Birthday

Birthday

Pregnancy and me just didn’t agree. I never got that glow. I got high blood pressure, and elevated blood sugar. I didn’t get a cute little bump. I got as big as a house, incredible heart burn and sudden severe lactose intolerance. I got swollen feet, and sleepless nights and the incessant urge to urinate 24/7. I was a miserable, overweight, hot mess.

I went in to labor 5 weeks early with my frist. I attended a birthing class with my mother on December 9^th. On the morning of December 10^th I called my mom and said what did they say to do if your water broke, because mine indeed had broken sometime in the middle of the night.  We headed straight to the hospital. My son would not be born for another 30 grueling hours.

They started me on Pitocin immediately to induce labor. The contractions came fast and furious, but nothing else progressed. I held out as long as I physically could before asking for the epidural, which didn’t work.

I always had this vision of what this day would be like and none of it ever included hourly invasive vaginal checks done by strange hands, monitors, or a bed pan. I always assumed that labor would be painful. I could not have imagined this all-consuming unrelenting pain that would drag for hours on end. To complicate things further I have a blood disorder which my Dr. laughed off and all but dismissed. He left treatment options up to me. Which when I think back on that it infuriates me. I was 25 years old, in labor for hours already with my first child who was coming 5 weeks early. I was exhausted and scared to death, and left to make decisions about my health that I was generally uniformed about.

Finally, the time came to push, and push I did, until I could not anymore. It felt like I was pushing for hours to no avail. By now I was bleeding… profusely. My blood pressure had bottomed out. I was losing consciousness. A nurse was holding smelling salts under my nose to keep me awake and telling me I needed to push. I remember at one point saying, No, I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. It turns out no matter how great an effort I gave I could not push my son out. The chord was wrapped around his neck several times not allowing him to move fully through the birth canal.

Then I had this moment. An out of body experience. It felt like I was watching a TV show on mute. The fluorescent near blinding lights began to blur. The room that was now filled with frantic medical staff got quiet. I knew they were still talking but I couldn’t hear anything. It felt as if I were far away. In that moment, with no fear or anxiety I thought so this is it. This is it how happens. This is how It ends. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and slip into the comfortable darkness, give into the exhaustion, make it all go away.

My son was brought into this world among the chaos. Blue and limp, with out so much as a tiny squeak. I was sure we were both dying. I can’t say I remember the entire sequence of events. Something brought me back. My memories from this day feel like snapshots. Singular. Out of order. Snapshots. At some point the dr. cut the chord while the baby was still inside of me and got him out. I remember my mothers face. Sheer panic and desperation. I followed her gaze over to the table where my son lay. I don’t even remember him actually being born, but I remember the look on her face. My baby, discolored and seemingly lifeless. My husband holding my hand. Blood. There was blood everywhere. The once pristine delivery room resembled a gory crime scene.

My son was whisked away before I even got a good look at him. I got stitched up with no anesthetics. The Dr. was stuffing gauze inside of me to contain the bleeding. I kept asking what is he doing? I couldn’t understand what could be happening I mean the worst was supposed to be over. The pain was indescribable and clearly unforgettable. The gauze felt like scorching sand paper. Each stitch searing, hotter than the one before. I had never felt so broken, betrayed or traumatized. I just wanted it to all be over. And then it was.

I was wheeled to another room. Weak and tired, rest came easy. I slept for 10 hours. Opening my eyes for the first time I felt disoriented. Every inch of my body hurt. My mouth was dry. Contacts were uncomfortably stuck to my eyes. The room was dark and quiet. My husband sleeping in a chair next to me. His head rested on the rail to my bed. His jeans and sneakers covered in my blood. A nurse came in, adjusted some things, rehung IV’S, and left. My mind was racing. No bassinet. No baby. No words from the nurse. I had never felt so consumed by fear, and have not since.

I laid there. Silent. Afraid to wake Jason. Afraid to ask any questions. Afraid. I kept telling myself everything is fine. It has to be. They would have told me if it was not. They would have woke me. I am not sure how much time passed while I laid there in fear with my thoughts and what if’s before some one came in and said would you like me to bring to the baby in? I could not get a word out. I nodded as tears streamed down my face.

Moments later she returned with my baby. She laid him in my arms. In that instant I felt as if I was holding the weight of the world. He was bruised and beautiful, and despite everything I had ever heard about this euphoric feeling new mothers experience the first time they see or hold their baby all I felt was sad, disconnected and tired. His small 8 pound body might as well have been a ton of bricks. My arms ached as much as my heart and it was all too much to bear. With tears still falling I asked the nurse to take him back, genuinely baffled by my own feelings.

What in the motherhood was happening?!

All the difference

I don’t like playing with my kids. As awful as that sounds, it’s really not. I’m not saying I don’t ever play with them. It’s just that I don’t enjoy it. The horror, I know. But it’s the truth and it took me a long time to not let that guilt me. It’s almost like I don’t get it. The whole point of the playing, especially with boys toys. For example My son would like me to sit with him for hours and set up army men, and little forts, and stage the vehicles, and so on, only to literally drop a bomb and blow the whole scene up in .5 seconds. And then repeat. It’s not fun. 

I don’t want to crawl on the floor for some imaginary recon mission. I’ll build your fort but I don’t want to hide in it with you. I’ll draw pictures for you to color in, but for the love of all things artsy, do not ask me to share my markers. No you can not use the ones I bought for MY adult coloring books. And no I’m not ripping a page out of that book for you either. I like to color. And I like to watch you color. I also like to keep our creative time and space completely separate. 

Games. Glass of vodka and cards against humanity sounds delightful. Candy land, shoot me. Not really, I mean I’ll play it, but it’s agonizing for me. The kids cheat. They cry if you call them on it. They change the rules as they go so you have no chance of ever winning. And once is not good enough, no we have to “play” it 500 times. 500 boards of nonsense. Until I am absolutely bored out of my mind. 

I tell my kids several time a week, I made other humans to play with you. Bother them. Really it’s what they are here for, companionship. Now go forth and play... with each other. 

