The noise {no-reply commenters}

There has to be something poetic if not ironic about receiving a very negative comment on the same day your blog is having it's fourth anniversary. I mean four years ago, any comment would have made me swoon. But last Wednesday? Not so much. Negative comments can sting, they can piss you off, but more than that, they can really make you think.

I've never claimed to be an expert on anything, well, maybe Grey's Anatomy. But I sure as heck have never considered myself an expert on motherhood, stay at home or otherwise. Still, I can understand that sometimes I can come across as a know it all. This is also a problem in real life too, so when I wrote my Working Mom post last week, I was kind of nervous at how working moms would receive it. It wasn't that I was pitting one group of mothers against the other, I was just saying, Hey you warrior mamas, I get it now. I get that I was once a whiny cry baby about things that were kind of stupid, and it took becoming a working mom myself to realize how hard motherhood in general is, no matter what side of the grass you stand on...

But not everyone read it that way.

Here is the thing about last week's negative comment. It had an air of truth. I am a constant complainer. The Hubbs would tell you that I am constantly and consistently a "half empty" person. I fall into shame spirals daily. I am hard on myself. I constantly want to be perfect, even though I will preach day in and day out on this blog that perfection is stupid. Perfection is stupid, but that doesn't mean it still doesn't bug me and jeer me from the sideline. And so I complain when things are less than perfect.

I'm also lazy. I'll admit that too. And spoiled. I am an only child, so for the better half of my life the world really did revolve around me. If you knew my parents in real life you would totally understand.  I don't put my dishes in the sink. I never make my bed. I will procrastinate and check Instagram one million and three times before changing the laundry, doing the dishes, or starting dinner. And if one of my favorite shows is on, forget it. You will find me binge watching whatever marathon is on. That is just who I am.

So when I read some negativity last week about me as a person, I took pause. Then I got pissed, because there was some truth to it, but then I got really mad because I couldn't respond to the commenter. There was no way to start a conversation...

She's a no reply commenter.

Ugh.

And no, I don't want to reply just to rip her to shreds. I want to reply so that we can share more of our stories. She says that I should grow up, like her and her ten hour a day job, with two toddlers, that she made a conscious decision to have. That I should stop being a constant complainer, which is a major reason she quit reading my blog. And it's great that she has her own opinion of me, but what about my opinion of her? Can I really form one? Maybe that ten hour a day job is one that she loves, one that she put herself through school to do. Maybe she does it well, and maybe, since she's always worked her babies no longer cry for her on a constant basis. Maybe she feels zero guilt. Maybe she is living her dream, and stupid mommy bloggers like me shit all over her ideals and goals. Maybe she is a hero for us all, with clean baseboards, homemade baby food in the fridge, and kids who sleep in their own beds and through the night. Maybe this is what makes her happy.

Because if she is happy, then that is fantastic. I'm happy for her.

My story on the other hand is very different. Even though I live my life on this blog, maybe I haven't always been honest about how I got here. For this no reply comment to imply that I'm not an adult who didn't make a conscious decision to have children really ticks me off. I'll be thirty seven this year, and while I may be a thirty seven year old complainer, I did make a very conscious decision to have children. I also made the equally conscious decision to stay home with them. That has been the plan from the very beginning. But when we could not financially support that anymore, I made the conscious decision to go back to work so we could stay in our house and keep Mackenzie in school. Me working outside the home was not my dream, not right now anyway, and I get to be devastated and sad about that. I get to be disappointed that I'm not longer the room mother. I get to be disappointed that I've missed a majority of Mackenzie's years just before she starts school full time. I get to be sad about those things. No matter what some no-reply commenter has to say about it.

I also take offense to the fact that because I complain about things on my blog it must mean that I complain about them all the time at home. Sure, I do complain at home, but this blog is my release. It's where I come for therapy. It's where I write all the ugly down, and then let it go when I hit publish. To imply that I'm setting a horrible example for my girls is just plain bullshit. I'm setting one hell of an example for my girls. My girls will always know that they have a choice and a voice. They will always know that they can express their emotions, even if they may not be favorable, let's say for example, if they are complaining. My daughters will always know that Mommy has multiple endeavors at any given time that include, motherhood, writing, working, or career. My daughters will always know that I love them and that this choice is temporary. That one day, Mommy won't be in this season. They will know that love is unconditional, and that life is hard and sometimes a little foggy.

