No Mom is Perfect!

The latest film to send women to the theaters in droves, Bad Moms, will surely bombard the mom-blog world in the next weeks. I won't review or spoil the film, but I will encourage you to take time away from your families to laugh like you haven't laughed in years. Grab some girlfriends, grab some contraband Goobers, and go out for some feisty fun.


What the movie is meant to do is promote feelings of empowerment for modern mothers. The kind of empowerment I have been dishing on this blog since day one. Parenting is hard. Being a mom is never the same two years in a row...two days in a row...two minutes in a row. We need a village of other women to support us; to drag us off the couch when we want to give up; to keep us from hiding from our kids, responsibilities and husbands. Every mom feels it. Nobody talks about it.


We all have encounters with other women who seem ready to doubt or judge the quality of our momness. A stranger at a party called me a "...sigh...Supermom" in a snide way recently, which irritated me. However, I was able to blow her off because she was only basing it on the number of children I have. What hurts is when friends do it to each other. Why are women always the worst offenders? Women in my circle often remark on my perfection, while demeaning me for it in the same sentence. My perfect baking. My perfect school involvement. My perfect hospitality. 


Those areas of my life are where I might appear to excel because it's how I can show how deeply I care about somebody. I cook and bake for others because it's my hobby, and I love to see the smiles on their faces when they enjoy my treats. That's all. It's not to prove I'm better. It's not to say I don't buy things from stores. I absolutely do! All.The.Time.


I involve myself in school, community and church because I am an extrovert. I am easily bored sitting at home or on the sidelines. I like to help and lead, and for some reason, others tend to want to join when I'm there. I remember what life was like to be a new mom, or new in town, or unable to speak a language, so I jump in to help when I know those needs exist. My children's ages are spread in such a way that I seem to be everywhere all the time and know a lot. It is because I boldly insert myself and ask a lot of questions (hello, extrovert). I like to be aware. Then, I share what I learned to make the path easier for those after me. I do not seek to prove that I know more or am more important. It is simply because I care and hope other parents will find the information useful. As a teacher at heart, I am highly invested in the well-being of all students of our school district, not merely my own. 


As far as my party planning and hospitality goes: I just like parties, because I like people. I love connections. I love friendships. I love smiling and laughing and food. I love kids playing. I love others coming together because, for some reason, they were meant to be in that exact space at that exact moment.


What others may not see is that I would never want to appear unapproachable or intimidating. Truth time: it hurts my feelings when someone says something snotty about me being perfect. I feel jilted when a person whines that I brought homemade treats...again. I'm crushed when another mom says, "Oh jeez, you're in charge...again?" My life is full of imperfection. Full of failure. Full of reasons I need solid, genuine friends in my life. 


It's likely that most of the so-called Supermoms, Perfect Moms and Pinterest Moms you think you know would really appreciate it if you stopped accusing them of being something they're not. Everyone is doing her best to keep her kids away from the next big catastrophe. I'm happy to share my struggles with you. It makes life more fun and more real. I love it when other women share their battles, too. 



Let's review a few areas of my life where I proudly DO NOT excel:



most forms of housekeeping, planning vacations, apologizing to my husband in a timely fashion, knowing what a teenager wants, knowing what a tween wants, knowing what little boys want, returning library books on time, remembering to dry the laundry before it stinks, cooking Puerto Rican food, maintaining my cool when my kids nag me to leave someplace when I am talking to a friend, packing the car for a trip, packing my suitcase, packing my grocery cart to make sure it doesn't overflow before I finish, walking without tripping or bumping into walls, telling short stories, physics, Pinterest and selfies.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Celebrating Holidays without a Village

When reminiscing about our childhood holidays, we may fondly remember piling in our parents' car, driving from house to house to see the extended families of both our mothers and fathers. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day could be packed with festivities, from morning till night, as several generations lived in the same town. A ten minute drive from one grandma's house, to another aunt's house, and back home again, in time to set out a plate of cookies for Santa was typical. Streets were lined with cars, as every house on the block was hosting a family celebration…gathering with their village.

Fast forward to today. Parents are not always living or raising their children in the same situation that was common for Americans in previous years. My generation is the generation which moved away from our hometowns. We graduated from college and joined a global workforce. We live where wide ranges of opportunities exist, and we are eager to explore cultures and experiences, many of which are vastly different from what we had known as children.

My parents still reside in my childhood home, and my grandmother peacefully lives in the only place I have ever known as hers. I cherish that continuity and safety which exists for me. I love that I'm able to look out my parents' back window to gaze at my kids playing with their cousins…the same yard where I played with my cousins and friends and brothers. I appreciate the moments when I walk into my grandma's kitchen, and she offers me butter pecan ice cream, just as she did thirty years ago. I know how special it is to have these places to return to, not only in my memory, but also in real time with my children.

Yet, my husband and I have not created the same experience for our own children. We aren't able to settle down near our parents or siblings. We are the ones who don't live there. Checking calendars weeks in advance and waiting to see how the weather will pan out is always a part of our visits. Though emotionally close, we actually aren't with our village.

We are not the only family living this way. A large portion of our friends are what we call transplants. So many people have moved into this area to work, from a variety of other states and countries.

So, how do we manage this life, without our built-in village living near us? The answer is two-fold:

First, we make sure that our immediate family, the six of us, is strong.

Second, we work to build meaningful relationships with other families with similar values. We are becoming a village for one another.

As the holidays approach, I reflect back on the farthest place we ever lived from our village. For two years, we celebrated Christmas in  Japan. Although we may have missed out on the huge gatherings of cousins and indulging in our favorite American dishes, we received the blessings of something much richer. Our village was full. It busted at the seams with every other family who was missing home and craved to be surrounded by love. Our children played with children they had grown to know like cousins. We ate, drank and were merry with the friends who were living life with us. They weren't our brothers or sisters, but we felt entrusted to them because of our shared experience.
 

As I wish you a Happy Holiday season, I'd like to extend a challenge to my readers. Some of you are surely long-time residents of your town, while others of you are transplants (like me). If you are a lifer with a big heart, why not open up your village a bit to someone you know who needs one? Supporting a neighbor's child by watching him play basketball or attending her choir concert will help build a feeling of community and family. Extending an invite during the holidays will bring joy in ways you may not even be able to imagine.

