There are still stories to tell {motherhood}

A few weeks ago I wrote about breaking my New Year's resolution, which is to write. I had been doing what I do best, procrastinating and finding anything and everything to do but write. It was mostly driven by fear, fear of failing, fear of falling, fear of finishing. When you set your heart on something, what do you do when it's over? I have a story that I'm writing, and what will I do when I'm done. And what will I do if it sucks?

It's scary.

I didn't realize it then, but I was also filled with the fear that my stories about motherhood were done as well. I've been writing this blog since 2011, as my girls get older the struggles are less, but they are just manifestations of previously told stories. More tears and snot, less boobs and poop. The general feelings stay the same, I'm always afraid of failing in some form or another, but in the end I'm always happy and sappy. As I began writing this year, and pushing myself to publish more on this blog, I became afraid. How long will I really be able to write about motherhood? Sure I'm a mother forever, but will anyone still want to read how after all this time I still don't have my shit together? The potential answer scares me.

Then last Tuesday I got my answer.

I woke up late, daylight savings, and we were in a mad dash to get to school before the warning bell. Caitlin had been struggling with her allergies since the weekend, and the lack of sleep was really ruining her life (according to her). We got to school with moments to spare, and dropped Mac off at her classroom just in time. Caitlin and I walked to the playground where she waits for her teacher, and just when I thought I was free and clear, the tears started. I surprised myself by being kind. I surprised myself by listening and not yelling. I surprised myself by actually listening to her. She did look miserable, and I thought, what is one day? One day of laying on the couch, watching cartoons and eating junk. I looked at her with fresh eyes, and knew, today was not her day.

In my mind I knew this was going to throw a wrench in my day. I had to be at work in a half hour. I still had to call my mom to make sure she could stay there. I had to drive her to my mom's house and call my manager to tell her I would most certainly be there, just a little late. I tried hard not to show my stress, but a little boiled over. Again I surprised myself by not freaking out on the outside, but I was totally freaking out on the inside. I was going over the "to do in less than thirty minutes" list in my head when I turned the corner to the parking lot.

And there, right in the grass, was another mother with her son puking in the grass.

There was my sign. This day was not even a little bad or screwed. This day could be a whole hell of a lot worse. This day was just fine.

In my mind, I told myself I had this day. Whatever this day was. I got Caitlin to my mom's and got to work on time. The sun was shining and I only had to pick up one kid from school. We got home in plenty of time to prep dinner. We even went to be early that night. All signs were pointing to YES.

Yes, "I still have stories to tell. I still have lessons to learn, and blessing to celebrate. I still have chaos and joy and a little bullshit to share. So just tell that story".

The signs and the message were clear. I'm not done here. I'm still me, I'm still insecure on most days. Insecure about motherhood or life, or that extra ten pounds around my middle. I'm still confident on odd numbered days (some even ones too). Confident in my voice, confident in my story. Confident that I'm hiding those extra ten pounds. Motherhood is dynamic, no two days are alike. I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful that it still hasn't swallowed me whole, even though it threatens to. I'm grateful that I'm still fighting.

There are still stories to tell here, and I will continue to write them. Because just when you think you've run our of perspective to share, there's a mother with her puking kid showing you that you are dead wrong.

It's the little things

I'm going to take a moment to brag a little. I think I'm entitled. Most times when I sit down to write about motherhood it's usually about what I've completely effed up. This time, just for a bit, I'm going to brag about how wonderful and put together I can be if I try. I'm going to brag about how I set a goal and reached it in a full twenty four hours. Today, just for this post I'm going to toot my own horn.

Toot. Toot.

Because this kind of shit is so rare, I've got to take a minute.

Damn I feel like Kanye and all you guys are Taylor.

But seriously. I'm awesome because...

We got to Muffins with Mom by SEVEN TEN in the MORNING.

