Yummy Mummy Syndrome

As a mother of small children, I have become increasingly aware of the demand on us mommy's to fit the stereotype of "yummy mummy". Anyone who knows me, or follows my blog, is pretty aware, that I am surely not one of these women, although admittedly, I wish I was. The entire concept of "yummy mummy" is right up my alley. I always thought I would be the mom, who bounced back after childbirth, hair colored, make up done, dressed in my LuLu Lemon, strolling the streets with my saucy stroller and fashionable baby in tow.

Reality is a kick in the ass....

Not one of those things has ever happened to me....not even once, in the last 6 years, since I pushed out the small people that I grew.  Disappointing, isn't it?  I was determined to not "lose" myself. A struggle that I continue to battle. However, the image of "yummy mummy" still plagues me, and I have now switched my vision to "m.i.l.f"....because let's face it, by the time I actually get my shit together and lose this weight,  there's a pretty good chance that my son will be graduated from high school.

The "best" part of having a weight struggle, is having friends who do not. I love my friends. They are amazing women, who in their own rights have earned the body's that they have. They have worked out, and struggled to achieve the amazing physic that they are blessed with. Some of my friends on the other hand, are just born with bodies made of rubber bands, and have snapped back into shape faster than humanly possible. I will admit to disliking them slightly for this....I am mature enough to cop to my own jealousy. I will also admit, that I have a jealous hatred for all you ladies who come out of the hospital with flat stomachs. "Dislike". At least try to look a little shitty...would ya? 

Now, by no means am I crapping on the ladies who have amazing genetics, and work their asses off to achieve their optimum weight. I applaud you....with envy. I am just saying, that for those of us who struggle, it tends to be a reminder of our own failures. Now, that isn't true for everyone, but it is something I definitely admit to being my reality.  There are many a times when I spot a new mommy, carrying her infant in a bucket seat....looking amazing, and I curse you silently in my head.  I kind of hate you, just a little bit. But I guess if I'm honest....truly honest...I kind of hate me a little more than I hate you. I suppose that my 6 and 4 year old, no longer are considered "baby weight". 
Damn it....
I suppose that instead of being a "yummy mummy", I am a bit more of a "bummy mummy"? Yes, I have a caboose, and hips, and a tummy....and long boobs? What the hell happened there, anyways? It isn't enough that I have to haul around this giant ass, but my boobs have gone to hell too? I think that after we are done birthing our children, the government should give each mommy a choice...a boob job or tummy tuck.  Now I realize that this isn't something that everyone wants, but I'm just saying that productivity in the work force would probably go up.  Now I know what you're thinking...wtf? But just think about it for a second. 
There is a sports team (who...I don't know) that instead of giving the players the bonus', they give it to the wives, because they did their research.  Do you know what they found? "Happy wife. Happy life"!  
Let's be really honest here ladies. If you had a slamming body (yes I realize some of you do....) wouldn't you feel better about yourself? I mean, we all have our insecurities, I get that. But let me tell you this. If I went to bed tonight and woke up with Jennifer Aniston's body, I swear to you that I would probably spend the first week naked and I would be a savage in bed. Do you not think that my husbands moral at work wouldn't boost by about 100%? 
I mean it.  I would wear a bikini everywhere. Yes people...everywhere! I don't care that I live in Canada and it's winter. I don't give a rat's ass. Naked....that's all I'm saying.
But instead, I think I'll finish this post, and sit my fat ass on the couch, and finish the bag of chips calling my name from the cupboard. O.k...and the ice cream too.
I suppose I may not be a yummy mummy....or a milf or whatever sexually explicit name you'd like to give those hotties out there.  Instead, I'll just be me. I like chips, pizza, ice cream and what ever other food is too high in cholesterol and fat, and sugar. I struggle. I'll most likely never be thin again, and I am becoming increasingly lazy. But I'm kind, honest and a good friend. I love my family, and I work hard. So I stand tall....big ass and all.  This "bummy mummy" is becoming happy with who I've become. I'll still quietly curse all you hotties, with your perfect bodies, and perky boobs, but I am on this journey for self acceptance. I suppose that means accepting boobs that rest comfortably at my waist.  Screw you gravity..... 

"Reap" what we sow...

Today I write from a very different side of myself. With everything that I write, I try to come from a place of humor, happiness and laughter.  Today, this conversation takes a different turn. 