To my fellow transplants, I know it's hard to move. I know it can be difficult to find or make that new village, especially if you left one behind that already seemed perfect. I know you miss seeing your own family for the holidays. I know! Until you find your village, try searching for a Newcomers Club in your area…and smiling. You will find your people.

Whether you are living in your village, or an ocean away, there's always room for more.

 

Happy Holidays to my people!!

Just a sampling of the village we made during our Japanese days.  

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Crossing the Finish Line

Training.


I had never officially trained for anything in all my 36 years. In the past, I had been able to complete most tasks without check-ins and schedules. Then, on the brink of summer, I declared I was going to be a runner. I knew I could not do it on my own, so I joined a training group led by my friends.


Much like the four times I anticipated childbirth, the preparation for my very first 5K race was wrought with pure uncertainty. The training session carried on for eight weeks...two-thirds of our summer. The procrastinator and denier in me refused to calculate how many miles were actually in five kilometers until our third week running.


5K = 3.1 miles


Wow!


Now you know, too.


For experienced runners, training for a 5K race may seem so minute. Experienced runners breeze through 5K every time they step out their front door for a morning work-out. For a newbie runner like myself, my journey was anything but breezy. During every single run, my brain and body battled through so much.


Nerves.


Fear.


Breathlessness.


Pain.


Tears.


Doubt.


Exhilaration.


Relief.


Anticipation.


I was the most beginner of beginners, and I was often the slowest runner. Even after eight weeks, the longest I had run was 20 minutes. Leading up to the race, which was the culmination of our training, I still remained unsure how I would manage. I hoped that the adrenaline and excitement of the crowds would keep me moving, even if my legs and lungs would try to quit. New friendships were formed and old ones had been strengthened, so I leaned on them as well.


Then, there's the whole reason why I began to run at all. There is my family. My four kids watch me walk out the door in my neon shoes and know their mom is a runner. The confidence and pride that have blossomed in the past two months are life-changing. I'm modeling behavior that will have positive effects on my children. Some have even started to run with me. They often leave me in the dust, but seeing me sweat and work and fight through my running sets an example for determination and perseverance.


Every runner has to start somewhere. Every runner has a first race. I captured many of the moments of my first race in my mind as I pounded through those 3.1 miles, but the moment I hope stays with me forever is when I passed my family on the side of the course. Their dad boosted them off their lawn chairs when he saw me coming around the corner, so all four of them jumped up and clapped for me, cheering, hollering and yelling.


They shouted, "Go, Mom!! You can do it! Come on, Mom, you're doing great!"


My kids. Little kids, whom I have been watching and supporting from the sidelines for years and years, were there to cheer for me. It was surreal.


I passed them with a smile and a fist pump in the air and kept on running. As the course wound through more neighborhood streets, I began to grow weary. Tired. Nervous if I could keep going. As I followed my way back out of the street, I knew that I could keep going because I would see my family again. Those three silly boys and my motivational daughter were waiting, once again, for me to emerge from the path.


Aaaannnnd...that's when I lost it!


My official cheerleaders were relentless in their encouragement, as tears of elation streamed down my already red and sweaty cheeks. Mark worried for a second I was hurt, but shouldn't he know better by now that I cry at everything? I waved again, soaked up their love, and kept on running to the end.


So, maybe all of this crazy talk I'm spewing would discourage anyone who's reading from ever wanting to take up running. I hope that it's the absolute opposite.


Please take a look at my face as I crossed the finish line. See the pure joy in my eyes?

Did I just say pure joy from running?


I did, and I meant it.


After our race, we were enjoying fresh blueberries around a picnic table, and my dear friend and coach, Renee, said these words to my children:


"Do you see your mom? Look at what she did and how strong she is!"


Moms are strong. We should want to show our children what our bodies and minds can do when we try. They will learn from us to be confident in themselves, too. Three hours ago, I met a woman new to our group who was running for the very first time...ever. A delicate place in my heart pounced with excitement, as I insisted that she CAN and WILL be a runner.

What will you be? Please take it from me, you can do it.

 

 

My friend, Rachel, snapped these photos of me reaching my goal and heading toward Mark and the kids for the final time. I'll be running another 5K in September. The kids want to do it with me. Mission accomplished!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Why We Should Stop Telling Parents to "Enjoy Every Second"

Words I would use to describe myself would be sentimental, gushy and emotionally invested in everyone and everything. My facial expressions do little to hide my feelings, whether they are cheerful or dismal. These aspects of my personality switch between a gift and a curse. A gift for those who reap the benefits of my care and kindness.  A curse for myself, for I experience some moments when I wish I could simply hit a switch. Turn off the tears. Turn a blind eye to the deep connection to every living and breathing human being who crosses my path.


You would probably envision that a person who so easily empathizes, appreciates and harmonizes with the world around her would have been one of those "I have enjoyed every single minute of motherhood, and so should you" type of moms. I probably spent hours longingly gazing into each one of my new baby's eyes: rocking, singing and caressing those chubby and silky soft cheeks.


You would guess that as a new mother, I remembered to cherish our interactions, no matter how tiny. I paid extra attention, because it was going to be over before I could blink. I realized they would be heading off to school soon, then morphing into mouthy teenagers refusing to follow curfew. I was constantly aware that eventually, my teensy newborns would be fully functioning adults with careers and families. They would move too far away to worry about their old mom, who once nursed and rocked and cherished them.


You would figure that I proudly captured every memory. I ignored the telltale exhaustion which new parents experience. I gleefully piled on more pregnancies...more screaming babies...more dirty diapers...more tantrum throwers...more laundry...more sippy cups...more demands on my body...more thoughts about "is this normal?"...more moves as a trailing spouse...more years since my own career...more...more...MORE!


Of course, I didn't do anything of the sort.


Here's the problem. No new mother (or father) can even attempt to notice it all, let alone embrace and enjoy it while it is happening. It is not possible or realistic, because we are beaten so down by it to see any of it. Every single cell in our bodies and our brains: Sapped. Dried up. Depleted. Deleted.


We are outnumbered, outwitted and outdone by the end of each day. We negotiate with toddlers to no avail. We wash bodily fluids out of places we would like to pretend we haven't seen. We wonder why babies have acne and cradle cap and acid reflux, and we want to fix everything. We cannot remember the last time we had a shower, a hot meal or a talk with a friend which wasn't interrupted by "No!! Don't! Sorry...I gotta go!"


