Day 22.2

     Every once in a while, we need to give ourselves a shout out.

The relief of a clean bill of health

     Today, I did something for me. Now, I am not going to get into the details, but I had an issue that I could have easily put to the side and not taken care of because it was just easier to focus on the needs of others-especially during this time of year. Instead, I put away my pride and made my health first priority.
     This afternoon, I sat on the couch in our new family room and enjoyed the remaining sunlight before attempting to tackle the laundry (5 loads and no end in sight as of this posting). I could have gotten frustrated with myself, or annoyed at the circumstances surrounding the day, but I'm choosing to embrace the fact that for the first time in a long time, I put myself ahead of others' expectations of me. I can't remember the last time I felt like I had even the slightest bit of control- apparently taking care of myself can help with that!

     I think this is one of my most empowering moments of 2017.

Day 21.2

     Try as I might, depression shows it's ugly head. I blame the holidays... sick kids... never ending home construction...the fact that a 21 month old is sleeping in a crib, two feet from my head...work stress...lack of exercise...this stupid, stupid world we live in...

I wonder what I would do if I was faced with an active shooter situation.

   

     Why aren't more people in America OUTRAGED that I as a teacher have to think about this EVERY FUCKING DAY?!?!?!?!?!?!?! That I practice how I will get the door locked in the quickest way possible? That I set up my classroom so we can easily escape if needed-or easily hide? That I've mentally prepared myself to do anything necessary to protect the students that I've been entrusted with?

     I wonder how a gun lobbyist would feel after experiencing a lockdown with 25 panicked 7 year olds. What words would they use to soothe a frightened child? I've held hands with sobbing students during surprise precautionary drills. This is the screwed up norm that we face in America because for some reason our elected officials can't address this crisis.

     5 YEARS.

     Nothing I type out seems to articulate what I am trying to say. I just want to scream. I want to punch something. I am so angry.

     Nothing has changed.

     Yet everything has changed. 5 years ago, I had one child. Now that child has gone through his first grade year. THOSE KIDS NEVER DID.

WHY HAVEN'T WE ADDRESSED THIS?????????????????

     I am so mad. Every single day there is something else this fucked up world hands to us on a silver gold platter to lose our minds over. And every single day the Sandy Hook families live with loss.


I don't have anything productive to write tonight. I don't feel any better having written a slew of curse words and sentences in all caps. Nothing can make this feeling OK.

How do we find hope when this all seems so hopeless?

Day 20.2

     Like many others, I'm limping across the finish line of the disaster that is 2017. 

     WTF?!?! Where do I even start? The politics? The mass shootings? White supremacist marches? #metoo? Natural disasters and hurricanes? 

     I think for me, the most painful part of 2017 has to do with mental illness. 

Anyone else tired of this shit?

     Someone inexplicably murders innocent people in a mass shooting and the conversations that follow focus on mental health issues- not gun control. The president posts incoherent tweets and the world questions on his mental health. People speak out on the injustices in the world and they are labeled "crazy snowflakes".

     The news is dominated by stories of powerful men using their positions to sexually assault women. Or those who use their positions to deny basic rights to people of color, members of the LGBTQ community, and those of a lower socioeconomic status. Instability in the Middle East, tensions among nuclear powers...

If you didn't already have depression and anxiety, it wouldn't be surprising if you do now! 

     So much of the conversation surrounding mental health has been when it is used as a scapegoat for the travesties we see before us. The mental health of American citizens is something we discuss only after tragedy strikes. We never celebrate the accomplishments of someone who battles their demons everyday. We don't acknowledge the strength it takes to get out of bed each day when the world sees mental illness as a defect. Fuck. I really have no idea how I do it half the time.

     There are millions of us out here doing the hard work in therapy. Getting our prescriptions filled- and taking those meds. There are millions of supportive families who drive us to appointments when we can't do it ourselves and have the really tough conversations even when we don't want to. 

Those who fight this battle alongside us. 

     This year has been unbearable at times. I've had more anxiety attacks than I care to recount. I'm feeling broken. Some aspects of my life have been repaired. Others have a long way to go. I've hated myself with a passion and anger that scares me, yet I've also fallen in love the person I have become- mental illness included. 

     A huge source of strength for me has been finding my purpose again in music. 

Teaching, singing, listening. 

     I want to spend these last few weeks of 2017 compiling some playlists of the songs that have gotten us through the year. The songs that calm us when we feel the weight of the battles we have yet to fight (literal and figurative), the songs that give us the power to resist, the songs that give us the energy to push through the hard days, the ones that inspire joy- heck, even the ones that turn us on and help bring us some much needed intimacy.

Share your songs and let's set ourselves up with a inspiring soundtrack for 2018. 

We've got a lot of work to do...

