Crazy, Lucky

Our anniversary is coming up this week, and I'm a little sentimental over here -- over a decade with this guy has made me crazy. Crazy in love, crazy in happiness, crazy in denial. 

It hasn't been this long. We haven't gone through so much. We don't have such an awesome family. It's not possible that I'm this lucky. 

But I am -- despite everything I am this lucky. And I owe it all to luck, 'cause I'm not so convinced I deserve a moment of this life of mine. 

"Realness"

Tomorrow, Toby's monthly update post will be published.

 

And then after that, I think I'm going to take a hiatus -- definitely from blogging, maybe from all social media (although giving up my Facebook and Instagram will be hard) -- I just feel a need to pull back and reconnect.

 

Reconnect with myself and my family and my priorities. It's a struggle, and it's a part of our society these days -- everyone is so connected with the online world instantly, but are we really connecting to each other?

 

It's a question I think a lot of us are asking ourselves these days -- though if you're like me, you're not quite sure what the first step to regaining some of that "realness" should be.

 

For me, I'm just going to back away for the time being. I'd like to do a cold turkey month-long exodus. Just step away and see what else shines through.

 

You never know what's waiting on the other side of the closed door -- and if you never open it, the possibilities will forever be a mystery.

 

Mystery be damned, I want to know what's on the other side of that door.

The Funk (And Not the Good Kind)



(source)

The older I get, the more I discover my strengths and my weaknesses. I like to think I've always been a rather mellow, patient, easy-flow kind of person. It takes a lot to ruffle my feathers, and I rarely get overwhelmed by anything. I don't really get mad at anyone or anything. I've even learned to let go of old grudges I carried for years. Aside from my daily road rage, my temper just kind of steadies on an even plane.

 

And yet, lately, I've been feeling overwhelmed. It's this week, really. And there's not anything super specific to pin it down on. It's a mountain of little things, insignificant things that I know I shouldn't even let bother me. I know they're fleeting moments of aggravation, and in the scheme of things, they don't deserve the attention I'm giving them.

 

But yet, they keep piling up. And I'd be inhuman to say they aren't bothering me. Because they are. I've been rushed, forgetful, easily agitated, melancholy, and just plain tired all week (and we're only halfway through the week).

 

Even with four kids, our lives run on a pretty smooth schedule. It's not air-tight, and we can usually change things up fairly easy, but still -- we have our own sort of normal, and everyone is predictably their same crazy selves. We make it work for us, and honestly, most days it doesn't even feel like we're working that hard.

 

This week has felt hella hard.

 

I guess this is just one of those funks, I know people go in and out of them all of the time. I'm in the funk right now, deep and thick -- and I wouldn't be so upset or angry about it if I just had a viable or justifiable reason to be in the funk.

 

I keep thinking to myself, "what is wrong with you?! there are so many other things going on right now, snap out of it!"

 

But here I am, keeping it honest and writing it down -- hopefully sooner, rather than later, I can look back on this from the other side. Shake it off. Move forward. Get over yourself, woman.

Throwback to an old photo of me and Sidney - back when I thought one screaming baby was overwhelming. HA!

 

Hiatus..es..sss

Sometimes life just gets too busy to "be". 

There's not much time left to dedicate to blogging or tweeting or facebook-ing. With four kids, there's rarely time for any of it, let alone all of it. And that's OK. Life ebbs and flows, and sometimes the stars align and things get done when they're supposed to, the way they're supposed to. And sometimes they don't.

Sometimes all I have are grainy iPad photos of our "moments" -- and sure, I could just give up on it all and walk away from my blog. But I freaking love this space. 

I would have forgotten *so* much without these stories here. And maybe that means I'm supposed to forget. Not every day needs documenting. 

But why not? Who says they don't need to be? Aren't worth the time/effort? 

These are the only days I get, this is my life, one and only.

All of these boring, grainy, miniscule little moments will pass me by, and one day, I'll be left with nothing but my memories. And I want to remember as many as I can; and if I need help, have a little place to help jostle those memories back into my mind. 

So even if the breaks are long, the spaces between grow wider, the days roll by in silence. I'm still here. Still living. Still making memories. Of my own, precious to me. And as always, this space is mine 'til the end of time, and I'll never regret putting a memory here. Never.

