The way he looks at me

Someone happened to snap a photo to document us all fancied up. This photo made me smile for so many reasons. One because fancy is a rarity for us these days. Adult nights are a rarity too. And sometimes it’s fun to get all fancied up and have a date night with your husband.

But even though we were all fancy the night this photo was snapped, when I look at this picture of us. I just see US. The real us. The unfancy version of us.

The funny thing about social media is that we get to hide behind whatever version of perfection we choose to share with the world. I’ve never been good at keeping secrets. I have always had my thoughts and feelings written all over my face. I have a big personality and I don’t hide that well, even if I wanted to. I’ve never been one to sugar coat much of anything except my desserts. My life is usually bare and raw for all the world to see. Not much embarrasses me. Not much is off the table to discuss.

I’ve never really preferred fancy over comfort. Although fancy is fun sometimes, I’d gladly pick sweatpants and flip flops over fancy shoes.

But no matter how fancy I felt that day, this man looks at me with this same look even on my unfancy days. No matter my old, comfy clothes or my three day old post shower bun, he does THIS just about every day.

So when I look at this photo, I see the real us.

The real, the raw and the unfancy.

Just the way I like it.

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My kids share a room

My kids share a room, not because they have to but because they want to. And because it was a choice, not a have to, there are times that I question if they’re still happy sharing.

There are times when I wonder if we made the right decision cramming them in one room. Creating little to no personal space or alone time for either of them.

But then I check on my sleeping babies at night, and I find them in one bed. Together.

Sure, there are two beds in their shared room, but only one ever gets used. Because beds side by side isn’t close enough for them. They prefer to be sandwiched in tight in one bed. Snuggling. Talking. Giggling.

So would they sleep better in separate rooms?

Probably.

Would they go to sleep earlier and sleep in later?

Probably.

Would there be less sibling battles?

Most likely.

But oh, all the memories they would miss.

They’d miss all the giggles about smelly sounds. All the books read together under the covers with flashlights. All the plans and adventures they dream up together. All the problems they solve together.

Apart, they may go to bed angry, but they never do when they’re together.

This is where the memories are made.

Right there in their room.

This is where the inside jokes are created. This is where their love for each other grows. This is where they answer each other’s questions. This is where they help each other without me instructing them to.

A mother can only wish for such a bond between her babies.

So when I ask myself if it’s time to separate them, I go up to check on them while they sleep, and there they are. Holding hands.

So yeah, my life might be a tad bit easier having them sleeping apart.

Bedtime routines might go a little faster.

They might drift off to sleep a little sooner.
They might sleep in a bit later. But my heart wouldn’t be nearly as full. And neither would their’s.

They are each other’s comfort and security. A built in safety net sleeping right alongside them. They have each other, and I rest easier knowing they watch out for each other.

They love each other so much, they aren’t even bothered with a foot in their face while they sleep.

Now if that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.

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My kid is a worrier

There are things that make his mind race and keeps him up at night. He can make something out of nothing. In the biggest way possible.

He’s a stay inside the lines, rule follower through and through. Which I have a love hate relationship with. I love that he values structure and respects authority and the rules. BUT, I also know that structure gives him great anxiety. He strives to meet expectations so much that he’s exhausted from trying so hard. Even with my best attempt to tell him over and over that when he gives his best, I could never be disappointed. Even with my constant reminders that nothing he could ever do could jeopardize my extreme love for him, he worries.

He worries about failing. He worries about approval, and being liked, and is extra sensitive when kids laugh. He worries about forgetting things and missing out. He worries about his family and their health and safety. He takes words so literally and to the extreme sometimes. So much so that it makes his mind race a marathon and brings him to tears. And although it rarely happens, he worries about getting in trouble.

As much as I want him to follow rules, have good manners, and achieve greatness; it has never been in my mama heart for any of that to cost him his happiness and contentment. So I continue to speak softly and calmly in hopes that those vibes transfer to him and bring him peace. I continue to practice self-talk with him and teach relaxing strategies. I continue to provide the tools to problem solving so that he’s able to work through struggles on his own.

And then, in the quiet space of my own mind, I lay the mom guilt on thick.

Could I have protected him better?

Could I have made him feel more at ease?

Did I say too much and put ideas in his head?

Did I not say enough to comfort him?

Did I give him the right tools to problem solve and recover on his own?

Parenting is hard sometimes because we often have to step back and let them process, learn, and work through problems on their own. As hard as that is, those are often the most important lessons.

We give them the tools to work through the struggles and the messes in their lives. We can model and show examples. We can offer problem solving tips and pass along encouraging thoughts.

But the heartbreak of a mama’s heart is that it’s ultimately up to them to process and to overcome.

And so, my kid is a worrier.

And his mama’s heart breaks whenever he is stressed.

For more raw motherhood stories like this, follow as we are all Raising Humble Humans.