This conversation has the potential to make you uncomfortable. It may cause you to judge me, criticize me, or view me through different eyes. This may make you feel awkward. This may make you emotional. This is the hardest thing I will ever write.

This is my story. 

My rapist, doesn't think he's a rapist. My rapist thinks it's funny that he got away with it. My rapist told me to my face that it didn't happen, that what I accused him of wasn't the truth.

This has been my reality for the last 16 years. This is what haunts me. This is my shame to carry. I have thought at times, that because I wasn't assaulted in a back alley or dark stairwell, and because there was no fight...I did not scream.....that maybe it wasn't rape. What I have come to realize as a woman, is that it is a gray area. I have been shamed by my peers, and questioned my accusations against him, and often wondered....did I ask for it? I have relieved that night countless times, over and over and over and over in my memory. I have relieved the days and weeks that followed. When I watch T.V. I am reminded.When I watch movie's, I remember. When I hear stories, or read books....I relieve it. It is embarrassing. There is a huge amount of shame involved, when you know your attacker. A midst all the rumors, gossip and judgement, I carried on in high school as though nothing had happened. He was in several of my classes....I had no voice. I was on display for everyone to judge. Very few people believed me. I understand why......I question why not?  

I was 17. I was drinking in my home with my girlfriends. I was having a sleepover. I was a virgin. 

He had a girlfriend. He kept trying to get me to have sex with him. I was not that kind of girl.

By the end of this night, I would be raped, in my own bed, and not be aware of what had taken place. 

I was too drunk to know at the time, what had really happened to me. My friends were in the other room....they did not know what was happening to me behind that closed door.

I remember the events vividly as they unfolded, however, as a 17 year old girl who had never been intimate with anyone, I was truly unaware that I had actually been raped. I knew that I was bleeding, bruised and sore, but it had happened so fast, and I was so drunk that the time, I didn't understand. I didn't say "no". I didn't know I needed to. I repeated "you're hurting me", instead. I couldn't move my arms or legs. I didn't know I was having sex. I didn't know what sex was like.

I was extremely intoxicated. He was sober. 

In the days and weeks that followed, I was able to piece my memories together and figure out what had actually happened to me. He refused to talk to me, until I called him into the office at school. I did not have the chance to ask him anything before he uttered the words "are you pregnant?" It was confirmed for me, everything that I questioned, in that split second. 

The actual event, and how it unfolded is something that I can't put into words. It is for me to share with friends, fellow victims and people who know me. It is a "he said", "she said" situation. He was very popular at school. He is still well liked by a lot of people in our small town. I was made out to be a liar, to be promiscuous, to be "making it up". After 16 years, my account of that night has never changed. It made my last year of high school and years after, a night mare.  It changed the way people viewed me, and how I would be received for years after that. What exactly would I have gained, by lying?   

I have come to find out that in the last few years, he was bragging about what he did to me at a party. How he "got away with it". How he held me down. How he raped me.

I am forced, after 16 years to relive the emotions and humiliation again. They laughed at my expense. They thought it was funny. They didn't realize that he stole my innocence.

I was very much in love with a boy who had moved away. Although we were not together at the time, I always knew that we would eventually be together. I was saving that moment for him, when I was ready, and mature enough to handle a sexual relationship. Seventeen year old me was very much in love. When "R" finally came home, and we were in fact dating, I had to tell him about what happened. He walked that road with me. He always believed me. He never judged me. He held me hand, anytime that I may be in a situation to have to see him. He protected me, and defended me. He understood me. He loved me. He allowed me to believe that although I was damaged, I wasn't broken. I'm grateful for that, beyond words. 

After we broke up, I had to deal with all the fear and emotions that were left over from the rape. Without "R" there to walk life's road with me, and my heart shattered from the break up, I became promiscuous. I drank excessively and put myself into situations where I was left feeling empty, used and worthless. I was everything he told me I was. I became the person he accused me of being all along. My reputation was already so ruined, that from my broken shell of a woman, it didn't matter anyways. What I had to give, was all I was worth. He told me that.

All I was able to hear was his words. His rumors. His friends. His family.

I was no longer able to hear the words of the boy that loved me, the family that trusted in me, the friends that believed me. 

