31, Lamentations 3:22-23).

With God, all things are possible (Matthew 19:26).

With God, you can do hard things... like what I believe to be one of the hardest things of all- being a good mother. With God, you can keep on when you feel like giving up.  You just have to ask Him to guide you, lead you.  You have to abandon your need to have everything in control, and let Him be the one to help you.  And it's easier said than done.

I have to do it, personally, every single day, and often more than once.

I believe in you, Mommas of all kinds.  God believes in you, too.  It's why He placed children of all kinds in your life.

----

I apologize if this read was a little difficult to understand or decipher as I am quite exhausted and about to fall asleep. I just couldn't go to bed without getting it out there.  I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense.

(This entire message also very much applies to every kind of father figure out there, too.)

Then came seven.

Spencer, buddy,

Tomorrow, you turn seven.

Seven.

7?

She-vehn.

I don't know why, but this number has thrown me for such a loop. I mused to someone that I think it's because the two syllables make it sound much bigger than it is.   Thinking about that, I have to laugh, because you sure like to point out the number of syllables in words.

Six.  You're still six.  I hear you in your bedroom, not sleeping like you promised me you would be doing.  You're still only one syllable.

Tomorrow, it's two.  But only for a year, then you can back down to one syllable for a couple more years and maybe my heart will be able to handle it a bit better than this milestone.

We've talked lately about how you were the one who made me a mom.  You like to share the credit (rightly so) with your siblings.  But buddy, it was you.  Seven years ago, I hadn't seen your face.  And now, I can't imagine my life without you, your brother, and your sister.  I was born to be a mommy, and I'm so thankful that you are the one who made me so.

Spencer, you've grown, again, so much in the last year.  You've taken the kindness of your heart that has always been there, and somehow multiplied it.  You tell people that you're a "kindness ninja" and it's true.  I've seen it with my own eyes, in how you will run across a grocery store aisle to help an elderly lady pick up a bunch of change she accidentally dropped, without hesitation or anyone asking you.  You pick up change in our home on Sunday mornings and you bring it to church for offering.  You help your sister put on her shoes or socks in the morning if you're ready before she is.  You proclaim that you'll never run out of hugs for people you love.  You love to donate things to people in need.   You willingly, patiently, taught both of your siblings to climb the pine tree outside, and have guided them step by step down and out of it on multiple occasions. It all comes so naturally to you.

Of course, we all have our moments where we might not be so kind, but your kindness far outweighs that side of things.  I'm so proud to call you my son.

I'll be honest... you try my patience in ways I don't always understand... but really, I delight in you.

Over the course of this last year, I think you've somehow touched the lives of even more people.  I have been approached by numerous "new" people this year who have told me they can see Jesus in your heart, see your kindness, and how God has great things in store for you.  I've been told by many that you're a blessing to them.

It makes my heart sing.

I love watching you come into your own and see your personality develop.  I'll be honest, you're at an awkward stage right now, where you're not only getting even taller and lankier, but you're a little socially awkward in some situations, and you have this weird desire to pose like some sort of hip-hop dude from the early 1990s when I want to take photos of you.   You love to wear dress shirts with active wear, you don't care if your pants are too short or your shoes are untied, and you make awkward nonsensical jokes and statements to people when you're nervous, and then laugh at yourself like it's the funniest thing that's ever happened.  It's an interesting time.  I think I love it.  You're also trying to fit in with larger groups of kids your age and older, while still holding onto your innocence and enjoying spending time with children younger than you.  I remember those awkward years and I will say you've got a lot in store for you.  But, you're going to be awesome.

I can't wait to see what is around the bend.  Your love for music and worship is growing, and I believe there's great things in store for you there.  Your desire for reading and science is developing more deeply, and you are so very smart.  You've got great athleticism inside that body, too.  You've so many wonderful facets.

You are a treasure, little man.

I pray that this next year is rich with blessings, laughter, hugs, and fun memories with your family and your friends.  I pray that your heart never hardens, and your love continues to grow.  I pray that you'll be a blessing to even more and touch the lives of countless others.  I pray that you won't lose your love for hugs and cuddles yet, because I'm not ready to let that go.

Happy Birthday, mister man.

You are so deeply loved.

Especially by me.

-Mom

Super Powers

It's been an exhausting couple of days, for various reasons, both good and not as good.

Last night, we arrived home right at bedtime, and the kids willingly went into their room to prepare for rest.  They laid there quietly and happily for a few minutes while I got stuff ready before going in to do bedtime prayer and gratitude, give hugs and kisses, and wish them goodnight.

Then, as is common lately, one by one, they all had reasons to get up, or call for me in the other room.  I try diligently to always have a positive attitude or at very least a kind voice when I re-enter, but it's a struggle sometimes.  Especially on nights like last night where it was already nine o'clock and I had a list of various duties to tend to before excusing myself to bed.

Eventually, they coaxed me into laying among all three of them on their bedroom floor, one laying across my arm while both arms were splayed to my sides playing with the two youngest's hair.  The fish tank light was off, the van on for white noise, and I laid there struggling to stay awake myself, my to-do list playing repeatedly in my mind.  That's when the thoughts started rolling in as well.

"This is so hard."

"This is so exhausting."

"There aren't enough hours in the day."

"There's not enough of this Momma to go around."

"I don't know how I'm going to do keep doing this."

"Its going to take some sort of super human strength or some kind of super powers to keep this up forever."

Eventually, they all drifted off to sleep.  I did a half-baked job on my nightly duties and then flopped myself into my own bed.   Then, I realized I had a few more things to do, rolled on out, finished up, and returned.  Then I realized the door wasn't locked.  So, I got up again, locked the door, and then fed the cats, got some water, and went back to bed again.  I think I fell asleep around 11:20.

This morning, I woke, tired as usual, and forgot to make my coffee before we all marched out the door at 7:40.  The children were all in fairly good moods for their shortage of sleep last night, and we were on our way.

As I sat in the waiting area at one of their appointments, the thoughts of last night replayed in my mind.

But today, they were reframed with a feeling of empowerment.

Parenting is hard.  It's crazy hard.  It's hard when there's two parents.  It's harder when those parents are separated.  It's even harder when you're doing it alone.  At least, in my experience that's true, having done all three versions of parenting in the last 7 years.