I used to think this was a major shortcoming on my part! Who doesn’t like to play with their kids?! I’m guessing more people than are actually admitting to it. It’s ok. Admit it. You hear that little voice whispering, play with me, and you cringe, and smile and you play because you suck if you don’t. And none of us wanna be the sucky, no fun, I don’t wanna play with you Mom. But I am her. And I finally accept that. I accept it because there are other areas that I excel.

So while I don’t love games (or even sports really), I will be my kids biggest cheerleader from now until they too are grey and old. This year in particular has been a rough one. Man oh man has having 3 kids in school left me feeling like I have met my match. Mom vs. school, and school is totally kicking my ass. Or is it? 

However many shortcomings i have owned in this Mom game, they have not defeated or defined me. But, here’s what has. I have always been my kids biggest fan, their number one supporter. At different times that has meant different things. For one kid it meant therapy to help him navigate this unfamiliar place where Mom can’t be there to hold his hand. It was telling him 1,000 times a day, whatever you need to get through this is what we are gonna do, and meaning it. For my older son it meant being a shoulder to cry on, and ear to listen, and a trust that he could tell me anything. It meant biting my tongue, and letting him make mistakes. It’s letting him see that we love with him through all the imperfect days. 

Sometimes it means taking a step back, and others it’s going all in. I will go to bat for these boys a thousand times, until they can knock it out of the park on their own. They know that. And that has made all the difference. They also know not to ask me to play clue, I f%#%^ng hate that game. 

All at once

I am tired. The kind of tired where you just wanna pull the covers over your head and sleep the day away. The kind of tired you experience after spending the week alone with your kids, two of which are sick, while your husband works in another state. The kind of tired that makes you feel guilty for feeling tired at all.

There is no time for tired, so the day starts like every other one this week. Three kids, pulling you in three different directions. Mom, MOM, mommy, MOM, ma, mommy, MMMMMOMMMMMM, ma, the out of tune chorus that sounds like cymbals clanging in my ears. I cringe and try to stay calm, but all I can think is when does it end?! 

Of course the answer is sooner than you want it to. Which for a moment makes me feels ashamed that was even a thought. How easy it is to forget that even these constant nagging little demands are a blessing. 

I know inevitably at some point I will miss these days. Well, not this particular day but you know what I mean. 

So often I wish that it wasn’t happening all at once. The good the bad, the joy the sad, the hard days and the ones you want to never end. It’s all happening at once, and it’s hard to know where one experience is starting and the other is ending. It’s overwhelming and almost disorienting. 

It’s the little things that make you pause. Like when your 4 year old stands up in the bath tub. That little body all covered in bubbles, leaves you breathless with wonder and sadness. Breathe in, how did something so beautiful and perfect come from me. Breathe out, when did he get so big. 

Caught in between counting the hours until bed time and wondering where the time went. Sometimes it feels like that last decade of these mothering years have been a blur of smiles and tears and find myself wishing that I never wished a second of it away. Because the best years, the time of my life is literally happening right now and i hate that even in knowing that it’s still sometimes hard to catch my breath and be as present as I’d want to be. 

My 3 babies, now growing boys. The oldest, too grown for comfort. He gives me glaring looks from the passenger seat (sigh) and mouths (STOP SINGING PLEASE) when his friends are riding with us. He no longer believes in Santa or gets filled with excitement when the toys r us Christmas book comes. Instead he surfs the net and looks for the latest fashion trends and begs for things beyond our budget. And I swear it all happened in a blink. I look at his changing face, not a hair out of place and my eyes fill with tears. I can barely see that chubby blue eyed babe he used to be. These bittersweet moments, one of too many (and more to come) make my heart ache. 

It’s a strange place to be, longing for the time when the weight of a baby in your arms felt like heaven while being completely wrapped up in the people they are growing into. Wanting them to hurry up and slow down, again all at once. 

Motherhood is...

Motherhood is LOVE. Love like you have never known. All consuming, Obsessive kind of love. Love that will keep you trapped under the weight of a newborn body, voluntarily paralyzed for hours on end as the smell of their breath is so intoxicating breathing them in becomes the sweetest addiction.  Its a scary love. A love so fragile, so deep you know it could break and some days it will. A love so pure, so new, you wonder where it came from. Yes you have loved before but never like this. A love that teaches you to love yourself more because this little bundle of love is an extension of you.

Motherhood is JOY. Who new that the first hint of a smile could send your heart soaring. And those baby giggles... I swear if I could bottle them up I'd save them for every sad occasion and the rest of my days would be filled with nothing but joy. A joy that trumps every wonderful thing that has ever happened in your life. Joy so big it came make your heart burst. And here is the tricky part a bursting heart feels a lot like a breaking heart because you know these joyful moments will come to pass. The years slip through your fingers and you find yourself wanting to stop time. To stay in the joy. Of course their is more joy ahead but not like the one you experience before you have to share them with the world.

Motherhood is LONELY. Yes. Lonely. It is long nights, dark rooms, quietly rocking, and silently praying for sleep. It's an overwhelming flood of emotions. And it takes awhile to figure out how to keep them at bay. It is days spent alone. With your baby. But alone. It's conversations with yourself and lifetime movies during naps. It's a time that oddly tests your friendship and does away with some. Eventually you get your life back in order. Showering feels possible. You venture out and you meet new friends. Ones that have babies the same age and at the same stage and they get you. Those moms make life less lonely. They become your tribe, after all it does take a village.

Motherhood is MESSY. Oh. So. Messy. And I am not just talking about your family room floor that is covered in toys and binkies. Life with kids is messy. There is marker on the walls, scratches on the table, dishes in the sink, and on going battle with yourself to get it together. I mean everyone has figured this mothering thing out why can't I. I'm a hot mess! I live in leggings and cant remember for the life of me that today was blue shirt day. Does rotten food off the car floor count as something show and tell worthy cause I forgot about that too and that's really all I got at the moment. I am an emotional mess. No one told me motherhood was spending the rest of your life wondering if your doing enough, too much? Am I doing it right? Was telling him to just punch that kid in the face the next time he makes fun of you really the best advice?