Baby-ness

There are times I get psychically shaken that Toby is our last baby (when am I going to shutup about this topic, I know, insert your eyeroll here) -- after babies, babies, babies non-stop for nearly seven years, it feels so strange to be in a "last" place with Toby. 

His first time rolling over is the last time one of our children will do that. His first time smiling was the last time. First > last. Over and done. 

And that's bittersweet. Our children are babies, and there's so, so much more to experience with them. Life is good, great, awesome now. I expect it to be 100x more good, great, awesome as the kids grow. I can't wait to see personalities develop and talents bloom. Justin and I both look forward to getting to "know" our kids as they grow. There is so much to look forward to. 

But still, Toby is my last little baby and just a constant reminder that he's it. He's the end. And the beginning, if that makes any sense. He's the end of the babies but the beginning of so much more for our family. It all starts and stops with him.

And if I'm being perfectly honest here, I am looking forward to being without a baby in the future, too. No more two-hour-interval feedings. No more crying without explanation or understanding. No more formula or diapers. There's quite a few things that I look forward to when the time comes that we don't have a baby in the house. 

But mostly, I know I'm going to miss this. I'm going to miss gummy, slobber-covered grins. I'm going to miss that smooth, perfect baby skin. And the midnight snuggles. And the joy of a baby on my hip. 

I'm just doing my best to soak up and appreciate Toby in his baby-ness every moment. 

(Someone promise to let me hold your baby when mine are all grown!) 

Some < Others

Some nights, I "fail"* at being a good mother.

Some nights my kids eat cereal. Some nights homework doesn't get done. Some nights they go to bed with dirty faces wearing the day's dirty clothes.

Some nights the house is left in a worse mess than the night before. 

Some nights the laundry is piled four feet deep. Some nights the dirty dishes don't even make it to the sink.

Some nights there are fights. There are stories that don't get read to babies. There are kisses that go unkissed. There is anger and hurt and tears.

Some nights there is nothing to do but hide and cry in the bedroom. Don't let them see your tears of frustration and anger.

Some nights there are tired bodies bumping into each other in crowded hallways. There are words spit with venom. There are "I hate yous" and "I really hate yous". 

Some nights are, for lack of a better word, complete and total shit.

But, for every one of those "some nights", there are other nights.

Other nights dinner is done and done right and done on time. There are full bellies and warm bodies.

Other nights homework is finished and books are read. There are clean jammies and freshly washed faces. 

Other nights the laundry gets (mostly) caught up and the dishwasher is loaded. The house gets straightened.

Other nights there is kissing and hugging and loving. There are moments hidden from little eyes and extra "I love yous" and moments for momma and poppa.

Other nights, in fact most nights, are divine in their simplicity and imperfection. Other nights are the norm and the good and the reason we can make it through some nights that are hard.

Tonight, I am my grateful for the nights when I don't "fail"* at motherhood. I live through the some nights so I can love the others.

*None of us really fail at this motherhood thing; we're all bumbling fools just doing our best to keep our little humans alive!*

Parenting Tidbits (!!)

People tend to think that just because I'm a mother of four, I must have this parenting stuff figured out.

even Toby is skeptical of my parenting skills :)

Let me be the first to say, NO, I don't. I'm not even sure what all of this "parenting stuff" is some days. Every child is different (even within the same family) and every parent is different (Justin and I certainly have our own sytles!) and there are a million and one factors that go into any given moment of parenting.

But just for fun, I'll share a few little tidbits of what I've learned after 6+ years of parenting -- if nothing else, I think it'll be fun to look back on this post another six years from now. I'm sure I will laugh at myself a little, and hopefully, I will be able to see my growth as a parent from this day to that one.

