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/

Motherhood with a Teenager Reveals Blessings

Let me know if you've heard these phrases: "Just wait until they start talking back to you. Just wait until all they do is sleep all day. Just wait until they eat everything in sight. Just wait until they're taller than you. Just wait until they're teenagers. Just wait..."


When a fellow mom prefaces advice with those two words, "Just Wait," I want to smack her a little. I hear it quite often, because gobs of people have lived through motherhood longer than I have. The truth is, no matter what stage of motherhood a woman is in, her future shouldn't be discussed with fear and annoyance. Her present is hard enough as it is, so how does it help anybody to dismiss what's happening now and indicate it's only going to be worse someday?


We have all heard horror stories about the teen years. We shouldn't trek blindly or naively without being prepared for the worst, because some of the worst is surely going to happen. Our paths will be tumultuous. The terrain will be rocky. We'll cross wide, gaping holes without bridges. Slippery hills and uneven ground will bring us to a halt at times. We know. Veteran moms don't need to warn us. We were teenagers not so long ago ourselves. Our husbands were boys, and we were girls. If we really tried, we could recall all of our crazy stunts and the poor decisions we made as teens. We can't believe our own parents survived. We are baffled that we were never kidnapped or lost or worse. We know, Just-Wait-Warning moms. We know what's coming.


As we sit around waiting for the worst, we can try to appreciate the best of our teens. These curious creatures are still the same babies who once were merely a dream to a newlywed couple. We can still see the glow in their eyes and dimples in their cheeks reminiscent of the toddler years. Their sense of humor has wittily evolved from that of the second-grader who loved the tired old Knock-Knock Orange and Banana joke.


Bits of the worst may be in our future, but for now, I'd like to share how I learned to appreciate the wonder of my present teen while picking up dirty laundry.


Laundry is an issue for our family...you know this because I've told you how my system moved from highly inefficient to simply okay. Six people create many loads of laundry, so each child has a hamper in his or her room. Our rule for the past year has been that each child should be placing dirty clothing into said hamper. It sounds simple, yet they do not always do it. Many days, I find clothes and pajamas behind the bathroom door, draping down the stairs, next to the basement couch and in every mom's favorite place: on the floor right next to the hamper. Right next to it! Many times I've been infuriated by this practice. I've beckoned for children to run up two flights of stairs, for the sole purpose of reminding them of proper laundry rules and insisting they follow the rules right then and there. I've cursed under my breath for the inconvenience. I've thrown my hands up in the air, wondering, Will they ever do it the right way? My way?


Some days, I am surprised when I find hampers full of clothes and floors cleared of the heaps of socks and undies. I do love and appreciate those days.


It was one typical day when the clothes were lying beside the hamper when I woke up to my teenage blessing. The sun was shining through the windows, which is pretty rare in our town during winter, so I was in an especially inspired mood. Everybody was at school and work. My Broadway Showtunes Pandora station was cranked up to a volume nobody in the house but I could tolerate. Seeing the jumbled mess of clothes next to the hamper, when nobody but I was home to move them, jolted me.


For a split second, I grumpily thought I should leave them on the floor until school was over, then make darn sure the offending child placed them where they belonged. Then, my mama heart softened as I realized that I will not be cleaning up clothes forever. Someday, there will be nothing left on the floor. The kids will be grown and gone, and I'll long for the days when I could pick up after my babies. My kids. My teens.


There will be no toothpaste on the sink. No unmade beds. No Lego pieces. No evidence of children...anywhere.


I started to cry. I began to mourn the years that are slipping away from us as fast as rockets, and I slowly and deliberately picked up each piece of smelly clothing from the floor. As I dropped them into the hamper, I said these words out loud:


"Thank you for sending me these children. Thank you for keeping them healthy. Thank you for everything we have, even the messes. Please keep them safe. Please keep them healthy. Please help them know how much I love being their mom. Please keep them mine."


As we learn to navigate our new roles as moms to teens, I hope we'll be strong in remembering how much these kiddos still need us. They aren't grown up yet. They forget. They are tired. They want to hang out with friends or read or watch their favorite shows. They're kids. They probably loathe laundry as much as we do.

