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:

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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:

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Being a Child's First Valentine-6 Reasons My Dad Was Mine

It's usually around Father's Day when our social media feeds explode with abundant expressions of love that people feel for their dads. It's only fair that fathers receive that recognition during lawn mowing and grilling season, but I'm about to break tradition. I'm about to gush about my dad in the middle of February, because while spending time with my little boys over the weekend, I realized he was my very first Valentine.

Still chilling in our jammies, Marshall, Chip and I were lying, tummies down, on the family room carpet. Armed with red pens and class lists, we surrounded ourselves with dozens of store-bought Batman and Star Wars Valentines. The boys signed their names on the cards meant for classmates and friends, and then they stuffed them in baggies in anticipation of the big party coming up on Friday. My youngest planned to save one of his cards for me. He examined them all, and he carefully chose one that was two inches bigger than all of the others, featuring the forever-wise and wonderful Yoda. I'm sure he didn't choose it for me because he believes I'm as enlightened as Yoda. More likely, it's because I'm tall, so I should have a tall card.

The thought of receiving a Valentine from my small son pulled a vivid memory to the forefront of my mind. A memory of a special surprise dessert I made for my dad when I was a little girl: a chocolate cake shaped like a heart. It was the '80's, so even if heart-shaped cake pans were in existence, my mom had no plan to buy one. We were going to create our own heart cake with what we had at home.

We whipped up a trusty box of devil's food cake-my dad's favorite-and evenly poured the batter into one square cake pan and one round cake pan. Courtesy of Google and Pinterest, people in 2015 know that you can create a heart-shaped cake by cutting a round cake in half and connecting the two halves to the square cake. In the '80's, my mom just knew. I was convinced she was a genius.

To frost the cake, we also made a batch of my mom's famous homemade icing, and I colored it a light shade of pink. She slathered that pink fluffiness all over the chocolaty goodness, and suddenly, we no longer could see any traces of three individual pieces of cake. We had turned those fragmented slices into one giant, seamless, chocolate heart, covered in rich whipped cream icing.

My dad came home from work that Valentine's night to find his big pink heart waiting for him on our kitchen table. He smiled and MMMed through every morsel, as adults often do as they eat something a child has prepared for them. My dad was the best at making me believe whatever I had baked for him was the most incredible piece of anything he had ever eaten in his entire life.

I was so proud of that pink heart cake when I was a young girl. My dad made me feel that I had made something exceptional. These days, heart-shaped cake pans are a dime a dozen, and I've had a few of them over the years. Maybe I should hide mine and encourage the kids to use their brains to make their own dad a special cake for Valentine's Day. He would be proud of their geometry skills for sure.

Though this story is about my own father, I know it may resonate with you as well. For those of you who have sentimental dads like I do, I hope that joyful memories will surface as you think about times spent with your own father. For the men who are reading, my hope is that you can contemplate the ladies and little girls in your life. Are you worthy to be their first or forever Valentine?

We hear it all the time: that we may not appreciate what our parents have done for us until we are our parents ourselves. When we're living through the daily grind as kids, how could we possibly know that what our parents are doing for us will have such significance? Now that I'm a mom and sharing parenthood with Mark, I'm able to see 6 reasons my dad was my first Valentine.

1. When I think of what a man and father should be like, I think of my dad. I grew up in a steel mill town, where everyone's dad worked in one factory or another. Shift work. Overtime. Steel-toed boots and hard hats. Work clothes that can't be washed with the regular laundry. Men taking care of business to take care of their families. No complaining. No whining. Just working hard to make it all work. That was and still is my dad.

2. When I was young, cars didn't have remote locks, and stores didn't have automatic doors. I was let into a building or into our car by my dad's two hands. Even though technology has come a long way to put an end to chivalry, my dad continues to insist on practicing one of my favorite gentlemanly gestures, everywhere we go.

3. My dad was the first person to ever give me flowers. We really didn't make that big of a deal about Valentine's Day, but as my dad would present my mom with flowers and a box of Fannie May Mint Meltaways, he would always have a smaller bouquet waiting for me.