Right now, I'm back to being a single parent.  I mean single parent, as in not sharing the children with their other parent. I know that to some, co-parenting or shared-parenting is considered or felt to be single parenting.  Again, in my experience, they're wildly different.  So, as I said, I'm flying solo.  I wish I wasn't, but I am, so I pull myself up by my bootstraps (oh wait, my boots are all strapless...) and I carry on day in and day out.

Even when it feels like it's too much.  Even when I'm too tired.  Even when my nerves are shot and my brain is fried, and I go to work with my pants on backwards (yes, that's happened, more than once actually, in the last couple weeks... maybe I should retire those pants).

I won't pretend to be a super woman.  I won't claim to be a super hero.  I won't boast to be a super mom.  Because, quite honestly, I'm not.  It may look spectators that I am when I calmly herd my three littles into a restaurant for supper, and they sit down quietly and excitedly tell the waitress their order.  But then as soon as she turns her back, two of them are sword fighting in the booth, shortly before one of them bites the other one in the bathroom fighting over who uses what toilet stall.  I hug the injured and break out my "mad voice" and my "mean Momma Bear glare" at the other while the wait staff smiles at me with a knowing look.

I don't have it all together.  I'm not a super-hero, super woman, or super mom.

I'm your run-of-the-mill, ordinary single mom just doing the best she can, usually.  Sometimes I'm not doing the best I can. Sometimes I'm doing what I can just to get through the moment... which I guess, in those moments, is actually probably the best I can.

I will be first to admit though, it does take some sort of super power to be a single mom, a co-parenting mom, or a happily married mom (or dad).  Like I said, parenting is crazy tough.

So, as I sat there, this morning, reminsicing about last night as I choked down the straight black coffee I was accidentally given instead of my regular order in the drive-through this morning, after having forgotten to make my own at home like I usually do, I thought about these super powers that are needed.

And, I realized...

I DO have super power.

It's the power of the Holy Spirit.  It's the power of Jesus. Its' the power of God.

As soon as I realized that, I had verses flooding in my mind, and I needed to share them here.

Because, if we want them, we can ALL have super powers.

Every single parent out there.  Every single person without children out there.  Every single child out there.

We're all equipped.  We just have to seek them.

Ask God, He'll give them to you, freely, lovingly, and happily.

That's how I do life right now, when I'm too tired, too overwhelmed, too frustrated, too sad, too everything.  I lay down on the floor with the lights out (or maybe as I drive in broad daylight in the van, or a hundred other places and ways) and I let God in.  It's not always a conscious effort, to be honest.    But, he reaches me, and he blesses me, and through every tear, every sleepless night, every pants-backward-at-work-Wednesday, every joyful-they-ordered-their-own-supper Friday, every big and little moment, I keep on keeping on.  He's the One pulling me up, so I don't even need straps on my boots.

Sometimes, of course, I don't feel this way. I don't see it this way.  Even as I write this today, knowing exactly how I make it through, I'm still exhausted and a bit overwhelmed (even knowing God's going to carry me through).

And you know what, those are my worst days.

I'm praying for less and less of those days, and more days where I'm fully aware of my super power, MY Super Hero.  (Even on those days when I don't think I'll get through it, I know somehow I will, even if I'm too stubborn to admit the real reason.  I'm imperfect.)

I'm praying the same for each of you.

Blessings!

In the morning, she will be three.

My sweet, beautiful girl,

Tonight, I laid you down, and you told me "tomorrow is my birthday, mama."  We said our bedtime prayer, which ends "God is great, God is great (you insist we say it twice), AMEN!" You asked me for a kiss, and then a hug, and then to cover you up, and then for a kiss, and then for a hug, as you do almost every night.  I closed the door behind me after hugging and kissing your brothers and turning out the light, and I breathed deeply as I realized that tonight is the last night of this year of your life.  It tugs at my heart.

This is the first year you've shown excitement about it, after celebrating a few other birthdays over the year, your memory being much more acute, and feeling traditions take place as you and your brothers grow older.  I'm excited for your excitement, though it's bittersweet to see you transition from baby-hood even further.

Darling girl, tonight, you're still two.  Tomorrow, you'll be three.

I sit here thinking about how, growing up, I had hoped that someday I would have a daughter.  In my mind, she would be a perfect, smiling ball of joy, with curly hair, and beautiful features.  She would be kind and smart and so much more.  After God blessed me with your two brothers, I felt it was my calling in life, loving them so deeply, to be a mom to three or four boys, and felt I would never have a daughter.  I don't know why I felt this way, and it was bittersweet, but I was so sure.   When I was told you were on the way, I didn't believe it until they placed you on my chest, and you were in fact my little girl.  Every day since then, it has made so much sense that you were brought into our lives.  I didn't ever imagine you would fulfill my dreams to precisely.  You belong with us, and God knew it.

My heart can hardly handle another birthday.  Yet another year has flown by too quickly, though, fortunately, the chaos in our lives has slowed down quite a bit, and this transition from two to three years of life with you is much clearer in my memory and I feel I was much more focused on our days together, enjoying them, savoring them, and cherishing them.  Not that I didn't in years past, but someday, you'll understand what I mean when I say they were busier and harder and much more muddled together.

Not this year.

This year, I watched you blossom from a young toddler into a much more mature toddler.  I've heard your vocabulary soar with countless words and phrases I have never heard a two-year-old use before.

I've seen your sweet little self turn a little more sassy, as I was warned may happen over time.  I miss the days when I don't have to remind you to use a "kind voice," but I cherish your personality all the same.

I've seen you grow so tall, your hair so long and curly, your eyes so wide and filled with deep wonder.  You've become very independent, but you still totter back and forth from being "big" and "little" where sometimes you want to do everything on your own, and other times you'll cry on the floor because you think you need to be carried.  I'm sorry when I don't give in to the tantrums.  It's not because I don't want to carry you, it's just that I don't want to fuel that behavior.  I do, in fact, love that sometimes you still want to be carried, and I love the feeling of your arms wrapped around me as I carry you.  Your brothers very rarely express that desire anymore, and I know it will be all too soon that you won't want me to, either.  You use the most adorable phrase when you want to be held, as you tell me "I want to hold you," even though you really mean it the other way around.

I love that you still want to cuddle, sit on my lap, and snuggle in bed sometimes.  I love that you still ask for a kiss and a hug when I drop you off at daycare or Sunday School in the mornings, and that you still want them both before bed at night.

I love when you call me "Mama" instead of "mommy," and I don't know why.