The picture to prove it!
That's right. Muffins with Mom opens at seven and I pulled into the parking lot at seven oh seven. We walked into the multipurpose room at seven ten. We stood in line for our picture and had our muffins and juice at our table by seven fifteen. We finished by seven thirty which gave us plenty of time to get to the book fair. Obviously you can't have a parent function at the school and not have a fundraiser where you can spend upwards of a hundred dollars on educational things. Like books. Because, duh. We were in and out of the book fair so fast that we had time to sit and enjoy our books.

We were that awesome last Thursday. I'm sharing because in past years we showed up at a quarter to eight and almost missed getting our picture taken all together. I'm sweaty in that years pictures out of pure anxiety and stress, because I didn't want to be "that mom". We've waited in line for muffins that we had to wolf down in ten minutes. We've listened to the warning bell as we waited to pay for our book fair books in the library, ten or twelve people in front of us.

I'm sharing this story because it was a success for all of us. Me and the girls. Let me also add that it was the first week of daylight savings time. Perhaps it was the delirious exhaustion that set in, but I was able to get up with my first alarm. Not only did I put on make up, but I did my hair, with a flat iron! Caitlin got up the second time I asked, and okay, maybe I got Mackenzie dressed in the dark, but we made it. We got there with plenty of time. I set a goal of getting there at seven, and we pretty much made it, give or take ten minutes. In mom time, that's on time. Am I right?

For me the most important thing about Thursday is that it shows that I'm capable. I don't always think so. Even as my girls are about to turn six and nine (don't even get me started), I still have days, mornings, nights where I ask myself, can I really do this shit? Can I really be someones mother? The answer is always yes, whether I feel that way or not. Of course I can, obviously, I'm currently mother to two girls. Still, sometimes when I'm fumbling around, it feels false. There are more days that I feel like it's really hard to be a mom, than days where I feel capable.

I read a blog post last week about a mom who would always turn down play dates and coffee dates because it seemed like such a daunting task to pack up a newborn and a toddler. I wanted to make a video where I danced around with my hands in the air saying "Amen" so I could post it in her comments section. I get that one hundred percent. I used to be that mom. I still feel like that mom, things like Muffins with Mom, Donuts with Dad, Eating for Everyone (okay I made that one up), make me sweat and have panic attacks. School events always make me feel like there is so much pressure to show up in our best clothes, with our hair done, and make up on. I didn't feel so much of that pressure this year, and maybe that's what made all the difference. Even with it being St. Patrick's Day, I wasn't worried about the matching outfits for the girls. I was more concerned with getting there on time, having an easy going morning. No rushing around. No yelling. No stress and anxiety. Most importantly, no tears. We did that and we were happier for it.

Today, I'm bragging about this one little thing that we did, that feels like a big ol' thing that we did. I'm pretty sure I can count on one hand the number of times that we have had a morning like last Thursday. It still surprises me that motherhood holds so many lessons. I'm still learning. I'm always learning new ways to mother. New ways to be patient and kind and more loving. Last Thursday was one of those days. It's totally worth celebrating.

Because you can bet your ass that I'll be back very soon telling the tale where I effed it all up. A time when everyone cried, and I made a big deposit to our "therapy" fund.

Crushing on: Music {Three Things Thursday}

A major goal this year is to engage this wonderful blogging community consistently. What better way than to link up with blog friends! Together, the three of us came up with Three Things Thursday. Just three things to talk or write about. Five seemed like too many and "one thing" was like we weren't even trying! So any three things that are on your mind. Any three pictures from Instagram. Three complaints about your day/week. Three of your favorite treats. Seriously. Any three things! 
So write it. Publish it. Yell it from the mountain tops! 
Just be sure you come back and link it up here!

For some extra fun follow us on Instagram for some three things posts! 
Use the #threethingsthursday, and let's start talking!

We are so excited to welcome Erin, from Living in Yellow to the link up today! The three of us got the chance to meet Erin at Elevate a few years ago and girlfran does not disappoint! She is just as lovely and spirited in real life as she is on screen. She is kindness and happiness personified! On her blog, Living in Yellow, you will find fashion tips, humor, food and wine, and fun travel diaries. Visit Erin to not only 'live in yellow', but to live out loud! You can catch her on Instagram here.