Day 19.2

     In the spirit of frank and honest discussions I've had with myself about my role in the world, I'm taking a look at myself as a teacher. I've come to the realization that I've been inadvertently sanitizing the music in my classroom. 

     Work Songs. They are listed in the textbooks as work songs. I've utilized them in class. I've taught and talked about them. But I've never outright said, "these were slave songs". I changed that this week. 

Looking for The Courage to Teach

     14 years of teaching and I thought I was being inclusive and culturally sensitive. I've done a disservice to my students by not calling them what they were, and for that I apologize. 

     Picking cotton was not work. It was slave labor. To call it work is horrendous. I didn't even realize I was doing this. I think I'm a pretty great teacher. I design thoughtful lessons that incorporate a multitude of instructional methods in order to reach every kid that comes through my program. I teach music of various cultures, I use authentic recordings as examples and I reach out to students to find the music that is relevant to them. But for years, I called slave songs "work songs". It may seem small, but I have to own up to the fact that I did not have the hard discussions that I should have.  

     I want students to leave my room with a love for music that will guide them through the trials that lay before them. They are growing up in a world where they will need something to hold on to. They absolutely need to know about the dark experiences of slavery and racism that led to some of our country's most beautiful music. And I'm going to listen to my students and to their experiences. 

     Today I played Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come" for a fourth Grade class. Change is coming here for me. I'm not sanitizing the music I share. We are going to have those tough conversations (age appropriate for sure) and they will leave my class knowing that I cared enough to tell them the truth. 

Day 17.2 & 18.2

     On Wednesday night, I dressed myself up and took myself out. I enjoyed fabulous music, amazing company, and social time with adults. I got to see the fruits of my labor (talented and successful former students) and connect with the parents who raised them. I sang along to music and had great conversations. A coworker who saw me that night told me I looked like a model and that she barely recognized me. Clearly she was exaggerating, but it was almost a punch in the gut during our follow up conversation today. What was it about going out by myself that led me to "glow", well aside from a few too many drinks?

Shadowy picture, but you get the idea

   The key part of this evening was that it was adult time where I was an individual. I spend so much time filing other roles, and I have neglected me. This wasn't a fancy night out, but I made getting ready a priority. I didn't focus on setting up dinner and nighttime activities for kids. I didn't do a quick cleaning of the house. I did my hair, put on makeup, and looked through my closet for a outfit that was flattering- not just the first thing I grabbed from the drawer. I listened to music on the drive out (that wasn't of the kid variety), as opposed to my usual NPR. I let my guard down. I'm so hyper-focused on the kids, the house, the job...

A few nights after this invigorating and liberating night out...

Back to reality. 

     A hysterically screaming toddler. Over an hour of crying. Food didn't work, bath didn't work. 

Extended breastfeeding is simultaneously my savior and the bane of my existence. 

     I know there are people who just say "stop it already!" It seems as if we've been weening for months now. Caroline is not over it though, so I keep trudging along. Obviously there is something about the fact that she's the last one. This phase is the end of my "baby years". Of course, it's a connection that I know will be transformed into something new and wonderful, once the nursing ends. But I also know that it's definitely holding me back from regaining more of myself. 

     How can I be a fierce, individualistic female when I'm still finding myself on the bathroom floor at 7 PM, un-showered, in the same clothes I slept in the prior night, covered in snot and tears, while breastfeeding a naked & tantruming toddler? Do I accept that this phase that will end shortly? Do I really believe that breastfeeding is the only thing that holds me back from asserting myself as an independent woman? 

Something for me to think about. 

Day 16.2

     So after my post the other day, I needed to take a step back and ground myself. Conveniently, it also happened to be my oldest son's first reconciliation this weekend. The church has this beautiful tradition where the parents write a letter to their child for them to open after they have made their sacrament.
     Now, truth be told, I forgot all about this letter. In fact, when I wrote it at the retreat, I was half paying attention while I chatted with other parents and tried to mentally plan out the rest of the weekend. Not really appropriate I guess, but it's my truth. When we go the paperwork after the service on Saturday, I realized the letter was in the packet and I shared it with Lucas. I can't quite describe what happened. It's like he saw straight through me and was in my heart. I felt so vulnerable, like for the first time, my son had a glimpse into the love I have for him, and understood what kind of person we want him to become. He climbed into my lap and hugged me.

     I've made mistakes. A lot of them. I'll continue to make more. But if I'm able to forgive my son, I must also be able to forgive myself.

 

  I'm so grateful to be his mother. 

Dear Lucas,
We are filled with joy as we watch you grow and mature into the person you're becoming. You're a caring and thoughtful friend, a playful and kind older brother and a loving and helpful son. There are times when we all make bad choices, or do things we aren't proud of. The important thing is how we respond, learn, and grow from those times. None of us are perfect and we never expect perfection from you, but we do expect truth, kindness and respect for the world you live in and the people around you. I know that you will continue to grow and be your best self and we are so proud to have you as our son. We love you and support you in all of the great, happy moments & in all of the tough ones as well. We hope that you are able to find comfort in God's love, as well as ours. Daddy and I love you more than you'll ever know!