Motherhood is HEARTACHE. Motherhood can mean loss. It shouldn't. Ever. But sometimes it does. For me part of this journey was a miscarriage. For others it is the loss of child. And when it comes to this I wont speak for any other mother. But for me... the heartache is indescribable. It's driving in the car alone and suddenly wondering what that baby would have looked like? What your family would be like if they were here. It a sadness that I feel like I own. One that sneaks out of tears in my eyes when I least expect it. Its a heartache that I wish I knew nothing of and at the same time don't want to let go. Which is hard to explain but that emptiness is where a baby once grew and I don't want to leave that behind. So I take with me because that little love is still very much one of my babies.

(wipes tears away)

Motherhood is FUN. It is so much fun. If you love feeling insane its a blast! Just kidding.. kind of. Being a mom is a second chance, at life. A second chance to experience all the fun you had as a kid that maybe you took for granted. Its a second chance to believe in fairytales and wait up for Santa. Its playing in the snow and splashing in the ocean. Its forgetting yourself, dancing like no one is watching and not caring if they are. Its hanging out in blanket forts on rainy days and forgetting that Trump is president and the world is going to shit.

Motherhood is all of this and so much more. It is also realizing your mother is a real life super hero and you should probably stop what your doing, and call her to say thank you... for giving you everything... including herself!

Happy Mother's Day

airing our dirty.... dishes?

Tonight was like any other. The craziness that ensues trying to get the kids bathed and ready for bed. Scrambling around the house to make sure their back packs are packed and their lunches and snacks are ready for the next day. Clearing the dinner table and cleaning the kitchen disaster. And then it happened. The dish washer was loaded. The counters all cleaned. My husband said to me... Can I turn on the dishwasher and I replied... What does that even mean? Would you like me to help you press the button? Thankfully he has a sense of humor and also speaks fluent sarcasm. But tonight instead of snapping back with something witty and equally sarcastic he said no I am asking because before you almost had a heart attack that I turned the dishwasher on before you were ready.

Honestly it sounded so ridiculous coming out of his mouth we both started to laugh. The thing is...its not really funny. Earlier in the day I was going to make dinner. I like to put the dishes in the dishwasher immediately after I use them. I couldn't because the dishwasher was already running. Instead of thanking my husband for cleaning up lunch and breakfast and doing the dishes I SNAPPED at him. WHY IS THE DISHWASHER ON?! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THAT?! NOW ALL THESE DISHES ARE GONNA SIT IN THE SINK!!! (god forbid that happened) SERIOUSLY YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE THAT!!! AND THE DISWASHER WAS NOT EVEN FULL. ITS BASICALLY A WASTE OF 2 HOURS AND TWICE THE WORK. SO THANKS FOR THAT!

In the moment I was really annoyed! I did not give one thought to what a bitch I was being. I felt justified. And totally aggravated as I put the pots and pans in the sink. So this is the part where I have that moment that I say to myself... LIKE WOAH YOU NEED TO TONE IT DOWN. That level of petty bitchiness is so uncalled for! And if the shoe was on the other foot things would have went down totally different. But they didn't... because he doesn't talk to me like that.

Of course then to make matters worse when he DOES ask if he can turn on the dishwasher to make sure that's what I want I talked to him like he was... well an idiot. That's tough to even type. Because I do not think that of my husband at all and I am almost embarrassed that I did talk to him that way on both occasions.

So, time for a little self reflection. Time to take a good look in the mirror and admit this is not me at my best. He deserves better than the bat shit crazy wife that loses it over the freaking dishwasher!

It is so easy to get caught up and burnt out by all the every day stuff! I've been a little over worked and a lot over tired. So this was the reality check I needed. Stop sweating the small stuff! The next time my husband does something nice for me (no matter how little help or how much hindrance it actually was) I am going to take a deep breath and thank him (while I silently have a mental breakdown).
Really its the least I could do.

Crossing the line

Don't think I wont embarrass you in front your friends!!! Because I totally will!!!

We all say it. And we mean it. And we secretly hope the warning is more than enough. We really want the fear of being embarrassed in front of your peers to be all you need to behave. We want to be the cool mom. We want to not lose our shit and show that side of crazy to your friends. We also don't want your friends running home and telling their moms you wont believe what Aidan's mom did!!!

As many times that I have uttered those words I have never actually followed through. My kids are generally annoying when they are with their friends. They push the limits of what is the norm in our house. I usually smile and bite my tongue. And give my kids that side ways squinty glare as they walk by to let them know they better chill. If the telepathic message was not received via the side eye I pull them aside mutter through a clenched jaw... an almost inaudible whisper... cut. the. shit.

Today my 10 year old crossed the line. And scary mommy creeped out from behind that painful everything is fine smile and totally lost her shit.

It's 10 am. The kids have a snow day. Yay for sleeping in! Quickly the realization that you are trapped in the house with children that go bonkers on an unexpected day off sets in. I'm already looking through amazon video to see what new movies are out. Oh and there is pizza dough in the fridge they can all make their own pizza for lunch. Yes and Moana is on so we are all good.

Until the doorbell rings at 11 am. There stands our neighbor and her son. Who she wants to leave with us for a few hours. Oh my God of course take your time! We will see you later! And just like that all good has turned into oh crap. And this is no reflection on said neighbor or her child. Its my kids! They go from lounging on the couch with  gold fish and Disney movies to dumping toy buckets and being obnoxious is 5 seconds flat.

Take a deep breath! Its not the end of the world. So what you just cleaned that room you didn't really expect it to stay that way all day.

Then I hear it. A crash. Something broke. Someone, nope more than one child is crying. Deep Deep breath and possibly zanax are required at this point. Why am I not surprised to see my 10 year old and his friend "playing" monkey in the middle with my two much smaller clearly upset children. Oh and the broken vase?! Did they not notice or do they just not care???

