The Liebster.

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Modern Mommy Madness has been nominated for a Liebster Award! Thank you for noticing me, No Such Fairytale! (Twitter handle: @nosuchfairytale)

201402-LiebsterNow, I’m kind of a Grinch and don’t usually participate in these things … which may explain why only a few hundred people read my blog. But first … are you confused about what I’m talking about? Because up until a few minutes ago I was completely clueless.

The Liebster is an award that only exists on the internet, given to bloggers by other bloggers, generally to bloggers who don’t have a massive following (yet!). The rules are pretty simple, from what I can gather:

1. List 11 random facts about yourself.

2. Answer the questions sent to you.

3.  Nominate 11 bloggers, notify them that they have been nominated, and ask them 11 questions thought up by YOU!

4.  Kick back with a drink. (I added this step.)

Whew! I’m worn out already.

11 Random Facts:

1. I’m left-handed.

2. I went to boarding school for grades 9-12.

3. Bible college was not for me.

4. I did not discover coffee until I was in my twenties.

5. My mother once told me she thinks Starbucks laces their coffee with cocaine.

6. I’m an only child.

7. I have very short eyelashes and was infinitely relieved when my children inherited my husband’s dark, thick lashes.

8. Home ownership was not for me.

9. I am very unclear on how to “bone” a chicken.

10. I used to write bad poetry.

11. Now I write essays.

***

Here are the questions I’ve been given to answer:

1. What’s your drink? What would you order at a bar if there were no repercussions – financial, health, or otherwise?

Very pricey red wine. But I don’t know what kind, because I’ve never been in the position to learn about pricey wines.

 

2. What is your dream vacation?

I have trouble thinking past what it would be like just to escape for a handful of days with my husband. I guess right now, anything would do.

 

3. Tell me about your best day.

My best day … ever? I’ve had a lot of best days. My wedding day, the day I gave birth to each of my three kids, my 34th birthday. Those were all best days.

 

4. What was your first car?

OH. I’m very proud of my first car. It was a 1989 Dodge Diplomat, purchased for $600 cash at the Louisiana State Auction. It was an old cop car — very fast, very beat-up, with no way to get out of the back seat.

 

5. Where did you fit in high school?

Ugh. I don’t want to talk about high school.

 

6. Are you a texter or a caller?

I am very much a texter.

 

7. Everyone is a work in progress. What thing would you change about yourself if you could snap your fingers and make it happen?

I’d choose to be a more relaxed person.

 

8. When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I think part of me always wanted to be a writer.

 

9. Now, what do you want to be when you grow up?

A success.

 

10. What time do you go to bed at night?

Between 10:30-11:00.

 

11. What is your worst habit?

Stressing. I’m a worrier.

 

***

Here are the 11 questions I will direct to the bloggers I’ve nominated:

1. What one thing do you love about yourself?

2. What is your greatest strength?

3. Who do you draw energy from or enjoy being around?

4. What types of activities drain you?

5. What kind of person is your alter ego?

6. Name your favorite comfort food.

7. Favorite place to spend a rainy afternoon.

8. What do you do after the kids go to bed?

9. What do you wish you could change about your life?

10. Do you believe in prayer?

11. What beauty product has never failed you?

***

I nominate:

The Outnumbered Mother

A Mom Of Steel

Family Snodgrass

Finding Fresh

Outsmarted Mommy

Southern Hope Blog

Nicole Decker

Abbie’s Babble

Interior Style by Kiki

You Have Six Kids

Three Monkey Chaos

AND … GO!

Just Shut Up & Hold My Hand.

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This morning I totally lost my temper in a crazy kind of way that I’d like to just pretend never happened.

Watch out

Sometimes … a lot of times … everything just bubbles up and it’s all too much. Women carry around a lot of things, you know. Robbie has learned not to say “Why are you so stressed out?” because he knows I’ll sit him down in a chair and TELL HIM WHY.

That terrifies my husband, the idea of being held captive as all the worries rain down upon him. It’s not because he is emotionally incapable of listening, or can’t handle being there for me. It’s because he can’t fix any of my problems. He can’t make Thanksgiving go away. He can’t make our kids sleep or travel well. He can’t make my hormones level out.

He can’t bake the cookies we’re supposed to bring to Alabama on Wednesday, because he knows they wouldn’t turn out right. He can’t fix the bathroom light or deal with the yard right now, because he needs to be at work. He can’t stop tracking dirt through the house, because THAT IS WHAT HE MUST DO.

He can’t guarantee that we will win the lottery or that I won’t scar our children for life or that they will maintain their virginity until they are very mature adults. Robbie can’t do anything except love me and tell me it’s going to be okay, even though both of us know that he doesn’t know that for certain. We hope it will be okay. We hope things will work out. We hope no one breaks an arm or floods the house.

All married people can do, I’ve realized, is hold hands and face life together with hope.

So far, it’s working out okay.

Hashtag Awesome.

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So …

I’m really trying to get on board the social media train so I don’t get left at the station. But honestly, it’s all a little overwhelming and I’m a slow learner.