• It's okay for your child to cry -- this is not a flag of support for the "cry it out" method. Just know that babies are just little human beings who experience a vast range of emotions, and unlike their older counterparts, babies cannot express their feelings any other way except to cry. And it's okay to let them. Run through your basic "Parenting 101" checklist (are they hungry? Wet? Sleepy?) and, if you come to the conclusion all of their needs have been met, just let them cry. There have been many times I've held a crying baby in my arms (while simultaneously throwing my hands up in the air!) because there's nothing left to do. I try to comfort them, tell them I love them, and just let them do their thing. We all need to just cry it out sometimes -- remember babies are no different (they're not crying just to frazzle your nerves, I promise!)
• A strong willed child, while exhausting, can make for a strong willed adult, which has the potential to be wonderful. I have a certain little daughter of mine who pushes the boundaries, has no problem expressing her opinion (rather loudly, I might add), and who will not budge on the smallest of things when it stands in the way of her personal convictions (as irrational as they may seem to me). I feel defeated when I'm not able to channel that determination into something productive with her, but my ultimate goal is to help her find her own restraints and then let her run wild when she can. I never fear that she'll be one to back down from any challenge or let someone walk all over her -- but I also want to make sure she isn't hiding behind that tough exterior. I know deep down she's just as soft and needy as the rest of us!
• The relationships between siblings has to be on organic one. I have such a heavy fear that my children will grow up and hate each other as adults. Their time together right now is so sweet and tender, the thought of them losing that among each other hurts my heart. Still, I try to let them figure out the dynamics of their relationships on their own. I have found that by letting them take the reins and work through their own little problems, they grow as individuals and as siblings -- that does mean things get a little loud sometimes, especially with the girls. A lot of times I'm tempted to step in and just separate them, but I try to remind them to not scream at each other, to use their words, to figure it out. And 99% of the time, they do, and it works. You can't force your kids to be best friends. You have to give them space to like each other, love each other, and at times, be disgusted with each other. Their relationships may be among little people, but it in no way means the relationship itself is little. 
• It really does take a village! This is one that is very specific to our lives and doesn't necessarily apply to everyone - some parents are just more comfortable keeping their kids closer to "home" and that's fine, too! For our family, we are so lucky to have dozens of hands in the fire helping us navigate life with four kids. We've got multi-generational grand-parents, dozens of cousins, aunts and uncles, friends and more who help us out and fill in the gaps. Our kids are (for the most part) very comfortable with other people and easy to adapt to new places and new faces. There's nothing wrong with accepting help (and offering help when you can!), no shame in letting your circle help shape the people your children will grow to be.

Parenting is hard work, folks -- don't ever let anyone try to trick you into thinking it's a "breeze". It's a heavy task, weighted with the outcome that one day you'll send a (hopefully) well-molded individual into the world. This individual will vote, form relationships, work, marry, raise children, help others. Or maybe they won't. It's one of those things we can't control as parents -- we have to let go eventually, one way or the other. 

But parenting is also fun. And rewarding. It's a very 50/50 state of being -- no, that's not true, either. Sometimes it's 70/30 and sometimes 100/0. There's not always an equal pull of give and take. 

My main point to all of this is: BE THE PARENT YOU WANT TO BE. You can read a million books (or blog posts like this one) or try to follow the example of those that have gone before you (not always a good/bad idea) -- but at the end of the day, you are your own person (shaped by your parents!) and you can choose the best way to raise your children. You really truly honestly do know best. 

I talk a lot about what it's like for me to raise "babies" and how stressful it can be parenting our "toddler", but lately I haven't really touched on the subject of parenting our TOTALLY GROWN UP ADULT-KID six-year-old. 

I guess I just feel more comfortable with myself and my experience parenting babies/toddlers -- if this makes any sense at all, the baby stage is one I've done three (soon to be four) times over. I've managed to successfully complete that birth->10 months phase (seeing as Jaxon is ten months old now) -- I feel confident that I can do that part, easy as pie. 

Having a six-year-old is new territory -- she's the oldest, the firstborn. Everything with her at this point is a brand-new experience, and sometimes, it's just overwhelming! Not always a bad overwhelming, mind you, just exhausting with its information and education and experience -- parenting never stops, and if you allow it to happen, it will change the way you do/see/feel everything forever, every second of every single day for the rest! of! your! life!

I will admit I have a lot of guilt relating to Sidney at the moment; I feel a lot of anxiety, and I'm really struggling to find my balance with her at the moment. She's reached that age where she's quite independent in a lot of ways, but I still feel incredibly responsible for doing a majority of things for her. I'm constantly trying to figure out what things she can (and rightfully should!) do for herself on her own without feeling like a monster mom for putting too much on her. 