 

One of my best friends gave me a cherished recipe, with these words of words of wisdom taped to the back of the card:

I Miss You...Here's Where I've Been

Peer pressure is some serious business. We all feel it. Well, maybe you don't anymore...now that you're a grown-up. If you don't feel peer pressure as an adult, I'm jealous. Look, there's more proof that I feel it. I feel pressure to be exempt from pressure.


Several months ago, I read these words across my computer screen:


"You haven't posted anything new in 11 days. 221 people who like your page want to hear from you."


What?


Who did that person think she was telling me to come up with something interesting/endearing/clickworthy to share with my likers?


Well, it wasn't even a person. It was Facebook. A computer generated message, coded to pop up as a reminder for business owners and bloggers to keep their pages active, happening and vibrant. To keep those clickers clicking.


A quiet, inconspicuous nudge. Come on, say something. Anything. Bring someone here...to this page...your page. They want you. We want you. Do it.


I read the words, felt the pressure and caved. I typed. I created something for my likers to like. I did what I felt I was meant to do.


One of my dear friends straight out told me, "That's a lot of pressure from Facebook." I LOL-ed and smiley-face emoji-ed at her brilliant comment. (I don't think those are verbs yet, but I'm typing them anyway. I'm screwing teacher pressure tonight).


Life continued as it had for the previous many months. Eleven days between posts had once been a mighty number, so I squeezed it back to three. However, eventually, that high of eleven became nineteen. Nineteen morphed into thirty-three. This fall, Facebook made sure to warn me that my likers had gone a painstakingly 45 days without seeing anything new from their wise and witty Mama (Who Loves You and Chocolate, Too). What had I done? What was I thinking, not writing and sharing and blogging and posting? Where was I?


Don't I wish that I could tell you that I was living the easy life as all four of my kids were at school?


That I was kicking up my heels (FINALLY) and eating all those bon-bons I have been missing out on all these years?


That the breakfast dishes were cleaned up as soon as the kids hopped on the bus, in time for me to work out before my long, hot bubble bath?


That my husband and I were sneaking away for long lunches every day?


That I planned, shopped for and cooked wholesome and thoughtful meals, which were ready at 5:30 each night?


That the children did their homework without hesitation or fuss?


That they happily went upstairs after family book or game time, eagerly brushing teeth and taking showers, allowing us to relax with Jimmy Fallon and our unhealthy addiction to the new Netflix series Narcos?


Don't I freaking wish? If only that were how life was. For a real look into our lives, go ahead and reread those few sentences, knowing that none of it ever happened. In fact, it was the exact opposite...all the time. Our life was the typical, hectic, back to school mess with four kids, plus several medical disasters thrown into the mix. I was forced to give up running and yoga after a hefty injury to my ankle. Yes, again. My feet suck. I miss it more than I could have ever imagined.


Two of the children were/are being treated for some lasting health issues. For one of them, we met with or consulted with nine physicians and specialists. For the other, we are still not to the bottom of the problem and are seeking a second opinion after months of pain and therapy. One of the boys underwent ear tubes surgery, which had to be postponed once during his first medical crisis. Also, it wouldn't be Halloweentime without the family picking up the icky germs. Each morning, as I struggled to open my puffy eyes from another sleepless night, when I thought nothing more could go wrong for us, something always did.


Usually, I only complain to my closest friends, my mom and Mark. They hear the worst from me, They are my people. They know my scary stuff. Even if it had been physically possible for me to sit at my keyboard without crying or falling asleep, you guys didn't want to hear about all my drama. My stress. My major mama worries.


Or did you?


Lately, people have been asking where I've been. This morning, my friend hesitantly, yet dearly, confessed to me that she missed my blog. She told me that she wanted me to know, but she didn't want me to feel undue pressure to come back. It made me smile inside to know that my words have affected her and the others who expressed similar sentiments. I've wanted to be here for so long...I've missed you all. You know how much I hate to admit I can't do something, but spending part of nearly every day in a medical office Is.Just.So.Darn.Draining.


So, here's what I'm thinking. I'm thinking about peer pressure. The good kind. Did you know there is a good kind? I didn't need Facebook to toss meaningless numbers at me to start me writing again. Facebook pressure has proven to be ineffective on me the past several months. Thank goodness. I'm thinking that I needed to hear from just the right number of people, the exact number of times, that I should come back to my blog. Thank you, Sweet Smiling Sarah, for pressing me.