4. When we were on the brink of adolescence, my best friend's father very suddenly passed away. It was the most tragic event imaginable. Up until that point, all of our lives had been completely entwined with one another. It was as if we had two homes, two sets of siblings and two sets of parents. When one father was suddenly lost, my own dad naturally and effortlessly embraced the children in that family. One year later, she and I were attending a summer writing program. It was almost Father's Day, so our teacher asked all of us to write about our dads. She asked my best friend if she could think of another man, someone who loved her as her dad had done, for her story. She decided to write about my dad. Why he was special to her. How he cared for her and her little brother, always taking the bunch of us to the park and out for ice cream. Her incredible story was published in the local newspaper. I was only eleven years old, so I didn't really see the significance or magnitude of everything that was happening through those years. Now that I am a mother, I see it all. I see how my dad viewed that loss and the responsibility to his friend's children. She and I are still best friends, with our own families now, and he has never let that compassion or dedication subside.

5. During all of my cello performances, or at any of the kazillion other activities my brothers and I dabbled in through the years, I knew that if I looked out into the audience or up in the stands, my dad would be there. Even bone-weary from working the midnight shift, his presence was a given...a constant. Now that he's Grandpa to nine grandchildren, he unquestionably watches their games and attends their special performances, too.

6. One of the coolest and most selfless acts my dad has done was forgoing a big 60th birthday bash to celebrate at the McDonald's play land with his grandkids. As his family is what matters most to him, and being with those nutty kiddos makes him so stinkin' happy, he chose to spend his birthday at a place where the kids would be comfortable. They wouldn't need to worry about being bored or staying clean or speaking politely to a bunch of strangers. So, we booked his party at McD's, where he was the oldest birthday "child" they had ever hosted. He played the silly games, wore the special hat, posed for crazy pictures, and in the end, it's a party none of us will ever forget.

Aren't all parents supposed to be a child's first Valentine? The most trusted source of love they'll ever know? I know I'm honored to be Marshall's. Unfortunately, not everyone is blessed with such strong and caring parents, so I guess all I can really say to my own father is thanks for being "Dad."

Happy Valentine's Day!

Love,
Sissy-Liss

Would you tell me about your own first Valentine? If your own memories are not filled with pink hearts and chocolate, what have you done as a parent to show unconditional love to your babies?

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

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A New Job Title for Moms: The Nap-Person-Teller

What do you suppose would happen if we attempted to draft a resume to cover all of the jobs we tackle during our years as parents? I wonder which ones would stick out as the most frequent, the most valued, the most loved or even the most despised by our kids.

Somehow, I've been sprinkled by an abundance of love from the nap fairy, so all of our kids have continued to take daytime naps until they started school full-time. Since Marshall is still in preschool, which just spans seven and a half hours each week, he's still a part-time napper. He doesn't want to be, obviously. We know that all kids scorn the idea of stopping their daytime romping to sleep, because it is so dreadfully boring! He's no different, and he is especially aware that he's the only remaining napper in the house, a title he views as unfair.

I'm not particular about these naps, meaning he doesn't take one every day, and we don't plan our life around whether or not our very old preschooler will have his nap time. They're just a quick break in what can be pretty long days, once in a while. Once he's tucked in with his three favorite blankets laid over him in just the right order, his doggie, and whichever other stuffed animals are invited into the bed that week, he immediately drifts off to sleep. His naps are magical! They're spectacular! They're replenishing! I'm not letting him give them up yet.

Although his naps are so wonderful, Marshall forgets every single time how easy they are. So, when we have a stretch of an afternoon when we don't need to leave the house, I ease Marshall into the idea that he'll be having a nap. Like all things with small children, some days go more smoothly than others.

A couple of weeks ago, I must have really interrupted Marshall's fun flow by issuing his nap plan. He tried so hard to find excuses to stay awake. When he saw that I was not backing down from his matter-of-fact reasons, he resorted to what really hurts his feelings when he's in a fight with one of the other kids: name-calling. With his forehead crinkled and eyes squinting at me, he mustered up the harshest tone he could, to call me this...The Nap-Person-Teller.

Actually, it went like this, "Mom, you always want me to take a nap. You always tell me I have to take a nap when I don't want to...You're, you're, you're the Nap-Person-Teller!"