The events that took place that February night, changed who I was going to be. It changed the path I would walk down. The repercussions of what happened to me, will follow me for the rest of my life. But they will not define me, they will not control me, and they will no longer own me. I will not hide behind shame and humiliation anymore. I will not silence my voice. I will not allow the events of that one night, to determine every night that follows. I have had others come forward and confess that he has done the same to them, and yet on the same hand, had girls tell me that he was respectful and treated them great. I'm sure he did. I'm thankful that he did. Many of the girls I respect to this day, dated him, had sexual relationships with him, and loved him. I'm thankful for their sake that he never crossed that line. I'm thankful that they were saved from the grief, and humiliation that comes from having something so precious stolen from you. 

I worry about my son, my daughter and my step-daughter. I have never shared this with her. She is almost 15. I think about her safety often. I worry, that she too may be taken advantage of. I worry that she may be forced to grow up faster than any one had ever hoped. I hope that if nothing else ever comes of this....I hope that she hears my story. I hope that it makes her pause...listen to her instincts....follow the voice inside her. Be her own hero. Be cautious of the situations that she is in. Be true to herself. Be able to follow her own path, and not the path someone else decides for her.

I have been very blessed to find a man who is willing to listen. He try's to understand. He is my protector. He is the very person that stopped me on my path of destruction nearly 9 years ago. He makes me a better person. Together, we have owned our struggles, and confessed our past, and healed together. He embraces me for everything I have been, and have become. For him, I am thankful. For our struggles, I am thankful. For the future, I am thankful. For how hard I have worked to overcome my past, I am thankful. For where he is now.....I am thankful. For if nothing else... we reap what we sow. I guess in this case...we "rape" what we sow.

I choose to sow honesty, I choose to sow joy. I choose to sow happiness, laughter and love. I will always choose happiness, no matter how dark the past may be, you can overcome. You can inspire. You can believe. You can love. You can heal......I will. 

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.” 
― Marilyn Monroe 

The Princess and the....Pee

So what's the average time spent potty training, these days? A couple months? A few weeks? A day or two? Hmmmm....or maybe 2 and half years! My daughter is a very smart little girl. Demanding, but smart. We are nearing her 4th birthday in less than a month, and I must say that the thought of that breaks my heart a little bit.  However, the reality that she continues to pee her pants on a daily basis takes some of that sadness away.  I let this fact slip with much trepidation, as there is a tremendous amount of judgement that goes along with an admission such as this one.  Let's face it, "mommy land" is judge mental, and is just the grown up version as "girl world". The two are hand in hand. It can be fairly nasty at times. So here I am, as usual, airing my secrets for the world to hear, and admitting to yet...again...another "failure" as a mommy.

"Do you think there's something wrong with her"? 

"Oooh, that's not normal"? 

"Have you taken her to the doctor"? 

These are just some of the lovely comments that I have received in recent months.  I am fully aware, that this has all been uttered by people who truly do care, and are honestly concerned about my child's well being.  However, let me be the one to correct all concern.....

My child is lazy. That's right. You heard it. There is no medical reason, other than her own bloody laziness that is attributing to this "condition". Frankly, if she doesn't want to take the time to walk away from what she is playing or doing, she would rather just pee her pants. Now there's something as a mother to be proud of. I have heard so many people say that girls are so easy to potty train....Ha!  Come on over. Give my daughter a try! I'm losing my marbles. Actually, at this point, I have just began to accept it.  She is quite capable of letting me know at the worst moments, that she has to go "potty". And she has proven to me that she has the ability to hold it. She has also proven, that she will wait until the last possible moment, at all times, before she is willing to go. This has proven to be a tremendous amount of fun for me. 

My favorite, is at the grocery store. When the lineup is really long, I get to the front, and she starts to dance...."I have to go potty". Are you kidding me? Now? Really? By this point, frankly, I could care less if she pee's her pants. This is the difference between first time mommy's and mommy's who have more than 1. Time becomes more important than another pair of pants in the wash.

Like hell am I going to lose my place in line! Does this make me a bad mom? Because I'll tell you that on more than one occasion, I have been given the "look" from bystanders in grocery stores, at school, the mall....all while I am making snap decisions that I am well aware look bad from the outside! I get it.  Mother hood is not pretty. Anyone who is making it look like it's super easy is a liar. That's right....liar. 