When I told you in early October that I was cutting back on blogging, I had no idea what was ahead. I was only a mom hoping to figure out her place in a day with no children. I was going to recharge myself to be the best mom ever! I imagined I would take time away from the keys to plan satisfying meals and take steamy baths and meet Mark for relaxing lunches and go on daytime runs and have coffee chats with friends and volunteer at both schools and paint everyone's rooms and magically tidy the whole house using the KonMari Method. If life ever really gets there, I'll be sure to tell you.


For now, I'll tell you that the life of every mom you know is probably overwhelmingly messy. She'll smile and like your pictures and click "maybe" on your invites, hoping that someday her life will calm down enough for her to actually finish that book on her nightstand. Don't give up on her. I won't give up on you either. Send me a note. Post on my page. Let's start talking about what is important to you.


Are you that messy mom feeling pressure? It's okay. I feel it, too, and people call me Supermom. Whatever.

MOUNTAINS. BABIES. PEACE.
 

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

A Mother's Role Is...

After decades of watching my favorite chefs on The Food Network entice and teach me about cooking, it is still my go-to channel when I catch a moment to myself. I have little in common with most of the hosts, but I still watch. I learn. I relax.

A few years ago, I discovered The Pioneer Woman, Ree Drummond. She was a busy mom of four who cooked home style food for her family. I thought somebody like me finally was on TV. Then, I took notice of the manner in which she described herself. She always declared,

"I'm a writer, blogger, photographer, mother…and an accidental country girl."

While I watched her show intently and devoured her recipes, I had a difficult time moving past the placement of her role as mother. I would think to myself, How can she not list mother first? Isn't that how moms introduce themselves?

"Hi, I'm so and so. I have this many kids in grades x, y and z."

The Pioneer Woman boldly did the exact opposite of what I do. Talk about guts. I had never seen anything like it. While I'm embarrassed to say it made me uneasy in the beginning, I grew accustomed to hearing her list.

"Credential, credential, credential, mom."

Why did I find it so strange? Maybe because so many moms I know tend to highlight their position in motherhood before any other of life's accomplishments. Am I sheltered? Old-fashioned? Clueless?

What do you do?

You may have noticed that my own role as blogger has taken a shift these past few months. While I once published new work three times a week, that momentum became increasingly difficult to maintain. Not because I didn't have anything left to say, not because this life became less interesting, and certainly not because I was tired of talking with you.

So, why did my posts slow? Where have I been?

Simply stated, I have been a mom.

I don't need to detail my life as a mom for you. You know what I've been doing. You know because you are a mom, you live with a mom or you were raised by one.

We've talked about fear of failure. The unrealistic reach for perfection. Each Tuesday, Thursday or Saturday that passed by without a post weighed heavily on my mind. People often asked about my blog. I didn't want to disappoint my readers. I didn't want to admit I was easing up my writing schedule. Couldn't I keep up? Shouldn't I just do it all?

I'm here to say that for this mama, the answer today is "No." At this point in my life, doing it all means being all in for my family.

Remember when I said I was having a bit of an identity crisis with my baby going off to school? Currently, we are in week four, and I'm nowhere near solidly identified yet. My kids are doing astoundingly well without me. I know I am still Mom, but I have no one to mother for seven hour stretches. It's a bizarre feeling and a weary way to walk through the day. I'm happy for that bit of peace, yet aching for the company of my boisterous boys and girl.

This week is when I will adjust the settings on my blog. My parrot head schedule is changing. I'm nervous, but it's happening. Will you bear with me through this new stage of blogging? I'm not giving it up or leaving. I'm simply admitting that I have had to move my priorities for a while. I'm giving myself permission to let go of those self-imposed deadlines to enjoy this new part of motherhood: a mom with big kids.  

My proud place in life right now is mother, wife, friend, writer… and official Bringer Togetherer.  I still have space for everybody…including myself.

Let's keep connected on my Facebook page on the days I'm not writing new stories. Share your triumphs and struggles. Ask questions to the community of parents there. You know I love to create meaningful discussion. You can start here:


If you had to list five ways to describe yourself, what would they be? Are you surprised at how they have shifted over the years?

One of my roles as Mom this summer was to race in a Saturday morning Mud Run with my daughter.