I pull Aidan aside warn him... if you do not cut the shit you are going to be terribly embarrassed in front of your friend. Half hour passes all is quiet. I'm upstairs cleaning. I come down to grab windex and find my kids in the kitchen watching their big brother  shaking soda cans and spraying them to entertain his friend. I wonder if I should seek medical attention for this child because he has clearly lost his mind!

So he crossed the line and with no warning I totally. lost. my. shit. He stomped up the stairs with tears streaming down his face telling me he hates me under his breath. His friend stood there silently staring at the floor afraid to make eye contact with Aidan's crazy mom.

The weird thing is I am almost glad that this day has come to pass. Now he knows with out a doubt it is by no means an empty threat. He knows I excpect more from him. And hopefully the next time he has a friend over I wont have to spend the first our keeping him in check with my contorted unhappy mom face.

Although he is embarrassed and hates me today. He will get over it. He will also learn he can only push the limits so far before he crosses the line, and that I hope he will realize applies to life and not just this home.

This Love

Normally I write about my kids. Because well I spend 99 % of my with time them, thinking about them, planning things for them, taking care of them. But lately there has been something else on my mind (also).

This love.

This love that I share with my husband. Soon we will be married 14 years! 14!!!! So first how did that happen? Cause it just doesn't feel possible. But man 14 years! Cohabitating. Sleeping in the same bed. Eating at the same table. Living. And Breathing in the same space. God bless this man! Because truth be told I can be hard to co-exist with. My mom might tell you that is an understatement. I am stubborn with a bit of OCD. I talk A. LOT. Speaking 85% of the time in fluent sarcasm. I'm moody and particular. I can be over sensitive and super irrational. I'm impulsive and hate being told no. I'm basically my 3 year old with large boobs. And by some miracle  he still loves me.

I have been anywhere from 120 pounds to 250! Because there is no in between with me. I am either all in or totally given up. It's a diet of salad and slimfast with aside of exercise or its coffee and reeses and that elliptical machine takes up too much space maybe we should sell it. I haven't just gone through hair phases. I go through split personalities. From long and blonde to a shaved Mohawk that is red and white and either way fat or skinny, conventional or edgy he doesn't freakin bat an eye! He has loved me. All of me. For exactly who I am.

This isn't to say it doesn't go both ways. 10 years ago there were moments when I could have choked him with the socks he left on the floor in front of the recliner for the 900th time! Fleeting moments of course. I never really considered causing him bodily harm. Not over the socks anyway.

This love... It has not been perfect. It has not always been easy. But this love... it has always been patient and kind.

This love has evolved and continues to change. Some people spend their whole life chasing butterflies. And sure nothing will ever feel like that first date, that first kiss, that first time.... But there are a million other firsts past the butterflies that won't hold a candle to anything before. Like the first time you look at him as the father of your children. And suddenly he has become someone brand new. There may not be butterflies but there is this love that has evolved into something so much deeper, trading it for anything new would be crazy.

Life changes. So quickly. Not every day will be a good one. You might go through the very worst together and the only thing that holds you up is his love. And yours does the same for him. After the storm you might find everything has once again changed... but you see the rainbow and at the other side, there it is, all the love you leaned on.

This love. His love. Has changed me. Over the years we have grown up and grown together. We have grown our family and learned to grow the appreciation that we have for each other with every passing stage.

This love has taught us that marriage is about letting go and giving in and forgetting about the socks on the floor. Its about standing your ground too but being wise enough to pick your battles. Its about choosing this love everyday above anything else. It's  about putting him and yourself first... together.

We might not be perfect. We might not have it all. But we have it together and this love... it's all I could ever ask for.

10 is...

A decade ago we welcomed our first baby into the world. I worried about the littlest things. Things that seem so incredibly ridiculous now. The temperature in the house... was it warm enough, too warm? Do we put a blanket on him at night? Id wake up in the middle of the night and look at the monitor to find he had rolled on to his belly and PANIC! Breastfeeding was hard. Hard to know how much he was actually eating when there is no bottle to get a visual. At first he gained weight slowly. I worried day and night. Do we switch to formula? Do we stick this out? Do we wait and seeand hope we are making the better decision. Milestone markers drove me insane.

I remember going for a well visit and the doctor asked me if he was rolling around to get things that were out his reach. What? No. Should he be? Is he delayed? Is something wrong? And while all of that was going on inside my head I looked at the doctor almost embarrassed to say anything... and blurted out its my fault! I never put anything out his reach! It never occurred to me. Like why would I put something across the room... he doesn't walk... He can't crawl yet... he cant even talk to tell me! I left that appointment feeling so so stupid! We got home I laid Aidan on the floor on his little mat and pushed the toys out of his reach. Sure enough he rolled over to get them.

I worried all the time. Who knew babies were so stressful?! Who knew it only gets worse... the worry I mean. At some point I felt like I had gotten a handle on things, that the major worries were behind me. He was walking and talking before his first birthday. He could not only say but identify the letters of the alphabet and was counting to 10 like a pro. We had managed to survive stomach bugs and the flu. Like was there anything we couldn't handle?! Ummmmm yes. A whole bunch of shit.

I was learning that I needed to strike a balance... between my fears and reality. Worrying about everything didn't stop the bad stuff from happening but it did put a damper on the good and uneventful times. I needed to enjoy more and stress less. The years were flying by and spending each passing day in a panic was not good for anyone.

Then it came time to register for school. I never anticipated just how hard their school years would be on me. If you think that grammar school was hard when you were a kid, take that times 1,000 and there you have what it feels like to have a kid in grammar school. All those feelings of insecurity that had been for so long a thing of the past come rushing back. Only worse. Will he make friends easily? Will the other kids be nice to him? Will his teacher be nice and caring and speak gently? Will he (I) make it through the day okay?

The first few years of school despite my fears were easy. The classes were small. The children were little and adorable. Despite the fact that we all know a 4 year old can be a total asshole at home with their tantrums and blatant disregard for your efforts in keeping a tidy house they are relatively nice to other pint sized people. And at that age in a classroom setting they are well supervised so there is not much room for them to behave otherwise. Aidan was getting along just fine and again I realized I needed to put my fears for him into perspective because for the most part things were good.