I will say, that her lack of concern in this department has definitely caused me to "close up shop".  Are you kidding? I have no interest to spend 10 years revolving my life around everybody else's potty schedule. Now I realize that I probably spend a lot more time blogging about bodily functions, but let's get real here for a second. Mom's don't say it. We just don't. We trudge along in the trenches, smiling and not really admitting to each other things like this. It's embarrassing. It makes us feel like failures, because it looks like everyone around us isn't struggling. When the reality is, they just are too scared to admit it. Because, they...like you...are afraid of being judged. Now I know that we all have our mommy friends that we get in to the nitty gritty with. Of course, I'm not saying that. What I am saying, is that maybe if as mommy's we judged strangers a little less and found more compassion in their struggles, things would be a lot different. 

Even if I am really organized, which I have to be, and manage to get her to the bathroom before any accidents happen, I am faced with yet, another dilemma. Something that I had never thought about when my kids were little. The "boy to girl" ratio. My son is now old enough to realize that he is going into the girls washroom. He is 6. Sometimes I feel like that old proverb about the goose, the wolf and the bag of grain. Think about it for just a second. There are situations where I am comfortable leaving him waiting outside. There are situations where I am o.k. letting him go into the men's washroom by himself. There are others where I am NOT.

We travel to the U.S.A a lot, being right on the other side of the border. We were at the mall. Miss C had to go potty. We are in another country. Perhaps I am over protective and nuts, but there was NO WAY I was leaving him to stand outside the ladies washroom, beside the front entrance of Target, while I waited for my independent, yet lazy 3 year old to go to the bathroom. Because I am NOT aloud to help...that creates a whole other set of issues that I will write about soon enough....

He lost his mind. I don't mean a little. I mean totally blew his lid, right there in the front door of the ladies room. I am struggling with a 3 year old about to pee her pants, a double stroller full of shopping bags, I am now blocking the doorway, and my 5 year old is literally holding onto the door jam screaming "no, I won't do it, I won't go in there"....as I am repeating the phrase "we are in another country, and your sister has to go potty, I can't leave you out here by yourself". I am sweating, disheveled and probably looked like a complete and absolute failure as a parent. However, my child wasn't kidnapped that day, so I suppose I wasn't such a failure after all. 

In recent months a 6 year old boy was assaulted at our local Costco, in the washroom by a 10 year old boy. He crawled under the door and bit the boy in the face, while the dad and sister stood outside the door waiting. Who's overprotective now! 

Are we always going to make good choices, when faced with decisions on the fly? Hell no. We are not. 

Are we going to make the decision that we feel is in the best interest of our children, at that moment, despite what kind of criticism we are going to get from family, bystanders, friends or strangers? I certainly hope so. I hope that I don't ever make decisions based on what I am afraid others will think. They may "know" my children....but they sure didn't "make" my children. Therefore, I'm pretty sure that no matter what ridiculous rule, or socially unacceptable decision I make....it's no ones to judge. 

Unless I am beating the hell out of my kids, or abusing them, then please step in. Clearly I have lost my marbles at that point.

So what! My daughter pee's her pants.....all the time. It could be worse. I hope that by the time we reach high school, this will have passed. As parents, a huge amount of the things we go through with our kids are "phases" and they do eventually pass. We hope.

As I write this, I hear from the other room..."mommy, I peed on myself". Now if that isn't art imitating life, I don't what is.  I'm happy to know that in our family, she is accepted for who she is. Thankfully, I am pretty laid back when it comes to this situation. I'm happy knowing that she'll never be spanked, or abused for the character of who she is. I'm happy knowing that I have the ability to find it funny when she puts her little hands up in the air and says "I just don't know why I keep doing that". She is amusing. She makes me laugh...and soon enough I know that she will too make me cry. She is everything that I have ever wanted in a little girl, but didn't know it. She is high maintenance, demanding, independent, and defiant. She is also funny, sweet and so full of love. She is everything that her daddy and I wished for. Even if she leaks....

Three blondes in a basement....

There are few things in life better than a best friend.  They are there to pick you up when you fall, call you out your own crap and generally create amusement at your expense at any given time.  That is what my best friend does for me.  We have been through A LOT in our nearly 20 years of friendship.  We have truly grown up together. Relationships like this are good for several reasons. 
1. it keeps you grounded. 
2. you can always be yourself and have no one to impress.
3. they retain too much information about you to end the friendship....