(For example: I usually dress Sidney every day of her life. Every clothing item. It never really occurred to me that she could do it on her own or that maybe I should stop doing it for her until Justin pointed it out to me -- you know, "she's six years old! stop putting on her socks for her!" kind of thing)

I guess what I'm trying to say here is I have a really hard time accepting the fact that my baby is not a baby anymore -- and I'm struggling with the transition as a mother, for sure. I definitely want her to be self-sufficient and capable and helpful and a hundred other "big girl" things, but I also want her to be little and need me for everything. I want her to see that doing things on her own for herself is not a "punishment", something she definitely struggles with. She doesn't see the fair side of me doing so much for Rhealen or Jaxon and then asking her to do so much for herself. 

AND I GET THAT. 

I struggle with that concept, too, honestly! I remind Sidney all the time, "when the little ones are older they will do these things, too. They will clean up after themselves. They will carry their own bags. They will, they will, they will, I promise!" But I see her side of it, too; I know how unfair it must feel, and the last thing I want in the world is to breed resentment among my children. 

Am I insane? Tell me honestly. 

I'm an only child, so again, I really struggle with the dynamics of siblings -- it's one of those things I don't think you can truly understand unless you've lived it. I do my best and try to take in all the advice I can. What things  can I do to help Sidney gain even more independence? How do I handle my guilt asking her to do so much for herself when her siblings aren't on the same level as she is, and I know she feels it's "not fair, Mom!"?

Believe me, I'm open to suggestions here!

The Crazy Side of My Brain

Can we talk for a minute? I've got some hair-brained thoughts bouncing around in my head right now, and while I know I'm being the most irrational thinker ever, I think it's worth discussing -- maybe you feel like this sometimes, too? Maybe you have experienced or are experiencing crazy brain (whether pregnancy related or not!) like me? 

Good, let's chat.

Let me start off by saying, my pregnant brain is one jealous bitch!!

My husband probably wouldn't want me talking about this, but only because it further perpetuates the idea that I'm psycho -- I'm sure he has enough of a time as it is explaining to others, "please just excuse my wife at the moment, she's kind of pregnant and kind of impossible" :)

With my first pregnancy, I was young and dumb enough as it were, but there was something about the chemical and hormonal imbalance that just drove me over the edge. Justin could be ten seconds late showing up somewhere, and I was instantly convinced he was CHEATING! LIAR! 

Hell hath no fury like a pregnant woman convinced her baby's daddy is an unfaithful liar! 

Of course, I feel pretty bad about the whole thing now -- I put Justin through a lot that first pregnancy and made things even harder than they had to be. I was a big pain in the ass, and I know it. And luckily, with the next two pregnancies that followed, I didn't really have any of those lingering insane thoughts. My levels must've been more on the balanced side, and I didn't spend a lot of time internally reminding myself that I'm married to a good man, a man that doesn't stray, a man that can be a few minutes late home from work and it doesn't have to equal him poking every pocket between here and there. 

With this pregnancy? The crazy lady has returned. Full force. 

I know he's not cheating. Well, I guess technically you never really know if a person is cheating or not -- but I honestly don't worry about my husband cheating. The perfectly rational side of me knows I have a good husband, a faithful man by my side who loves me and isn't going to step out on me (or his family). Believe me, I know this. 

It's my psycho hose-beast of a pregnant brain that doesn't quite grasp that concept. Case in point: I bumped into my husband at the gas station in town and my inner monologue started screaming, "WHAT THE EFF IS HE DOING HERE?!" 

"Umm...he's getting gas? It is a gas station, after all."

"NO! THERE ARE FEMALES IN THIS VACINITY! HE'S CHEATING!"

"I'm pretty sure he's just paying for his gas but okay...."

"LOOK AT THAT GIRL! SHE'S A TOTAL SLUT! YOU KNOW HE'S CHEATING ON YOU WITH HER! HER OF ALL PEOPLE!"

"Hey, I like her! She was so sweet back in school..."

Do you see what my brain does? This is but a mere glimpse into my daily life -- seriously, my brain is so fucking weird sometimes, I need to be evaluated professionally. Studied, I need to be studied. I'm a therapist's best/worst dream. 

Anyone else have this problem? Do you struggle with your brain (pregnant or not) over completely irrational things like this? Please tell me I'm not alone when it comes to knowing better than the lies our brains try to tell us -- the really dumb, irrational, jealous-fueled lies! 

And for the record, my dear sweet husband was actually just buying some mozzarella sticks on his way home. 