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

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

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/

 

 

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/

Teaching Our Kids It's Okay to Fail

We all remember our middle school years. Some adults may look back with wide smiles and fond nostalgia, although those people are probably rare. After speaking to a lot of my women friends the past few weeks, I've learned that many of them who are currently successful, empowered, admired and beautiful actually recall those times with distinct horror.


They explicitly describe them as "the worst years of their lives."


These are women who have gone on to become gifted engineers, pilots, computer scientists, teachers, writers, mothers and dedicated friends. They're leaders in their communities, churches and schools. They have surpassed every obstacle that has come their way and ended up in positions of importance and value.


Yet, when they think back to being an awkward early teenager, they cringe. They literally shudder at the mere mention of Middle School. Junior High. Whatever it was called where they lived. It was all the same. Horrible. Dreadful. Humiliating.


My own middle school years were no picnic. Going from the big fish in a small pond into a sea of glittery rainbow fish was something I hadn't expected. Not seeing my two best friends all day was a shock. Half of our elementary school went to a different middle school, so kids I had known for years were never to be seen again until high school.


Then, entered the mean girls. The rotten bullies who were relentless in their taunting. My mom always insisted they acted that way because they were jealous of my grades or my pretty hair (that's what all moms say), but it didn't take away from the fact that they followed me from class to class, unforgiving in their constant hounding.


Until middle school, everything had always gone my way. I was sassy and smart and believed I was a star. The mean girls bothered me and tried to tear me down, but somehow, I survived. When I look back now, I'm surprised at all that I was able to endure.


Maybe it was because my mom didn't let it show that she was worried for me, or that she knew middle school could quite possibly be the worst years of my life. She encouraged me to keep trying new things. She kept on insisting that I was amazing, that I could do anything, that I deserved more. She pushed and pushed and pushed. So, I believed her, and I went for more.


By seventh grade, the bullies must have moved on to someone else. Life was looking up as I had become acclimated to school, and I was finding my niche. Then, I did something kind of nuts. A few of my other friends were trying out for the girls' basketball team. I, on the other hand, didn't know how to play basketball...at all. I had always been a cheerleader, but that year, I decided to give basketball a try, too. I showed up to every preliminary practice, not knowing how to dribble the ball or run down the court or shoot any kind of basket: free throw, lay-up, are there others I'm missing? I still don't know.


Of course, I didn't make the team. I had no chance. Zero. I didn't even make the B team. I would not be allowed to ride any benches. I was just sent packing at the end of the last day. My name wasn't called, and I was left sitting in the bleachers while everyone else was celebrating. The end.


Do you know what happened after I experienced my first-ever real failure?


I survived.


My parents probably took me out for ice cream to console me. Then, they told me that I was just meant for something else. I never looked back on those basketball try-outs with regret. I never wished I hadn't participated because I looked foolish. It helped to build a stronger foundation for my character. To boost my confidence. To teach me that even if I wasn't the best at everything, I was still pretty great at other things. I would still be sassy and smart and a star.

Check me out playing Hedbanz, being my ultra-competitive self.

Is it normal that I can vividly recall this failure? I actually remember almost every time I didn't succeed at something. I can reflect on those experiences in connection to parenting. Learning to handle failure is surely an important tool to instill in our children, to help them build a healthy life.


As parents, naturally, we worry about our kids. We don't want them to have pain. Or trouble. Or sadness. Or rejection. As I listen to so many moms express their own painful memories of middle school, I have these wishes:


-I wish that we don't project our own fears about unchartered territory onto our kids. We can talk to our friends, our spouses or our parents about it.


-I wish that children who start out highly confident continue to grow...that even when they have a misstep, they know they are still loved and have value.


-I wish that kids who don't know that they are stars will find power from somewhere...from parents, from teachers, from friends, from neighbors. This world needs people who see potential in the quiet kids/quirky kids/awkward kids/kids who seem to have it all together, but secretly don't.


-I wish that we have strong, open dialogues with our kids about bullies and try-outs and grades and acne and the ever-changing dynamics of social media.


-I wish that we are able to nurture these big kids just as we did when they were babies...with deliberate, unwavering care, for as long as they'll allow...without hovering, of course.

What kinds of worries have you had about your child starting something new?

How did you handle it?