Love,
Mommy & Daddy

Day 15.2

     I've been thinking about this post for years, but have shied away because I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable. 

     

I'm so tired of making everyone else comfortable- it's time to talk about this. 

How does Mommy get her groove back?

     Before I had children, I was hot. OK, maybe that's an overstatement, but I at least looked in the mirror and felt attractive. I didn't have a 6-pack going, but there were actual abs. I was running multiple long distance races and working out a ton. I dressed well, did my hair and make-up, and partied with friends and went out on dates with my husband. 

     When we decided to try for children, it was an exciting time. I wanted to get pregnant and therefore, birth control was finally out of the picture. It was great. Until getting pregnant became a nightmare. I think that was the first time the "groove" started to have some issues. Sex became a thing that was precisely timed. Positions were restricted. Spontaneity was eliminated. And then, success led to loss and loss led to depression. Baby making became a job and it sucked. Once we had a successful pregnancy, my paranoia prevented us from being intimate. But, when my body began to have issues with pregnancy, the paranoia turned real and we were medically restricted. I'm sure there are millions of women who can back me up when I say that what I endured over the past nine years left me traumatized. The exams, the vaginal ultrasounds, the cervical checks- I've had more hands up my vagina than I care to recount. Seriously. I lost track. And it was brutal, painful, scary, and aggressive. I gave consent, but I didn't want the penetration. I don't think that any of the medical professionals intended for the exams to feel the way they did, but I cried after every single one.

     Maybe it's because it forced me to confront the time I was digitally penetrated against my will. I was in college. I remember what I was wearing. Bootcut jeans, a green sweater and my favorite doc martins. When he came up to me at the party, he specifically said that the outfit I had worn to class that day was much hotter than the one I had on. I didn't realize where this was going. I was drunk- it was the second time in my life that I had ever encountered alcohol. I trusted him because I was 18 and naive. I remember the weight of his body on top of mine. The scratchy feel of the rug under my body as he pulled down my pants. The absolute panic that I had never been touched this way before. The room was spinning and I was so scared. And I know it wasn't my fault. But when I spoke with counselors the following week, they questioned my experience in a way that made me feel that maybe I was "asking for it". Was I really sure I said no? 

     There was a lot of self hatred and many bad decisions that followed. I chose to numb myself with alcohol and hookups. I didn't have many serious relationships. I didn't see myself as a woman who was desired, instead I was a disposable body that didn't deserve respect. 

     Flash forward 12 years- I'm pregnant, married to a man who knows none of this. And so, I stuffed it down, back where it had been hidden for so long. I tried to remind myself every time that this was OK, because it's all for the health of myself and my children. Still, after I gave birth, I couldn't bear the thought of anyone- doctor or husband- touching my vagina. 

     Clearly this has led to some real difficulties in my marriage. Sex is important. Intimacy is essential. I was shying away from both. 

     My body, which in many ways hasn't felt like "mine" since that September night in 1998, has been sacrificed for my children. I stopped carefully grooming myself after the c-section of my oldest, because I was so mortified by my scars. If I continued to shave, the marks on my body would be visible and I didn't want the daily reminder. My small, yet perky breasts had transformed into leaking porn-star boobs that absolutely terrified me. And the weight gain, loss, gain, loss...

9 years of this. 

     My husband has always maintained that he found me attractive. But how could that be? I would look in the mirror and I see such a transformation that I could hardly believe I was the same person. Yet, when I really think about it, I am changed. I'm not the same. 

     Boundaries don't exist anymore. I was once too prudish in my early 20s to flash a crowd at the Preakness, yet 100s of strangers have seen me breastfeed without a cover. I prefer to be covered in a gym locker room, yet I haven't showered alone in years. How do we reconcile ourselves as sexual beings and the perfect mothers that society expects of us. It's not funny that when I was home with my children, I showered once- maybe twice-a week. How can I possibly find myself attractive when the world views me as a "mom of three". I'm not exaggerating that more times than not, any compliment delivered on my physical appearance is followed by "for a mom of three". Was my husband some sort of special man because he thought my stretch marks were sexy? All of a sudden, am I supposed to be grateful that my husband still wants to have sex with me despite the toll motherhood has taken on my body? And when those feelings settle in, it's a pretty f-ed up situation. 

     I'm still figuring this out. I don't have an answer. It's something I struggle with everyday. How can I be "mom" and a "sexy piece of ass" at the same time. Is it even appropriate for me to want to be a sexy piece of ass? 

This is a conversation we need to have. Feel free to join in. 

Day 14.2

It's been a long road and I'm finally approaching the end of the "maternity leave era".