As with much of life things are fine until they are not. Not that we did not incur any hiccups through ages 7, 8, or 9.... but 10... 10 is proving to be a tough age. 10 looks like a child but talks like a teenager. 10 is aware of what other people think and starting to really care. 10 is emotional and fueled with hormones which if you don't know is sort of a recipe for disaster. 10 is insecure. 10 is finding yourself suddenly in "love" with a friend that doesn't feel the same way. 10 is finding your own voice and learning to stand up for yourself. 10 is fucking hard (for me too).

10 has brought me to tears, made me reevaluate, 10 has tugged at my heart and has me remembering what 10 really felt like. 10 is listening to their troubles and knowing you cant fix them all. 10 is giving advice that you have no idea whether it is right or wrong. 10 has made me realize it is time to strike a balance again.

It is really hard navigating these adolescent waters. Partly because other 10 year olds are assholes and not in the way my toddler can be an asshole. Watching your 10 year old learn the incredibly difficult lessons that life has to offer, delivered by another mean 10 year old is painful. I hear myself uttering empty words... like be the bigger person, walk away, take the high road.... while everything in me screams STAND UP FOR YOURSELF! Whatever that takes. Put 10 in its place!

I listen to 10 with my worried mind and heavy heart agonizingly understanding where he is coming from. Hoping the love we give him here is more than enough to ease the struggles of 10 and every age after.

faking it.... friendships in your 30's

You would think that making friends gets easier as you get older. Right? No. Nope. Just not so. Or not for me. Here I am smack in the middle of my thirties still trying to figure this whole friendship thing out. Don't get me wrong I have a few. I think three constitutes a few... well a couple would be 2 and I have I am pretty sure one more than that, so lets go with a few. And if you count my mother then that's four and that could technically make a bunch. But a bunch sounds like a lot... like yeah I have bunch of friends... oh who are they?.... Ummmm you know... well my mom is one... For the sake of keeping it real I have a few friends. And the ones I have I love and I wouldn't trade them for a million dollars. On most days. Cause some days I think I'd give my kidney for a million bucks and lets face it I'd be cool with dropping the count to reflect a couple over a few to keep that kidney.

Anyways... friendships are hard. In particular if you are a giver. I am. I am a giver. I give and give and give until I have nothing left. The problem with that is takers are often drawn to givers. And people like myself have a hard time drawing lines and creating boundaries so we often let takers bleed us dry. By that I mean we over invest. We go the extra mile. We make that phone call. We send that text. We buy that thoughtful little something. We listen even when we aren't heard. We show up. And we don't expect much in return. Because givers also understand that takers don't operate in the same manner, so we... forgive. Overlook. Make excuses. Until  the slights and blatant disregard adds up to the undeniable fact that you are in a one sided friendship. And even then, walking away is not easy.

Yes even walking away is hard. Walking away means admitting that you just don't mean as much to that person. And that is a hard thing to admit when you have overextended in so many ways. When you have extended an invitation on every occasion but the offer is rarely if ever reciprocated. When you have listened for countless hours to some one else's struggles and heart ache but cant remember the last time they asked simply how you are doing. When you have shown up for every important event and then listened to the excuses of their busy life when they don't show up for you. It's the hurt in going the extra mile when you often are not even met half way. The realization that you do too much for the ones that you mean so little to.

Even in knowing these truths givers don't change. It is our nature to be the way we are and being anything different, anything less just doesn't make sense. Givers learn the face of fake friendships but are deceived time and time again by the takers. Yet somehow in the disappointment we learn more about ourselves and how to take better care of us. We learn to use this gift of constant giving to change what little space of this planet we occupy. We learn to seek out like minded people and form better more meaningful friendships. Other givers that understand the delicate balance of a solid relationship and know how to not take advantage.

Friendships have always been a struggle for me, but with each failed friendship I hold tighter the ones that have lasted. I have a greater appreciation for the few that always show up, stay connected, and genuinely give so much of themselves back. As for the rest I have learned to fake it, and when to let go.

Back to me

Every Thanksgiving, the holiday I love the most starts this downward spiral for me. I spend the next month and a half being a glutton. I over eat. I over indulge. I get lazy. In turn I get fat. For weeks on end its all cookies, and cheese, and wine and blowing cash at Toys R Us in an attempt to make my spoiled children excited about a visit from a magical fat man.

The holidays come and go and so does my motivation to live any sort of healthy life. I am that person. The one that most of social media apparently despises. The chubby girl that NEEDS some new year, new you bullshit to get my ass in gear. I make no apologies for it. Whatever illogical thoughts transpire in my brain... nothing gives me more hope than the prospect of a fresh start.

Yes January 1st is just another day on the calendar. But it is also the first page of an unwritten book. The story of my life in the year 2017. It excites me. Scares me. Makes me anxious. What will this year have in store for me. If there is a resolution to be made this is the day I'm going to lay it down. This may also be where I set myself up for failure. My goals are usually ridiculous. Completely out of touch with my reality.  I know that... and even so I am determined to make this year my year!

January 1st 2017. I sat at the table with a blank piece of paper in front of me. Written at the top... New Year Resolutions. What can I say I like to write. I tried to reflect on all the things that I was not happy about in the prior year. What could I do differently? How could I be better?

First thing on my mind is always my boys. At times I have felt like I am just blowing this whole mom thing! Some days its hard to not feel as though my oldest son is just slipping right through my grasp. He declares his hate for me almost daily. He's annoyed by pretty much everything I say to him. He rolls his eyes so hard when I talk I wonder if I will ever see anything but the whites of his eyes ever again. I often think how did we get here? Is it just the age? Is it me? Did I feel this way about my mother at his age? We get into these screaming matches that make me question my sanity. My parenting. Myself. And it is the worst feeling in the world.

Second on the list. My weight. Ugh my weight. I am so tired of being fat. So tired of being out of shape. Looking and feeling unhealthy. I am tired of dodging everyone with a camera cause I do not want photo documentation of my fat ass at various sizes. I want to be the size I was when I first thought I was fat. Which was high school. Ironically when I was my thinnest. I look at pictures of that girl and wonder where she went. Although I realize happiness is not waiting in the pocket of a smaller size pair of jeans... I am dying to get in them.