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

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

There's No Use Crying Over Melted Crayons

One of the most rewarding parts of sharing my life with you guys is hearing how my words make you feel. How they move you. How you relate to them. How when you read them, you believe they could be your words.

Lately, I've learned that these words of mine have a tendency to bring on some tears. After bumping into people at school, around town and online, I've discovered this common theme of crying. I'm honored to be able to move someone to experience such extreme emotions. I am a deeply feeling person, so I suppose that's why I communicate that way through my writing. I love taking you to that place in motherhood where you might be afraid you're missing out on the daily growth of your child, so you pay extra attention to the little moments. I enjoy transporting you back to your childhood, playing in the yard with your hard-working dad. I know from experience how much strong friendships can make or break a woman's journey through adulthood, so if I can help you think about your own girlfriends and how much you cherish them, then I've done my job as your go-to blogger.

On the other hand, I also love to make you laugh. When my readers tell me that their car is also a junk bus or that they clipped my article from the magazine and sent it to their daughter, I couldn't be more proud. You guys are still telling me about your laundry horror stories. At least once a week, I hear from mothers who say they, too, stink at laundry or dishes or some other horrid household chore that has become "ours" by default.

Isn't this the way of motherhood? One day we're crying, the next we're laughing? These swings of the pendulum can even exist within the same day or the same hour for some of us. It has happened to me, on a random Monday in March. Would you read and listen and think about if it ever happens this way to you?

Working in a rush before school yesterday, I discovered that several different colored crayons had been dried with a load of clothes. The entire inside of our dryer was coated in a layer of blue wax, with small flecks of yellow, green and red dotted throughout as well. The clothes, belonging to all four kids, suddenly had the appearance of a funky tie dye mixed with toddler "art."

So many thoughts ran through my head when we uncovered the mess.

None were poetic.

Many were profane.

We reached out to Google and Facebook for advice, of course.

I wanted to take pictures for you guys, but I was so overwhelmed, I just couldn't.

I reminded myself to be thankful that certain pieces of clothing were not in the load.

Mark left for work, knowing it all would be waiting for him when he came home in the evening. 

I secretly wished he would say "screw it" so we could finally buy a new dryer.

We didn't have time to tackle any of it in the morning. I kept telling myself how much worse my life could be, and then we left to go on about our day. The rainbow colored dryer and speckled clothes were going to be dealt with later, because I needed to drive Marshall to the public library for a field trip. The sun had only risen a few hours earlier, and as we were walking along the sidewalk, I spotted something incredible. Just in front of the steps that led up to the library's main doors, we noticed one lone tree. No longer was it white with snow, as it had been for so many months. Instead, it had turned to a healthy brown, with little bits of red popping up all over its branches. Itty bitty red buds! I stopped to stare at them, to make sure I wasn't imagining them. They were real.

New life!

Spring!

It's coming, and we need it. Winter tends to brings drear and clouds and gloom. Blah. Spring brings sunshine and colors and cheer. Yes! In honor of Spring and new life, I'm writing a tear-free post today!

A full day has passed since I found the melted crayons, and this is what I know:

The dryer is cleaned, thanks to my husband's elbow grease and hours of scrubbing. The clothes are not, but they're only clothes, and we have more. I'm no longer worried about what I was worried about yesterday. That mess is in the past, and now I will move on to the next, while we celebrate the joys that are sprinkled in between them.

Dumped Legos...Birthday boy...Forgotten homework...Cello concert...Lost glasses...Reading lover...Ruined jackets...Art showcase.

My blog's tone changes often, just as mothers do, just as children do, just as seasons do. The tearful posts, the lighthearted posts, the informational posts, the "we've all been there" posts...they are all here for you. I hope that the right ones find you on the days you need them, and that you'll come back for more.

Tell us about your laundry mishaps. What do you love about Spring? Do you experience the ups and downs of motherhood? If you ever think of a topic you'd like to see covered on Mama Loves You and Chocolate, Too, just shoot me a message.

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/

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/

Why Don't Moms Get Medals?