Our last day before she began full-time daycare

     I remember filling out the paperwork for leave when I was pregnant with Lucas. I thought I would take the standard 16 weeks and return to work with breast-pump in tow. I thought I'd have a sleepy baby who would give me nights of rest and days of smiles. I thought I would love my life as a mother. I never for one minute imagined the hell I would be living in after the birth of my oldest child- and then second and finally the last child. Post-partum depression nearly took everything from me. I can't go down the rabbit hole and imagine what could have been, had my husband not stepped in to get me the help I needed-the amazing lives that would have been shattered, or those never even brought forth at all. The sacrifices that went into the pregnancies, birth and rearing of our children were with out a doubt worth it. But they took a toll on my body, my mind, my career, my friendships, and my family. Living on a single salary for four years, all while racking up some pretty intense medical bills forced us to make life changes that we weren't happy about. It forced my husband and me into many deep discussions, and they often became heated arguments. We navigated many issues over the course of our fourteen years together, but coupling the stress of family, health and money together unlocked a new level.

     It's been almost 8 years since we began the journey to become parents. In that time I've been the happiest I could ever imagine, yet I've also been to the very edge of depression. I've experienced the absolute dependence of a human being who looked to me for their every need and it is the most awesome responsibility I could ever imagine. I've also felt the worthlessness and hopelessness that comes with loss. I'm humbled everyday by the strength of my marriage to survive and thrive throughout the challenges life has hurled our way.

     Next week, our lives take on a new challenge- that of being a home with two working (outside of the home) parents. I'm scared. I'll most likely never have this time with my family again. I will miss the friends I've made while staying home and the community of amazing women I've been welcomed in. The mundane things like grocery shopping trips in the early morning on Mondays when I could chat with the cashiers, or socializing on playground at pickup with the other parents. These are things that made me feel connected. I'm afraid of this change and how it will affect the relationships I've built while staying home. I'm afraid of being able to give the proper amount of energy to my job and my family. I never quite figured out the balancing act while staying home, and now I'm about to take on a whole new challenge.

     I guess I just have to trust that this is going to suck some days, but it's also going to be pretty amazing. There will be highs and lows, like just about everything else in life- but I'm going to try my best because it's really the only thing I can do.

Day 13.2

     I'm too young to feel this old.

Drinks on the patio before we demolish it to make space for bed rooms and bigger family room. 

     Recently as we've been navigating the trials and tribulations of three children, home ownership, and careers, I've begun to feel like this is way too much responsibility. Are we really in charge of three children, all of whom have very different personalities and very specific needs? Are we really adding on to the home we bought as a family of three because we've outgrown it in just 4.5 years? Am I really returning to work outside of the home?
Obviously, the answer to all of these questions is "YES".

     There are more days than I'm comfortable admitting, when I feel like I'm just not supposed to be at this point in my life. Is this the oncoming of a midlife crisis? Maybe just the anxiety over the end of my "childbearing/maternity-leave years"? I'm so far into the role that I've developed for myself over the past decade- and it's not that I want to walk away from it- but it's freaking scary!

     Ten years ago, when I was a newlywed, the future seemed so full of possibilities. Many of them have been realized, but some never will. For example, career goals I felt so strongly about will not happen because the realities of motherhood have changed my priorities- whether I like it or not.

     But we adapt. That's something I love so much about Jim. We don't go out that much anymore (we should have done more when we were younger). But every Saturday he makes us some cocktails, we order take out, and have a date night in. And as we close in on ten years of marriage in our fourteen year relationship, I'm so grateful to have him through the highs and lows of growing up.

Day 12.2

     Facebook reminded me once again that three years ago, I was clueless. I thought I was exhausted- I even used the term "blissfully exhausted". I've since discovered, that's not a real thing. I usually can't stand the parents who tell you "you think this is hard? Just wait!" and then they laugh knowingly that you are in for it. But they are right. Just as I know the more seasoned parents reading this are shaking their own heads as I reflect on my little guy turning 4.

Just a typical kid trying to squirm away from his mom

     Today one of the teachers at daycare told me that Ben reminded her of an elegant old man. I'm completely serious. The emotional, long haired, super hero loving, perpetually loud and messy little boy that our friends lovingly refer to as "Kegger" is also like an elegant old man. And the amazing thing is that she's absolutely right. This child defies stereotypes and could never be placed in a box. He will tell you that he is the fastest person in the world and race you to prove it. He refuses haircuts because he loves his long hair. He can identify every vehicle at a construction site and then build them for you using his older brother's Legos. He can make his sister laugh harder than anyone else can, even though I'm pretty sure she's slightly terrified of him. His dance moves are creative and always stylistically appropriate for the music they accompany. I prefer his version of "Gold on the Ceiling" and I love the Black Keys, so that's saying a lot.
     I don't know if it's the fact that life over these past two years has completely overwhelmed me, but I haven't really been aware of his transformation from a baby into a kid. I turned around, and he was growing up. I don't want him to be the middle child that gets overlooked. But really, no one says that they want to ignore their kid. Things get in the way. An older child starts school, a new baby is born, family roles change. I think I was conscious of his aging, but I wasn't able to appreciate it because of my own issues.
   