Three things I'm crushing on this week? Music, the soundtrack of life!


On Tuesday, Caitlin stayed with my mom because her allergies were terrible. Translation, the time change and allergies had attacked and she was in no shape to be at school. After I picked up Mackenzie, we circled back to my parents house, where I found my Dad cleaning out his closet. Instead of piles of clothes, I found crates of vinyl. I dived right in. It was magical and glorious. It smelled like my childhood and my adolescence wrapped in one. Just like I love the smell of old, well loved books, I also love the smell of well loved vinyl. I was in heaven. My Dad and I were immediately lost in the world of music, together, which has always been our thing. I'm pretty sure I knew the words to Hey Jude before the Itsy Bitsy Spider. He asked me if I wanted all these albums when he died, which to most people would seem a little morbid, but to us, it was just a matter of priorities. Of course I want these priceless treasures. Even now, it wasn't surprising that I walked right over the the crates and started pulling out albums, gasping and yelling, and saying, "Hell YES!". Music, it's my thing. Music inspires me, quiets me, thrills me. Note by note.


This is kind of a cheat because it's actually four things, but four incredibly beautiful things. Here you have a glimpse of the soundtrack of my adolescence. Add in some Magical Mystery Tour and some Weezer, and I'm pretty sure this sounds like freshman and sophomore year. I think it's telling that not one, but two Cure albums popped up, as I'm going to see them in May. I found a first press of Joshua Tree, which had me reeling. Then in the bottom left corner is Gish, by Smashing Pumpkins. I can't wait to bring these home and listen to them on the world's oldest record player. 


Another treasure was found on Tuesday as my Dad cleaned out his room. As you can see Caitlin is wearing an old radio headset from the early 80s. Years before the Walkman, decades before the Discman, and what seems like centuries before the iPod, this was how you listened to music on the go. It still can broadcast local FM radio, which was pretty cool when we found some Billy Joel. Caitlin wore it for the better part of an hour, letting me know when she found any Taylor Swift or Justin Bieber. Of all the things to love, she loves this prehistoric music machine. Which makes me happy in so many ways, because it doesn't matter how you hear the music, as long as you're listening and singing along. I guess this apple doesn't fall far from the tree. 

That's it for this edition of Three Things Thursday. Find me on Instagram today and say hello! And if you are so inclined, link up with us and share your three things today!

Nothing lasts forever {co-sleeping, motherhood, and time}

Most mornings I wake up with children in my bed. Of course they are mine, because otherwise that would be weird. Still, with an almost nine year old and an almost six year old many of you may, in fact, think it's weird.

To me, this is normal. In fact it's become somewhat of a comfort. After all those years of worrying about sleep training and bed times and routines, I find I no longer mind waking up with a hand on my face or a small fry snuggled into my back. My kids do sleep the majority of the night in their beds. We start out there, I promise, but somewhere around three or four I have a little person climb in. Sometimes I feel it and know, other times I wake up with an extra body in the bed.

I kind of like that. I like waking up to find a smiling face next to me. Or waking up to a really serene face, absent of tears or anger that will most certainly pop up during the day. I have yet to find a better greeting than a smiling face on the pillow next to me.

You all must think I'm nuts. Musical beds is a horrible thing to experience in the middle of the night. Night waking, sleep walking, trips to the potty, I must be a crazy person. When Caitlin was a baby, I would have already stopped reading this blog post and called my best friend to complain about that dumb bitch blogger who things co-sleeping is magical.

But co-sleeping is magical if it's what you want.

I didn't always want co-sleeping. Not even a little when I began my journey as a mother. Co-sleeping was the absolute worst thing you could do to your child and your marriage. Co-sleeping was for those crunchy granola moms who lived on communes. Babies, I was told, sleep in cribs, then toddler beds, then in real beds. If they don't sleep on their own, then the answer was to let them cry, show them whos boss, and if you don't, then they will most definitely end up a serial killer or a college drop out.

True story. In my early days of parenting this was almost biblical law.