I have this beautiful mom friend who's always inspiring me with the stories she shares about her own life with four children...all girls. She's one of the first people I met when we moved into this town, and she welcomed me with the most endearing gift of her friendship. She's always the first to offer help for anything, so of course she brought us dinners during my pregnancy bed rest, and later when Baby Marshall was born. No matter how humble she is, or how much she hates it when I tell her that I think she's a rock-star mother, I have to set the scene for you. Her home is incredible; her children are starlets; her smile is dazzling. She cooks and bakes everything from scratch, and she's the epitome of everyone's favorite school mom. Basically, she's amazing!

I guess I kind of idolize her, as she's actually able to pull off that impossible "Supermom" status, a title, which, frankly, nobody really wants. Though it sounds flattering, the second one of the many balls we're juggling drops, somebody...somewhere, will be watching and relishing in our failure. Sadly, you know I'm right. With Cathy and me, our relationship stems from a mutual respect of mamas in the thick of it all. No need to be perfect, no need to prove that we're the best. We're just there to share in the craziness of having so many kids in such a short amount of time.

So, when we met up during our annual holiday cookie party (remember my peaceful December?), she talked to me about what had been an extremely hectic afternoon in her house. That's one of the perks to sharing my business with the world. Women know that I'm the first one willing to be honest and admit defeat. I welcome them, with their ups and downs, into this cozy, comfortable, judgment free-zone with my manta: parenting is hard.

Cathy and I stood side by side in our friend's impeccably decorated kitchen, surrounded by hundreds of the most delectable cookies in every imaginable color, shape and flavor. She was ready to decompress from her stressful day at home, with the allure of butter cream icing, chocolate shavings and confectioners sugar to serve as the best remedies. Cathy had been suffering with an unforgiving headache all afternoon. Then, her four girls came home from school, busting through the door with the same levels of noise, liveliness and desires that they do every day.

As Cathy was scurrying throughout her kitchen to produce a healthy dinner, she was also busy overseeing that all of those kiddos were set for sports and finishing their homework. While her head was throbbing, she chopped, simmered and sautéed. The dog was barking; kids yelled throughout the house as they searched for their work-out gear; somebody needed help with her math problems. It sounded like a typical night for most parents I know. Pounding headache, needy children, demanding pots and pans. Everything and everyone instantaneously screaming for attention.

How does a parent decide which way to go? What do you think was last on the list to be addressed? We all really know. Moms come last.

Cathy is a master of the multi-task, as many parents are, especially during meal prep time. She handled it like the pro that she is.

As the meal which she had painstakingly prepared was finally ready to be served, she proudly brought it to her family. Just when she laid the food out on the dining room table, she thought to herself, "After everything I just went through to make this dinner come together, I deserve a medal." Even through all of the madness, it turned out to be a delicious dinner, one which adults would enjoy and appreciate. As for the children: well, we know how kids can be with food.

Did anyone present her with a medal? How about a trophy? A ribbon?

Nope, nada.

Maybe a groan about having to eat vegetables. Probably a quick "Thanks, Mom" as they scurried to finish the rest of the night's activities (which also required mom's help). Do you know what mom's prize was? Some dirty dishes, a bunch of half-eaten food and the chance to do it all over again, every day, for the rest of her kids' lives.

Is that enough?

Is she being dramatic for asking why moms don't earn medals? Of course not. She's one of the most extraordinary moms I know, and her children are respectful, intelligent and a delight. She's doing something right. What's awesome about Cathy is that when she told me this story, she was laughing. She knows what she's in for with this motherhood thing, and she's learned ways to stay sane through the repetition of her life as a mom. It's so much fun...and remarkably therapeutic...to talk about what we're going through, especially with others who are in this life, too.

All moms have hard days. We all experience times when we feel nobody appreciates us or values the time and effort we put forth to take care of our family and homes. It doesn't mean we would do it differently. It doesn't mean we aren't grateful for the chance to have these children, or to be with them all the time or that we should be teaching them better manners (all stuff someone might say to tear down a parent who gets real about how hard it is).

It just means that we'd like a little credit. Sometimes.

For now, we have to settle on knowing that we are winning at motherhood, even if we don't actually hear it or have physical hardware hanging around our necks to prove it. Let's ask ourselves these questions:

Are our kids growing? Do they hear our voices as they drift off to sleep? Do they have milk in their tummies and blankets to warm them at night? Do they know what books are? Are they showing up for school with clean clothes and full bellies? Do we tell them to brush their teeth? Do we cook vegetables that they may or may not eat. Are they laughing? Do they hear that we love them? Are they asking for our help? Do we shower them with hugs and kisses? Do we take them to the doctor and dentist? Do we rescue them when someone hurts their feelings? Are they seeking our opinions?