OR SO HE SAID. 

Idling Thoughts

This is my 91st post this year - which is pretty pathetic compared to 2009 when I published a grand total of 279 blog posts. Ummm....I definitely don't think I'll be hitting that benchmark this year! For the most part, my post numbers have been declining steadily each year - and this year, they took a MAJOR drop. 

And that's okay. Life has been majorly busy this year, and if I'm being totally honest with myself, it's only going to get busier next year. And the year after that. I'm in this wonderful time of babies, and unfortunately, there have been a lot of things that have fallen by the wayside due to the demands having a family. 

I struggle almost daily with the guilt over being a terrible friend to my closest buddies. I rarely ever get to see them, fail miserably at calling or texting them, and pretty much just stink overall at being a friend. I want to be a good friend, and I hope my lady friends know I'm here for them even if I haven't been present every single day. 

I wish there were more hours in a day for time with my husband. Or even just time with my little family altogether. I wouldn't mind some "me" time, too. 

And we do carve out little spaces of time for these things. I'm not whining or complaining in the least, just recognizing that having a big family is demanding and time-consuming. I love it, I really truly do - things are always full and bustling and there's never a dull moment, it seems. In between the chaos, there are moments of peace + bliss, and I appreciate those moments 1,000x more than I ever did before there were three kids pulling at my pant-leg. 

This blog is precious to me - I love it dearly and hope to always have it be a placeholder in my life, a space for me to keep up with myself and my life. It's my online diary for the world to read, and while I don't share everything about my life, I share a great deal of it - a lot of things I would have forgotten about in natural time are preserved here forevermore. 

And while the stories may be fewer, and the spaces between those stories may get farther and farther apart, the point of it all is to keep writing, keep documenting the moments when I can. And knowing, I'll never regret one single post here, ever. 

The More, The Merrier, and the More Absent-Minded

I remember the day I found out I was carrying my first little girl inside me -- I don't remember the exact date, but I remember the day. Visions of pink and frills and bows and princesses and all the things that make life wonderfully girly danced in my head. Mom and I went straight to the store and started buying pink! and purple! and little tutus! and socks with lace! 

And it was wonderful. 

I dreamed of a perfectly perfect princess themed nursery, and so we made it happen. Bright yellow walls. Princess border. Complete nursery set with sheets and pillows and a hanging quilt and the bumper -- all of it pink and princess and exactly how I planned.

I would sit in that nursery for hours. I sat in my pink and white glider reading or folding freshly Dreft-washed clothes. I rearranged furniture and added knick-knacks. I hung out in that nursery anticipating my little lady's arrival for what seems like endless days at a time. There was nothing to do but wait. Imagine and wait and try to be patient from week twenty to week thirty-nine (when she finally arrived)...

And now, three pregnancies away from that one, I sit back and laugh at myself. There really is nothing like the anticipation of your first child! 

Because as cliche as it is, after the first one gets here, you really don't have the same time (or energy) to daydream about the second. Of course, you still do, to some small degree. But it really is different than the first pregnancy. 

And by the time you get to your third pregnancy, well you can just forget it. 

Fourth? I'm pregnant? Is that what this is? 

Jaxon sleeps in a hand-me-down crib complete with hand-me-down bedding and blankets left over from his sisters. His room is not decorated. At all. There's zero thought to it, because who the hell has time to think about decorating the third kid's nursery?

And little Jameson? She's also going to sleep in a hand-me-down crib (one that Rhealen slept in, but was used even before Rhealen for other children in our circle of friends) -- luckily for her, she'll get to use her biggest sister's hand-me-down princess bedding, which Mom and I just unearthed by chance the other day cleaning out Sidney's room at Mom's house (where her original dream nursery was). 

Poor Rhealen never had crib bedding. Hell, she didn't get a crib until she was almost eight months old! 

It's just funny, as I get further and further away from the halfway point of this pregnancy (I'm 25+ weeks roughly) I find myself so uninterested in baby things. I want to get Jameson a new carseat (the only thing I ever insist on buying new for each of the kids!), but other than that? I've got the desire to do nothing else. I don't want to talk nursery decor or outfits or anything even remotely baby-related. 

Because truthfully? You don't need 99% of that bullshit. It's all a commercial craze to make first-time moms spend money hand over first for things their baby doesn't want, need or care about. 