     Let's be honest, it's not Ben that was overlooked. It's me. I used to make time for writing and reflection. I used to strive for personal/emotional/spiritual growth. Now I hope for 4 good hours of sleep a night and anything else is a bonus. My kids are front and center. I haven't remotely neglected any of these kids. However, I've neglected me.
     Three years has found a lot of changes in my life. Another child threw things out of whatever balance they had-and it wasn't much. As I prepare to wake up to a four year old tomorrow, I'm not feeling the same optimistic hopefulness as I did three years ago. Of course we will celebrate and enjoy our time together, but I know there will be meltdowns from at least 4 out of 5 family members. Yet, life will go on. Years from now, he will look back on his birthday weekend and remember a few special moments. I will do my best to make sure they are the same kinds of beautiful memories like
I've captured of him over these past four years.

Day 11.2

It's too loud here.

Fingers in my ears can't drown out this noise

     I swear the kids spend at least 5 hours a day screaming. This is not an exaggeration. And the thing is, they don't do it all at the same time. It's spread out over the course of a day. However, in the above picture, they happen to all be screaming at the same time. I can't even remember why.

     How do people do this? I swear, it just gets more difficult each day. I love these kids. We both agree that they are amazing, but the 3 on 2 thing just isn't working. Is there another parent we can rent to help us out?

     I know, everyone tells me... it gets worse. But it also gets easier. And if I didn't want insanity, why have three? And 8 years ago, didn't I envy every family with children? 8 years ago wasn't I cursing my uterus?

     The journey into parenthood has been ugly, beautiful, imperfect, joyful, insane, painful, and messy. I thought it would get better as I figured out what I was doing, but it's only getting tougher and I still haven't figured much out. Well, I'm positive that I have a real love/hate relationship with the sound of my screaming children.

Day 10.2

     Another #nationalselfieday and a great day to get out my thoughts about technology and raising kids.
 
      Here's a picture of me documenting our hospital stay on Monday.

I love this kid so much

     So my second born has had a rough few weeks medically. We found out he contracted Lyme disease about six weeks ago. Although he's been treated with the standard three week course of antibiotics, any parent who has experienced this will agree, we have been rocked by the diagnoses. Symptoms vary and can last from a few weeks to six or more months. There could be long term effects, but we will just have to wait and see. Many recover completely and we are hopeful that we will be in that category. In the meantime, any fever, aches, pains, swelling, mood swings and illnesses send me into a panic.
     On Monday we awoke to a vomiting and lethargic child who couldn't string together a sentence in response to my questions. To the ER we went to find that our little guy was quite ill and very dehydrated. Due to the Lyme disease, there was some concern that we may be looking at meningitis, although that was unlikely. We were kept in the ER for testing and then transferred to pediatrics. He was so brave through the blood work, X-rays, IV placement, and general poking and prodding during examinations. We sang songs, read books, played with cards, built stuff with legos, raced matchbox cars, made up stories, and snuggled a lot. It was the most one on one time we had shared together in years, and although it was scary, it was also a very special experience.
     During the night time, he insisted that I sleep in the hospital bed with him. Also, he snores like an old man. I couldn't sleep, so I spent some time scrolling through Facebook and Twitter. I came across a few postings and discussions about technology and children. There are the standard "Dear Mom" ones, where someone addresses a random mother to either encourage or chide her for parenting choices. There are also the various Today Show posts about mom shaming and the like. I didn't sleep much that night- mostly because of the snoring, but also because of some intense reflection on parenting.

     The following morning found my little guy much improved, although completely wiped out. Further blood tests suggested this was a nasty virus and unrelated to Lyme disease. Relieved, I put on Disney Jr. to entertain Ben and sat down to send some follow up texts and emails. One of the hospital chaplains knocked on the door and I sprung up, tossing my phone aside and quickly went into defense about why the TV was on and why I was using the phone. I didn't want him walking out of the room thinking he needed to pray for Ben and his negligent mother. I also didn't want him going home to write a "Dear Terrible Mom in the hospital who was ignoring her child" posting.
     I wanted him to know I had spent the past 30+ hours with a very sick kid and was at the end of the my rope. I wanted him to know I had two other kids at home who my husband and I were arranging care for. I wanted him to know that I try so hard 24/7, but there are moments that I just need to stop.