I fought that battle. I cried it out while we collectively cried it out. I argued with the Hubbs for weeks and months. I spent months trying to sleep train a child who hated her crib, who couldn't abide by a swing, who to this day never sleeps in the car. Never. I spent months feeling like the worlds worst mother, lying to people who asked about my child's sleep schedule and bed time routines.

Why? For what?

I was embarrassed. I was afraid of judgment. I was afraid I had failed.

Today, waking up to my sleeping child in my bed does not feel like failure.

If I'm honest, it feels like love.

A few Saturdays ago, I woke to Miss Mac playing with my hair. She was in my bed, on my side, after crawling in overnight. When I opened my eyes, she smiled that crazy, missing one tooth, up to no good smile. I loved it. It was an amazing way to wake up, and it was a moment I just wanted to bottle for future reference, because this won't last forever. One day, before I know it, she will be a teenager. A teenager that sleeps over at her friends. Our little moments, the magical ones, they will happen less and less. I get that. I get that while I was fighting so hard for my girls to sleep in their own beds, I was kind of missing the point. The point that all those moments, the good and the bad are fleeting. The point that giving in is sometimes the best thing for everyone. Even if it feels a little like failure in the beginning, it just may have a perfectly rational and equally wonderful silver lining.

Nothing in motherhood lasts forever. NOTHING. Your co-sleeping thing, if you are doing it, will vanish eventually. If you are having trouble with breastfeeding, soon that won't matter either, you'll be on to some other struggle like solids or teething. That baby that wants you to hold her so much and for so long, she'll be walking soon. It sucks. All of it, because time is a bitch, motherhood is her BFF, and one day, all that hard shit will end, and you'll cry. You'll have a big fat ugly cry, because you made it, and because you you know you can never go back.

You can't go back to the hard stuff thank God, but you can't go back to the great stuff either.

Co-sleeping isn't for everyone. You may be reading this now and wondering how my husband and I have alone time. I promise we have plenty. Also we use the lock on our bedroom door, duh. Feelings of guilt, inadequacy, and failure aren't for everyone either. In fact they are not for me. Not if I'm going to be a good mother. I can't be worried about judgment and guilt if I'm going to "mother" today. It's just not possible. At the end of the day, I am a good mother. I'm not perfect. I'm not entirely sane. I'm just good. As good as I can be, and probably better than I was yesterday.

I wake up with my kids in my bed, and hit the snooze button.

And if I could hit the snooze button on this moment in motherhood right now, I most certainly would.

OMG YASS: Three Things Thursday {three/ten/sixteen}

A major goal this year is to engage this wonderful blogging community consistently. What better way than to link up with blog friends! Together, the three of us came up with Three Things Thursday. Just three things to talk or write about. Five seemed like too many and "one thing" was like we weren't even trying! So any three things that are on your mind. Any three pictures from Instagram. Three complaints about your day/week. Three of your favorite treats. Seriously. Any three things! 
So write it. Publish it. Yell it from the mountain tops! 
Just be sure you come back and link it up here!

For some extra fun follow us on Instagram for some three things posts! 
Use the #threethingsthursday, and let's start talking!

Warning: If you hate the use of "OMG" and "YASS", just stop right here. Otherwise welcome my internet loving friends. Join me for this session of #threethingsthursday!

Three things that made me say OMG, YASS this week:


I'm super offended by theses four letter words. I'm also the worst housewife in the world. Here is a true story for you, and I'm not sharing this because #AbsoluteHubbs is a saint. We all have our things. Mine is not housework. Fact. So last weekend when me and the girls were slinging Girl Scout cookies at a booth on a Sunday morning, AbsoluteHubbs spent that time cleaning the living room and kitchen. Because he knew damn well that if he wanted it done he would have to do it himself. I know I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. I'm not saying I don't do any housework, I'm just saying it's never done consistently. So this quote got all the YASSS.