But it was nice once upon a time -- back when I was newly pregnant. That state of bliss was truly special, and I try to recognize it for the amazing time it was back then, back when there were no other kiddos with demands on my time, and all I had to do was sit around lazily and daydream of the baby growing in my belly.

Because nowadays, in the immortal words of Kimberly "Sweet Brown" Wilkins, ain't nobody got time for that. 

Let's Talk About This Lorde Song for a Minute

Show of hands>>who's obsessed with this song?

You there in the back, get on the bandwagon already. It's a sweet song. 

Now, show of hands again>>who the hell knows what she's talking about? 

Yeah, if you're like me, you're coming to the realization right about now that you're no long part of the in crowd -- maybe "in crowd" isn't the right term. What I mean to say is: we're OLD and getting older every second. Further and further away from what's hip and cool and do the kids these days even use those words? Cool beans was a term from my generation, but I'm pretty sure that one died out with our love of hemp shark-tooth necklaces and Tommy Hilfiger overalls. 

I realize I'm a mother and married and with a mortgage -- but none of that meant I felt old. Not until recently. Well, not old -- just older. 

And maybe it's not even that I feel older -- the great divide between me and them is now abundantly clear, however. I'm one day further away from this generation of selfie-loving individuals who text non-stop and IG their lives away and love a lot of things that I don't quite understand. 

And I get that. No judgment, really. I was there -- we all were at one time or another. Sure, the music was different and the phones not so snazzy and we still had pretty basic cable packages without DVR. Different music was played and we all had different faces behind pastel heart-shaped sunglasses with rhinestones around the rim. It was different -- the clothes were different and everything was different -- but the same. 

That's life. I get that more than ever now. 

So thanks, Lorde, I like your beat -- it makes me feel things I didn't quite expect to feel. But that's the point of music, isn't it? To get inside us and bring out emotions we didn't know we had within? 

The Fine Line

Do you ever struggle with yourself internally over the fact that you feel happy when you should probably feel guilty? Or you feel guilty when you should feel grateful? More specifically, how do balance your emotions when you're fully aware and empathetic of infertility, yet you've never suffered one day from it?

Monumental

If you don't agree, then just stop reading now. If you're not on the same page as me when it comes to human rights, I don't understand you, but I'm not going to judge you. To each their own (even if I think your own is so very wrong...)

Today was...monumental. Amazing. Such a seemingly small step, but I hope it will be an enormous leap forward. I dream that 50 years from now all this debate surrounding same-sex marriage will seem as innocuous as interracial marriage. I dream that my children can grow up feeling safe in the knowledge that they can fall in love and get married and raise families without ever having to think of the sanctity of their marriage being questioned or challenged by our government. I dream of family and friends getting married --maybe even one day in sweet Virginia-- to the loves of their lives regardless of gender. I dream of acceptance, not tolerance. There is nothing to be tolerated. Full acceptance and love for our fellow human beings; being decent and kind and respectful and, above all, equal. 

In my mind, it seems like such a simple idea -- the notion that we shouldn't judge one another, that we should all be able to coexist in spite of our differences, in fact, because of our differences. My heart just wants to burst open and fill the world with love. Why can't we all just love each other? It may seem like a hippie thing to say, something childish or cowardly. I just want love. I want to witness love. Full, abundant, ceaseless, meaningful, equal love. 

Eye-Patch Kid

For the next six weeks, our little dude will be rocking an eye-patch for an hour a day, every day. Hopefully, this will be all he needs to build up the muscles in his left eye and nothing further will need to be done...'cause surgery is definitely something we want to avoid if at all possible! 

This morning was his first time with the patch, and he seemed to do fine - of course, mornings are his best time in the world and his big sister was entertaining him mightily. All of that helped make his first eye-patch experience a good one. 

Here's to six more weeks of muscle working, and good thoughts/prayers that this will be all he needs! And at least he's in good spirits about everything!

Two Girls, One Heart

For sisters that don't really look anything alike, these two have turned out to be the best of friends ... watching their relationship blossom has been one of the biggest rewards of parenting for me. 

I've watched them transition from a nervous, but gentle, big sister watching lovingly over her newborn sister -- to a roaming baby who insisted on following her big sister everywhere, crawling while she tucked that one leg up underneath her, just like her big sister used to do -- to a nosy toddler who wants all the toys her big sister has in her hands at the exact moment she picks them up -- to two little girls who are learning to play together and really look out for one another. 