You've got an excellent memory, little lady.  You know almost everyone's name at daycare and Sunday School, and you can recall the middle names, favorite colors, and eye colors of the people who mean most to you, assuming you've inquired what these things are already.

You love music, and art, the outdoors, and your blanket. In the morning, your favorite cat is Benjamin, but when we get home at night, your favorite cat is Lucy.  They both love you, and they're so gentle with you.  When you're sick, they are by your side.  You recently developed a love for birds, and you proclaim it almost daily.  You also love tigers, and dogs, and fish, and bunnies, and lions, and horses, and ponies, and unicorns...  I'm sorry I couldn't give you a pet tiger for your birthday like you requested repeatedly.  Someday, you'll understand.

You've surprised me and gone from wearing diapers full time to barely wearing them at all, and you're so proud of your big girl status in this area.  While I'm grateful that the diaper budget has dwindled immensely and I don't have to change diapers all day every day, it's a reminder that you're not going to be little for much longer.

I love listening to you sing songs and narrate your play.  You've such a bright imagination.  I love that you will play with both of your brothers on a daily basis.  They love you dearly and they make sure you know it.  They are so good about building you up with positive affirmations and compliments.  I hope you'll always remember how beautiful they think you are, even if sometimes they're not being very nice to you.

Baby girl, soon you will lose the remaining baby features on your little body, and become a preschooler like your brothers.  I pray you'll take the days a little more slowly than you have been over the past year.  I know you want to go to kindergarten, too, but you've only a few short years to be a tiny little girl.  Don't rush through them, please.

I pray that as you grow older, you'll continue to be kind, gentle, intelligent, helpful, and hilarious.  I hope you'll want to spin in a dress for years to come, rock baby dolls gently, and give hugs freely.

You light up every room you walk into with a smile full of sunshine.

I pray that I will always be able to remember the deep chocolate color of your bright eyes, the spirals in the back of your hair as they dry after bath, your dark, long eyelashes, especially as you sleep against my shoulder sometimes, the warmth of your tiny little hand as it holds my finger while we walk, and the jubilant melody of your laugh, among everything else about you.

I pray you'll always let Jesus in your heart, and show other's his goodness.  I pray you'll be a blessing to each person you come across.

Miss Norah, you stole our hearts from the get-go.  Cherish it as we cherish you.

Thank you for all of the joy you bring to this world.

I love you, Sweet Pea.
-Mama

Those Awesome Obnoxious Pants

It's time.  It's been time for quite some time, I know, but I had ignored it for way too long.

What's it time for? 

Those awesome, obnoxious (dare I say slightly derranged, possibly somewhat ugly) pants.

Yes.  I have invested in three pairs of cheap workout pants.  They are the kind of pants that many have worn for a long time, that I always would roll my eyes at (mentally) and wonder what on earth is wrong with people who wear them.

Now, I own them.  Now, I'm wearing them.  I'm wearing them at this very moment.  And, I'm rolling my eyes (mentally) at myself, wondering what on earth is wrong with me.  They're so boisterous.  I am not a boisterous individual by nature.  I prefer to not be noticed most of the time.  And here I am, in bright, loud, workout pants.    

Why this change?

I have been wondering that for a while now, which is why I haven't actually talked much about it.

I've been going through a lot over the past years when she has been transforming.  My transformations have been different.  I went through the betrayal, abandonment, homelessness, emotional manipulation (and so many more things) associating with the ending of my marriage.  I worked hard just to stay awake most of the days, to feed my kids, to work, to smile, to laugh, to cuddle, to hug, to pray, to hope, to cook, to clean, to breathe.  I struggled through countless emotional days and weepy nights.  I was on a rollercoaster like I had never known existed.  I transformed, I know.  I don't always see which ways I've transformed.  It's rare I can detail the changes to anyone.  

Some transformations have been by choice.  Some have been necessity and God's sifting in my life to purify, change me, and mold me into the woman he's called me to be for the plan He has for me, whatever it is.  

This change... this one is deliberate, an unexpected choice. 

On Mother's Day, I had the blessing of being able to spend a long stretch of kid-free hours with my Bean (for those new around here, that would be my cousin Tarah, who has been one of my best friends since college).  For the past couple of years, she's taken an active role in bettering herself on many levels, but one of them has been with physical health and fitness.  One she's shed pounds and inches and gained so much confidence, energy, and enthusiasm.   

I can't say that there was a single conversation we had, or a single activity we did, or any moment that I just hit this switch, but after that weekend, I decided it was my turn.

Mother's Day weekend, I decided it was time to tackle one of the most seemingly cumbersome transformations there are- physical.  I decided it was time to pay more attention to my body, my meals, my exercise, my sleep.  Instead of staying up two extra hours every night so that I could have quiet, alone time without my kids, I go to bed earlier.  I read food packages, though I occasionally still eat something not as good for you.  I have nearly all-together stopped drinking soda.  I've been trying to not push myself so hard, especially with the rib that still hurts.  

The most shocking thing though- the pants.  

It's not necessarily the pants themselves (well, okay it kind of is), but what they represent.  They were a treat to myself after I willingly joined a group of women on MommaStrong.com (for $2 a month, which wasn't a daunting investment so I couldn't think of any great excuses since I gave up soda after all, and NO this isn't a sponsored post) and completed 12 consecutive days of 12-18 minutes worth of workouts called Core Camp.  I sweat my face off and I even enjoyed it.  I wasn't daunted by the pain in my rib cage, because when it hurt too much, I modified.  She (Courtney, founder of MommaStrong) said I could and should modify things.  Instead of feeling guilty for doing that, I felt empowered. I felt smart.  

Somewhere along the 12 days, while I powered my way clumsily through workouts in front of my kids who questioned what in the world I was doing and why, I realized I was looking forward to the workouts.  I was looking forward to reclaiming this piece of myself. I was looking forward to taking control of yet another part of my life that felt overwhelming and cumbersome, daunting and embarrassing.

If you know me, I've never been one who talks about working out.  I love to go on walks, and back before I went to college and had a bicycle, I loved to ride bike.  That's about it.  I lift my babies and babies at work.  That's sort of a workout.  I clean.  That is slightly sort of a workout.  But otherwise... nope.  I had no desire to get sweaty and gross because I was too weak and fat and whatever else and it just seemed pointless.  There was so much  negative talk within myself and I didn't even realize it until I realized it was slowly being silenced.