Facts you should know about this book

Facts you should know about this book

  1. This book would not have made it to the print form had I not traveled to Nebraska this summer to meet the most inspirational group of writers at Her View From Home.
  2. My family and friends believed in me and my passion long before I did.
  3. My kids watched a lotttttt of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse so that I could get this thing done.
  4. Zero. The amount of dollars I need to make off this book to make it worth it. My kids are holding it in their hands. It’s on the bookshelves in their room and reading it makes them smile. No amount of profit can make me feel better than that.
  5. It’s here! It’s done! And it’s something I’m so so proud and honored to present to you!

I can do this life without him

I can do this life without him but I really don’t want to. 

My husband travels. The lengths go in waves. Sometimes it’s just day trips. Sometimes it’s weeks at a time. But each time I’m running our home solo, I’m reminded that I can, in fact, do this without him. 

The world still turns. 

The kids still throw fits. 

The kids still do their amazingly cute things. 

I can do all of this without him. 

But I really don’t want to. 

Not only are my hands fuller, my bed emptier, and my head more exhausted when he’s away, but life just isn’t nearly as sweet either. 

You see, he makes the bad days not so bad and the good days even better. We do not always see eye to eye. We do not have the perfect marriage (is there even such a thing?). But life sure is better with him by my side. 

Sure, there’s one less person to clean up after. One less person to cook for. One less person’s laundry to fold. But I’d gladly take on those extra tasks to have his bright light in my every day life. 

There are just some people that build you up. My husband is one of those special people that just make life better by being around them. 

So yes, I can do bath time on my own. I can wrestle the alligators that are my toddlers to get pjs on at night. I physically can do it all on my own. 

But I really don’t want to. 

Because it’s much more bearable with him to laugh about the mess and the chaos of life with. 

Yes, I can get the lunches made and the backpacks packed. I can make it to all the carpools lines and after-school activities just fine on my own. But man, it’s so much nicer to share that with him. 

So when he’s gone, life just isn’t as sweet until he returns.

I can do this life without him, but I really don’t want to. 

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I’m not a baby anymore

“I’m not a baby anymore.” 

He reminds me of this often. 

He’s not wrong. He’s definitely not a baby anymore. 

We traded in the infant seat. 

We took down the baby gates. 

We donated baby clothes and wondered into the big boy section at target. 

There are no more high chairs around my kitchen table. 

There’s no more need for the infant bath tub. 

Those baby food spoons are long gone. 

As much as he reminds me he’s not a baby, that he’s actually a big boy now, he will always be my baby. Even though he’s asserting his independence more and more, and minimizing his need for me. Even though he no longer needs to hold my hand to keep him from falling, and sometimes, he’s even embarrassed to do so, he will always be my baby. 

He will be my baby when he packs up his room and moves away to college. He will be my baby when he walks down the aisle and has a baby of his own. 

No amount of years, no life change can make him be anything other than my baby in my eyes. 

He will always be a baby to me. 

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How do moms find time for self-care?

Backpacks are packed. Lunches are made. Water bottles are filled. Hair is brushed. Shoe laces are tied.

We’re out the door…shockingly on time.

Until the youngest has pee dripping down his legs and into his freshly tied shoes.

Awesome.

Back inside. Change the clothes. Meanwhile, the other two are no longer corralled, and no longer dressed. The middle is digging in his backpack for his snack that is supposed to be for snack time at school, but he has decided he needs right now instead.

Fantastic.

And this is a typical Tuesday. Rinse and repeat for the rest of the week.

So where, in the chaos, does a mom find time for herself?

How does one find time to “self-care” as I’ve seen this the new buzz word swarming around the internet?

Because here’s the thing.

As moms we serve our family before ourselves. More times than not. Plates are served on the table and littles are asking for helping #2 before our bums even hit the seat next to them. Coffee is never hot. Luke warm would be a gift but it’s almost always cold. I often make a meal out of what’s leftover on the superhero plates on the messy table.

Once they’re out the door to school, after whatever hurtles it took to get them there, floors need to be cleaned, dishes need to be washed, laundry needs to be folded. And every day the same song and dance is repeated. There’s simply no time left over once the check lists are complete.

School pick ups and soccer practices run our afternoon schedules.
Dinner, bath and bed never go as smoothly as I hope.

And once they’re tucked in bed, the house needs decluttering. The wet towels need to be hung up to dry. The prepping needs to be begin for the circus to continue the next day.

I’m not complaining. Please don’t misunderstand. I know how blessed I am to tend to this messy stage of motherhood. But aside from all the mom guilt I place heavily on my shoulders, I often add not making time for myself on top of that hefty load. I feel guilty when I don’t self-care, but then I feel guilty when I do, too. On the rare occasion that I do step away from my natural role as a mom, my heart often races with guilt about someone else picking up the slack so that I can have a moment to myself.

Often times I’m so busy putting everyone’s needs before my own that that’s nothing left to give at the end of the day. Even to myself. You see, makeup is rarely on my face. I sometimes have to stop and think about when my last shower was. I’m often in yoga pants even though I can’t recall the last time I was in a yoga studio.

But even if self-care is far and few between. I would trade my role as circus director for another other job in the world.