So, I didn’t get selected for the show. BUT. But. I did it and for that, I am proud. Here’s the piece. ❤

Yesterday when we were at the pediatrician for the 2-for-1 head-cold and earache special, I was joking to the mom next to me about how my two boys (ages 2 and 4) were both excitedly jumping on the couch right before we came here– real sick yah, hehe, wink wink nudge nudge– she said, “they’re probably just excited you’re home with them.” And with that, the weight of the mommy wars settled over the waiting area. And my heart twisted in a knot. Was she right? Am I ok? Are they ok? What am I doing with 2 kids if I can’t stay home and raise them myself? I was so sure in that moment that she was so much better than me. I felt smaller than small. And bad. Really bad. I started to make all of these super irrational leaps in my head: like, I bet she actually makes the crap she pins on Pinterest. And I am sure her kids wear cloth diapers that she wove herself on her loom made of reclaimed barn doors. And her toddler probably speaks 4 languages (that wasn’t a huge leap: she did actually use sign language with them. She signed. While I begged my two to stop licking the waiting room fish tank.).

And she was cool too– she had tattoos, and an asymmetrical haircut. I hated her. Loved her.

This interaction really got me thinking…

By far the worst mommy war I face is the one I wage against myself every single day of my life. I know the talking points (the ones tossed at each other over polite playground conversation)– that I am providing for them, that I’m giving them a great example of what women can achieve, they’re being “socialized” in daycare, blah blah blah. But in reality? It sucks so much to drop them off and know that their whole day, filled with learning moments, the 736 questions they ask, the cool new things they encounter, the boo-boos that I can’t  kiss, the firsts I am not seeing; that all that is happening without me and, in fact, I am almost living a parallel existence for those 10 hours. (TEN HOURS, my heart just skipped a beat.)

And yet. I also know that when I spend too much time home with them, I am longing for my office, my job, adult conversation and the work that comes with a successful career. I really love my job and I don’t think that’s a bad thing to feel. I know that I am probably not cut out for the stay at home mom gig and also, that it’s not even an option. Mostly, I just don’t go there.

So why the wars? Why is this even a thing? Can we please just raise our very tired arms (ok- arm, singular: the one that’s not holding a baby, a laptop, a sippy cup and walking the dog all at the same time) and salute each other for making it through another day?

I mean, we all know the real deal here: none of us knows what the hell we’re doing. We’re just hoping to make it through the day without misplacing a kid. Ok, that might be an exaggeration, but that’s sort of what it feels like. I will never forget the moment I knew I had crossed over into Motherhood, with a capital M: my first baby was 8 weeks old and we all had a head cold and the baby and I hadn’t slept in days (though somehow my husband was snoring away through it all) and it was the middle of the night and my sore breasts were out and the baby was crying cause he couldn’t eat and breathe at the same time–  and I was crying and I just kept saying through sobs “I am. So. Tired.” But we made it. And I know that I am the 7 million-th woman on earth to have that moment; and if you’ve had that moment (or any of the other similarly humiliating, painful-and-yet-beautiful wrapped-in-one type moments),  you are soooo in the club, no doubt.

I firmly believe that we are all in this together and I don’t find fault with those stay at home wonders; in fact, I am in awe of them. And by the same token, I hope they look at me and wonder how I manage it all. Not because of my title at work, or my title at home, but because really, we’re all on the same side of this so-called war.

Right here and now, I am laying down my weapons and surrendering– or just getting over it. So, can we please stop lobbing the co-sleep/crib-sleep, breast/formula, wearing/strollering, homeschool/public school, cloth/disposable, organic/non, raised eyebrow-judgey looks… and just agree to support each other? Can you imagine what THAT would be like? All the mamas in all the land focused on supporting each other and her kids? Unstoppable.