I can honestly say there are few who know me like my bestie.  She has walked my road of disaster behind me, collecting all the pieces I have left behind while I stumble around in life trying to figure my crap out.  She is much more together than I will even pretend to be.  She always has her i's dotted and t's crossed....while chances are I have not only forgotten a pencil, but the pad to write it on too. She has always been a bit of a clown.  I was always the one to steal the spotlight with my loud, obnoxious need  for attention...she was behind me pulling some sort of prank and getting all the laughs. We worked great as a team in our bar years.  The memories that we have carried with us, still to this day make us laugh.  And perplex us, as to how we actually made it out alive of some very tedious situations. Chances are, I probably showed some one my boobs...lets be honest.


As we have walked the path of mother hood together, our weekends of drinking and partying have been exchanged for scrap booking and shopping. We used to rush to the mall to get new outfits, and stock up on liquor when we came to each others houses. Now we dig out our sweat pants, load up on junk food and hit the craft store.  Never in my life did I really think that this is what we'd become. However, I enjoy the evolution of where we are....and the "girls" just don't rock a low cut shirt the way they used to anyways.


This past weekend, she and her family traveled the distance (ferry and all) to come and visit. We were very overdue for a serious scrap booking session, and frankly I was very excited!  As usual, it didn't take long before the stupidity that follows us, knocked on the door. Literally....


The night that she arrived, I had an upholstery class to attend. She stayed home with our 4 kids, and my girlfriend Elisa and I picked up her husband from a convention. We were about a half hour drive from our house.  On our way home, my cell phone rang, it was her. "We have a serious problem" she says. Now, coming from her, this could be any number of things.  The kids could have caused some sort of mayhem....the house could be on fire....or we could quite simply be out of potato chips. I was really not prepared for the response. "I'm locked in the basement".


Being self employed, I am required to have a lock on my basement playroom door due to health code. Now, I was in a predicament with this request. My children's playroom is on the other side of my salon, and the room has no actual exit. Only the windows. I had to decide which side to put the lock. If I put it on the inside, and my kids locked it and closed the door, I could never get back into the room. If I put it on the outside and you got locked in, you could climb out the window. So, we choose the outside. In the 2 years that the door has had a lock on it, it has only been locked twice....once the last time that she came to visit, by her youngest daughter...and this time, by her oldest. Do you see the irony in this? Now last time, she just crawled out the window (which is ground level) and went through the front door and unlocked it for the rest of us.  This time was a little tricky...


Because she was home alone, she had dead bolted both of my doors.  And because she arrived, after I had left, she had my only house key....in the house...on the other side of the locked door. So, even if she climbed out the window, it would leave ALL of the grownups outside of the house, and my kids locked upstairs and her girls locked downstairs.  Not a good feeling as a parent...but absolutely hilarious as an adult.  Did I mention she and both her girls are blonde? Even funnier.


While on the drive home, she and I discussed possible scenarios as to getting the door open. She attempted to pick the lock with one of my hole punchers....it broke off in the door. She used my hammer to bang the pegs out of the door hinge. It wouldn't open. So when we arrived, her husband, Elisa and I try to find just one window that's unlocked. Turns out, my house is super safe. Great when you're inside of it, not so great when your outside. We found the kitchen window was unlocked. We maneuvered a trunk to below the window and perched a ladder a top of that.  Thankfully, she had access to my scrap booking tools and was able to pass a blade through the window so we could cut the screen.  It's also a good thing her hubby is a chiropractor and not a surgeon as his screen cutting ability needed some work....(which Elisa and I teased him about the entire time he was teetering atop the ladder) Poor guy.


After he managed to get the screen off, he had to inch his way in through the window.  Through the window in my door, I could see the kitten staring up, with a perplexed look on her face.  It was truly hilarious.  I managed to snap a quick pic with him half out the window, and I have to admit that I laugh hysterically every time I look at it.  