Those of us whose children have graduated from the baby stage fondly look back with nostalgia. We do feel grateful to no longer need diaper bags or strollers for a quick trip to the zoo. We are ecstatic when our children are finished with our personal milk jugs and eventually learn to pour their own cereal. We are relieved.


It isn't until we pass a stage in parenting when we can actually see what we previously endured. Do I wish that my super emotive brain had been better equipped to mentally record all of the beautiful moments of my early years of motherhood?


Absolutely.


Will I pretend that I was doing it all along?


Absolutely not, because it would be a disservice to new mothers everywhere.


Facebook and blogs and well-meaning women in the grocery store who continue to insist that moms with new babies should be "enjoying every second" already have clawed their way out of the trenches and magically erased the battle scars they endured along the way. Their children know how to complete basic tasks such as use the toilet, take a shower, make toaster waffles for all the siblings and read! Life changes when children gain independence.


If you're a new mama with little ones at home, please feel free to ignore what you've heard about enjoying every second. If I've said it before, I take it back. (Sometimes, we slip up and exhibit inappropriate sadness about our kids growing older). It is true, they do eventually head off to school and become teenagers, and all of the baby years will be behind you.


Suddenly, a marvelous day will come when you will be able to breathe for a bit. You'll be sitting on the beach with another seasoned mom, laughing about how you cannot believe everything you CONQUERED in those early years. You will pat each other on the back, because you were rock stars-even on your most unglamorous days covered in dried up milk and baby puke.

You are rocking it, Mama!

Just check out my last kid carrying his own sand toys down to the water. Independence. A true sign of a mom who is doing her job. You will be there, too!

 

 

 

Tell us about your most unglamorous moments. You'd be surprised to know you are not alone.

 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

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One Year Ago Today, We Started This Parenting Journey Together!

June 25th, 2014. On that morning, I vented about modern motherhood through the land of Facebook. I blabbed that it was only our third week of summer vacation, yet I was already feeling extremely overwhelmed. I composed a status update consisting of five paragraphs (a little long for most people's tastes) that struck nerves and reached out in a way I never could have expected. Most people would scroll right past something that drawn out, because honestly, who has time to read anything that winded? Yet, somehow, the mamas in my feed that summer morning did take the time. They took a few extra moments of their already hectic days to read all of what I had to say. Me. Why?


I was no expert. I was simply another mom. A mom they knew. Maybe they knew me through our current circumstances as moms in real time: school moms, church moms, neighbor moms, friend moms. Maybe we hadn't ever seen one another in action as moms, but we had shared life together when we were younger.


Maybe it was my title: "Parenting is Hard." Maybe that line reeled them in because it was something everybody felt but had never really admitted, especially on social media. Here I was, a happily married mother of four darling children, who on the outside appeared to have everything together...all the time...suddenly declaring that our life was actually frazzled, stressful and chaotic.


Admitting my mothering struggles that morning through typing felt like free therapy for me. Writing that post came quickly and easily. The words I shared were extensions from ideas I had discussed with my closest friends and family in the past. They had been bursting at the surface of my fingers for so long, and the process of releasing them online was cathartic. Knowing that previously talking about similar issues always resulted in a head nod, laughter and an outburst of "Oh my gosh...Yes!!!!" gave me confidence that those five paragraphs might be relatable to at least one or two other people.


All I can say now, exactly 365 days later, is "Wow!"


Wow, did we start a conversation?


Wow, did we ever open up a lot of incredibly important dialogue?


Wow, did we create a safe place for sharing...with people we know, people we see, and people we can trust?


Wow, did we uncover that so many other moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas were also feeling exactly the same emotions we were feeling, not only about the difficulties of being moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas (because those are so very real), but also about the triumphs, joys and prideful moments we experience in our roles as caretaker.


Wow, has this journey been an honor for me?


From the day that I first opened up my heart to my Facebook friends, and then my friends began to share their hearts with me, I knew that we were on to something special.


For those of you who have been here with me since day one, before Mama Loves You and Chocolate, Too was even created,...I thank you.


If you're just finding this community now, because somebody directed you here, welcome to this world! It's a sweet place where we come together to learn from other parents. From their wisdom. From their mistakes. From their humor.


I'd like to take a second to share what I wrote that fateful June day last Summer. Maybe you need to read it again. Maybe your June is already beginning to feel a lot like last year...busy, crazy, annoying. If that's your situation, you'll be relieved that you are not alone. Not one bit.


Perhaps, this June is more relaxed for some reason. Maybe you have ridden the waves of this journey with me and benefited from my constant reflection...and over sharing. You can read my words this time around with a thankful calm and think back to the times when you have felt ultra-stressed and envious of the perfect families all around you. Read and remember that even though we're in a safe parenting place at the moment, at any time we can slip back into the madness...and that's okay. Every parent is just an extra school project or case of the stomach flu away from losing it. Even the ones who seem to have it all together. Even the so-called Super Moms.


If you have ever felt an emotional pull to the community that results from the writing I share from my heart, I sincerely ask that you share it with others...with other moms or dads or grandmas or grandpas who could also use a smile or nudge of encouragement. I wouldn't be who I am without the strong network of fellow parents who allow me to pick their brains and smear my tears on their shoulders. Maybe you have parents in your network who are looking for you to be that person for them, and you may not even know it yet. Parenthood cannot and should not be done alone.

"Parenting is Hard" Written June 25, 2014

I keep having to remind myself of this new mantra I've discovered: "Parenting is hard." Nobody ever told me it was going to be easy, but somehow it seemed easier in the beginning. Sure, I was sleep deprived and up to my eyeballs in diapers for ten years, but I've found this next stage of parenting to be the most difficult so far.

Having a middle-schooler threw me for a loop I was not expecting. Having four kids in three different schools made for a crazy year. I could not wait for summer vacation to be here! I realize now that our life will be this way from now until who knows when...crazy. The kids will always be in many different schools and experiencing different stages of growing up. Their ages are so spread apart, and it's extra obvious now. When the oldest was 7, they were all still so young and little. Now the older two are 11 1/2 and 10 1/2, and it's a whole new world. We can never go back to what it was before, and I have found myself struggling to accept it.