All of that is okay. Because life is okay. And my life will always be different from yours fellow reader and/or no-reply commenter. Because we want different things, like different things, and believe different things. And all of that is just fine. In fact, my daughters will be better for it.

The most important lesson though is that my daughters will always know that they can use their voice. Just like I'm using mine, and always sign their name to it. You see, for every no-reply commenter, there is a person, behind a screen, silencing her own voice. Silencing her very own opinion. That is not the lesson I'm teaching. I'm teaching my daughters to use their voice, put their stamp on it, sign their name to it. I'm teaching them not to hide. I'm teaching them to shout from the mountain tops. Even if their opinion is unfavorable. Even if it sounds like they are complaining.

Receiving a negative comment was a bummer. In the four years I've been blogging, I can count the negative comments on my hand. That can't be a bad thing. Because for every negative comment, I receive four more. Four good, thoughtful comments, oftentimes thanking me for using my voice. For writing down the things that others are too afraid to say. Thanking me for talking about the hard stuff, even on the days it sound like complaining. Yes, that's right, sometimes I'm thanked for all the complaining that I do...

Who am I to complain about that?

How the f*ck is it November 17th?

I spent Sunday night in bed with a box of tissues. I wasn't sick, and it wasn't for very long, but I was having all of the feels. A missed form that should have gotten turned in to Caitlin's school last week, set my emotional breakdown for November in motion. Because I have an emotional breakdown every month. Because I'm a woman and that's the way of the world.

Perfectly Imperfect

This is the first shot I've seen of our family photos. We took them on Sunday.  They were taken by my talented and beautiful cousin Rachel, who is only 15.  I'll blog about her talented and beautiful self later.  I have to say the weekend on the coast was great.  Sure there were moments I wish I could forget, but for the most part it was near perfect.

We were on the coast, well Salinas anyway, to celebrate my grandparent's 60th wedding anniversary.  Yes, 60.  What's more amazing, is that both sets of my grandparents are living, and both sets are celebrating 60 years of marriage this year.  First in October, then now in November.  Have I mentioned that I am incredibly blessed?  In the last few years I have become more aware at how lucky I am, that my girls are able to love and be loved by my grandparents.  I read once, I think on a frame, that "good grandparents" become "great grandparents".  It's something that stayed with me, because in my life it's very true.

Both sets of my grandparents have been incredible role models for marriage.  I think this is because marriage is a job.  It's a career and a mission you take on when you say "I do".  My grandma Fran will tell you she's still married to my grandpa Arch because it would be "too damn" hard to start over with anyone else... She really said that one time.  My grandma Chila will tell you that "the man upstairs" has a plan for you, and good or bad you follow it.  I'd say both are pretty much right.

So don't let the photo above fool you.  I've had some great comments on this photo on Facebook, and I appreciate them all.  Looking at that picture I'd say, yes, that's a beautiful perfect family.  However, it's my family, and I know the truth.  We are so far from perfect.  Let's go behind the scenes...

John and I fought that morning.  I was nagging him to get ready.  He wanted to watch football... Blah, blah blah.  The truth is we fight.  A lot.  If I said otherwise it would be a big fat lie.  I don't hide the fact that we fight.  We have been fighting since we met, as in, we were having an argument with each other before we knew each other's names.  We have fought in public, like in bars and such, and we fight at home, while the kids are asleep, or even sometimes awake.  It's not perfect.  It never has been, and it's never going to be.  It's what works for us.  If we didn't fight ever, we'd be so bored we'd probably get divorced.

Those happy kids up there.  Yeah, they were upset and crying prior to this shoot.  Mac didn't want to take any pictures.  I started referring to her as "the diva".  Caitlin kept playing in the dirt and basically stopped listening to the words "no" and "stay out of the dirt" and "watch the cream tights!!".  Earlier in the day Caitlin had a meltdown about an Icee, and Mackenzie did not take a great nap.  Yet, by looking at the picture they look like well behaved angels.  Not even close.  Most days it takes Starbucks and M&Ms to get smiles of this caliber.

I love and adore my perfectly imperfect family.  I would have never imagined that this life of mess and sometimes distress could be my happy place.  The smiles in those pictures are real.  We, the Crutchfields, collectively adore each other.  We are laughing at each other or with each other most of the time.  The laughter and the jokes are what keep us real and grounded.  Even when John and I are at our worst, all it takes is one joke.  One offensive movie, TV show, or YouTube video.  One conversational joke about grilled cheese, and the anger is gone.  You can't stay mad at someone who makes you laugh, right?  Have you ever tried to?  It's not easy. 