I can think of fifty excuses (guesstimating) why I couldn't, shouldn't, didn't want to work out.  No space. No time. No energy. No money. No privacy.  No strength.  No, no, no, no, no.

Then I said yes.  I just gave in and said yes.

I'm proud of myself.  Sure, I'm still overweight, I'm still out of shape, I'm still weak. My rib still bothers me and some days it hurts to take deep breaths.  I'm still tired.  I'm still busy and I certainly don't have the privacy.   I still can't do a push up or a pull up, and my running distance is small.

But I'm doing it, or I'm trying to.  And in doing it, I'm silencing the lies that I've told myself, I'm silencing the enemy and I'm breaking off his strongholds.  I'm diligently working (sometimes minute by minute) to shut down the devil and keep him from bringing me down in this area of my life as I have had to in so many others.  I'm doing it. I'm trying to.

I'm working on it. I'm working out.

My oldest recently asked me why I work out and why I exercise. I told him something along the lines of "I do it because it's good for me. It makes me stronger, healthier, and a better mom and a better person.  And I'm the only mommy they have, so I better take good care of myself, for me, and for them.

With that let me tell you- if I can do it, you can do it.  I have so many things working against me, so many reasons why it would be easier not to, so many reasons to just be complacent.  They're legitimate, for the most part.  I know we all have them. 

But yeah... The pants.. they're super comfortable.  They're still kind of ugly.  But they're kind of awesome.

Just Mom on Father's Day

Here it is.  Father's Day.

Today, I've already been wished a Happy Father's Day and a Happy Second Mom's Day, more than once,

In some ways, it's been a very typical Sunday. I woke up this morning singing "Good Good Father" in my head, at 5:45 when Norah decided we should get up and get ready for 8:30 church, bathed the two-year-old princess, fed the kids, watched Norah tattoo herself so she can look like me, gone to church, came home, and fed the kids lunch,.

But in other ways, today feels like agony.  I sat through church and heard, as I have many times before, the various ways that children can be screwed up by not having a dad in their lives.   From home life, to church life, to school life, to social life... there's numerous, detailed effects that have been studied and documented linking the lack of a father in children's lives to problems later on.  I get it.  I have heard it all before.  And each time, I always break down in tears.

That's not the only thing that I got from the message at church, mind you.  But it's always a lingering reminder that just a mom just isn't good enough by worldly standards.

I'm mom. It's just me.  I'm not dad.

Yes, I have the responsibility of both parents.  I provide the income and stability that way, and the emotional and educational development.  I love with a momma's heart and discipline with a father's hand.  I do both sides for the most part and I do them the majority of moment I am with them  every day.

But, I'm not their dad.  I'm not a father.

God calls on me to show them a mother's love and to show them His love through the heart of a mother.  He calls on father's to show them the father's love and discipline, and I do that too.  But I am not their dad.  I am not a father.

They have one.  He's somewhere out there.  He's not showing them the Father's love, though, or a father's love.  He's not fulfilling that role God called of him, so I have to make up the best I can.

But I am not their dad. I am not a father.  I never will be. I can't be.

For much of the last year, I've been trying to pull double duty. I've been told I'm an awesome mom and an equally awesome dad.

But I'm not.  I'm just a mom.  I'm just filling in father type roles when I can and am capable.

I don't have to be a dad.  I don't have to be a father.  As much as I want them to have one, it's not going to be me.  It doesn't have to be me.

I'm finally becoming more okay with that.

Someone messaged me a week or two ago, telling me something very similar.  Her exact words were, "Sometimes it feels like you are trying to be two people. In some respects, you have to be both mom and dad, but you are physically one person, and you need to allow yourself to live within that limitation. Some days, you just need to put one foot in front of the other, and call it a successful day. You don't have to make up for their father's absence, and some days, as long as your children's basic needs are met, you have had a successful day."

Since I first read her message, I have been dwelling on it. I've been letting it sink in and been trying to wrap myself around the truth that is in the sentences.

I've been trying so hard to make up for the loss of their dad. I've been trying so hard to be both a mother and a father.  But it's not what I'm called to do.  I'm called to be their mother, and to raise them in a home filled with Christ-like love and examples.  I'm called to surround them with others who live in the same way, and let the influences of those people also shape my children and show them the love of fathers and of the Father.  I just have to be the best mom I can be.

So yes, it's Father's Day, and it's my second Mom's Day of the year, and I will, in some respect, celebrate that I am pulling double duty in many respects, and that it's just them and me, and that we are living in a love-filled, happy household. We will smile, laugh, cuddle, and play.  We will relish the joy that flows among the four of us as we continue to move forward and shape our lives together.  I will cry for myself and my children and my former husband.  I know it. I already have cried more than once.  But, despite the aching hearts and the longing tears, we will continue to pray for their real dad, that his wandering days end and that God can transform him miraculously, so that someday, his heart will be turned back toward his children.  We will acknowledge that dad is still lost in this world and we may or may not see him again some day, but we will also acknowledge that mom is here, she loves them boundlessly, and that there are other fatherly men in their lives who show them a Father's love through the heart of a father.

Second First Mother's Day

Tomorrow is my sixth Mother's Day. The year I was pregnant with Spencer, his dad had flowers delivered to me while he was at work.

This year is my first Mother's Day. It's my first one as a single mother whose children haven't heard a word from their dad in nearly a year.

Truth be told, I don't know how I feel about it. Indifferent at the moment, depressed yesterday, empowered this afternoon... 

It is what it is.

I would have never chosen to be the only parent in my children's lives under normal circumstances.

Had I known my former husband would ditch us after we had kids, would I still have started a family with him? 

Why even ponder that question. I've pondered it. There's no answer. There doesn't need to be.

I was created to be mom to these three miracles. It's my purpose. God called on me to carry this beautiful burden.

While it is a difficult, grueling calling, it is mine, and I am blessed. I am thankful. I am terrified. I am confident.

I am Mom. I am Momma. I am Mommy. 

My children are still young and although they created beautiful art at daycare to celebrate, I am not certain they understand Mother's Day. The day is no different to them, I am sure, than any other day.

But, to me... It's a celebration. It's a celebration of all moms of every kind, as well as women who have the heart of mothers and bless children by choice.

But, this year, it's a celebration of me, too. I celebrate how far we have come when we could have fallen further. I celebrate the laughter and joy in my children's eyes. I celebrate the tantrums and struggles and the fact we always get though them and smile not long after. I celebrate the fact that instead of giving up, I stepped up. I celebrate my fight for my children.