A friend of mine recently told me that these are the hardest years on a family. I can see it now. All the kids have mood swings like you would not believe. One minute, they're best friends; the next, they're screaming at the top of their lungs that they wished the others didn't exist. One day, they're telling me I'm the best cook in the world; the next, they're saying I only make "gross food."

We can't let our egos get the best of us. We can't believe these outbursts, or we'll never want to wake up to face another day. When I look around at school or church or on Facebook, it's easy for me to feel like our family doesn't measure up to the others around me. It makes me want to shut down and lock ourselves inside till everyone learns to behave in every social situation. Then I remember, parenting is hard. Everyone thinks it, they just don't always say it.

I ran into two friends at the grocery store the other night. We were all having the wonderful experience of shopping without our many children whining and pulling on our legs, calling us mean for not buying them a new toy or treat or whatever. We were relishing in the rare quiet and chance to talk without being asked, "Are you done yet? Let's gooooo!" We laughed that we should grab some wine and not go home. We had the chance to see that only a few weeks into summer vacation, we were all experiencing the exact same things. We all could see that parenting is hard, and that everyone feels it. Everyone's house is messy. Everyone's kids claim to be bored when they have an entire house full of toys. Everyone's kids fight with each other…a lot.

I'm writing this today because I need to vent, but also because maybe someone needs to hear it. Maybe one of my friends is feeling the stress I feel. Maybe you look at others and feel like they make parenting look so easy, but wonder why it's hard for you. I won't have the chance to run into most of you at the grocery store. I won't have the chance to give you a hug and say it's great to see you. Believe me, I wish I could. In the meantime, please take my little note as encouragement from afar.

Parenting is hard.

Let's admit it.

Let's accept it.

Let's get through it together.


Now, tell me how this Summer is starting out for you. Did you overbook yourself and wish you hadn't, or are you loving all the running here and there and everywhere? Are the kids bickering or claiming to be bored yet? Are you forcing them outside? Have you locked yourself in the bathroom yet? Come on, let's dish!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

 

 

Squashing Self Doubt with Pink Running Shoes

I issued quite a bold statement a couple of weeks ago by telling all of you that I was going to become a runner. I typed it for all of cyberspace to see, which meant I could not repeal my daring declaration. I'm a woman of my word, so I had every intention to begin running. Did you notice that I never gave an exact date or instituted a concrete plan for this impending lifestyle change? Maybe I did that on purpose.


The momentum immediately following my announcement was strong. Friends reached out with support for me, and many even took my advice in declaring their own goals. I was so proud of all of you for your bravery. For your confidence. For your strength. You were inspiring!


One of my dear friends scheduled an appointment to fit me for running shoes. She is an expert, and if I was going to be serious, I needed the right equipment. No blisters for this mama. She and I spent the morning navigating the elaborate world of running footwear. It was overwhelming to say the least. She evaluated my gait. After a year in denial, I verbally admitted that my feet have grown a full size since my last baby was born.


Before sweet Anne lifted the lid from the first pair of shoes, she prefaced the reveal by saying, "How do you feel about pink?"


I like pink. I really do. My last pair of basic gym shoes were actually gray with pink accents. However, these babies were pink with a little bit of gray. Bright pink. Neon pink! The color pink I wore to the roller rink in 1986...as an eight-year-old. I modeled many styles and colors for Anne on that cheerful Saturday morning. Eventually, after trying out several pairs of shoes, the ones that felt the best and worked well with my foot shape turned out to be the atomic pink ones. Go figure.


After I packed up my fancy shoes and new running socks in my trunk, I still had no real plan laid out for how I was going to become a runner. I considered wearing my shoes to the airport to break them in, but I worried about the commotion their illumination would cause when gliding through the people mover. Instead, the shopping bag remained in my trunk for another two weeks. Waiting. Waiting for me to utilize the momentum once again and actually wear them.

My week away in Florida and then a week of end-of-school celebrations came and went. I still hadn't even opened the shoe box to show them to Mark or my kids. Maybe because that would make me more accountable to starting, to actually putting one foot in front of the other and going.


The right time to run eventually did arise. Last Wednesday afternoon, another friend of mine, who is already a runner, sent me a link to a 5K training group she was going to lead...which was going to begin in four days. Four days! She had been one of my biggest cheerleaders in this journey, and this group was not originally going to offer a session until the end of the summer. Enough of a need had arisen to start an extra training session now. Lucky for me! I decided the time was now. I promised her and told my very trusted physical therapist that I was going to do it. I was going to run a 5K in August.


All of the other girls who had considered running with me a month ago were becoming hesitant now that it was here. Now that it was real. I desperately wanted one of them to join the group with me, so that I wouldn't be the only newbie in a sea full of seasoned athletes. My confidence was waning. Somebody told me how hard it was going to be. My reserve of inspiration was slowly depleting. My husband feared I was going to try to run three miles on the first day, and he didn't want to see me hurt myself. I began to question my ability, just like I had done when I decided to try yoga last year (which, by the way, has become a part of me now...something I crave).


Perhaps Google would help ease my hesitation. Big mistake. A few quick searches, and I was doubting that I should even attempt the training. It's not actually called "Couch to 5K," which is what I think I need. What if it's too much too soon, and I can't do it? I don't even walk vigorously on a regular basis...I am freaking out!


In came my coach...my cheerleader, Wendy. She listened to my concerns and then told me not to freak and to show up. Two of my other friends would also be coaches, so a warm smile in the early morning was sure to go a long way. To my surprise, one of my previously hesitant friends decided to try it at the last second! She offered to pick me up so we could walk in together. Amazing! Everything was coming together so nicely, so I threw my apprehension out the window. I told Mark that I wasn't going to settle for any doubt, from anywhere or anyone...especially myself. I was going to run that 5K race in eight weeks. Nobody was going to tell me I couldn't do anything...ever.


What happened next was just what happened with my first time at yoga. I did what I had set out to do. Only this time I wasn't barefoot. I marched up, in my pink shoes, to a group of runners...and ran.


Surrounded by people from all walks of life, wearing every shade of neon color, we walked and ran and walked and ran...for sixteen minutes. When we circled back to the starting point, I was out of breath and sweaty and tired, of course, yet I felt exhilarated. Recharged by the fact that I had taken this challenge for myself seriously and conquered it. I pounded my doubt and fear into the pavement with my aggressive pink shoes.

Have you started on that journey you said you wanted to try last month? It's already the middle of June! If you sit around and pretend it will go away, like I might have done if it weren't for my special kicker-in-the-pantsers, you may regret it. Even if your body grows sore from using muscles you didn't know you had, or your mind tires easily from taking classes after a decade of only reading Dr. Seuss, it will be worth it. Let's go!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

 

The Universe and this Mama Say, "Your Time is Now!"

I know this happens to all of you when you want to attempt something new. An idea creeps into your mind at the most inconvenient times, whispering into your over-thinking brain, "Hey, you know you should try it. It's meant for you. You see everyone else doing it, and you would be just as awesome at it as they are, so why don't you just freaking try it? Come on, try it. Do it!"


Of course, I'm not talking about any harmful temptations or negative peer pressure. I mean something that, ultimately, you know would fulfill you. It's something you want, yet you just don't know how to leap for it.


In the past, I have described for you my journey to starting this blog and beginning my yoga practice. These were two paths that I wanted for myself...envisioned for myself...yet I was unsure how to even begin to implement them into this really nutty life of ours. The key to turning those goals into a reality came when I vocalized them. The moment that I began to tell people that I was considering writing and trying yoga, a steady flow of encouragement bombarded me. It was invigorating. Nourishing. Supporting. Just what I needed to move forward and try.


Can I tell you a secret? I have a few new goals. I had been hiding from them for a long time, trying to keep them quiet. Hidden deep inside and away from anyone who would hold me accountable to them. If I ignored them or shushed them, they would go away. Right?


Wrong!


They wouldn't leave me alone. They refused to slink away into the night, leaving me to dream about decadent peanut butter shakes or luxurious hot stone massages. Instead, those goals have been relentless. Determined. Serious.


Then, somebody said something to bring out the brave in me.


A friend of mine communicated why she began something new in her own life. She described it as, "Everything in the universe was telling me to do it." Everywhere she turned: Television, online, friends, magazines, strangers. This new path was constantly in her face. Taunting her. Begging her to jump in and go.


As those words slipped out of her mouth, I stared at her in a trance, because her story seemed to be my story. That is exactly what happened to me with blogging and yoga. Maybe that's what is happening to me now.


With my new goals.


With my plans to become a runner....and a writer who reaches more people.


There. Those are my goals. I said them. Did you hear me?


I don't need to tell you all of the small ways in which I felt pulled to declare these goals. You only need to know that I finally was forced into making them real when an eclectic group of mamas sat together in a circle, drinking wine and sniffing essential oils. That's when I knew. Weird, huh?


Really, this post isn't for me. It's for you. For all of you who need something in the universe to tell you that it's time. I am here to tell you, it's time. Your time is now. Why are you waiting? Let me awaken that voice in your mind. You have no need to keep her quiet any longer. Wake her up and go!

Why was I so scared to do something new...again? Maybe these nasty little ego suckers, perfectionism and worry, played a role in my trepidation. Taming those beasts is something many of us struggle with, even the people who seem to be extremely confident. Fear of Failure. It's real and fierce. Let's encourage each other to stomp it into the ground.

 

 

How am I doing it? I told my runner friends, in person, that I'm going to start running. I jumped up and down with another friend who was also thinking about running. I encouraged her to declare her plans with me, because that's the first step. Seriously, that's what I did. After a PTA meeting, a few of us hopped around and chanted, "Say it out loud, say it, say it, say it!! We can do it together!" Corny? Maybe. Effective? Let's hope so!

 

As for my writing: I'm hoping that I can continue to grow my readership. I plan to work on submitting my writing more starting in September, but until then, I'll ask that if you are touched by one of my pieces, please share it with whomever you think will also enjoy it. I would like to have 1000 followers on my Facebook page by the end of this year. Bam! I'm being bold.


Let's make it happen.


If I haven't told you enough, thank you for being here with me. You have so many places to be and things to do, so when you take time to drive your eyes this way and read my words, I'm forever grateful.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

My Parenting "Style" Doesn't Need a Name

Helicopter.


Free Range.


Attached.


Tiger.


Crunchy.


Gag!


The shift that's occurred since I became a first-time-mom in 2002, to the way parents begin today, has been dramatic. In that moment that Reese was brought forth from my body (vacuum delivery and all), I simply became a mom. I felt no pressure to declare what type of mom I was planning to be. Nobody talked about "parenting styles." Moms shared stories, sought advice and found what worked for their families. I struggled with breastfeeding and mastitis for two straight months, but I wasn't compelled to include it in my e-mail signature.

The influx of information wasn't as unrelenting as it is today. Thankfully, I came of age and found my confidence as a mom in the previous decade. Before everyone felt the need to declare a parenting style like it was a college major.


Before Facebook.


Before blogs.


Before we were informed that everything we're doing now is Wrong. Damaging. Detrimental to the success of our children, our marriages, and the future of America.


That's a whole lot of pressure on us all.


I can't begin to keep up with all of the parenting styles that exist in 2015. I googled them, just to begin this post, and dolphin parenting popped up. What? Maybe I'm too old and jaded to bother learning the new lingo.


What I do know is that if I were to poll my circle of friends about their parents, we'd find they were raised by a variety of people who have produced some pretty successful adults.


Maybe their moms acted one way, and their dads, another. Maybe they were from a divorced home. Maybe grandparents raised them. Maybe they had several siblings or zero. Maybe their mom had an organic garden and made everything from scratch. Maybe they were latch key kids and ate TV dinners. Maybe nobody spoke English at home. Maybe they were forced to practice piano for hours every night. Maybe they never left the house for anything but school. Maybe they were surrounded by books and music and the arts.


Maybe...maybe...maybe.


Maybe, if we all just start to be parents to our kids in the way that we feel they need, in the way that is comfortable for us and for them, then they'll turn out to be content and successful, too.


The trends will change. That's guaranteed. You can choose to read all about them and follow them, or you can choose to ignore them.


No parenting expert is more of an expert for your child than you are.


As for my family, we don't aim to practice any parenting styles. I'm not wired that way. What I've learned through twelve and a half years of motherhood is that every year is different...every stage of development is different...every day is different.


Each of our children yearns different types of affection and responds to varying rules.


Every house we've lived in has required that we reevaluate the way we navigate life.


Our family works with a delicate balance, and on many days, we topple. If I forced six people to follow the guidelines that come with only practicing Free Range Parenting or specifically being an Attached Parent, none of us would thrive.


Maybe declaring a parenting style works for some people. Maybe having that style sets the tone for a family in a positive way. I'm happy for those families and their success.


Meanwhile, I'll keep piecing together what works for us as we go along. Someday, when my babies are grown, someone will ask them what it was like to be raised in the age of hyper parenting rules. I hope they'll say this, "My mom just loved us, and she liked to make pancakes for dinner."

For those of you who are struggling to follow a style set forth by a parenting expert on the Internet...why not join me in the ways of our own parents? Do what works for you!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Something New-Our Summer Calendar Is Empty!

Most stay-at-home-moms I know have been doing the summer schedule shuffle for several weeks by now. In the past, I would have been doing the same. The calendar comes out in February to plan every little detail of what initially seems like a vast, endless and ultimately structure-free summer break. Three months is a looong time! We feel the need to pack the days and weeks with activities in order to avoid too much togetherness and not enough fun.


What begins as an anticipated vacation from our school year commitments of rising early and doing homework quickly fills up with an abundance of sports, camps, lessons, getaways and library events, all intricately woven between adult work schedules and family vacations. Mastering the family's summer schedule requires some serious skills.


Avoid sports overlap.


Set up grandparent visits.


Arrange car pools.


Make sure we have the right size cleats this year...Soccer and baseball.


Which week is church camp?


One kid wants to try tennis this year.


Can we make it from art camp in time for swimming lessons? 


Everyone needs an equal amount of their favorite activities and new opportunities.


Wait, when will we have time to go to the beach? The ice cream shop we love so much? The blueberry farm?


Every single summer, I plan to do less. Less than the year before, when we were crazy and harried and spent half of every day carting four kids to and from some sort of scheduled activity that was directed at only one of them.


Here's something nuts. I tend to sign the kids up for events that start early in the morning. What is wrong with me? When I make the schedule in February, I'm used to waking up early, so the thought of doing it all summer doesn't phase me. It doesn't seem like that big of a deal. That is until summer is actually here. Then, I'm cursing my alarm clock and the color-coded-for-every-family-member-calendar that's hanging on the side of my fridge.


Why have I been sabotaging our vacations all these years?


Well, because it has always seemed like what the best moms do. Parents who can provide educational, athletic or social opportunities for their children should do so. Right?


What if...maybe that's not right? Not in the way that we think.


Summertime enjoyment doesn't need to be costly or scheduled or outsourced. I had four kids to stay home with four kids, not so I could split them up and rely on others to give them "learning experiences." I know I can provide my children with fantastic excursions, exciting play time and meaningful activities. I don't know what took me so long to realize it.

Do you remember last December, when I decided that I needed to declare more time for the six of us? Although my Christmas prep seemed to be rooted in my family's happiness, it was actually taking me away from them. Stressing us out more. Sabotaging our holidays.


This year, I am going to do the same for summer! I'm declaring to value our summer vacation. While I can, I am going to let loose with these kids. I know it's not feasible for all parents, but because I'm home with the kids, it will work for us. Can you consider ways to join me in ending the typical summer madness?


Maybe you need a nudge. What will it take? Are you worried the kids will strangle each other if they spend too much time together? Are you nervous how you'll handle having them with you All.The.Time? Believe me, those thoughts cross my mind, too.


What first led me to let go of my urge to schedule so much was when our oldest son decided to stop playing a sport that he's played for the past six years. Cold turkey, he told us that he didn't want to join this year. That registration is usually what starts the ball rolling for my summer schedule shuffle. Without it, I didn't even need to open my calendar. A few of the kids didn't plan to attend the camps they've gone to in the past. I could check those off my list, too. Now, it's April, and we have missed deadlines for most everything that will be happening around town this summer.


Do I feel guilty?


Maybe a tiny twinge.


Then, I remember:


We live three miles from an incredible fresh water beach, but shamefully, our summers are typically so hectic that we only make it there a handful of times. This year, we'll be free to go whenever the kids ask.


They have bikes and wagons and scooters, and we live in a neighborhood blanketed with shade. We can create our own free "biking camp," making pit stops at home for big bowls of watermelon that will drip pink juice down our chins.


We're going on a road trip to the Rocky Mountains with our best friends and their four kids. We'll witness more of our Earth's beauty in one week than the kids could ever experience in an expensive nature class or science camp here in town.


Lemonade stands, trampolines, swing sets and bubbles.


Jumping, playing, chasing and climbing.


Screeching, squealing, bellowing and laughing!


Those are the moments that we should be dreaming about...the lazy days of summer.


We've spent an entire school year barking at our kids to hurry up, and nobody wants to waste the short summer months riding around town in a junk bus. Would you join me giving our kids a carefree summer...a true vacation?


Is your calendar already jam packed with Kid Stuff? Will you be able to resist the temptation to fill each week with more? I know it's hard and even scary to be unstructured, but let's try it together. You have gifts and talents to share with those babies you dreamed of for so long. Let them see you shine. You have a sprinkler for them to run through if you can't make it to a pool or the beach. You can dig out your old roller blades or take long walks with them after work. The memories they'll make with you by their sides will be immeasurable, and your alarm clock will survive until September.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Learn to Take a Compliment, Will Ya?

Have you ever noticed that when you try to give praise to a woman, especially a mother, she tends to dismiss your compliment? She can come up with a half dozen reasons, on the spot, why what you are saying about her is actually not true.

I can't figure out why we are all so hard-wired to dismiss the positive comments which are directed at us. It disturbs me how a woman will instinctively react when someone tries to tell her that she has something brag worthy happening.

Tell a woman that you love the outfit she's wearing, and she'll tell you she found it on clearance.

Tell a woman how delicious her caramel brownies are, and she'll confess that she made them with a mix.

Tell a woman you're impressed how well-behaved her children are in a restaurant, and she'll blab about how rowdy they were during the car ride.

Tell a woman that her home is gorgeous, and she'll admit that someone helps her clean it once a week.

These denials happen when we attempt to recognize someone's visible accolades. Complimenting a woman's intrinsic traits is even more difficult. Think about the last time that you tried to compliment a friend of yours on her character. Her kindness. Her strength. Her ability to give without question. The obvious impact that you know she is making on her children...her circle...on you.