Those were the two big ones among a long list.... Work more on building my business. Save money. Consistently write my blog. Be more involved in charity work....

Notice there is nothing in there about my marriage. Well that's because I am the perfect wife. Just don't ask my husband to confirm that.

Anyway staring at this list of overwhelming things I decided to make one simple resolution.

BE BETTER.

That's it. Just. BE. BETTER. No new year new me. I have reached that point in my life where I realized I have worked really hard to get here and I am most of the time content with my life. I don't want to scrap it all and start over. I just want to be better. A better mother, a better wife, a better friend. I want to be healthy and present. I want to be the best version of me that I can be. I think that is what we all want.

How do I get to that... I am not entirely sure. But I am working on small changes. Little attainable goals. Like yelling less. Listening more. Taking care of my neglected body and not by doing some radical diet but making better choices and moving more. Really just getting back to me. At the end of this year I want to be able to look back and instead wondering where that 18 year old version of myself went I want to feel like she is still part of me! So maybe the only way to be better is to seriously get BACK. TO. ME.

Before you go... leave a comment and tell me what your goals are for this year!
and remember sharing is caring. So click to share!

It's all spilled milk

There are moments with my children that will always stay with me. Funny things they said. Little snapshots in my mind of them laughing, wind blowing in their hair, sun light pouring over them. Stuff like favorite bedtime stories and morning snuggles. Moments however fleeting that for some reason even as they are passing you know will just stay with you. I cherish them. I really do. Because there are days I need them... to get me through... all the spilled milk.

We were going to the post office which my kids hate almost as much as I hate going to the gynecologist. There is a subway next to the post office. My middle child begged to eat lunch at subway this particular day. Why they love subway is beyond me since they practically gag at the sight of prepackaged cold cuts which is the staple of a subway sandwich. Somehow it taste better if they cant see the plastic package it came in and costs twice as much.

To subway we go. I don't love taking them out to eat in public places. By which I mean I avoid it as much as I possibly can. But it'subway. What could really go wrong??? Besides everything.

Three. Three is a funny age. You've passed terrible two. They are no longer a wobbly toddler. They don't need a high chair. It should all be smooth sailing from here on out.  It's totally not. Not at all. Three is the age of independence and indecisiveness. Three is nonsense and tantrums that even terrible two can't touch. Three is bipolar and belligerent. Three is emotional and very, very loud.Three makes me want four to hurry up and visit.

We walk in and there is a line. Ugh. Three and waiting don't mix. But we make it through. After asking 1,345 times what he'd like to eat we finally order (the lunch he won't eat anyway). At the counter they tell us the kids meal comes with chocolate milk. Cool. We love chocolate milk. And then it happened. Did I mention that three is unpredictable. It is. Unpredictable and explosive. The nice subway guy handed me the chocolate milk. He handed it to me. I repeat he handed it to ME not to three. I know what an asshole?! Who does he think he is handing the chocolate milk to me instead of the tiny person standing next me that he can't see from behind the counter. There was no rectifying this situation. Three had already been unforgivably offended.

I paid for our meals and headed over to the table. Sat all the kids down and passed out their lunches. I leaned over. Twisted off the cap to the chocolate milk and said see he just handed it to me so I could open it for you. Now it is all yours. Three also known as Ry stopped screaming for a brief moment. Squinted his eyes to telepathically say "go fuck yourself" as he reached over and smacked the bottom of the 12oz bottle of chocolate milk. Flipping it over. Sending it into the air as chocolate milk rained down on me and the table before he let out a scream that could be heard by the gods.

My 9 year old sprung from the table. I think he sensed that three would not be having a meltdown alone. He grabbed as many napkins as he could and began sopping up the chocolate mess.if you dont know 12oz is a lot of chocolate milk. Looking directly into my tear filled eyes he whispered "its okay mom I'm gonna clean it all up for you". I could feel the glares of all the other subway patrons. Judging. Silently feeling sorry for me. Thinking my kids would never. I sat there calmly frozen while my kids finished there lunch. Dying to disappear under the table. But I couldn't even seek refuge there as the entire floor was covered in chocolate milk.

Mom we are done. Mom. Mom. Are you ok mom??? We are ready to go!!! I sat there for another minute dreading the walk of shame out subway. As I stood a puddle of chocolate milk that had been gathered in my lap on my dress ran down my legs and into my shoes. I made 2 trips back and forth to the table to throw our garbage out with brown liquid dripping down my legs and shoes making that wet squishy squeaking noise as if nothing had happened.

We made it to the car. The kids got in. I picked Ry up and sat him in his car seat. He had just gained his composure. I looked at his sweet face. Kissed him on his red hot cheek. And whispered in his ear "with God as my witness you will NEVER watch another scooby doo as long as you live if you ever act like that in public again".

And even this. This passing moment in time. One that will stay with me will serve as a reminder tomorrow may be smiles and sunshine even if today was all spilled milk.

Moving On... Moving In

We're not in Kansas anymore. Just kidding we never were. But seriously... we aren't. We moved from the city to the country since the last time I have written a blog. And its safe to say I feel a bit like Dorothy. Every thing is new and wonderful... and unfamiliar. We have bears in our back yard. Strange bugs. Noises that we have never heard before. A quiet darkness (by which I mean you cant see 2 feet in front of you at night) its peaceful and tranquil and fucking creepy all at the same time.

There are turkey vultures, spiders on steroids, and moths bigger than birds. Our neighbors are nice, friendly, they even invite you over for no reason at all... I know so weird... right?!  All of this newness makes me want to smile and wave and invite them over for coffee and lock my doors, shut my blinds, and run away. Talk about feeling conflicted. I have been burned before and it makes me leery of forming new friendships.