It's been just amazing. Of course, they have their moments. There is yelling and crying and hair-pulling. But in all honesty, they are few and far between. 

If Rhealen gets hurt or gets in trouble, she will crawl into Sidney's arms, Sidney will hold her chest-to-chest, and rub her back. She whispers to her and doesn't move until Rhealen is ready to get back up. It's the most achingly tender thing I've ever witnessed. 

They really do love each other -- I don't know why I find that so surprising -- and it just makes me so happy for them. This sisterly bond is such a blessing to watch unfold, I feel like the luckiest momma in the world. 

Two very different looks. Two distinct personalities. Two little girls. 

One heart between the two of them. 

[Take Care]

The moments I really feel something hit me hard in the face and heart and knock me over with such force, there's no possible way to ignore them. 

I have general feelings constantly. I generally feel happy. I generally feel loved. I generally feel anxious. But to truly feel an emotion, in the heat of a moment without warning or delay, is blinding. 

I love my kids, love them all day, every day and will continue to love them 'til the day I die. But there are moments when I look at them and love them so hard, it psychically pains me. In those moments, I'm reminded of a million reasons why I love being a mother, why being a mother has made me a better human, and why I'd shrivel up and fade away without these three in my life. 

Sure, I could have taken a different path in life -- a path that led me to never being a mother. That life sometimes beckons to me -- a carefree, reckless spirit that taunts me, tries to tell me I've missed out on so much living by being a young mother. I get jealous of the part of the me that never even existed, and I begin to resent my surroundings. I daydream of a life without all these responsibilities and demands, without sleepless nights and screaming babies. I dream of, for lack of a better word, freedom. 

And then I see my children, these three innocent beings that took the best parts of me and my husband, and magically came to in a world of hope and love. I see them laugh and smile and play and hold each other. I see them whispering and touching noses, sharing inside jokes and creating a world around them made only for three. They love each other, so fiercely, and take care of each other, a sentiment I've been preaching to them lately. 

Some day, your daddy and I won't be here -- you have to take care of each other, always. 

I see my children and I love them, and it hits me like a wave, these emotions come over me -- I feel guilty for ever feeling anything but contentment and joy. I resent myself for resenting myself. I stop and thank every star in the sky, because I am so lucky -- there are so many mothers out there with empty arms, and here my home and heart are full three times over.

I take joy in falling in love with my children, over and over again. In between the routine and the pitfalls and the everyday grind, I am blessed to feel deeply for them at the most spontaneous and unexpected moments. I know there will come a day when I take them for granted again, when I pine for a life that I wasn't meant to live. But deep down, I know -- I will always love my life. I will always love my children. And I will always love the feeling that comes over me when I fall in love with them again. And again and again and again...

One Week!!

Last night we celebrated our first week of officially living in the new digs!! 

Having the extra room we have now is incredible  it feels so different having a bedroom for everyone and two bathrooms to share. We have space and room and extra nooks and crannies all around us. We can invite people down for dinner or just to hang out. And it's amazing!!

Sometimes I feel a little insecure, almost embarrassed  to tell people we moved from one single-wide into another. But then I remind myself, quit that shit. We bought a four-bedroom house that we are paying for with money earned at our own jobs to give our children a home to grow up in. It doesn't matter what it looks like or where it came from or how it compares to other houses. We did (and are doing) what is best for our family right now, and we will continue to do only that. Sure, we could've gotten something bigger and "better", but we would've been sacrificing our quality of life. And we want to be able to still go out to nice dinners and buy the kids toys just because and take family vacations every year. We bought something with a mortgage that will give us all the house we need and still let us breathe every month. 

And why am I justifying myself? I don't know. But there it is. My justification that is completely unnecessary. 

I love our place, so much already. I can't wait to finish decorating and filling it full of memories with my sweet, little family. And I just need to let go of that voice inside my head that tells me things aren't good enough the way they are. 

Because they're fan-freaking-tastic just the way they are. Right now. 

And I never wanted nothing more. 

Finally, A Son

"You finally got your boy!"
"I'm so happy it's a boy this time."
"Justin must be so happy it's a boy."