This would only happen to her. It's one of those things that you log into your memory bank, to be brought up when we are in the nursing home.  I hope that when the day comes, and I lose my marbles, and have forgotten most of the things in my life, that God allows me to forget the heart break, sadness and loss that I will have endured over my life, and let's me keep my laughter, love and joy I was given.  I hope that our kids put us in the same "home" so we can re-live the ridiculous, stupid, and silly life lessons that we were taught. I hope that I will be able to remember all the laughter, and the things that linger with me and still make me laugh out loud at the most awkward moments. I hope that the day will come, that I will only remember all the amazing things that I have lived. I hope that this vision is burned into my sub conscience so that I may have many hours of laughter yet to come. I hope that when I have lost the ability to remember my own name, I remember my kids, my husband, my friends....but more than anything, I hope that I remember that in moments like this one, I was truly happy. 
Our friendship has stood the test of time so far. It has had it's up's and down's, and shared it's struggles. But there is no one on this earth that can bring me to laughter and make me almost pee my pants the way that she does. And let's face it, after two kids....that is no laughing matter...

Time Flies

One of my biggest peeves in life, is people who are late. Being in a business that is booked by appointment, I will admit, that there have been a few occasions that I have refused a client, simply because she was late.  Most memorably, a client who was ALWAYS late, I actually refused her, although the rest of my day was totally open! It was more important to me that I waste her time and teach her a lesson, then earn an income I guess.  However, she was never late again. Then I had children.....

The ability to understand time has been lost to me ever since. Not only, can I rarely get my shit together to be somewhere on time, but I have also lost the concept of it all together. Mostly, how fast time passes, what time of the day it is, how much time it takes to cook dinner, how much time it takes to get out the door, how much time it takes to fit in all the crap that is on my list for the day, how much time has passed between visits with a friend, and most importantly...how much time has passed since my hubby and I have had sex.  I will admit..."time" completely eludes me.  I always think I have more of it, then I actually do, and I always think things will take less time then they actually do.  I am, quite frankly, a mess. 

I have trouble keeping track of days, weeks and yes...sometimes months. I mix up days, appointments, schedules and most of the time, leave all things to do with my children's school events, until the last minute. That would be why I was up until midnight making valentines cards and cake balls prior to Valentines Day.  What the hell is wrong with me? Am I the only one who suffers from this? I look at my friends, and they all seem put together and organized? I can't even get it together to do my hair and make up anymore. Shit...if my sweat pants are dirty, I actually have a panic attack. Lord knows, I don't have time to do laundry anyways....

I remember my first pregnancy dragging by. Waiting for him to arrive felt like molasses.  What I wouldn't do to have that back.  I can remember a time when my house was clean, meals were made, and I had time to sit on the couch and watch t.v. and it was borderline, boredom. Unaware that life was going to kick into high gear when my babies arrived, and that there was no longer a second in my day that wasn't spoken for.  I have come to realize, that there is not enough of me, or hours in the day anymore.  How I wish I could go back to my mommy hood, (pre) pre-school.  I had no idea what would happen to our life when I was forced to follow a schedule set out to me by someone else.  I am a walking disaster. I am not afraid to admit it.  I looked in the mirror today at my caterpillars for eyebrows, and the hair in a ponytail that I will admit that I slept in.  I have yet to wash my face today...and it's 3:00 in the afternoon.  I had big plans to work out this morning, however, let's face it.....I don't have time for that.  Since I am up until midnight trying to accomplish the 1 million things on my list, there is no way in hell I am waking up at 5:00 am to haul my ass downstairs to fit in a work out. And yet, the irony is, that I would actually feel better if I just did it anyways.  

You hear it from every parent in the world. "Enjoy it, it goes so quickly". And I will admit, that this is all too true.  Sometimes, after I put them to bed, I will admit to going in for a few brief minutes and watch them sleep, as this is my greatest, pending fear.  Who am I going to be when the day comes that my job is done? When I am no longer needed to clean up messes, cook meals, change beds and do laundry.  Who am I, when I am no longer a "mommy", but just "mom". What will I do, when I have time to spare, extra time....time to waste?  Will I look back at these years as they have flown by in a frenzy.  Will I regret all the times I have chosen to finish my list, instead of listen, or play. Do I take enough time from something unimportant and put it where it's the most important? As this life that I have been given, flies by at record speed, I am trying to take the time for the small things. I have to remind myself on a daily basis, that sometimes the chores can wait. Sometimes, it's o.k. if the house is a mess, and the tub is growing pink mold......because there will always be mess, there will always be things on my list.  But there won't always be my children, young and precious, sweet and innocent. They are after all, my greatest joy.  

So I am happy knowing that on a day like today, I chose to sleep in a little longer with my little girl in my arms, instead of putting on make up.  I chose to eat breakfast with my children this morning, instead of doing my hair. I chose to take my daughter to dance class, on time today, instead of worrying about what I was wearing.  Today, I made the choice to put my time into my children, instead of myself, for all too soon I will have more than enough time to worry about me, and my children will be off in the world learning the very lessons that I am currently teaching them. What do we all do with the very little time we are given? How have you chosen to spend it? Who have you chosen to spend it with? What is the legacy you hope to leave behind when your time is up? 

For now I am trying to stretch every spare second, out of every minute in my day. I am trying to juggle the many tasks that befall us all, while doing it without grace....but with humor. I will take a few extra minutes tonight to read a longer book than usual, because if I have learned nothing else in this life....our time on this earth is short. Our legacy that we leave behind is long. It is in our family. It is in our children. It is in the difference that we make in the world. No matter how small we may think our part is....only time will tell.

Poop happens...

One of the most rewarding perks of mother hood, is body fluids.  Wait...nope, I was mistaken.  It's not rewarding at all!  
This week has been a lot of fun with my son falling ill with some type of virus.  Thankfully (knock on wood), my children do not get sick often.  And even more thankfully, they have yet to have the flu.  That's right, in 6 years, other than baby spit up, I have only had to deal with barf, once.  Thank the Lord, as I hate vomit more than anything!  That was until this week. Whatever this virus happens to be, has attacked my son's chest and he was coughing uncontrollably (it's not whooping cough). Pair that with breakfast....and you can take a wild guess what the outcome was. However, he frankly hates to eat these days, so it could have been much worse.  
I do believe firmly that we are either typically barfers or poopers.  In other words, I think that if you are prone to throwing up, you most likely aren't prone to having the poops, and vise- versa. Unless you have a food allergy, that's different all together. 
When my kids get sick, it's always the same thing. Fever,chest cold, the shats.  It never deviates. It just changes in severity. As a result, I unknowingly signed up for poop cleanup for all the rest of this mother hood thing. 
Given the choice between the two, I'll choose poop every time. Although, I will admit that I am totally content to NEVER have to do it again in my life.
Early in parenting, my husband and I made a deal.  There are pink jobs and blue jobs in our house.  
Garbage=blue.....vomit=pink. Heavy lifting=blue....poop=pink.  Get the jist of it? Now, granted my hubby works damn hard for this family, and never turns me down when I have a ridiculous request of him.  He happily does it, with out question.  After all "Happy wife = Happy life"!  But if it is something that has physically come out of our children, it's game over.  He can NOT cope with it. In all fairness, I do think the ability to deal comes with mother-hood. I can't deal with someone else's child's body functions, but my kids could seriously poop right on me, and I wouldn't be phased. And they have.....
I must admit that there are times that I thoroughly enjoy watching him squirm with disgust when one of the kids needs him and I am unavailable.  He also get the same joy, I'm sure when I am forced to do things like, clean poop out of our daughters bathing suit at the beach.  Had I known these little perks would go along with the job, I don't know that I would have signed up quite so eagerly.  But I suppose that gross goes with life.  My husband has been forced to clean up bags of garbage after dogs have gotten into it, and I think that's way worse than a little bathing suit poop.  
So I suppose my lesson for today is that with age and mother hood, I have learned how to take the gross stuff in stride and not worry too much about the small things.  We all have a little poop in our lives, now and again, and no matter how much you hate it, you have to deal with it. Literally and figuratively. I realize how far I have come in the world when my child barfs at the breakfast table, and I am calm about it.  I realize how funny it is, when my daughter poops down her leg, and says "I just don't know what happened"! in her little four-year old voice.  These are the strides in life that we handle with grace and dignity, up to our elbows in mother hood. Ahhh, mother hood.  On the bright side, my babes are still young enough that this is just a stepping stone.  Too soon I will have to deal with dating, high school, and the drama of adolescence.  For now, I am happy to own my poop...I suppose that's the purpose of life, isn't it?  To "own" your own poop, and to realize that no matter how to try to avoid it....poop happens.