Happy Mother's Day to me (and to you)!

A Single Mother's Day

For as long as I can remember, I have thought to myself, but also aloud, that I just do not know how single mothers handle single parenting. When my first child was born it really hit me just how hard parenting is, with the all night or late night or cluster feedings, no sleep, constant worry, housework, laundry, and trying to remember to feed yourself and go to the bathroom. A shower felt like vacation.  

I was fortunate enough to have my husband around pretty regularly, though his work hours were absurd, he was home at night to help with diaper changes, taking out the garbage, hauling laundry up and down the stairs, and taking the dog out, among other things.

Together, we decided to have a second child, and then our daughter surprised us last year.

It seemed perfect, our little family. Mother's Day last year was awesome, having all of us together, sons and a daughter. 

This year is different.

This year, I am amongst those single mothers. This year I look at myself most days, and I wonder how do I do this? 

I don't see what other people see when they tell me I'm doing awesome or that I'm a great mom. I have a horrible habit of seeing the negative things, of seeing all the ways that I could be better. I see the toys on the floor, I see the folded clothes piled on the table waiting to be put away, I see my children eating cereal for supper another night. 

I try not to compare my new self with my former self, the mom I thought was better in many ways, spending countless hours doing fun projects with the kids, making flash cards, making bubbles, drawing cartoon characters on the sidewalk, making homemade waffles instead of frozen ones. 

I try to tell myself that my new lack of time to do all of those fun and amazing things is better as the "new" mom is amazing, because she is stronger, she is putting her family's well-being first, she has set aside her dream of being home with them and raising them alone so she can raise them... Alone. Or mostly alone. 

I feel like my love for them shows less to them in the fun ways, the ways that probably matter to them more now, but someday, they will look back and see the endless love for them in the amount of time they spent at daycare while I worked to provide them a loving and stable home. The hours I didn't sleep because I was up tending to their illnesses, bad dreams, hunger, or loneliness may never be accounted for in numbers, but maybe they will see the circles under my eyes and the wrinkles on my face, and know they are proof of my love.  Somedays, I do not want to do another puzzle, but would rather snuggle them laying down on the couch and read a book or watch a movie because by the time the week is done, my energy is gone.

It tears me up. I feel like when I'm tired, I'm not a great mom. But, I try to tell myself, I am tired because I am a great mom.

While I used to be one of those who often wondered how single parents do it, I am now one of those that is asked how I do it. I never know how to answer that question, and usually just say "I just do, I have to."

There's no calculated formula, or plan for how I get through the days or the weeks when they are hard. I just get up in the morning.  I tend to my children, I hug them, I love them, I tell them I love them, I give them as much of me and my attention and time as I can, and hopefully get through the day with everyone happy, and healthy, in one piece and asleep in their beds by ten. I don't even really feel like I am doing it (single parenting) most days because it's become second nature. Good golly, the days fly by this way.

I never saw myself being a single mom, and I still struggle with calling myself a single mom, because they have a dad in their lives. He is trying to be better for them so someday I won't be a single mom, and they will have their dad back. But, I really, for now, am a single mom, I guess.

Single moms, or mothers who aren't necessarily single, but are doing the single parenting thing themselves (or maybe just solo parenting most of the time for whatever reason), I salute you. I don't know how you do it. But, you're doing it.

I know that, if you're like me, you're not sure how to embrace Mother's Day this year. My kids are still young enough that they don't really understand the concept, or why I do the things that I do for them. It's a bittersweet holiday if you once had someone there to make it feel important or special and this year it's on you.  

Well, moms-  know that I'm celebrating you and all you do to give your children everything you can. I'm celebrating your exhaustion and frustration and tears and joy. I want you to know that you are amazing. Your hard work and determination is paying off. 

I give you permission to look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself you're an awesome mom. You're phenomenal. 

I pray that you will celebrate you. I pray you will laugh and love and not cry.

Happy Mother's Day! I may not know you, but I love you.

Three, already.

Dear Spencer,

I must have blinked a few too many times this year, because it seemed the last 365 days flashed by in a rush. It cannot have been a full year since we celebrated your two full years on earth. Is it really possible?

Oh, sweet baby boy, my baby, grown much behind baby-hood, how I cherish you. I cherish you even more today, if possible, than the day you entered our lives.

You are the beautiful miracle that made me a mommy, and made Jake (as you were calling him last night) a daddy. I cannot imagine my life without you. I imagined becoming a mommy, dreamt of its splendor for so long, but could never have imagined how wonderful you would be.

Spencer, you are incredible. Do not let the world lead you to believe any different. At three years old, you are incredibly intelligent, so polite, kind, and loving (and mischievous, I won't lie). You are artistic and musical, resembling your father and I both so obviously. You make me laugh so hard, it wins over any frustration I find in times that are tough. 

Your kisses, your hugs, and every time you say "I love you so much," make every second of motherhood worthwhile.

I adore watching you play with your little brother. You may not always get along (and sometimes your fights are downright hilarious), but there is an unmistakable well of love for one another that flows between you. It is indescribably magnificent.

I love countless things about you, little man- the way you kiss your shadow on the wall, your glorious laugh, the overwhelming and contagious joy you find in a select few songs that causes your brother to join you in laughter, singing, and dancing, the way you will run from person to person throughout the house to give hugs, kisses, high fives, or shake hands, or how some early mornings you sneak out of your bed and cuddle up beside me, your love for trains and freight cars, the fact that it seems you occasionally dream about penguins and then feel the need to search your closet for them, how you tell me "good job" when I do simple things like pour Kix in your bowl, your ability to recite your favorite books word-for-word... and so many, many more things. You make it so easy to love you.

Dear boy, I want you to know that while some days I feel I may fail as a mother, I love you with every ounce of my being. I would lay down my life for you and your brother in an instant. I pray every day, nothing but the best that God can bless upon you. 

While every birthday is a little bittersweet (or maybe more than a little, as I realize I have tears on my cheeks), seeing another reminder that time passes so quickly, I look forward to celebrating each coming day with you. I cannot wait to see what your future holds.

I love you little buddy. 

Always and forever,

Mommy

Happy Due Date Day, Ollie!

Dear Collin,

It's hard to believe that it's been a full year since you were tucked away inside my body.

That's what you looked like one year ago.