     So many of these posting and articles claim that they are not shaming or judging, but the truth is they are. If you would not say the words that you post online to another person, why type them out? Both the good and the bad. If you don't tell a random parent you encounter that they are doing a great job despite being in the thick of it, why write an anonymous positing doing so? Open your mouth and say something- it would make their day! If you wouldn't approach that same random parent if they handed their child an iPad, don't go on Facebook to complain about how parents these days rely on technology to raise their children. Offer some time to help a family you know- I don't know anyone who couldn't use a little more support.
     None of us are our best selves all of the time. In a 24 hour day, I'm probably a pretty good person for a solid 3 hours. I might have half an hour when I'm a superstar. The rest of the time, I'm either struggling to get by or trying to sleep. I'm tired of the click bait out there that reminds me there are others who think I'm an awful parent. From now on, I focus on the opinions that matter- those of my husband and three kids.
   
     Ben thinks selfies in a hospital bed that move up and down are pretty amazing, and so do I!

Day 9.2

     My son came home with this gem of a time waster filler today. 

It took me way too long to figure out "eltneg"

     Let me start out by saying that I am in no way passing any judgment on the teacher for having them do a word search. It's May- kids are out of control during the last few weeks of school. Sometimes you just have to hand them a word search or seven and let them be. Been there, done that (more times than I'd like to admit).

     What caught my attention was the words the kids were asked to search for- "cooking", "gentle", "patient", "sweet"…

    

      Where are "exhausted", "takeout", "wine", and "sobbing in a locked bathroom"? Ok, maybe that last one is a little much, but you get what I'm saying right? 

     Tonight I offered my kids mac and cheese for the third night in a row, but we mixed it up and did grilled cheese instead- i guess that counts as cooking? We stood by and let the kids wrestle in the bathtub until the floor was sopping wet- that's totally patient! 

     These past few weeks have been so hard. I don't know where to begin, and I'm not even sure I remember all the reasons why. We are in the thick of some wild times with these kids and I've about lost it. 

     Today in the middle of my therapy session, I burst into tears. My daughter, who had been crawling all over me, first wiped them away, laughed at me and then tried to nurse. That really sums up life right now. I know my kids aren't really trying to break me, (they can't help but be normal 6, 3, and 1 year olds), but they sort of are. 

     I talked about how I feel like a bad mother because I am not giving each kid all the attention they need. Now I don't mean that I focus on them each 100%- I'm talking about insisting on chores, following through with punishments, brushing teeth on a regular basis- I'm falling behind with all of these things. I try to give them autonomy and the tools to take on some independence, but it's so hard when I could really make the bed so much quicker! 

     When I get rid of my snarky attitude and look at the list of words, I see that they are so important to me as a mother not only for the way I deal with my children, but also in how I deal with myself. I really haven't been gentle or nice to me- and I definitely haven't been patient. 

     I am going to work on this.

     But don't expect any changes on the cooking front. 

 

Day 8.2

     All I need is to be holding an ice cream cone in one hand and I could be the "before picture" for a Jenny Craig ad.

It's ok, we can acknowledge the truth here.

     When I asked my husband to snap this photo of Ben driving me (and 4 of his favorite matchbox cars) around in a playground tractor, I was feeling good. I had on my new Athleta leggings, I'd been doing well with eating and exercise and I had been actively playing with my kids who were having a great time on our first day of spring break. Swiping through my photos on the car ride home, I was horrified to see the shapeless blob splayed out on the tractor.

     

     I'm a work in progress. Whether we are talking about my health, my family, my career- I'm constantly trying to be better. In this moment of fun with my son, I'm not concerned with poor posture or ill-fitting sports bras. I'm concerned with looking out for imaginary animals on an imaginary farm. I've spent a lot of time with running, Pilates and meal planning. This was the time for quality interaction with my son.  

     And yes, that is my daughter in the unattended stroller…like I said, I'm a work in progress. 

   

Day 7.2

     I wish she could just tell me what's wrong.*

Seems we picked a bad time to start weening.

     It's been days of a virus, with no end in sight. Nothing is making her happy and no one is sleeping that well. I know I will look back fondly on weeks like this when our most difficult moments were navigating through new teeth, fevers, stomach viruses and pinkeye. But in the middle of it all, these times are hard.
     And my hygiene is gross. Thank goodness for headbands that can cover the disaster that is my unwashed hair!

     *Turns out it was a double ear infection, which we discovered at a midnight trip to the ER.

   

Day 6.2

     We've reached the point where I have completely given up and just let the baby eat the Cheerios of the floor.

Clearly a third child

      I'd say I'm embarrassed, but truthfully, I'm not. This is the kid who clung to the 1st percentile in weight for months, falling off the charts more than a few times. She enjoys her food now and if the only way for me to make dinner is to give her a cup of Cheerios, which she promptly dumps on the floor, so be it. 