REWIND (sometime in 2015)

My home town. My house. I felt like both were closing in on me. Suffocating me. I hated the school. The mayor. The moms. I'd burned every bridge to every meaningful friendship that I had made there (with no regrets). Well maybe one... that I let them go to me the way they did. However at this point if I could tell those ex "friends" one thing it would be...go f@*% yourself... where did that come from??? I meant I would tell them thank you. And I do mean that. Without their total shitfullness to push me over the edge I'd probably still be daydreaming about a house in the country instead of living in one.

So we decide to move. Easy peasy put this house for sale and off we go right? Wrong. So, so wrong. Who knew the process of buying and selling is long and excruciating. I'm gonna assume anyone who has bought and sold property before. If you haven't already you can thank me later on for the heads up. (your welcome).

Selling. Like we can totally do this ourselves... I mean why not I see "for sale by owner" all the time and with the internet... nope. Just no. Don't do it. I mean people came to see it. One family even came three times. Talked to us about loving the house, the neighborhood, the block... etc. Their last visit to the house they asked to see the attic. Sure. Go right on up. I stood on the second floor landing with this prospective buyers wife chatting about babies while he climbed the stairs to where the drop down ladder was for the attic. Yup right there just pull that string down and the ladder is in there. He pulls the string. The door flies open and like a scene from a horror movie out drops a giant dead black bird. I dont blame them for fleeing the house like it was on fire. If I were them I would I have totally seen this as a bad omen and fled as well! We never heard from them again.

My husband came home from work later that day and I said remember when I told you I thought I heard scratching in the attic a few months back and you said you would check it out... but you never did. And then the scratching just stopped and you said whatever it was left? Well you were wrong. It died. And it practically attacked that nice couple that was interested in the house. Now we will be here forever.

Forever is what it felt like too. We finally decided to hire a realtor. That went well. By well I mean during our first open house I returned home to get something to find the realtor next door showing my neighbors house while people wandered around ours completely unattended. We took the house off the market and decided all these mishaps were a sign that it wasn't the right time.

It really wasn't. I didn't believe that then. I believed the universe was conspiring to keep me trapped in this is tiny two faced town. Truth is I was running away. Running away from mean girls and broken relationships that were too close for comfort. Running away from gossip and public problems I encountered with the school system. You never want to leave because your running away. Go because your moving towards something.

Over the year that it took us to sell the house I had time to make peace with some things and figure out what we were moving towards. By the time we found our new house and sold our old one... I was no longer running... just moving on. And it felt so good. It felt right.

Moving in.

Finally both houses were closed on. Of course not with out some hiccups. Some people would not call their buyer taking a spontaneous trip to India for an undetermined amount of time hours before the closing a hiccup... and truthfully neither would I. As it was happening I recall a few choice words I had for it and hiccup was not one of them. But I'm like Theresa Guidice post jail time.... all zen and namaste btiches. So hiccup it is.

The hiccups cleared up and here we are all moved in. Which has been fun. For one I got to pintrest like it was my job and instead of just pinning a bunch of stuff that I will never actually follow through on my entire house now reflects my pinning dedication.  It also reflects in our bank account. Don't tell my husband.

We also go to do other fun stuff.. like learn about septic systems (gag) and water softners... lots of really fun things. We got an education about local bears and what they will do to your garbage if you leave it outside the house. Funny story: A friend of mine also from the city said to me have you seen many bears up there? I said yes but only on garbage days so far. Her reply... How do they know its garbage day?

Me: I don't think they have it marked on a calendar in their den... pretty sure they just smell the garbage out.

We both had a good laugh.

Our new house has a hot tub. Something I have always wanted. I couldn't wait to use it. And then I couldn't wait to get out of it. You know what cicadas sound like on a summer night in the country??? like the apocalypse!

All kidding aside we love our new home... wild life, neighbors, and all. Moving on and moving in have been overwhelming and incredibly welcomed. I finally feel like I can breathe again.

So you didn't win the power ball...

So you didn't win the 1.5 billion dollar jackpot... neither did I. Fuck. I mean seriously I was kind of banking on that shit. Planned the rest of my year accordingly and what not. So yeah... FUCK! Not building a house on the beach. Or not this year anyway.

When you think of all the opportunities out there its kinda crazy that this one in a 292 million chance makes everyone pause. And dream. For most part the dreams I hear spoken out loud even by strangers were simple. Pay off my debt. Help my family. Go on vacation. Donate to charity.

While $1.5 billion would make all of these dreams a reality in the blink of an eye there is no reason to stop dreaming for the things most of us want are not that far out of reach.

Pay off debt. A stack of bills can seem insurmountable but they aren't. Stop waiting to win the lottery to live free of the financial burdens that are weighing you down.

1. Create a budget and stick to it.

I highly recommend deleting any shopping apps that you have on your smart phone. Amazon one click to buy. DANGEROUS. Zulily... get rid of it. Those flash sales are so tempting. But honestly do your research they are not quite the bargain they appear to be. GROUPON. Gone. Don't splurge on offers that seem to good to be true. They are. And you don't need the juice cleanse that is 65% off. It is still gonna taste like shit and sit in your freezer with all the other diet regrets you have. Trust me.

Eliminate the temptations and start living with in your means. Simplifying your life and spending is with in your power and easier than you think. You just have to commit to it and remind yourself you are not Carrie Bradshaw.

2. Pay off your credit cards. Start with the one that carries the highest balance and go from there. Always pay more than the minimum. Consolidate if you have to. Got a bonus from work? Put it towards your debt. Good tax return? Put it towards your debt. Cash from Christmas? Your Birthday? PUT IT TOWARDS YOUR DEBT! Ugh no fun! No... no fun at all! But neither is debt. When it is all paid off you will feel great and be able to reward yourself for all the fun you didn't partake in. Just don't put it on the damn card... Have I taught you nothing ?!

Help my family. Truth is you won't know how many family members you have in need until you hit the powerball. Shit you won't know how many family members you HAVE until you hit the powerball. All the needy will come crawling out of the wood work and every other god forsaken crack and crevice that you never saw. The branches of that family tree will start to stretch far and wide. And is promised to be full of fruit. Fruit that has only produced nuts. Lots and lots of NUTS.

I know, I know you were talking about your immediate family. Your parents. Children. Those closest to you. But you can help them now.

Don't have a savings account for your kids? Start one today. It is as good a time as any. Don't have the cash to spare. Start with pennies. Literally. PENNIES! For each day of the year put that many pennies in a jar. Day one 1 cent. Day 2 two cents. Day 3 three cents. you get the idea. By the end of the year you will have saved $667.95 Do this for 15 years you will have $10,019.25! And that is if you just keep it in a jar with absolutely no interest. I know not the millions you had in mind... but hey 10k is a nice amount to have in the bank on your 18th birthday. And a heck of down payment on a car... and what kid doesn't want a car for his birthday?! Seriously at that age its close enough to hitting the lottery and will make you feel like a million bucks that you could do it for them.

Wanna help your parents? They don't want your money. They want your time. And you don't have to hit the lottery to pay them a visit.

Vacation. Who says you can't go on vacaction?! Okay maybe you can't go all out on a trip the costs 30k. But if you pay off that debt and start saving your pennies you most certainly can. And a nice one at that.

Wanna donate to charity? You can do that today! While it would be awesome to turn around and donate a million dollars to every deserving charity... the truth is if we all collectively gave a small amount when we had it we would be doing a great deal of good. Most charities don't rely on a one time grand gesture. They thrive on the people that give their constant support. They need your time as much as they need your cash.

Anyway my point is... life is what you make it. Hitting the lottery... taking home the jack pot would be amazing. Life changing at that. But don't wait for that one in a 292 million chance to change your life.. for the better. Get yourself out of debt. Pay your mom a visit. Start putting pennies in a jar. Go on that vacation. Adopt a dog from a shelter. Volunteer your time at a local charity. Start living your billion dollar dreams today. Nothing is stopping you from making them a reality.

New Year, New You... F%*@ YES!

To all the narcissistic Nancy's out there I will not let you rain on my resolution parade. I see your gym selfies, read your kale recipes, I get it... you have your shit together. You always have. I admire your resolve and the fact that you don't need a Monday or a New Year to get your skinny little ass in gear. You should be proud of the fact that you are fit. Organized. The same weight today that you were in your freshman year of high school. That a baby or age did not wreak absolute havoc on your body. I am happy for you. I really am. You deserve a cookie. A cookie that you won't eat. So I'll just keep my cookie (and most likely enjoy while you aren't looking)... but know the sentiment was there.

I get it too that your usually sparse fitness classes will now be filled with.. people like me. Over weight. Out of shape. Sweating before the 10 minute mark. I know your are hoping that you only have to look at my fat ass for the next month or so. Because that is typically how long New Year resolutions last. Quite honestly I hope to be standing next to you well after February 1st... of 2017 with a smaller ass.

I know that for you this is a way of life. It is a commitment you have made to yourself. Your family. And you live it. Breathe it. You own it. And I probably seem ridiculous... to you. Yes some of us come late to the table but it doesn't mean we have nothing to bring. So I am here to tell you... 2016 is going to be my bitch. New Year... New ME! Fuck YES!

And in all fairness I deserve a shot. I care about me too. And good lord do I wish that I had made a solid commitment to myself long before now... but I didn't. And no not because I am lazy. Or because I am a stay at home mom that has let herself go. No. I have just been really fucking busy... you know with life and making little humans. Turns out they are super needy and even an hour to hit the gym is a lot to ask.

Don't get me wrong I know that this is an uphill battle. And most people fail. Make the same resolution year after year and never get anywhere. But I am determined to make it work... make this year better than the last.

And to all those that are with me... all the ones that need a Monday or a New Year to get it together. I solute you. More importantly I support you. When you hit that rough patch in a month from now I will not say "told you so"... I will cheer you on. Lift you up. Remind you of why you started. I will encourage you to keep going. To always keep on going.

So stop mocking the New Year, New You people because quite honestly if you are... maybe you are the one that needs to reevaluate. Everyone can improve.. yes... even you Nancy... in your size 2 jeans.



Happy New Year! Have a resolution? Comment below I'd love to hear it

I am sorry that I am not your bestfriend

It is safe to that things rarely ever go as planned. Like they never go as planned. Or even close to the way I envision them. When we first met I had all these plans for me and you and all the things that we would do. The places we would go and the secrets we would share. Surely we would be best of friends.

And for awhile... years... it felt like we were. We talked night and day. Always had a good time together. I couldn't imagine that we ever wouldn't.

And don't get me wrong. There isn't anyone else that I would rather spend my time with. No one else that could fill your place. But I am sorry I am not your best friend.

You see I had the best intentions... for us... and this relationship but it just isn't working out.

I hope I will always be the person you confide in. I will keep every secret you ever tell me.  And you wont ever have to worry that anything you say would go beyond the conversations we have.

I pray that when there is a new adventure you want to embark on I am the person you want to take along. I would go anywhere with you... for you. And I do mean anywhere.

When you need advice I will be here for you. With an open door and open arms. Don't ever hesitate to call me.

In years to come when you are reminiscing about the good ole' days I hope your fondest memories are the ones you made with me.

I will always be your biggest cheerleader. Your rock. Your shoulder to cry on. Your safe place. I just can't be your best friend.

And there will be moments when it is hard for me to remember that but I will have to because of all the things you need me to be... your friend is last on the list. At least for now.

The realization of this cuts like a knife and I know you cant understand it today but I hope someday you will.

I wish you knew how much I would like to say yes to every thing you ever ask for. I just can't. It would be so much easier and you would like me so much more.

I wish I did not have to teach you lessons and make you understand the things you would rather not know. Unfortunately it is my job.

I wish I could never hear the sound of your door slamming again, the words I hate you fall from your mouth, I wish I could turn a blind eye to the glaring look you give me at the dinner table when I won't let you have your way... but I can't.

I wish you knew how much it hurts. The end of this friendship. But the responsibilities I have because I am your mom far outweigh the desire I have to be your friend. Just know none of this changes my love for you. In 30 years from now when you have a family of your own you will know just how much love there was to choose the right thing over the easy one.