Well, that was a new one, a job title I had never been given before by any of my other kids. The poor kid finds naps so deplorable that he meant it as an insult. Yet, it's an honest portrayal of one of the many jobs I do around here. I am that person. I'm the official Nap-Person-Teller.

If I were to list that job description on my resume, it's clear that every mom reading it would know exactly what it means.

Right along with:

-Boo-Boo Kisser

-Rock-a-Bye-Baby-er

-Lost-Lovey-Finder

-Best-Tuck-er-In-er

-Delicate-Baby-Nail-Clipper

-Tooth-Puller-Out-er

-Birthday-Favorite-Foods-Maker

And the world famous job title for all moms:

-Just-One-More-Story-Reader-and-a-Drink-of-Water-Bringer

How do you feel about being the Nap-Person-Teller? What other mom-jobs do your kids need you to do, that they may or may not appreciate just yet?

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

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http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Date Nights with Four Kids-Do They Really Exist?

In honor of Valentine's Day, my friend suggested that I write about parenting and dating. My initial thought was, What do I possibly know about dating? I'm an old married mom. What she really meant was, "How in the world do you find time, with four kids, to nurture your marriage with what we modern parents call date nights?"

Now, we're talking. Let's dish married-with-kids date nights.

Mark and I have been married for over fourteen years, and we've been parents for twelve of them. Long gone are the carefree nights of our early twenties. We try to reminisce about what our life was like before our children were born. The memories are hazy from sleep deprivation, but we are pretty sure that during those early years together, we were able to hang out with our friends without making plans weeks in advance. We could see movies on the very night they were released, and we definitely went out to quiet restaurants at a moment's notice! Do you remember those days, too?

Fast forward two continents, four kids and a truck load of diapers later to what our life as a couple is now...a couple as Mom and Dad. Our time alone can require an extreme amount of planning. Obviously, he's working during the day, while I'm busy maintaining our bustling home, intricate schedules and ever-changing kids. Nights are spent navigating the needs of the little people who live here, and we all know how quickly the weekend minutes seem to disappear. Even so, no matter what stage our kids have been in, we have developed a few methods to make room for date nights.

When we abandoned the comforts of American life in 2005 and moved our two babies to Japan, we became a fiercely independent family unit. It was during our experience abroad when we learned the importance of in-home date nights. We would read English bedtime stories, rock our kiddos to sleep, and then tip toe downstairs for time together. We would share a glass (or bottle) of wine and a bag of microwave popcorn while watching already outdated American TV through the Internet.

We sat side-by-side, right in front of the computer desk, in two hard kitchen chairs. It wasn't romantic, but it was all we could manage. It wasn't until we were forced to go without the conveniences of American life that we appreciated what made our dates so special…each other.

Now that we have been back on American soil for several years, welcomed two more children into the mix, and we are close enough to our families that they can visit, our date nights are much easier. I'll break down our system for you, and you can piece together what works for you and your own family.

Rule #1: Have Date Nights at Home

We all have reasons why we can't go out of the house to enjoy time away with our loved ones: a brand new baby, finances, childcare, conflicting work schedules. No matter the reason, it doesn't have to become an excuse to avoid spending time together. When our kids were much younger, we needed to wait until they were sleeping to have a date night at home. Now that they're older, we have an awesome new system. We are able to send them to play in the basement on a Saturday morning, as we share a quiet breakfast and actually enjoy our coffee while it's still hot. We tell the kids, "Mom and Dad are on a date," and they know not to bug us unless something major happens-like a pencil is protruding from someone's body. They really do listen, we stay in our jammies, and it's free.

Rule #2: Find a Trustworthy Babysitter

Whether your babysitter is Grandma or your niece or a neighborhood teenager, every family needs at least one person they can call on when a date night at home just won't cut it. If paying a sitter is really difficult, save the nights you do hire someone for when the entertainment is going to be free, like going to a holiday party in someone's home, an outdoor summer concert, or, the old stand-by: gazing out into the sunset. While we do have some fantastic sitters in town, we also use our moms whenever they're visiting. They see (read: spoil) their grandkids, and we see a movie that isn't animated. Everybody wins.