I know you can think of a million other ways you are winning at motherhood. It's all these little tidbits throughout our days, that we meticulously manage without a second thought, that make us champion mothers.

So why don't get moms get medals?

Really, what could we possibly do with one more trinket, let alone with all of the medals we'd be winning for the many years of championship mothering yet to come?

For Cathy, a tiny scoop of validation for her hard work was dished out later that evening, when her tray of homemade goodies won the prize for Prettiest Cookies of the Night. See, I told you she's a rock star!

What are some ways you know you're winning at motherhood? Let's cheer ourselves on right here!

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

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.

My Christmas Tree is Still Standing

Nearly five weeks have passed since Christmas Day, yet our Christmas tree is still perched in our living room, fully decorated, right in front of our windows. Go ahead, feel free to gasp, shriek and judge. Revel in my laziness. I have found that my readers especially love my posts which document that I do fail at some parts of my job as wife/mother/woman of the world.

I talk to my mom on the phone every day, sometimes more than once. During one of our chats in the middle of January, she asked me if our tree was down yet. Of course, I laughed and gave the same response I give her every year around the same time,

"Nope, it's not Trixie's birthday yet."

We do not leave the tree up until Trixie's birthday for any real reason. It has just become a nice, solid deadline to strive for and a way to remember that when she was born, my mom took down our tree while we were at the hospital.

The year that Trixie was born, I had a semi-legitimate excuse for still having up our Christmas tree toward the end of January. Coming through the holidays with one baby who had just learned to walk and being extremely pregnant myself, who had time to think about taking down ornaments and lights and then putting them away in boxes? Weren't we lucky enough that the tree was decorated at all that year?

I was barely able to waddle after my also waddling toddler. I was falling on ice and going to physical therapy. It was cold and flu season. Our Christmas tree was the least of my concerns. Reese and our second child were going to be sixteen months apart in age, so I was storing any energy I had for when that baby did come. Having two babies in sixteen months sounded really close, yet manageable. Possible. My grandma had done it; my aunts had done it. I could do it, too. 

In reality, sixteen months was not meant to be our number. Sneaky little sister was anxious to meet us and made a very early, yet healthy debut. She brought the age gap between Reese and her even closer, making it fourteen months and some change. Her sudden birth caused quite a stir, as you can imagine. By the time we returned home from the hospital, bringing our tiny little girl to join her big brother and fuzzy doggie, all the leftover stress from a pregnant lady unable to put away her Christmas stuff had been magically erased.

My mother, always a loving caretaker and detailed organizer, had cleaned up everything for me. We were free to enter our home (and begin our new life as a family of four) with the fresh slate feeling that January often brings. Thank goodness for my mom. If it hadn't been for her, we might have just left the tree up till the following Christmas.

None of this suggests that every January has been as eventful as the year of Trixie's birth. A few of them have been really nuts, like the years we decided to move to and from Japan, and then again when we moved into our current house. I don't know what it is with us moving in the dead of Winter. On the other hand, most of our post-holiday seasons have been pretty standard. It's just that after all of the hustle and bustle, I'm never in a rush to drag up all the boxes to deconstruct the jolliness that has filled our home. It will seem so bare. So plain. So blah.

Right?

Actually, since Christmas was over a month ago, I know I'm ready for everything to come down now. It's time for me to gaze openly out my front window once again.

Trixie's birthday has now come and gone for 2015. I had set a goal to take down our tree over the weekend. I verbalized that ambitious goal to everyone here, only to be sidetracked by normal family happenings, such as a very loud trip to the bouncy house gym, fluffy purple cupcakes and our brand new, late-night Netflix addiction to Sons of Anarchy.

Our Christmas tree still remains. Its presence lingers in my mind every night when I finally rest my head on the pillow and then realize, Shoot, we still didn't take that tree down. Every time I pass by it or sit next to it as I write, I wonder, When will we ever have the time to put it away? It's exactly eighteen inches from me at this very second, but it's not down yet!

Will our Christmas tree still be standing by Valentine's Day? Surely not. My mom is coming this weekend.

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo