It is ok

I had a wonderful Christmas.  Like, really wonderful, regardless of Mason getting up at 6am.  Him is a big boy now.  In exchange for gifts, he left HoHo his NaNa (paci).  We were really good about nipping it in the butt with Alyvia, but everything has been a little more difficult with him.  Three successful nights later, I think he will be just fine.

Alyvia was ecstatic about every single thing she got.  In the midst of her attitude lately, she really is one of the most grateful kids I know.  She makes it a point to tell me she loves me, thank you for everything (from helping her button her coat to her new Nabi, to toasting her a waffle).  I hope she keeps that trait of gratefulness.

We were able to make it to both sides of our families to celebrate.  Thank goodness I felt well enough most of the day because it made my heart full.  Our house is currently (still) a disaster and I am totally ok with it.

You may wonder why I am so happy about this holiday.  You may wonder why I am pointlessly describing our day.  You may wonder why I am so happy with the outcome.

I typically have a very, very hard time with the aftermath.  Pretending to be in a good state with family members for a few hours, then going home to remember that I am not.  That it was a front, that I am still so damned angry and bitter about the way I have been treated.  But this year, without me expecting it to be, it was different.

I have learned, it is okay.

It is ok to be angry about being treated unfairly at times, about being put on the backburner for years for what it seems like;

It is ok to not agree on a certain person’s lifestyle and how it seems as if life is always messy for them, and wish with all your heart that they would just settle down for a while;

It is ok to be hurt, and sad, and pray so hard that one day you will get a phone call, or a knock at the door, with a pleading apology, and real changes;

It is ok to be all these things, but still love.  Love all those people that have hurt you, betrayed you, made you cry.

They may not ever know the extent of the heavy burden you carry, they will never have to carry it.  But as long as you love, especially in front of your own children, eventually that pain subsides, little by little, and you are able to hug goodbye and feel full instead of still angry.  In all reality, staying angry only hurts yourself in the long run. 

So, just learn to love, despite what hurts.  Love can move mountains.

XO

Letting it be

Here we are, 9 weeks pregnant with our third and final baby, and I still don't know.  I don't know if I will ever get a grip on being a parent.  What's right, wrong, what's being too hard, or not strict enough.  How to build up self esteem in my 4 year old daughter when I have none of my own.  How to teach Mason to be a gentleman, to love with his whole heart, when I have never really seen a man do it himself when I was a child either.

I yell. A lot.  Three times of repeating myself, and I am ready to swing through the house with a wrecking ball because I am so pissed off.  I expect immediate satisfaction, even though I know that is not realistic with two kids under five.

Every night this week, A has spilt her juice from her "big girl cup" and with each passing day, I get more and more angry when she does it again.  When it occured last night, she looked at me with fear in her eyes, and quickly said "It's just a drop, Mommy."  No, it wasn't just a drop, it was about ten, but she tried to hard to not disappoint me by cleaning it up quickly.  It broke my heart.  Yet deep down, I was still angry.

Every night this week, I am exahausted and just want Mason so much to sit and relax with me when that clock hits 7:00PM.  He doesn't sit still.  I know this.  But can't he do it this one night?  Doesn't he get that some nights, I just can't do anything more but sit and watch a movie, justifying that as "quality time".

And when I am approaching my fourth request, for someone, anyone to just listen, I blow a fuse.  And to be honest with you, as much as it makes me cringe to say this, it comes naturally.  There was a lot, a LOT of yelling, hateful words thrown around when I was young.  I felt as if I was never being listened to, my needs were never taken into complete consideration.  And with much regret, I have carried that anger and fuse into a stage in my life where I get to be mom.  There are so many days when I feel as if I am just doing a terrible job.  I blame a lot of things.  I try to pinpoint why I react the way I do and why I still let my emotions get the best of me.

I read a blog today that made me cry.  Not a "this is so sweet" type of cry.  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  If I want to give the best to my kids, I need to stop being my own bully.  Stop allowing these past experiences drive my frustration to a level where my kids are effected.  Stop letting messes, and homework, and an extra minute playing ruin my mood.  STOP.  Stop being my own worst critic, stop striving for perfection, stop second guessing every decision I make.  Learn to let things be, love myself a little more.

Three babies later, maybe I'll get it.

Guilt.

So.
We're pregnant with our third and we are thrilled.  No it wasn't exactly "planned", but lets be honest, for someone who freaks out when a daily plan is ruined, Devon and I have never been the greatest big life event planners.  But we make it work.  We are happy. And that's all that matters.

It's Christmas time, and I am typcially the one who has the holiday tunes blarin' every day and making some kind of craft or treat every week.  This was the year the kids were old enough to get into "Elf on the Shelf", help me be the holiday crazy I love to be in.

