I am bad at blogging.

First of all, I would like to say that I really could get a little better at this blogging thing. Also, my boss told me that it’s “not actually a blog Kate, if no one reads it.” She’s pretty brilliant in the ways of the world, so perhaps I should consider pointing people in the direction of this little place. 

Second, Big One, you are homesick. You want pancakes and bacon from the Coach House. And while I agree that the Coach House is a lil slice of NJ diner heaven, it’s not the place you crave- it’s the normalcy, the routine and the sanctity of our rituals there. 

This parenting thing is so hard. It’s so beautiful, but so hard. I’ve said it a thousand times- you two are the best I’ve ever done. And dammit, that’s the product of some serious blood, sweat and tears. I shared a blog post yesterday with all of these lessons and things that no one tells you before you’re a parent– the freaky-deaky, middle of the night “what have we done” moments; the pain, the hormones and the “I don’t love you yet you little squawking creature” type stuff. It’s interesting, the response. The people without kids were like, “omg this is why I am terrified of having them.” And the people who DO have kids were all “preach sister.” See the thing is, we, the crazy ones who have crossed over this parental threshold, know the secret; the secret that this is all actually awesome. It’s the key to the kingdom; it’s the thing that will move you to your most vulnerable place, your closest to God, your most nakedly, wide-open, no holds barred self. If we could harness the energy of a mama protecting her babies- we would solve so much in this world.

Part of my point here– is that sometimes we (mamas of the interwebs) try to out-complain each other, or talk about how horrible it all is, or snark our way through the day with memes about coffee, lack of sleep and piles of laundry. Full disclosure- I post, re-share and +1 these all the time. BUT, and please hear this BUT— it’s a coping mechanism. It’s not actually all the feelings; it’s not the real, whole thing of it. It’s a common language that feels comfortable. It’s the yoga pants of social networking. 

And now my actual point: someday far in the future when you are Googling me, or yourselves, or reading over your life history in Facebook posts– please know, that whatever my tone, whatever my sleep-deprived, nervous, wacky, yelly, over-caffeinated self wrote… I love you more than I can ever, ever put into words. Or memes. 

xo Mama

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