What makes me laugh about this isn't really what it says. Sure it's funny, but this was posted by Melinda Gates. Yes, that Gates. She's married to and she's posting this shiz like it's the gospel. Let's be honest, this may show (and I'm totally assuming and I'm totally admitting it) that Melinda Gates isn't that different from you and I. At some point she has put her man first before herself. Really who hasn't? Still I can't help but think that Melinda is a member of this tribe who strives to be that perfect little housewife all our mothers ran away from and burned their bras for, only to have their daughters cry about failed Pinterest projects. Shit just got real.


Honestly, if I could insert some emoji hands right now I would. Viola Davis is queen these days because her portrayal of Analise Keating is on point. She makes you love Analise, then hate her, then feel sorry for her, then want to yank the weave right off her head. And yes, the world knows that's not her real hair, so for the arguments sake we can "rip her weave off" if we had the opportunity . Anyway, I loved this quote as printed in People Magazine. Viola holds nothing back for her craft, even if that means blowing out her back in that scene from season 1 with Nate. GET. IT. GIRL. She says she was "committed" to that scene. To quote my friend's comment from my post on Instagram,

Ummmm... We were all committed to that scene. Real committed.

I hope you all are having a fabulous week. Did you know I posted something earlier in the week? Of course not, because I am terrible at self promotion. I'm also terrible at posting on this blog lately too. Don't be like me and post three things of your own today to link up with us! We'd love to have you join us! See you next week.

Resolution Broken

Last week I broke my 2016 resolution. I watched it happen. I felt it happen. Still I ignored it. I stuck my head in the sand and made excuse after excuse, and let myself consciously break my resolution for 2016.

I didn't write a single word. My resolution was to write, my word of the year is write, and still, I gave nothing last week.

Not on this blog. Not in a notebook. Not on a computer.

I didn't even look for a six word story to write on Twitter.

I just ignored that voice in the back of my head that said, put those roots down girlfriend.

I'll be honest. There were a few stories rolling around in this head of mine. There are a few characters begging to be let out. I'm not crazy, in case you are worried, I'm just a writer.

I spent the weekend trying to figure out why I'm having such a hard time WRITING. Writing anything, these days. In the past I have been able to spark my writing with a song or a picture. I've been able jump on Pinterest and find a quote or a picture and grab even the tiniest bit of inspiration. This week, not so much. What is holding me back these days? Where is the source of my writers block?

My writing is changing. I'm diving into more and more fiction these days, telling the stories of other people. Made up characters with made up personalities. I'm having a hard time coming to this blog with original stories about myself and motherhood, because my head has been somewhere else. Sure, I'm still experiencing motherhood in all it's imperfect glory. There are still days that knock me off my feet, but those stories aren't as exciting as the ones that are happening in my fictional worlds. I still want to maintain this blog and bring you great stories of how I'm surviving the best and worst parts of motherhood, but sometimes I feel like those stories are just revamped stories that I've told before. Sometimes I feel like my motherhood material isn't so original like it used to be.

Do I think I'm writing the next best seller? Not really, I'm just diving into this unknown world of fiction and I have to say that I like it. I really like this little world I'm building around characters I love and other characters that I don't. Whether or not it's the next great American novel, I'm not ready to share any of their parts just yet.

Am I afraid?

Damn right.

The Hubbs has said, why don't you just write the damn thing, but I always have an excuse at the ready. My neighbor told me that all my best excuses aren't really excuses for not writing, but excuses to not be afraid... Bingo. I've read so many books on writing, but what good will they do me if I'm not writing? All the books say the same thing, "Write". It really is that easy, but for my entire life I always do things the hard way. I procrastinate. I get scared and stop before I even get started. It's a disease and a sickness, and I swear I'm working on it.

Today, I'm thinking about all the writing I want to do. Even if I think it's crap, someone else may not. Today I'm thinking about that 2016 resolution that has nothing to do with getting skinny or eating better, but finally doing what I set out to do in 2011 when I started this blog... To write. To publish. To write some more.

Today I'm declaring that I failed at this 2016 resolution thing, because don't we all? I'm also declaring that I'm not going to fail at this resolution for the rest of 2016. I'm just going to keep writing, as best and as often as I can, even if it's on the back of a receipt in the check out line at the grocery store.

Because that's what writers do.

They write.

Even when they don't.