Junk in the trunk

With the nightmare that was my January behind me, I have embraced February with a renewed sense of relief.  Most people celebrate the new year...I am more of a February person. By now most people have either fallen off the wagon or failed with their resolutions, I however am just beginning.  The last couple of weeks have been extremely productive for me. Anyone who knows me, knows that I am never one to sit still for long.  I actually think I may have a form of OCD, but I prefer to analyse it as anxiety.  A lot of people enjoy projects...I obsess about them. It's a bit of an illness, I admit!  

January has now come to a close, and I have finally begun to feel a sense of control again. I have thrown myself into a serious house make over. As I get older, I have really noticed how my style has evolved, and how I have finally started to know who I really am. I have always had a love of all things retro and vintage, but my decorating was very modern. I loved dark browns and surrounded myself with neutral earth tones and clean lines. Recently I started to look around at my home and have begun to feel anxiety with all the "stuff" that has cluttered my life.  

I am a huge follower of Oprah, and the "life-isms"  that she preaches.  One particular "life-ism" has always followed me. "Your home should rise up to meet you".  I am a self professed "home-body". This is why I have chosen to work from home, as the anxiety that has plagued me from being in the work force has taken it's toll on me. As a result, I am also surrounded by the constant reminder of clutter and the anxiety that it has caused me. 

This journey that I am on, has required a tremendous amount of self-reflection.  I have started to have a lot of "ah ha" moments while I search for inner happiness and peace.  One of those things is the amount of money I have spent to make my home look good. What I have recently realized, is that it no longer makes me feel good. This is where Elisa, from "Home Sweet Nest" enters the picture.  My partner in crime. I have known Elisa for the last 3 years, when she was my boss at a local salon.  She recently closed out the business, and has started following her own passion....all things junk. She has inspired me beyond belief, with her amazing ability to create beauty from junky. Don't miss the opportunity to check up on her blog, as the projects and idea's that she creates are truly inspiring.  

So over the course of the last few months, I have been collecting things for my daughters bedroom, as she will be moving from her toddler bed to a big girl bed....(insert sound of me crying), and at the same time, putting together idea's for a major revamp in my living room. Elisa and I have been scouring the thrift stores for all the pieces I needed to put together the perfect vintage inspired girls room.  I must admit, that prior to this, you couldn't get me in a thrift store to save my life.  What I have discovered about myself, is that I actually love thrift stores.  There is something really refreshing about getting a piece of furniture that isn't made in a factory and sold at Ikea. The furniture that I have had up until now is made of particle board and mdf. The pieces that I have recently bought...for super cheap I might add....are all solid wood, with amazing detail and potential. They have a soul, and I am in love! 

Let the painting begin.  I realized that I can no longer stand the brown! Everything I own is an earth tone! I have forced myself to step out of my comfort zone and embrace all the pretty things that I always see but was too afraid to try...enter more "earth tones". I have finally embraced, soft greens, vibrant reds, vintage blues and white! I painted over the brown with a whipped cream and am stepping out of my box by recovering my wing chair in an aqua blue.  I can't believe how much better I feel, just by lightening up my surroundings.  As this transformation is taking place, I truly feel like I am cleansing from the inside out.  I recently acquired the most beautiful hutch and buffet from a good friend. It was her grandmothers, and the fact that she trusted it in my hands is the best feeling in the world. I have always wanted a hutch and buffet.  But the ones I wanted were SO expensive, and now in retrospect, probably made out of mdf and particle board! This one is solid wood, and absolutely beautiful. I am so excited to give her a coat of white paint and the inner drawers a soothing "Tiffany Blue". Even more exciting, is the thought of filling her with my Gran's china, and crystal that has been sitting in a box in my storage room.  There was a time when I almost donated all that stuff.  Now, I can't wait to fill my home with it. I can't wait to clean out the closets, empty out my storage, purge the junk! Cleanse myself of all the clutter, put to use the things that I love, and pass on the things that I truly no longer need. After all, I have come to realize that one person's junk is truly another person's treasure.  

It's funny how sometimes we get caught up in what's trendy, what's new, what's popular.  I however have decided to go the opposite way.  I am looking for old, tattered, broken, and discarded. I want my home to rise up to meet me, be comfortable for my friends and family, be lived in, be beautiful to me.  I am trying to no longer care about what other people have. I have started to embrace the things that make me happy, make me fulfilled and make me at peace. Who would have thought that happiness can be found in using your imagination, getting a little dirt on your hands and spending less money.....in a thrift store!