This week was … something. There are Elmer’s glue handprints all over our couch. Asher removed his wet diaper and tried to flush it down the toilet after he threw up in his sister’s room and played in it.

He got into the Bisquik AGAIN.

Maverick (with his severe outdoor allergies) ran out into the freshly-cut grass, stripped down to his underwear, laid down and made a “grass angel” in the clippings while I talked to Joe, our yard man. I kind of ignored it, hoping Joe wouldn’t notice. 

He did.

Things were eaten that shouldn’t have been. Snow cones were dropped, heads were knocked, knees were skinned, tears were shed, games were played, and there was so. much. laughter.

I always tell the ridiculous stories about my children … and believe me, there are many that I don’t share. Like the time that the camp director called to tell me that Maverick got in trouble at naptime for pulling the stuffing out of his sleeping bag, and when he was asked to stop, he started cramming it up his nose.

But I don’t talk enough about the magic. This week was tough. There were many moments where I felt like I was on a ride that wouldn’t stop and I WANTED OFF NOW. But in the midst of all the madness, there is magic. You may not believe me … I probably wouldn’t if I were you … but I promise I’m telling the truth. 

There is magic in the quiet moments where I just hold one child, and my attention is only on that one little person and no one else.

There is magic in the moment where I realize that my oldest son knows how to clean up his own messes. Wash his own hair. Make his own sandwich. When he remembers to put the toilet seat down.

There is magic when my middle child spontaneously starts singing “Happy Birthday” to no one in particular. He’s 23 months old. Who taught him that? I’d like to thank whoever it was, because it’s awesome.

There is magic when my 8-week-old baby coos at me. When she smiles. She’s taking it all in, and she seems to like us anyway. Which is something.

Sometimes I get so sick of all of it. I get tired of never having money and the constant cycle of cleaning up after people and the nonstop demands. But then, it’s bedtime. And one by one, I put them in pajamas. I hold their small hands and pray with them and ask God to help me be a good mother and thank You for getting us through the day. 

I feel their bodies relax — finally — as I tuck them in. Each one.

This is why, at the end of such an insane week, I am still happy. I’ve DONE something with my time that stretched on for eternity, even when it felt like I was accomplishing nothing. Suddenly the week is done, I survived, and it wasn’t that bad at all. 

Magic.

Today I joined a mommy group.

I have been a stay-at-home mom for over two years, but it’s taken this long for me to realize it was time to let go of the working world — at least for now. For so long that was who I was, a woman with a career. I wasn’t sure where it was going, but I felt like it was going somewhere. 

I quit my job because I wanted to raise my children. But that doesn’t mean that the decision was easy, and it doesn’t mean that I don’t still have second thoughts about that choice. I always heard about how stay-at-home moms “lose themselves” and feel “unappreciated” and and on and on, but never quite understood any of it until recently. NOW, I get it. Kid #3 rocketed me full-force into stay-at-home-mom overload. Taking care of this house and the people in it consumes me. I give and give and give and they take and take and take and I very rarely get thanked. Which is fine, except that it’s not, because I’m being buried alive. I could feel it happening and I didn’t like it, because for one thing … I’m more than just a mommy. The other parts of me are just as important, and I’m not going to let them slip away.

I am a lady of action, so I mulled this over for awhile. What can I do to make my life easier? What would make my days more bearable? And I decided that what I need is for Husband to be home more. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option right now, because this is a season for him to further his career. So then I decided we need to either be wealthy enough to afford a nanny, or I just need to make more friends.

That is when I decided to join the MOPS group (Mothers Of Preschoolers) in my area. I’m a little apprehensive, because the working world and the people in it are so vastly different than the non-working world. I’m not sure if I’m ready to let go of it and make the full crossover. Will these people expect me to craft? Or sew?! Because I do not. I also do not Pinterest. Or host themed parties.

Hopefully, I will find at least one other person who is not only unwilling or unable to let go of her non-mommy self, but also has a husband who works insane hours so maybe we can do cool things with our normal children.

See how I have it all planned out? I’ll let you know how it goes.

Today you’re going to get some raw honesty.

I was talking to another friend of mine who has three small children, one of which is a 2-month-old baby, and she said she wishes that she could just fast-forward through the next three months because she knows they are going to be hell.

YES. Yes. I feel the same way. I literally cannot wait until Christmas, because Pepper will be 6 months old, Asher might be potty-trained, we will all be more rested, and life will be a tiny bit easier.  Hopefully. And, there’s tinsel. I love tinsel.

It might seem sad that I am wishing away my children’s early childhood, but that is exactly what I’m doing. It’s a big blur spotted with enjoyable moments … but mostly it’s a whole lot of crying and tantrums and bottles and shushing. It’s hard. It’s overwhelming. And the thing about parenthood is, you are in it with no way out, so you just have to keep going. 

Yesterday, Asher fell and smacked the back of his head on the coffee table, splitting it wide open. Thankfully, he’s going to be fine. Thankfully, both sets of grandparents were available to step in and help me while Husband was stuck at work. He’s got a few staples in his head, and I have another notch in my motherhood belt. I now know what it’s like to have to stop feeding an infant and leave her screaming for 30 minutes in her bed because one of my older children has a HOLE IN HIS HEAD.

Sometimes, well … a lot of times, it feels like I can’t do this. Probably because I am trying to do semi-impossible things. It’s not easy to grow tiny humans into bigger humans, all while wearing another, tinier human in an Ergo baby carrier. But I CAN do it, and I WILL do it, day by day by ever-loving day, until suddenly they are all in school from 8-3 and I realize I have time and space all to myself again. 

And then, I will miss this. Because mothers have something deeply, chemically wrong with them.
 

I married a good man. Last night when he got home at 8:30, I was sitting awkwardly on the couch with a baby strapped to my chest with a crazy look in my eyes. He took her right away and must have put some kind of daddy voodoo on her, because she slept for TEN HOURS STRAIGHT after being awake nearly all day, eating every hour and a half and generally driving me crazy. 

This has been a really hard week. I told Husband if every week was like this one, I’d so require medication. It’s so difficult to retain your perspective when you’re in the depths of parenting hell, feeling like it’s never going to end, certain that it’s always going to be this way … you will never shower again, and your three children will be in their teens asking you to please come wipe their booty.

Thankfully, nothing ever stays the same. The difficult parts end. The funny things happen. During a diaper change this week, Asher grabbed ahold of his boy parts and starting yanking on them, saying “Off? Off!! Off?”  

Me: No … they’re not coming off, and stop that before you really hurt yourself. 

Pepper is now 6 weeks old. Yesterday I went in her room to retrieve her, and she gave me the biggest, most heartwarming smile. Thank you for that, daughter. I needed it.

I have a communications degree from the #1 party school in the nation, and today I put it to use by:

1. Cleaning Bisquik off the living room floor and communicating to Asher that I was displeased.

2. 

Sometimes I definitely feel like I’m spinning my wheels and nothing I’m doing really matters that much. I wonder if my family notices or cares that I always make sure they have clean socks to wear and that their ears are clean, and then I feel kind of worthless like I should be doing something bigger and more important with my time.

I worry that my sons will grow up to believe that women aren’t capable of anything beyond cooking and cleaning. I worry that my daughter won’t see the value in educating herself if she doesn’t see her mother using her education. I don’t know how to avoid these issues exactly, but I hope that the first step in prevention is awareness.

Recently I was in a social situation and someone asked me where I work. “I’m a stay-at-home mom,” I said. And then I got “The Look.” The one that says “OH. I SEE.” And you can practically watch them put you in a box with all of the other dumb and boring people. I mentioned it to Husband when we left. His reply? “If someone can’t appreciate how hard it is to raise three children, then THEY are the stupid one.” 

It’s been kind of on my mind ever since, and then Maverick said something the other night that set my world right again. Cuddling up next to me, he said:

“Mommy, when I grow up and finish school and get married, I want to stay at home with the kids like you do. I want to do what you do.”

And this was my much-needed reminder. I am doing the most important work of my life. It’s not right for everyone, but right now, it’s right for me. 

I officially understand why so many women fall prey to “the mommy look.”

When I got pregnant with my first child I spent my entire pregnancy worrying that motherhood would change me. It seemed like so many mothers just looked dowdy after they had kids — was that going to happen to me?!

Well … no. Not immediately. I returned to normal pretty quickly after that kid. After my second child was born, it took a lot longer for me to return to normal – not just my weight, but returning to myself. Some of it may have been postpartum depression, or just the enormous task of adjusting to a life with two kids instead of one. Either way, it threw me for a major loop.

Now I’m almost 6 weeks postpartum after having my third child and I think this one might have done me in. I have a big tummy pooch that looks like it might be permanent, and I finally, truly, understand why someone would want to put on “mom jeans.” I feel like I have to stuff that shit somewhere … may as well be into a pair of high-waisted pants. 

Husband and I had a wedding to attend last Saturday night, which I was very much looking forward to just as an excuse to get dressed in normal clothes and get OUT. Did I know these people? No. Did it matter? No. I was PUMPED.

I went to Dillard’s with a 20 minute child-free time frame in which to shop, and started trying on dresses. For me personally, dress sizes are much more forgiving than, say, pant sizes. I usually like to shop for a new dress, but this time was different. Everything I tried on was a size 12 that I struggled to zip up. There was one dress that I was fairly certain I was going to asphyxiate in and I had a moment where I thought, “Awesome, I’m going to die in a synthetic blend.” 

I had trouble finding anything that looked appropriate for a wedding or any other occasion, for that matter. Eventually I narrowed it down, took a good hard look, and realized I was going to have to select the least-matronly one.

I felt like Barbara Bush.

After this, I got it. This is why mommies look like mommies. Finding clothes that are fashionable and fit correctly takes time. Most moms don’t have any time. I vowed right there in the dressing room to make sure I give myself time to get it together in the coming months, because I’m not going to resign to living in ill-fitting clothes for the rest of my 30’s. 

Happily, I did manage to put together a decent outfit for under $30 and I felt normal for the first time in a very long time. It was worth it to fight for myself. So I want to encourage you to also fight for yourself! Fight for time and space and those little luxuries that make your life pleasant. Even if it’s a $28 dress from the clearance rack that you might not ever wear again. You are important, and you do everyone a disservice (including your children) if you don’t act like you know it. 

It takes a village an army.

That is all.