     The mobility of the baby has completely disrupted life. I used to be able to contain her to a room and distract her with toys and songs. Now there is a big, wide world out there for her to explore and unfortunately our home doesn't really work with gates. So I follow her around to keep her from climbing up the stairs, grabbing a bottle of wine, crawling out an open door and eating every piece of fuzz she can find. All the while, she turns back to make sure I'm watching and gives me the biggest grin. My heart soars every time. 

     Honestly, I had hoped she might be a quiet child who would stay in one place and calmly keep herself amused, so that I could continue to run a household. Thankfully, Caroline didn't get the memo and is growing into quite a feisty little girl! 

     She challenges me each day in ways the boys never did. I'm so grateful she's here. 

     

     On another note, I can finally see my feet again. 

Day 5.2

One year ago I wrote an entry where I bared my very recently pregnant and scarred belly. I thought this could be an honest moment with myself and with other mothers out there who struggle with their bodies.

March 22, 2016

March 22, 2017

     So right off the bat, we need to acknowledge the most obvious thing in this picture. The baby is sleeping in her crib in the most recent photo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

     But seriously, I'm having lots of feelings as I look at both of these photos. The difference a year makes. The difference 25 lbs makes. The difference a frame of mind can make. 

     When I took the photo two weeks after giving birth, I had a real feeling of accomplishment. I knew the hard work my body had gone through to produce Caroline. I had pride in my "tiger stripes" and quite frankly, I was too exhausted to feel anymore than that. Throughout the year I have had ups and downs in regards to the feelings about my body. Recovery has been a slower process than in the past. But what should I expect? This was my third birth and I therefore have three kids to tend to. I don't get to the gym as frequently as I'd like, I often eat food off of my kid's plates, and there was that unfortunate incident where I ate about a quarter of sheet cake from Caroline's christening when I was in the middle of some big depression stuff. 

     I'm not where I wanted to be physically, but that's ok. Sometimes things don't go the way we plan. I rejoined Weight Watchers after the new year because I knew it would work for me. I also found an online support group where we encourage one another through the times we lose our willpower and when we hit our milestones. I've found a few 5k races that I'm planning to run. I even got rid of all my large workout clothes and bought myself some quality clothing in a medium to celebrate the 15 lbs lost since the new year. 

     Yesterday Lucas gave me a hug and pushed on my belly. He said "oh, squishy!" I had to pause and really think about how I was going to respond. I don't want to share my bad habits of self-critique with the kids. I looked at my soft, round middle and then at him and said "Yes, it is. Do you know why?" He responded that it was because I grew my babies in my belly and it stretched out. I told him yes, and that I loved the squishiness because it reminds me of how I carried the three of them within me for (almost) 9 months. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't lying about loving my body.  

Day 4.2

     One year with three children and we are still here.

Yes, that is a bottle of amoxicillin behind me. It's been a rough week.

     We've gone through a lot this past year, but we've gone through a lot every other year.  Thinking back on the early days of our relationship and reflecting on how far we've come as individuals, partners and now a family of five, I'm proud of us. While nothing prepares you for raising children, we were certainly prepared to work together to navigate the tough times.

     Three children is hard, but so were the days with no children. On the mornings I long to sleep in, I remember the mornings that we had an empty bed. When I'm exhausted and thinking about all the things I've lost- sleep, time, energy, my mind… I try to refocus on all that I have gained. Also, I share a bottle of bubbly with my husband.

Day 3.2

     International Women's Day seemed like a fitting day to give birth to my daughter.

Yes she can! 

     This year has been a wild ride. My experience as a woman and a mother seems to be intensified since arrival of a baby girl.

     I never knew how physically strong I could be until I endured the pregnancy that brought her into our lives.
     I never knew the tenacity I had until I had to advocate for her health.
     I never knew the mental strength I possessed until I began the fight through the worst anxiety and depression of my life.
     I never knew the infinite amount of love that I am capable of.
     I never knew the struggles that I would have to work through with my partner as we navigated our new "normal".
   
     I don't know who Caroline will become, but I do know the impact this amazing girl is having on my life.

Day 2.2

     In a rare quiet moment today I sat down to enjoy a decaf Americano, my reward for making it to 1:00PM without breaking down in tears.

Going to the CVS in Target means I can pick up the baby's antibiotics and Starbucks

     My table looks like it is in much better condition than it actually is. The photo does not show the carvings, heat marks and chips along the edges. I looked at the picture I inadvertently took when I pulled out my phone and contemplated how viewing this tiny portion of the table gives off the impression that it is well cared for. Is the picture hiding the wear and tear, or is it simply focused on a section of smooth wood?
   
     I'm often unsure about how I should respond to inquiries about my well being. Do I share that anxiety prevented me from sleeping the previous night? Or do I focus on the joy of my daughter saying "Hi!" to everyone she saw at the grocery store?
     The truth is, I don't have to choose- I can simultaneously experience joy and fight my battles. Acknowledging the good, doesn't take away the bad, just as acknowledging the bad doesn't rob me of the good. Does this make sense?