I was so incredibly anxious to meet you. Not only because I had reached the point of constant discomfort weeks before, but because, one year ago, we didn't even know your name. To us, you were still Baby Bojangles. We didn't know if you were a boy or a girl, and we were finding it a bit agonizing to have to wait and find out.

For weeks, I had been having uncomfortable contractions, and thought maybe, just maybe you were arriving soon.

Goodness, I was wrong. Your stubborn (albeit adorable) little self decided to stay put. I spent the next thirteen days trying nearly everything I could to coax you to come out. I cried nearly every night, wondering why you weren't as excited to meet me as I was to meet you. 

And one year from your due date, you're walking around the living room, chewing on apples, laughing, smiling, and bringing us joy.

Someday, I will tell you these stories. Until then, I will just keep telling you "Happy Due Date Day, Ollie!" because it is absolutely adorable to see your face light up with your precious four-tooth grin as you squeal with delight at my greeting.  

Love, 

Mommy

To the Mommies at Heart

Mother's Day is a joyous day, a day in which the country celebrates motherhood. We celebrate and honor the mother who brought us into the world, the mother who raised us, the grandmothers, the aunts we looked up to as children, the honorary mother-figures in our lives...

And some of us are celebrated as well.


This will be the third year in which I have been able to hold a child of mine in my arms. This year, I will celebrate with two sons. I have been blessed with the burden and the joy of raising two little boys to become caring, compassionate, accepting, loving men. It is more joy than I ever imagined would come to fruition in my life. Yes, this year, I too, join the community of those women being celebrated on Mother's Day.

For the third, (or fourth, actually, as my husband sent me Mother's Day flowers the year I was pregnant with Spencer,) year now, Mother's Day will be spent with the love of my children.

And while I am elated that it is the case, I know how Mother's Day can sting.

While I have spent 30 Mother's Days on this earth now, celebrating the love and role of the mothers in my life (my mom, grandma, aunts, mothers-in-law, my deae friends who have become mothers- each has shown me immense love and helped shape not only who I am as a person, but also now who I am as a mother, and I cannot thank God enough for them in my life) there were many years where the holiday also stung a little bit. Sometimes, a lot.

Those years where I was unsure my body would bear children. Those years I was terrified I would never be a mother.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a mommy. When Jake fell in love with me, and me with him, I wondered, worried, hoped, and prayed I would be. I have always felt like a mother at heart. I have cared for more children than I can count, and sadly even remember, in many forms throughout my nearly 30 year life.

I remember the years of heartache and struggle so freshly as they were days ago. I can still feel the countless nights of endless tears as yet another month went by in which my mothering heart was without the promise of a child.

I know how lonely those journeys feel, even with a loving husband beside you.

But dear mothers at heart, you who silently, or publicly struggle to one day hold your baby in your arms, you are not alone.

Infertility awareness comes in October, and it doesn't feel like a day in which you celebrate your struggle, at least to me. There doesn't seem to be a day that honors you- mother at heart, as there is for the mother of a child.

But don't be fooled. You too, mother at heart, are being celebrated. If not by the masses, by me. It might not seem like much, and you may not even know me, but I walk along side you in your struggle. I'm here. You're with me, in my mothering heart, as I pray for your dreams to come true. I pray that although this year may sting as your womb or arms are empty, that next year, you will rejoice, next year, your mothering heart will be given to a piece of your body and soul. I pray you will have a child to hold. A young life to care for. I know it will not happen for everyone so easily, but I will not stop praying.

I will not stop honoring you. I will not stop feeling your struggle. I will not stop praying.

And infertility is not the only thing that can keep a baby from a mother at heart's arms. Some of you have yet to find your husband. And some of you are perhaps married to a woman and she also cannot provide a baby. But don't give up. Don't lose faith. I pray everything falls into place for you, too.  I am beside you as well.

I hope that you find ways to feel and embrace your mothering nature as you fight the battle that has been placed in your life. I hope there is somewhere a child you can love. A child you can embrace, care for, laugh with. For even then, that child will carry a piece of your mothering heart with them.

Perhaps you choose to not bear a child of your own, but care for children in other ways, through work, perhaps, or volunteering. Perhaps, you are an aunt. Perhaps you are one of those brave and selfless people who foster children whose mothers cannot care for them. I celebrate you as well.

Perhaps, you've suffered the heartbreaking loss of a child, either before or after seeing their face the first time or holding them in your arms. I celebrate you and your journey together that was cut much too short. You will always be a mommy. Do not forget it.

I celebrate each and every woman out there who cares for or so much as "just" loves a child. Each of those things is incredibly important, and you are of utmost significance in someone else's life. 

Happy Mother's Day, to all of you- the mothers of adults, of children, of the heart. You are each beautiful blessings to this world when each day you care for someone so deeply as a mother does.

(Join in on a Mother's Day blog party at CaringBridge: http://blog.caringbridge.org/mothers-day-blog-party)

A toddler tornado.

It's tornado season. Full force. Has been for months, at our house anyway.

Today has been especially chaotic.

Collin woke at 7:15. I tried for a good hour to get him back to sleep. At about 8:20, he seemed out. I was a lucky lady and fell asleep also, until I woke at 9:02 to the sound of water....

Oh my word. I rushed into the bathroom and found that Spencer had awoke quietly, dumped a bunch of stuff in the tub (roll of toilet paper, a diaper, toys, socks, puzzle pieces) where there was a small bit of water as the alligator was in there growing (one of those toys that sits in water and gets bigger). He was then scooping up the tub water with a fireman helmet and dumping it in the toilet. Amazingly, the bathroom floor was dry.

Okay. So I pulled the plug out of the drain and kicked him out of the bathroom. While I was taking things out if the tub, he was in our room waking Collin, and stripping the blankets and pillows off the bed again. To jump on it, of course.

That made Collin laugh, as usual, and then he was playing peekaboo, laying face down on the bed. Of course, this entire time I was trying to persuade him to let me fix his shirt, which was half off, and change his diaper. I figure it's easier on all if I wait until he is willing.

As he played I took pictures and noticed he uploaded a random background image I had downloaded of the moon into Instagram and apparently tweeted a photo of our bedding on twitter.

Finally, got that taken care of and we came downstairs for breakfast. I gave him a bowl of Apple Jacks (dry) and asked him to sit in the chair nice and eat them because Collin was going to use the high chair for his. He sat there a few minutes nicely, so I escaped to the kitchen to make coffee.