We are not always smiling, we are not always crying, but we are always ourselves, because who else would we be?  This is us, we are the Crutchfields.  Perfectly imperfect. 

Happy Blogging,
Megan



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My biggest fear to date...

Today's edition of Heart Therapy... This is seriously refreshing.  You should check it out, and link up if you like.  This week is about fears and facing them... It's time my friends...

My first year of motherhood was filled with fear.  Is she eating enough?  Sleeping enough? Breathing?  Am I doing this right?  Am I doing this wrong?  Why can't I make her stop crying???


So many fears and worries.  The fears pushed me and beat me, and soon I was drowning.  Looking back, I realize those are fears all moms have that first year.  Were they valid?  Yes.  Crazy?  Sometimes.  However valid or crazy, I made it through that first year.  We made it.  My little Caitlin and I. 


Today my fears are different.  I still have simple fears and worries.  These have more to do with heath and safety.  To me they have become everyday worries.  Except for one...


My fear, and it's a big one, is that I made my daughter sad, melancholy, if I'm honest.  I'm afraid that all my fears and anxiety those first few months have worn off on her.  Those first few months where I was overwhelmed by the simplest tasks, the simplest fears, and on the edge of failure, have coaxed her into her own shadow of doubt.  Is it possible that she absorbed my sadness and isolation through osmosis?  Is it possible her everyday struggles with separation anxiety and shyness are related to mommy's "baby blues".  And when I say "baby blues" I mean, I should have been seeing a professional.  That's a different post over here.


With every tear and every plea to stay home from school, I'm racked with fear and now guilt.  With every declined invitation to play at the neighbors, I'm left wondering, "Did I do this?".  By living in a fog for those first few months, I'm afraid I made it impossible for Caitlin to really enjoy and embrace the simplest fears in life.  To go out on those limbs, and instead of falling, fly.


I will tell you that motherhood scared me, almost to death.  Every aspect of it.  I was so overwhelmed that some days I didn't leave the house.  I was so afraid of failure that I stuck to the tasks I knew were possible, like feeding and diapering a baby, like showering (on a good day).  I was also a prisoner to my own guilt.  I couldn't leave my baby.  She needed me, she wanted me.  I had to be there, that's what a good mother would do, right?  Well now I'm afraid that I've made her feel she can't be anywhere or do anything, without Mom.


This is my biggest fear to date.  That my sadness and despair has led her on a preschool path of the same.  Both my daughters have changed me, and I'm truly a better person and mother today.  I don't discount my fears, because they are real.  Like, sometimes I feel like my second daughter got the better mommy, because of the lesson the first one had to suffer through.


It's always hard to admit fear.  Facing them however is always refreshing.  Everyday I'm working on building happy well adjusted daughters.  Daughters that will look their own fears in the eye and conquer them.  Even if those fears are simply saying goodbye to Mom at preschool drop off.  Sometimes the simple fears are the hardest to face, but we WILL face them.


Happy Blogging,
Megan

Hopes and Dreams

Today's post is inspired by EisyMorgan over here at her blog.  Today is Heart Therapy... Check it out and check her out!  It's very inspiring and thought provoking.

Picture via Eisy Morgan

My Hopes and Dreams

My hope is that my writing will evolve into a bigger and better voice.

My dream is to share that voice with others.

My hope is that I will continue to blog and be inspired by those around me.

My dream is that my blog will inspire others to share their stories.

My hope is that blogging will allow me to find a place for my voice.

My dream is that it will be just as satisfying as it is today.

My hope is that I will daily evolve into a better mother.

My dream is that my girls will consider me the best mom, period.

My hope is that my daughters will grow into smart and

beautiful individuals inside and out.

My dream is that they will do great things with both.

My hope is that one day my husband and I will look back and

wonder how we did it all.

My dream is that we are doing it while watching our grandchildren.

My hope is that one day our differences will be embraced and celebrated.

My dream is to help make that possible with every opportunity.

My hope is that I will always remember the basics on any journey.

My dream is that those basics will take me there.

My hope is that I will never lose myself, my voice, my sense of humor, my mind.

My dream is that I will never have to...

Happy Blogging,
Megan