Did she instantly smile and say thank you?

Probably not.

I'm going to describe what could be a typical conversation between two women friends, anywhere in the world:

Friend 1: "I've been thinking about how grateful we all are to have you leading our group. You really have made it into something awesome."

Friend 2:  "Nah. It's not because of me," while shaking her head.

Friend 1: "I'm serious. It just wasn't like this before you came along."

Friend 2: "Well, I think anyone could have done it. I really didn't do anything special."

Friend 1: "Listen to me, I know what makes a difference and what doesn't, and I have seen it through you."

Friend 2: "I don't think so. I'm not capable of making that kind of difference."

Friend 1: "I'm not just talking to hear myself talk. I mean what I say. I want you to hear me. You are awesome!" as she grabs her friend by the shoulders and shakes her a little.

Friend 2: "It's so hard for me to hear you say all that about me. I don't do any of it for the compliments. Stop it!"

Friend 1: "I know you don't, but it doesn't take away from the fact that you deserve to be praised. Now, just say thank you so we can order some cheesecake and be done with this nonsense."

Friend 2: "Okay, fine. Thank you. Now what kind should we order?"

I cannot think of the last time that I complimented a fellow lady who actually just accepted what I was saying as truth. Why do women feel the need to downplay their awesomeness? Where did you learn that it's not okay to recognize your greatness? That you shouldn't let others boast about you?

It's a new month. March is here, which means Spring should be coming! Would you do something for yourself as the days grow longer and the sunlight lingers a little bit more into your dinner time? Would you march forward, confident in knowing that it's okay to accept a compliment when someone gives it to you?

I know very few people who give out false praise, so when affirmative words come at you, please listen to them. Breathe them in. Hold them in your chest for as long as you can. Remember them when you're doubting yourself again. Swaddle those compliments like you would a newborn baby, cradling them inside of you for when the doubting moments try to creep back inside your delicate blanket...your self esteem as a woman.

Your children and grandchildren are watching you. Your students are watching you. Your little sisters and nieces are watching you. I'm sure someone has gifted you a coffee mug that says you are The World's Greatest Mom/Grandma/Sister/Friend/Aunt/Teacher. It's time for you to start believing it!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Being the Old Mom at Kindergarten Round-Up

It's that time of year when parents start to prepare their soon-to-be kindergarteners for the idea of moving out of part-time preschool and into a "real school." Kindergarten readiness talk has been buzzing for weeks at preschool pick-up. It's on every parent's mind...the teachers talk to the kids about it...and it's only February.

In preparing for my last child's kindergarten round-up, I was more than happy that it wasn't my first rodeo. Relieved that I had been through it a few other times. Thankful that I was not a nervous/ anxious/worried mom, constantly wondering, "Is my child ready for this big step? Actually, am I ready for this big step?"

I had been that mom in the past. We all have been that mom. This year, I'm one of the seasoned moms. The vets. The experts, you could say.

As Marshall and I stepped through the doors of his big siblings' elementary school, people assumed I was part of the welcome-new-parents, let-me-answer-all-of-your-questions committee. Because that's my usual gig, I just had to keep repeating myself, "Nope, this year, I'm here as a kinder mom. It's this guy's turn."

Even though I had been through kindergarten prep before, my Marshall had not. Here's where the benefits of being one of the seasoned moms comes into play. Though my son might be nervous on his own, scared of the thought of all-day school, riding the big yellow bus, eating lunch away from his mama, I'm not scared of any of it. I know from experience that my babies will be safe. They'll learn how to open a juice box while sitting at a table full of kids. They'll be exposed to germs and survive. They will make at least one friend. Their teachers will guide them and nurture them and show them hundreds of things they wouldn't see if they were home with me all day. They'll blow me away with what intrigues them, sparking their brains to develop interests outside of our family for the first time.

I know it can feel next to impossible to trust any other human beings with our babies. Our Living, Breathing Worlds. Our Perfect Everythings. I have witnessed it first hand: the fear in mamas' eyes as they drill teachers of how they would handle each and every possible scenario that might arise in a classroom. The moms exhibit signs of stress, agonizing over the notion of passing some of the control they've had over their children onto someone else, essentially a stranger.

Remember when our kids were babies, and the lactation consultants advised us that our rooting infants could sense our tension? They told us that if we could just relax, then the babies, in turn, would feel our calmness and be able to nurse? Why wouldn't that work for any stage of a child's life? If we exude confidence about something new, then our kids will feel safe in trying it. If we expose them to our heightened nerves, then their nerves will activate as well.

We have six months to make this transition from preschool mom to kindergarten mom. Part-time school to real school. It sounds like a lot of time, but doesn't it seem like your five-year-old was just in utero? In a blink of an eye, you'll be shopping for a backpack that is bigger than she is, choosing the perfect pair of shoes for the first day of school, and smothering her with smooches to last an entire day.

Are you ready to ready your child for kindergarten? I'm not talking about practicing letters and numbers and how to hold scissors. I mean are you ready to let her go into that building without you? Are you ready to pump up this experience in a positive way? Are you ready to treat it like one of the expert moms would? A seasoned mom? A veteran?

Talk about your anxiety and fears when the kids aren't around. They're real. They are legitimate, but they will pass. I know you can do this! Then, once the big day comes, and our kids are really out of sight, we can all cry into our mochas.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Good Moms Don't Have Dirty Sinks-Or So I Thought

I should be cleaning my kitchen right now. The sink, which is piled with dirty dishes from last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast, is taunting me. I'm sitting two rooms away, so I can't even see the mess from my desk, but I can still feel it tugging at me. I hear the plates, cups and cereal bowls calling me. They're saying, "What would you do right now if someone stopped by and saw this collection of caked on taco soup and Cheerios? Why don't you move your booty in here to wash up this stuff, and then you can write? Then you can relax. Then, and only then, will you deserve to go about your day."

Everyone knows that good moms have clean sinks. Sparkling counters. No evidence that people actually live in and eat in and use the kitchen.

How do those moms actually do it, because I just can't seem to figure it out?