I’ve joked to several people that we go to the heathen church known as the “Church of the Aquarium.” Several Sunday mornings since we got our membership to the aquarium, you and I boys, have been there right at opening and enjoyed the semi-private atmosphere (we live in the Bible belt, it’s Sunday morning, do the math). First, I absolutely love aquariums; the ethereal music against the towering tank with jellies and turtles and sharks and coral. I’ve always felt peaceful near water and the sea creatures at the aquarium are endlessly fascinating to me. Luckily, you are my children and a) I get to make the choices and b) you follow in my footsteps in your love of all things water and animal.

And, we don’t actually go to a church. Religion is a funny thing– and organized religion is something that is hard for me. I often feel like we should go to church, but should is not reason enough. I believe in God. I believe in Jesus. I pray all the time and more and more as an adult; the more I know, the more I utterly know how much I do NOT KNOW. I prayed my way through both of your pregnancies; I pray when someone I know is sick; I pray when someone I don’t know is sick. I pray when I am far away from you two and I pray when you fall asleep at night. Just because we don’t go to a church, doesn’t mean we can’t do church.

Back to the aquarium. This morning, sitting on those cool concrete steps, in the morning Charleston sun watching the dolphins play in the harbor and you two playing and running and laughing with the sun glinting off your baby faces– church. 

One of my biggest pet peeves (is that an oxy-moron?) is when people tell me I am “lucky.” I am lucky to work where I do. To have my wonderful children. To travel like I have. Luck luck luck.

Saying this, though, actually undermines who I am as a smart, strong person who tends to persevere even when the going is rough and the outcome looks potentially crappy. Shit creek and I? We’re super good pals. So, to me, the job I have, the kids and life and travels and all the things… are because I actually went and did them. I am grateful everyday– but I don’t believe that my success fell out of a tree. It’s blood, sweat and tears produced, thankyouverymuch.

Do not rely on luck. Rely on who you are and what you bring to the world and know that if you don’t like something, you work hard to change it. And THAT’S the ticket to the good stuff.

(Mommy is stepping off of her soap box now… it’s time for her to go to bed. Actually, move you OUT of her bed. So she can go to bed. But that’s another post for another day.)

xo

Hi. It’s March. Like, actually, really not at all February anymore and in fact at least a week into March. It’s not that I mean to not write the things down… it’s that the things happen and I think “I should WRITE about that! Yes!” and then someone needs something like a bandaid or a bee removed from the screened porch. And then I do things like audition for Listen To Your Mother (what?! me?!) and then go to a conference and talk to 200 people like I know what I’m doing and it’s all audacious and yet somehow, life, this thing, it just keeps happening. 

And now it’s March.

I have this giant list of awesome Mommy things to accomplish– like planting our own vegetable garden. Me. Growing things and harvesting them so we can eat them. My co-worker mentioned something about tilling the other day and I was like “say more about this thing. This “tilling” you speak of.” Those cucumbers are a long way off babies. Point being, it’s beautiful springtime in the warm, breezy, glowy South Carolina Lowcountry– our first here– and I am ready to shake off the winter shell and start fertilizing things. Not sure if I mean tomatoes or something more, but it feels fresh and good. 

Love you two. 

Mama.

 

I hope that you remember what it feels like to fly through the air on a swing set. And I hope you remember what it feels like to fall asleep nestled in my arms. I hope that you remember what it feels like to be so excited to see/learn/feel/do something new.

I am thinking about how quickly you’re growing and how quickly we adults cease to see the fairies and hear the music and dance naked like no one can see us.

Today I peeked in on the two of you and you were hiding from a monster in a fort in your room, Big One, and you were both so totally engrossed in what you were doing that you didn’t see me watching you. I hope that your imaginations continue to guide you in what you do– we can’t help grow up but we can still look for the magic… thanks for reminding me to do so.

xo

Big One- I totally just drugged you with valium in a bowl of vanilla ice cream! How is this real life?! 

We’re heading to the dentist in a bit for your very first filling and so, as is always the case, Mama also had a first: sneakily grinding up a narcotic in the kitchen and masking it in cold, vanilla-y goodness, then scooping it into your baby mouth. And now, I am watching you from across the room, with my breath half held. 