By the time I had coffee made and dishes started, SJ had snuck upstairs. I assumed he had finished his cereal and brought the bowl with to play (he loves containers), so I figured that was fine.

I hear him up there talking super loud nonsense for quite a while. Then, he yelled "Alligator Cat!"

I knew then he had my phone. Oh gosh. Apparently, he called the Verizon operator/robot lady. Then, text Desi a bunch.

I went upstairs to get it and found he had been eating his cereal on our bed.

Oh, and I then discovered he had taken 43 self-portraits, also.

Came back down stairs and he and Collin were playing, so I went back to the kitchen and started to take off my nail polish and he came running through and scared me (apparently I must have had the coffee jitters) and I spilled nail polish remover all over the cupboard, myself, and into my coffee.

I accidentally yelled "Damnit!"

Then, of course, he started yelling it while jumping all over.

Finally, we are calm. We are all watching a "Praise Baby" video.

It could be quite a long day.

I sometimes look at my kids, both in diapers, then reflect on days like today and think "what the crap were we thinking?!"

Guess, deep down, a part of me loves (or tolerates) the chaos, because I wouldn't trade these boys for anything.

Here, enjoy proof of my tornado season. Haha.

(And as I started getting these photos uploaded a certain someone decided that he should play butt naked on he stairs.)

Nap time yet?

Honest Mom: Confessional

Today, an online friend sent me a private message. In summary, it said something like:

With two little ones, how are you a stat-at-home-mom and seem happy all the time? Because, I'm not. I feel like I'm failing, even if my child is happy.



I sent her a very lengthy, thousand-thoughts-a-minute response. Unsure if it was really coherent, I asked another SAHM friend (or two or three) if it sounded okay.

After a little revision, I decided I would share my downright truthful response. You just never know who might be feeling the same and want to read something like it. So, with a sleeping 6.5 month old in my arms, here goes (thank you, iPhone for making this possible):

-------




Oh golly, I am not happy all the time! (I actually told her post-babbling that I felt my self-esteem boost when she said that I do, because lately, especially the last week or so, I feel like I complain too much.)

I'll be totally honest: I love bring a stat-at-home-mom it. Like crazy.

Compared to the alternative of having someone else see my kids more than I do, raising and teaching them, seeing their milestones before me, etc. But goodness knows there are days I want to lock myself in my room and cry. I confessed a few weeks ago something I thought was so terrible my husband would be ashamed to know me, I told him "I yelled at our baby to stop crying because I didn't know what to do for him!" I felt so wretched after I did it that I cried in the bathroom for a bit before calming him down.

Spencer (28 months old) is mischievous. He's fast, smart, talk, stubborn, and strong. He doesn't like to clean up toys yet, so my house always seems to look like an explosion happened, unless he's feeling helpful, or I clean up at night. He knows how to take advantage of nursing times to do the most of his mischief, and my brain doesn't w always function 100% so that I am proactive. I've tried redirection, time outs, stern voice, stern look, and slapping his wrists. He doesn't bend from his will easily. I found if I flick his forehead, it's most effective. Some days though, it's enough to make me wish he could spend all day in his high chair.

Collin (6.5 months old) last week, refused to nap unless he was attached to my boob. He wasn't even eating! he just wanted to be attached to my chest. It was wretched. It was one of those weeks where those breakfast shake powder drinks were my nutritional sanity, because most days it seemed like I didn't get "real food" until two or three in the afternoon and supper until Jake was home. The boys were on opposite nap schedules half the week and generally, taking turns being unhappy or needy all day long.

I very rarely have any quiet mommy tome unless they nap at the same time. And, they stay up late, because Jake works from seven or eight to at least eight to eleven six days a week.

But yeah, somehow, I stay pretty positive. There are so many beautiful and happy moments that keep me smiling. I photograph them with my phone as much as possible and in down time I find myself looking at them and sharing then with others.

I try to play with the boys frequently. It can be really hard. I am an adult of course, and even as a child I wasn't crazy playful, I don't believe, so playing toys and make believe and horsing around doesn't always come easily.

Spencer loves to read books and draw and make music, so we do a lot of that. He likes to sing, so if I'm dealing with Collin, I am usually singing with him or repeating something they think is funny fifty seven million times.

I tickle torture them and we sing and dance a lot. I hate dancing but they think its funny. Last night, Jake came home to me running from one side of the room toward Collin with a fake evil laugh to get him to squeal and laugh, back to the other side for Spencer to give me a hug, tell me he loves me, and then have him tell me to get Collin again. Twenty minutes. It was, oddly, a great workout. Haha.

But the boys both do a lot of independent play too. Collin plays on the floor and watches Spencer. Spencer spends half the day driving vehicles in different locations in the house.

We play in the basement as a group once or twice a day. It's the toy den where most toys are located. Spencer plays alone down there, too, but he loves it even more if Collin and I are down there, too.

And, to be completely honest, my "bad mom" side throws on some movie a few times a day (we don't have tv channels). I say that with quotation marks, because I don't believe any more that it makes me a terrible mother.

Partially, TV is just for background noise that I know isn't going to teach spencer naughty words or phrases. They don't sit and watch it all day, but it's usually on. It catches their attention a few minutes here and there and drowns out other noises like car door slamming, traffic, the washer and dryer. That way, it's noise other than crying if someone is unhappy.

I felt guilty about it for a while, but then SJ started interacting with it if I was busy (answering questions the characters pose) , he repeats phrases and sings along with the songs. I use Elmo, blues Clues, to help learn because they really do teach (that's how he learned some of his colors), and he also likes Dinosaur Train, Thomas the Train (I HATE Thomas. I often use him to have a few quiet moments in the bathroom or kitchen and to not be in the room), Cars 1&2, Toy Story 1&3, Monsters Inc, the Lion King, and the Veggie Takes Solly Song Countdown. I know tv isn't great for you, but it's better than some things. And, I feel Ike the things I let play help, as I said, with learning: colors, shapes, numbers, letters, words, and memory exercises. And lets be honest, it's winter and in South Dakota, it's freezing. This morning, the sun shine crazy bright and the temperature was -13 degrees. Can't really play in that cold. And if the option is available, I always have subtitles on. Spencer LOVES pointing out letters

Being a SAHM was really hard once SJ started moving and knowing what he wanted but couldn't communicate and get it. So frustrating.