My kitchen sink always has dishes in it. Always. I have succumbed to it being the way life is for us. Well, unless of course my mother-in-law is visiting. She washes every single item before it can even touch the sink. Once, she had gone back home after staying with us for a few days, and one of the kids said to me, "Mom, you know if Grandma was still here, there wouldn't be any dishes in the sink."

Yes, yes I know.

But, Grandma doesn't live here. Mom does.

I do love a clean kitchen. It instantly brightens my mood, plus it makes cooking so much easier. Please don't take me for a filthy mom, because of course I do wash our dishes and scrub my counter every day. At least once, sometimes more. I just choose not to spend all of my time cleaning that space, because it is going to be messy again in such a short amount of time. Maybe I should do it in little spurts, like the good moms do. Then I wouldn't freak out at the thought that Mark stopped by yesterday with a co-worker when I wasn't home...and the kitchen was messy.

Maybe if I did my laundry like the good moms do or did my dishes like the good moms do, I would feel like a good mom. Right?

Well, no. Not right. I do feel like a good mom. We've talked about this so many times. Good moms come in all forms.

When we were living in Japan, I was really concerned about my kitchen being clean for company. Seriously, I shouldn't even say "company," because they were my friends. My close friends. The women who became like family to me when we were all so far from our own families that we leaned on each other like sisters. Those were the days before I realized that parenting wasn't about perfection.

I hosted an international playgroup in my home every couple of weeks. Reese and Trixie were so small then, still toddler and preschool age. The moms who came to playgroup would bring their kiddos and a snack to share, but as the hostess, I felt compelled to provide an abundant spread for everybody. Before my guests arrived, I would run around like a crazy lady for hours, cleaning and cooking and keeping the kids all set to play with their friends. I was still in my twenties, with bounds of energy, and although I was always perfectly presentable once the doorbell rang, I just never had enough time to wash, dry and put away the dishes I had used to prepare all the food.

So, shortly before anybody arrived, I would stuff the big bowls, pots and cookie sheets into a plastic garbage bag and hide them in my garage. Every single time. It was my little secret. My kitchen was a glistening canvas, ready to showcase all of the delicious treats people would be bringing to share.

Apparently, I was making it all look too easy. I'll never forget the day when my friend, Helen, who had two young children of her own, asked me how I managed it. While I did love that she believed I had it all together, I knew I couldn't allow her to continue seeing that false flawlessness about me. So, I let her in on my dirty little secret. I led her over to my garage and showed her my shameful bag of food-covered, party-prep dishes. We laughed, and she let out a refreshing sigh of relief.

It's been so many years since my "Hide the Dirty Dishes in the Garage" trick began. It worked wonders for me for so long, and Helen and I still laugh about it to this day. Now, when I'm having my friends over, I leave the party prep dishes in the sink if I don't have time to clean them. I'm over the façade.

Dirty dishes sitting in the sink
Kids' school papers strewn across the desk
Baby toys in every corner of every room
Clean towels, waiting to be folded, taking up space on the couch

All are signs that your home is being lived in and used by the people who are living there.

Once we tune out the nagging voices and give up the notion that we should hide the evidence that we actually live in our homes, we'll be confident in calling ourselves one of the Good Moms.

Has anything kept you from believing you were a Good Mom? Let's talk about it!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

I Gave up Facebook for Almost a Year

This morning is Valentine's Day, so naturally, I began my morning with a rich bite of chocolate. The kids followed suit, as I gave them permission to indulge in their goodies before we headed downstairs for a real breakfast. Reese is away on a retreat for the weekend, so our table seemed strangely amiss with only five places set. It's a blizzardy blanket of white outside, so we're planning to be snowed in for the day. Mark is up in our room, strumming his guitar while the other three babes are playing together in the family room. I've migrated to my computer chair, seeking inspiration on what to write for you today.

This month, I have already written about ways Mark and I keep our marriage thriving with date nights, and also about the unending love a father has for his daughter. These two stories are full of the gushy love that people equate with Valentine's Day, but for some, that love doesn't even exist. Love on Valentine's Day just isn't reality for everyone.

This morning, I opened up Facebook after breakfast, and I was flooded with images of people sharing love, kisses, gifts, roses...romance. I may have liked more photos and status updates today than I have ever done in one sitting. I was smiling back at my computer screen, smiling at your delight. I was genuinely thrilled for all of you. I'm able to feel joy because I'm in a joyful place as well.

However, because I'm a deep thinker and emotional woman, I instantly started to wonder and worry about all of my other friends. Those who aren't as satisfied right now. Who are suffering in some way. Whose families are shattered. Who have been wronged by someone who claimed true love. Who can't afford the latest gadgets or flowers or even chocolates. How do they feel when they scroll through their feeds, seeing that everyone they "know" is having a better time? A lovelier time? A sweeter time?

Sometimes it can be difficult to see others' happiness or boasts of good times. Sometimes, we just have to decide when enough is enough and give ourselves permission to place our minds at rest. You may be surprised to know that I have experienced those feelings myself.

A couple of years ago, I just had enough of it. Had enough of viewing everyone else's dream vacations, enormous spreads of Christmas presents and perfect pregnant bellies. All I could think to do to curb the pressure I had been feeling was to quit Facebook.

Give it up.

Cold turkey.

I did it, and my absence lasted almost a year.

It was one of the most liberating experiences of my entire life.

It sounds extreme. Why couldn't I just pop on once in a while to check on close friends and family and then pop off again? Well, because that's not my personality. I'm an all-in kind of girl. While my account was deactivated (I didn't get crazy and delete it permanently), I spent so much more time with my head inside this house and with this family, where it needed to be anyway.

Eventually, I was ready to rejoin the online world, and I felt ready to fully embrace it once again. I was no longer feeling jaded or annoyed, but excited and anxious to be back. It was an excellent vacation, and it worked wonders for my psyche. Of course, I still feel pressure sometimes. We all do. It's something we as parents have to learn to tackle, so we can properly coach our kids to be confident online. Thanks to my great community of readers who are sharing these experiences, we're helping one another!

Have you ever considered leaving social media for a bit? There is no shame in it. No shame in saying you can't take it anymore or that you need a break. The overload of information is very real and very daunting. On the other hand, when I talked about this in the past, I heard the best piece of advice from a good friend I haven't seen since high school graduation.

She said, "So what if someone else's Facebook highlight reel looks better than yours?"

Yeah, so what?

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

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