I can't.  This pregnancy is draining me.  I haven't made one craft with them, I haven't made one holiday treat.  I DID help them decorate the tree.  But I haven't even bought the damn Elf on the Shelf dude.  I have no energy for it.  I spent Saturday and Sunday morning slouched over the toilet, and am in bed by 8:30 (7:30 last night), leaving the dirty laundry and dishes piled.  The kids are lucky to get a bath (and I usually stick them in the shower with their dad).  I thankfully felt well enough (after a morning spent barfing) to go on the Santa Train with the kids, Dev and his parents yesterday.  I am so glad.  They had so much fun...and I know it meant the world to them that I was there.  The holidays are all about creating forever memories.  That being said,  I sure hope I start feeling better soon.  They deserve it.

Dear 16 year old me:

-You are beautiful.
I know you are forced to compare yourself to every other girl in the world, but you are you.  No one else can be, posess, or have the features you have.  Tell yourself that, every. single. day.
-Be nice, to everyone.
Don't strive to be 'popular', have the best clothes, or compete with those around you.  Your clothes now will not matter in five years.  How many times you get nominated for homecoming queen doesn't matter, whether you live in a two story home or a single-wide, it doesn't matter.  Be nice, period.
-Thank your teachers.
They put up with hundreds of 16 year olds a day.  Would you want to do that at their age - be it 23 or 53? Didn't think so.
- Also, thank your parents for everything they do and buy for you.  They work hard for they money they spend on you.  It's their money, not yours.   You don't need those UGGS.
- GET SLEEP.
Staying up til midnight on the phone with "the love of your life" is not as important as a good nights sleep.
- Volunteer.
It not only helps someone else, it boosts your confidence.   Help someone who can't help themselves.
- Don't stop playing sports.
Whether you see it now or not, being apart of a team is awesome. You learn how to work well and communicate with others.  Don't give up.
- Don't make impulse decisions based on temporary feelings.  Watch what you say, and how you say it.  You can't take it back.
- Set goals.
Whether it be short or long term, write them down and cross them off.  Make that list your bitch.
- Be that friend that everyone wants to have.
Listen, laugh, dance, and keep the secrets they ask you to.  Be honest, and be there when they need someone.
- Have fun.
- Don't waste time on things or people you can't change.
- Respect yourself. Or no one else will.  Don't give your naked self to a boy who doesn't respect and love your naked soul.
- Strive to see the best in everyone.
- Go get ice cream and wear sweats to school whenever you want.
- Own a pair of Chucks.
- Use the same Jansport bookbag all four years.
- Take thousands of pictures.  These years fly by.
- Grow up to be 25, look back, and smile knowing you made the best of it.

Silence

It's almost like feeling as if you are screaming at the top of your lungs, but you can't seem to get it to come out of your  mouth.  Like your covering your own mouth, yet fighting with yourself to just let it out.  Let it go.  Let them know how you really feel.  But you are more scared of the reprecussions than concerned about letting those you love know how you really feel.  The track record shows it never has really been about you.

I am almost 25 years old, and still stuck.  Stuck in a place where at 18, alone at college, with no family visiting, realzing that I was alone.  How I feel and what I want to say has never really mattered.  And from that point on, I have crumbled.  I have let this overwhelming bitterness take over  my life and yet I still let it happen. I still accept it as a part of my life, yet in the most unhealthy way possible.  It destroys me inside, every single day.

I am the oldest of...8.  I have two "real" siblings, two half, and three step.  I would explain that to you, but you would be even more confused.  Growing up wasn't easy.  We moved, a lot.  We lost a lot.  We witnessed a lot no child should ever have to witness.  And I never spoke up.  To this day, I regret it.  Because now I have no idea how to speak up properly when I need to.  When I know something going on is wrong, or I disagree, or if I simply just need to speak to you about something... I just don't know.  What I think may be the best approach probably isn't, even though it seems totally legit to me.

It especially happens when I am hurt.

When you have a baby at 19, with no college education, living with your boyfriend parents, and completely turn your circumstances around - to a State employee, homeowner, wife, and mother of two - you would hope someone would mention, or show, how proud of you they are.  You would hope that an effort would be made more often than it is, to see me and my kids, to try to be involved, or to just simply say 'hey, you are doing a great job'... but instead, my siblings faces flood social media, gloating about how well they are doing.  Which, they are.  I am so proud.  It took them getting away to see clearly, to do something for themselves, for them to realize they could do better.  I am thankful every day that they took that leap.  But is it totally selfish of me to want the same praise? Just once in my life.  I just want someone who is supposed to, to show or say or actually try.


I'm battling today.  Tomorrow will be a better day.

From a Working Mom to a Stay at Home Mom:

*Before I begin.  I want everyone to know that this is in no way directed at any ONE person, whatsoever.  I have read MULTIPLE blogs lately that triggered this.  It has been weighing heavy and today, I'm letting it out.  I have many SAHM friends, whom I absolutely adore and would do anything for.  So please do not make assumptions! XO*

First, you are amazing.  Your day, every day, revolves around the children you chose to have, chose to stay at home with, whether it be because you simply cannot afford childcare, cannot see sending them off to any one stranger (or not a stranger at all), or because you feel that is what God wants you to do.  I applaud your willpower, your dedication, your messy houses; your days in PJs, your days running errands, your days that you just simply cannot  keep going because you are exhausted in every aspect.  You deserve rest.  You deserve recognition.  Your kids have the best kind of care out there: their mother, home, with them.