Do you like Twitter parties?! I have never in my life participated in one and quite frankly, I’m terrified. BUT! Scary Mommy is hosting a Twitter party tomorrow night, 9-10 p.m. EST and if that’s your sort of thing you should totally check it out.

I will be there, trying to keep up.

index

 

 

When Christians Curse.

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What happens when a person (me) who calls herself a Christian (I am) uses inappropriate language in print?

1. Upon seeing herself in an actual book, she screams “HOLY SHIT!”

2. She burrows under the covers, fearing judgement from those who will read it. Her husband coaxes her out with coffee and scrambled eggs.

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3. Her husband also finds her bio with the rest of the authors, and points out the irony of the F-word being in the same sentence with “loves God.”

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4. They laugh. And cringe. But mostly laugh.

The language. The admission of drinking. The brutal honesty. Is this “Christian?” Some would say no, and I accept that. I was raised a third-generation Seventh-day Adventist, surrounded by wonderful, warm, God-loving people who did not drop F-bombs. I’ve never heard my mother use inappropriate language, and I myself don’t use it out loud that often. I’m thankful for my conservative upbringing, because I do believe in God and I do hold my children to a high moral standard.

I also drink wine at night after I have prayed with them and tucked them into bed.

I try my best not to scream expletives around them, ever.

I sometimes fail at this.

But you know, some people get my writing and some people don’t. That is totally okay. I do not expect everyone everywhere to agree with me or love what I do. I understand if there are people who think I’ve gone off the deep end or turned my back on my upbringing, although both of those assumptions are incorrect.

You know what is a virtually impossible achievement? TO MAKE EVERYONE HAPPY.

I realize that there are lots people out there who don’t want to read my work, and I get that, because I am also very picky about what I read. We are all different and we like different things. That’s a good thing! I embrace diversity. I also know that thinking too much about the opinions of others is the quickest way to kill creativity. My one big rule is this: if my husband is not okay with it, then it doesn’t get published.

I guess my point is, I refuse to allow the fear of judgement to hold me back. This is the one thing I have in common with Taylor Swift. That, and the fact that we’re both very, very white.

This — my writing — is me, in honest form. If I tried hard to glaze over the grittiness of life, then I would not be speaking my truth. Some people are good at writing nicely. I’m good at writing honestly. And honestly, life is hard.

I only recently started referring to myself as a writer. When I say it out loud, it makes me weirdly and inappropriately emotional. My eyes well up and I choke a little, and then I feel stupid. Maybe eventually I’ll get used to saying it, but for now I just feel blessed to be able to back up that title with some pretty awesome accomplishments.

Buckle your seatbelts, bitches.

No Go.

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I was gone for the weekend and it was absolutely glorious.

When my dear friend — who is due to deliver her first child next month — spotted me at the airport, she ducked underneath the railing that you’re supposed to stand behind when you’re waiting for arrivals, and we embraced in front of a rather enormous audience. There was a vague awareness of people saying AWWWWW, but we were in our own little world, off to vegan restaurants and IKEA.

I guess I have a lot of friends, but that is because I’m an extrovert and I have this weird need to connect that doesn’t make sense to the introverts in my life. Particularly since becoming a mother, I NEED TO CONNECT.

People mistakenly assume extroverts are never lonely and always feel understood, but that isn’t true for me. At all. I think it’s because I am always looking for my kindred spirits because they “get” me and I can understand them on a deeper level. I have a small number of people in my life who truly know me, know who I am, all the way down to my soul, and love me because of it or in spite of it or maybe both. Kate is one of those people, and I was so, so happy to see her.

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I loved every quiet moment of my weekend away. I sat down a lot, laughed a lot, and cried a lot of happy tears. I was happy to get home last night, but I really wasn’t ready to leave my friend.

Here we are before her baby shower. Isn’t she awfully cute for a 34-weeks-pregnant person?

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I felt self-conscious because I was supposed to be wearing a pair of black skinny jeans. I bought a brown pair which were identical in design and size, and they fit fine, so I never bothered to try the black pair on.

Always try the black pair on.

I couldn’t get them on my body. I ended up going with the brown leggings which are basically tights, and my “dress” or “shirt” or whatever the hell it was is pretty short. I was not comfortable with any of it, but I told myself that Kate was much more uncomfortable than I was because she is kangaroo-pouching an unborn child the size of a small pot roast … so, I kept my complaints to myself.

I returned home to this. Among other things.

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When I went into Pepper’s room to get her out of her crib this morning, she was so happy to see me and I swear she said “I wuv wu.”

AND THEN, as I told her I loved her too, and I am so happy to be home but I had SO MUCH FUN while I was gone, she said “Mommy.”

I stopped talking and listened.

And that is when I heard my daughter say her first real, intelligible sentence: “Mommy no go bye-bye.”

I guess when you have three kids, you no longer feel guilty for taking time for yourself because it is a NEED THAT MUST BE HAD. If I didn’t leave sometimes, my family would get the very worst version of me, and no one wants that. No one.

When Pepper said what she said, I hugged her warm, roly-poly body close against mine and said, I’m not going anywhere.

Not today, anyway.