I started introducing new games or activities then. Playdough. Floam. Bubbles in the bathtub. I would blow them while he was taking a bath because if he was wet he could catch them. Glow sticks and light up toys in the dark. Sidewalk chalk paint. Balloons. Giant bubbles outside in the summer, I liked to save new stuff for days I just did NOT feel like playing. Around this time, I was pregnant with Collin, and over the summer (which was SO WRETCHED HOT (100 or more degrees a lot of the time)) I was in my third trimester. My dad gave SJ an inflatable pool for the yard. But, the summer was hard, and I was so miserable I didn't feel like doing much, and felt like the worst mom ever quite often, because of it.

Anyway, now that SJ is talking and more self sufficient, it's a bit less frustrating, but he also has his tantrums and he is LOUD. I try to just sing and play with Collin and ignore him mostly. It doesn't always work. Sometimes, I cry too.

But it's totally okay to not interact with my children constantly. Really. I'm with them 98% or so of their awake time and have been since they were born. So, even spending half if every hour with then directly interacting seems like a lot.

I had guilt about not giving my undivided attention constantly fir quite a while. However, kids need to be okay entertaining themselves. It encourages independence and creativity. It happens at daycare. Why can't it happen at home?

Being a SAHM means house chores. Feeding kids. Cleaning kids. Cleaning up after kids. And more. Trying to remember that MOM IS IMPORTANT too and it's okay to go to the bathroom before you engage in a playtime activity, etc. and it's all day every day, usually. I know that moms who work outside the home have these issues too. In no way am I downsizing whatever plight is there. I just know, from experience working outside the home, your messes are usually a bit fewer, less dishes, etc. to do because you're not in the house constantly. And, some of us even take on a way to work at home producing income. That takes time away for your kids, too, but that's still okay.

Sometimes the boys are so crabby playing by themselves and I want to lose it . Sometimes, I lay on the floor near them and play a few games on my phone,check Facebook, whatever, and they're fine because I'm near.

I used to feel bad about having my phone on me most of the day, but you know what? I don't anymore. It's not that I'm engaged in activities that are taking up air of time when I have it on me. I save that for naps. But, I am sending texts, taking pictures if the boys, sharing them, updating my Facebook occasionally, interacting on Facebook . Stuff like that. I think it's okay, because I am otherwise shut in this house 14 or so hours a day with a toddler and an infant with no adults to have conversation with. So you bet your bottom I am sending and receiving texts that take, on average, a few seconds to read and reply to. If it weren't for my phone, I would be shut off from the outside world, largely.

I think it's all about letting go of "mommy guilt." I was always worried I was doing this wrong or that wrong. Not enough attention. Too much. Too much tv. Too many snacks. Letting Spencer carry a dippy cup around instead of constantly taking him in and out if a high chair. Not enough reading books. Not enough messy time. Breast feeding. Formula feeding. My house is too messy. The beds aren't made.

There are so many things that make a mom feel guilty and that she's not doing a good job. Or that she's failing. I think at some point, nearly every mom feels a failure. It can last mere minutes, or a really long time. But chances are, if you care enough about being a failure, you're probably not actually failing. You are likely doing a much better job than you think. Look at your child and see how much they love you! When I feel bad about my mothering, I like to look at Spencer especially. He's the older one, so it's easier to see the fruits of my labors. He is so sweet. Full of hugs and kisses. He is so smart. He is funny. He is WONDERFUL. He loves me and shows it through hugs, kisses, words, and face it, his desire to be near me or "bugging" me or "helping" me ALL THE TIME.

So... I'm babbling and I don't know if any if this helped or not. But yeah, overall, I'm crazy happy being a sahm with two crazy kids.

I complain to my husband, usually more than once a day I think and I was worried he thought I didn't want to do it anymore, so, I clarified to him that everyone dislikes something about what they do, I think. Coworkers. Activities, what have you.

Sometimes, I dislike what my kids are doing (screaming, pooping like crazy, not letting me eat, whatever), and because they are my kids I felt bad saying it, but those who work outside the home get to complain to someone, usually and they aren't wretched or evil employees.

It's kind of the same as complaining about something at home. I shouldn't feel bad about it because in general I love it. He understood and now I don't feel bad. He knows that if I don't get to vent from time time I'm going to go crazy, because a two year old and six month old dont really provide an outlet for conversation like that.

I'm here whenever if any mom need to blow up or anything. I don't mind. We're in this "business" together.

Oh- and also. With Jake working so much and having our only vehicle, by Sunday I feel like I might lose my mind most weeks. I'm lucky that, against my will sometimes, he kicks me out for a few hours. I usually do nothing more than run errands alone, but it's nice to not have to be at home with the kids and be in my own little world without the interruption of diapers or "more juice!"

And it makes me feel good coming home and having them all happy to have me back.

And one Sunday a month I have the day off from housework because I felt like Jake got time off from what he does, but because I live my job that I really didn't, and that helps recharge, too. Not everyone may feel that way or need that, and props if you're one who doesn't. In the interest of self-preservation, I had to be completely honest with myself and my husband, and admit that I do. I was scared to ask, but as usual, it was my mommy guilt telling me I shouldn't feel that way, and he did not object at all. I think that if daddy really understands what SAHMommy goes through, he is a lot more willing to help than mommy thinks, in general. Heck, sometimes, on my "day off," help out anyway just because I don't feel like a maid on those says. Haha. And while I was so worried about toy messes and junk, I finally had it pounded into my head enough by a few non-judge mental people that love me dearly- it's messy because I have kids and because I spend time with them instead of just cleaning up after them. (Well, at least that explains the toys, not our problem of adult clutter.. Haha.)

AND one day EVERY WEEK for a few hours, I have another friend who brings her three year old son over in the morning. The kids play and we have coffee and talk. It's the highlight if our week. Every week. We've missed once since August, it's that important to us. If you don't have someone who can have a standing play date, maybe Skype or something?

Jake ALWAYS does baths now. It's his one on one time with the boys and my break in the week. I usually do dishes without SJ begging at my legs, or watch a tv on DVD episode and actually get to watch it. I rarely go near them during bath time. Haha.

Lastly, I found things that I can do for ME, a few minutes here and there, to get a break. I sew a few minutes worth of projects or paint my nails. I have an ongoing notebook/journal letter for a friend I pen my thoughts in. I take a photo. They don't take a lot of time, but they se to give enough of a break that I can keep rolling with the tantrums and changing the diapers and cleaning up the toys and LOVING my job.