Rule #3: Try Family Date Night

If you just can't seem to leave those precious wee ones, or the sitter is busy, or you really just want to enjoy a meal with no clean-up, then plan a dinner out that's special for the whole family. Obviously, packing a picnic at the park is the most affordable way to go, but oftentimes, we end up at a restaurant that offers special discount nights for kids. Seasoned moms have lists of these places, categorized by days of the week and prices-all you have to do is ask. I sit close to my husband while the kids color in their menus, and we laugh at how drastically our dates have changed over the years.

Rule #4: Put Down Your Phone

That one is self-explanatory.

You have just a few days left to plan for Valentine's Day. Will you be doing anything special? I'm sure we'll be having an in-home date night, as we do every year. We don't even attempt reservations or movies or finding a sitter for that night. We leave that for the young couples.

I'll probably make something special for our family dinner, and then once the kids are snoozing, it'll be time for wine, popcorn and something on the TV. At least these days we can watch American movies and shows from our comfy couch. I'm fine being an old married mom, as long as I have this old married dad here next to me. 



One of our fancier date nights-going to my cousin's wedding!

 

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

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Just Declare It

Confidence. That's a tricky subject for a lot of people, one which can pull us in many different directions. It can build us up and tear us down, sometimes within the short span of a day. I'll use myself for a quick example. I'm your gal when it comes to whipping up mouth-watering desserts for any brunch, baby shower or holiday celebration. On the other hand, my seven-year-old son asks me to sew up a tiny hole in his pajamas, and I freeze. Seriously, I cannot sew a single stitch. Those seamstress genes have skipped a generation, and I'm okay to admit it.

Our confidence tends to fluctuate, naturally waxing and waning. Do we know why these sudden shifts occur in our self certainty? Maybe it's hormonal. Maybe it's the lack of sunshine. Maybe it's how we view ourselves or others view us. After spending so many years inside the walls of our home, with four captivating children being the entire focus of my life, I have experienced a personal breakthrough in confidence. As I share it with you, maybe you can think about a situation you're facing that could use a confidence boost, too.

Several months have passed since I decidedly tuned into the relentless voice in my head and began writing my blog. It has become such a rewarding undertaking, and as always, I thank you for being here with me. Until very recently, when I talked about it with others, I could feel sort of confident in saying, "Well, I have this blog," or "I contribute to some local magazines and websites."

Then, suddenly, a transformation occurred in how I described my writing. I was set to embark on a three month reading journey with a group of women, mostly moms. I knew many of these ladies, yet a few were strangers to me and to each other. Naturally, we spent some time introducing ourselves to one another during our first meeting. Children were toddling around in the adjoining room, while all of the women sat crossed legged on the carpet, sharing basic details about ourselves. We discussed all of the typical get-to-know-you stuff: family lives, jobs, hometowns, hobbies. When my turn came to speak, after I blabbed about my four kids, these foreign words just came flying out of my mouth.

"I'm a writer."

Um, did I really just say that out loud? I just told everyone in here that I'm a writer, something I have never said before to anyone. Who says I'm a writer? Just because I say it's true, does it mean it's actually true? Can I just declare myself to be a writer?

Well, I guess that's exactly what I did, and it's happening.

I declared it. I don't know why I was being timid about it before now. It's what I do...I write. I am writing all the time, in so many places. People are reading and sharing and talking about my pieces, in person and online.. A magazine is delivered to my door every month with my title and tagline and photo...and my words, in print! It is happening. I'm secretly wishing that my name pops up in conversation, as in, "You should meet my friend, Elizabeth; she's a writer." 

Why did it take me so long to see what was right in front of me? I know it was the comforting spirit of this group of women, their warm smiles and open ears, which allowed the words to finally flow from my lips.

"I am a writer." 

What about you? What are you working on these days that you're feeling shy about or are too nervous to say out loud? Would you just declare it? What's the worst that can happen? You can begin by telling just one person. Your spouse, your best friend, your grandma, your baby who won't remember anyway. What if you tell someone who will build up your confidence and keep you motivated? You can tell me! Whoever it is, Just Declare It!

Then, come on back and let me know how it goes.

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!

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