Why is it that being a mom is also like being a doctor? Or a drug dealer? Except, like, NO ONE GAVE ME A DEGREE OR 10 YEARS OF SCHOOL for this! I, of course, did the scary Googling part yesterday and read every horror story out there about pediatric dentist visits and properly panicked the crap out of myself… then I did the smart thing and texted cousin Nurse Robin who’s married to Dr. Uncle Cousin Mike and they looked up the dosing and assured me this was all on the up and up. But HELL how’s a Mama to KNOOOW?! 

Being a Mom, to me, sometimes feels like skydiving with a parachute on your back that you’re only pretty sure will open but you have to smile and say “it’s ok! of course it will open!” to everyone who asks you. Ferthelove of Bob. 

We’ve now done, officially, every holiday thing possible. We’ve seen all the lights there are to see. We’ve baked all the cookies there are to bake. We’ve listened to every song there ever was. We’ve wrapped, unwrapped and put together every toy there ever was- on the planet. We’ve seen every holiday special ever created- twice. It was beautiful, chaotic, magical and uniquely ours.

As always, your Mama had moments where she soared, and where she crashed. I questioned why I was so damn hungry all the time but then realized, I am not physically hungry, I am probably spiritually hungry. Or pissed off. So I’d throw back another handful of m and m’s, break up another pint-sized brawl, answer another question about “Kate, how do you use this remote? Kate, where are your mixing bowls? Kate, did you put on another pot of coffee?”– promptly forgave myself for the overeating and soldiered on.

Holidays are hard for grownups sometimes and it’s ok. There are people missing, there are rough, raw memories, there are expectations not met, there are things we say or do that we don’t want to think ourselves capable of or that we wish we hadn’t. But mostly, you just have to be thankful to have what you do, the people you do– however mismatched, broken or bruised, they’re your people and they’re sharing this festive moment with you so you have to share it back.

So my babies- my deep down wish is that this Christmas helped cement some of what we will always be, and allowed us to give up some of what we, maybe, wanted to change. It’s a work in progress this life relationship of ours– thanks for being in it with us (not that you have a choice. you’re sort of captive for like 15 more years. muah ah ah.). Merry Christmas and happy almost new year!

Hi, so we don’t HAVE a chimney. And Big One you are utterly and totally obsessed with this fact because you have been inundated with messages about how Santa comes down a chimney. It’s all Santa, all the time. One one hand, I like to use this to my advantage in my parenting kit of fun: “do you want me to call Santa right now? What would HE think of you drawing on the couch?” On the other hand, and the one that feels like the better parent thing to do… is to really, really encourage you to believe in goodness and light and magic during this very special time of year. To make it NOT about material gifts but the everyday gifts we can offer each other, our community and the world. This is a hard, hard thing to do as a parent. Especially when it’s so fun to see your eyes light up at a new toy or gadget. And when it’s such an effective threat. 

I know how incredibly blessed we are to be able to give you all of those things and more– not just on holidays, but just because. It’s my challenge as a parent to help you balance these two things. I want you to have everything in the world because I can give it to you. But I also want you to know that you are so very lucky– and it is our job, as the lucky ones, to then give back. Cause really, we are one step, one paycheck, one disease, one disaster away from being… well, not where we are. 

My wish in this very special time and season is that you know enough to know that you are special, but not so special that you can’t humble yourselves before others. Gift the gift of yourselves and give more than you get. Always.

xo

2 years ago tonight I rocked Big One to sleep with tears pouring down my cheeks. We were checking into the hospital the next day to meet you and I just could not fathom falling in love with another child the way I had with your brother. Flash forward to tonight when you snuggled into my neck with your new Woody doll tucked under your arm. We rocked in the same chair I rocked your brother in that night 2 years ago today– and realized that I have an infinite capacity to love my children and that I have totally fallen head over heels for you. You are magical sweet boy; your laugh, wit, joy, soft skin, gorgeous eyes, silliness, creativity and light. You are pure joy in a little body and I cannot believe how lucky I am to be your Mama.

Love you baby bear. And Happy Birthday!

xo Mama