     I'm not sure I am articulating myself here, but it was a good realization for me and something I want to continue to process.
   

Day 1.2

     Last night I brought two of the three children with me to an audition for a solo in my upcoming concert. As I was leaving the house, I glanced in the mirror and saw a giant wet mark on the front of my shirt. Not sure if it was drool, milk or snot, I grabbed a scarf and hopped in the car to get there before I was late. On the ride over I tried to warm up and practice through the music, but my oldest insisted I stop so that he could hear his favorite Marian Hill song on the radio.
     I had snacks to occupy the kids and thought that I would be able to take five minutes to sing through the music with focus and clarity, just like I had practiced at home. The baby "sang" along with me and my son skipped on and subsequently tripped down the alter.

This is about all the professionalism I can seem to muster right now.

     On the ride home, Lucas insisted that I was the best and would definitely get the solo. I tried to explain that there are many factors that lead to a director's choice for voices- the style of the piece, the performance space, the composition of the choir, as well as the singer's vocal ability. He asked if I would be sad if I did not get the solo. I was honest and told him  that I would of course be disappointed, but I needed to remember that it has been over 15 years since I have sung music like this at a high level.


     I realize that I am finding my voice again. There was once a point when I lived and breathed singing, and quite frankly that was one of the most unhealthy periods of my life. It's almost like I was putting on a costume that was so beautifully and intricately designed. I desperately wanted to fit into that gown, but it just was not constructed for me. I tried to sing with a voice that wasn't mine. For those who care, I trained as mezzo soprano, a voice part that I have subsequently discovered was wholly wrong for me. Every time I sat in the practice room, I thought something was the matter with me because I just couldn't do it. I tried so hard. I listened to recordings, went to performances and completely immersed myself in anything that I thought would help me.
     The issue was, my instrument was not that of a mezzo. The more I tried to sing like one, the more I hurt my voice and my self esteem. I thought I was a complete failure because I was asking my body to do something it couldn't.
     When I left college, I left the performing that I had once loved. Every now and then I would do a show or sing with a group, but I always hated my instrument. I hated the time I had wasted.

     There have been a lot of "wasted" times in my life. Times I gave up on myself and allowed depression and anxiety to rule me. But if it weren't for those moments, I'm not sure I would be able to appreciate the ones where I am truly living.
     With this Lenten season upon us, I've decided to regain my voice as an individual fighting through depression and anxiety. I want to shed the fear of stigma and embrace who I am at my worst, so that I can focus on being my best.

Day 91

     First and foremost, I marched for her.

My "life changer"

     Something about having a daughter changed things for me. I consider myself a feminist, but for a long time I allowed myself to fall into the societal "norms". I didn't speak up enough against misogynistic comments. I didn't challenge the barriers that were put in my way throughout schooling- off handed comments that demeaned my intellect and questioned my achievements. I accepted that this is how things were and that I would have been labeled a bitch if I complained.

     Now that I am raising a daughter, I think about the things I put up with and I could never forgive myself if I didn't fight for her.

     Donald Trump terrifies me. I look at him and hear the teacher who told me I would never be successful in math, despite my outstanding grades. I see the men- yes MEN- who groped me in bars and said it was ok because they were older and married. I see the car salesman who would only shake hands with and address my husband. The man who pulled up alongside of me during a run and told me "nice view". This isn't ok. It wasn't ok then, and i sure as hell don't want it for my daughter.

     The treatment of the women in his life concerns me. The audio tapes concern me. The lawsuits concern me. The complete disconnect from the experience of the average American woman concerns me. Yet our country has said, "it's ok, just give him a chance". Honestly, what does he have to do for people to say, you know what, maybe this isn't acceptable. If our society says it's fine for our leader to be so blatantly offensive and out of touch with 51% of our country, than what does that say about our culture? Our leader sets the tone for our government and thus our nation. This is the man who now represents our country? The face of America?

I cannot, in good conscious, condone him, and so I protest.

Day 90

     There have been lots of questions this past week about the purpose behind the Woman's March on Washington. The mission behind the march can be found here. As a participant in one of the sister marches, I'm going to spend the next few posts discussing the personal reasons for which I attended. These include concerns about the rights of immigrants, members of the LGBTQIA community, persons with disabilities, and those trapped in poverty.

   Starting her young

     I marched because I wanted to be engaged. This was a stepping stone from frustrated observer to an actively involved citizen. I don't want to sit back and watch what happens as rights are stripped away, and essential programs are defunded. I chose to speak up. This is not a case of "whining because my side lost", an argument I've heard frequently. Quite the contrary, I'd like to think we are all on the side of humanity and I just cannot stand by without speaking up as I watch our government leaders make decisions with which I do not agree.

    

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot,

Nothing is going to get better. It's not.” 

― Dr. Seuss, The Lorax