I heard it all when I was pregnant - and it was all true. We did finally get a boy. Everyone, Justin included,  was so happy it was a boy on that sonogram. I was over the moon excited, and I felt more complete knowing a little dude was coming into our family. I always knew I was meant to have a son, felt it in my bones, even told Justin about it when we decided two was enough and we weren't going to have any more. I'm missing someone, I'm missing my boy. 

And of course, it wasn't like that with everyone. There were a lot of people who were just as excited for our first girl and second girl as we were, but no more excited for our first boy than the other two. We got a lot of "as long as it's healthy, that's all that matters" from a lot of different people. And I wish more people were like that. 

Why does our society treasure sons over daughters? What makes people think that a man needs a son to be completely happy? Of course, I'm sure Justin is over the moon he has a son, and his bond with Jaxon will be different than it is with either Sidney or Rhealen - I know all my ties to my children are different, stemming from the same place but woven uniquely for each child. I love them the same and differently still. And I don't let their birth order rank them in any way. 

But I'm glad Jaxon is the youngest, the little man in our girl-dominated clan. I hope his sisters can infuse a lot of their girlishness into him to help combat with the constant macho-fuel that will be thrown at Jax. Living where we do, in this day and age of ours, boys and girls are clearly defined as strong and weak, blue and pink. We're moving closer and closer to gender neutrality, but we still have so far to go. I want my girls to be confident as women and strong in their identity, and I want a son who feels empowered as a man and knows his place in the world. But I also want children who are empathetic and loving and open to the world around them. I want them to look at people and interact with the world as true individuals, who cross boundaries and break stereotypes. I don't want them defined as man or woman, but human. 

To this day, as much as I like to think I've grown and opened my eyes to the world around me, I still struggle with sexism and gender identity. I still fall prey to the stereotypes - I admit I am in no way perfect. 

Why is it so easy to dress Rhealen in a green T-Rex shirt or Sidney in camo, but I find myself hesitating to put Jaxon in a turquoise blue onesie with fuschia lettering? 

Why am I like that? Every time a thought like that crosses my mind, I want to kick myself - get over yourself, I scream internally. This is the kind of thinking I want to stay away from, and yet, it's ingrained in me. It's how I was raised, how I've learned to define boy and girl. And that needs to change. I need to change. A girl is not a tomboy just because she likes male-oriented things and a boy is not a sissy because he likes female-oriented things. THIS LOGIC IS INSANE! 

I know I can't change the world, but I can start with me. And I can start with my children. And maybe 100 years from now, little boys can play with Barbies without fear of embarrassment or being teased. Maybe little girls can grow up knowing they can do anything a boy can do, because there won't be these lines. Everything will be equal, free for all and all for everyone. It's good to know your place in the world, to find your identity and be confident in who you are as a person - I just hope my kids don't look to their genders as the cornerstone of that confidence or self-worth. 

And I wish the rest of the world would get on board, too, while we're at it. 

That Morning I Thought About Jessica Alba While I Showered (This Doesn't Go Where You Think It's Going...)

Finding time to shower these days is intereting, to say the least. I usually try to wait until early mornings, when the kids are still asleep but Justin is out of the house and on his way to work; that way, I can lesiurely shower, use all the hot water if I want to, and actually start my day on a clean note (it doesn't always happen this way, but I'm trying to make it my new normal...)

The other morning, I'm in the shower, just taking my sweet time, when I go to brush my teeth (anyone else do this in the shower? hello, mother of three kids here!) and a random thought hits me: what do all these natural, holistic, earthy people use for toothpaste? 

I read the ingredients list for my Crest toothpaste, and there are lots of things on there that I can't pronounce or comprehend at six o'clock in the morning - so that can't be the number one choice for "healthy-living" individuals. And then my mind somehow wondered to a person/mother I see in my mind as the poster girl for healthy living: Jessica Alba. 

And I thought, I wonder what kind of toothpaste Jessica Alba uses? She can't use something totally natural, her teeth are too freaking white and perfect and Hollywood-typical! She's lying to us all, standing behind her Honest company and still using chemically-enhanced toothpaste! The indignity  the injustice - just who does she think she is? 

And then I thought to myself: oh my god, who the hell cares? 

Obviously...I need a life. Or a damn radio or something to fill my mind while I shower.