Working moms too though, deserve recognition.  My question is why society is still trying to see or prove who is better, more selfless, more strong willed.

Many of us work because we HAVE to.  Between car payments, mortgages and rent, utilities, student loans, past due credit cards, extremely high water bills - we have no choice.  Yes, we chose to have those things.  We chose to have cars and houses and go to school (or not, because I didn't finish, but I do have those devil loans to pay). 

Some of us enjoy work.  We take pride in contributing elsewhere in this world; sharing our good heart and empathy with others; communicating with adults who have kids and work, too.  Others wipe stranger's asses for a living or waitress tables to unappreciative, bitter old men.  I, personally, fight the fight against unemployment fraud.

Some of us are single.  With no child support in a one bedroom apartment with two kids and a crazy work schedule that absolutely drains us. Who, may or may not, need help from the governemt.  Who are then put in the "why did you have kids if you couldn't take care of them  yourself" catagory.  When many of them don't abuse the system at all, and as soon as they can, they will be cutting up those food stamp cards.

With working away from our kids also comes mixed emotions.  I dread every single day, only seeing my children for twenty minutes in the morning, before I drop them off at our (wonderful) sitter's house and kissing them goodbye for 10 hours, 5 days a week.  I look forward to picking them up, but quickly remember that dinner and baths take up the majority of our time in the evenings because bed time comes incrediby too fast.  I HAVE to have a schedule to make it work.  My kids have a 8pm bedtime because, if not, I get nothing done around the house, don't get a shower myself, and will never get to bed in time to get at least 7 hours of sleep.  I know I will not make all of their softball or baseball games, I know I will not be the "room mom" when they are in school, and that breaks my heart.  Then there is my awesome, even more selfless, busting-his-ass husband who literally has not seen his kids in 4 days because he works from before the sun comes up to after their bed time more nights than not.  When my 2 year old points at the garage door, or hears a car door slam, and immediately yells for Daddy, I usually break his heart because it is rarely him home before 8.  My 4 year old has to wait until Friday evenings to share all her creations at school with him, and tries so hard to remember every detail of her week so she can relay the excitement to him.

With BOTH of us working, it is hard.
With ONE parent working, it is hard.
Being a SAHM, it is hard.

The end.

You are enough.

It never fails.
It is such a struggle every evening.  Pick up kids, and no more than five minutes in the door, someone (or both) have sat in a time out.  For pushing, talking back, screaming at each other, for not sharing.  It's those five minutes that I dread the most.  Sure, I haven't seen you all day, so I am going to sit your ass in a timeout already.  Go ahead, make me feel like I am the worst mom, ever. What am I doing wrong here?  Why are those five minutes always the hardest?

Don't get me wrong.  They get along, most of the time.  But there is something about just getting home that sets off their "lets make mommy as mad as we can" button.  It's always one of a handful of things that results them in getting in trouble.  So why do they continue to do it? Why does A feel as if she can snatch something away from her little bro.  Why does Mase think it's ok to chase Alyvia with a screwdriver Daddy left on the counter (for over a week may I add).  Why are there STILL dishes in the sink? Didn't I do those last night?  What is the damn point in folding all this laundry when it gets unfolded by a terror of a two year old, or that will just end up on the floor in a bedroom anyway?  Mac and Cheese for dinner it is.  You know, because by this time, it's 6:30 and I don't. have. time. to make a three course meal.  Sure Mase, smear that cheese ALL OVER YOUR FACE. And put another hole in the toy basket that was only $10.  What's that? The trash bill is late and they didn't pick up our trash? Great.  I guess the smell will fit right in with these stinky dishes.  Go ahead, Alyvia, totally ignore the fact that I asked you to pick up your damn toys FIFTEEN TIMES.

I beat myself up over days like this over, and over, and over.  Why couldn' God have given me a third arm so I could read to my kids and do the dishes at the same time?  Are my kids deaf? I just need them to cooperate this ONE night.  Am I failing here?  I just feel like I am.  Like, I don't give them 100%, 100% of the time.  I can't.  My body, emotions, attitude just cannot do it every second of every day.  Is that wrong of me?  Do I need to ask for help? Why couldn't my husband be one of those dads home at 6 and still be able to pay the bills.  Do they know I love them? Am I paying enough attention?  Do they have enough books, clothes, food?  Why does THAT mom look like she has it all together- all. the. time. WHY CAN'T I?

We create these expectations based on what everyone else is doing.  Not based on your own life.  Not every kid is the same.  Not every family has the same schedule, struggles, and needs.  I need to remind myself that what I do is enough.  The mac and cheese dinner one (er, twice) a week is enough when you just can't clean up another dinner mess that night.  Reading them a book every night may be nice, but may not always happen.  Timeouts MAY happen more than you want them too.  Siblings willl bite, hit, scratch and take away.  Your trash will smell.  You will cry.  You are enough.

{Shew, I needed to vent.}