The Sisterhood of Motherhood

My daughter screams upstairs. I'm making her put on pants...AGAIN. It may be 50 degrees outside but sister does not want pants and she is going to let everyone in a 3 block radius know. I'm downstairs with the nice child, my 20 month-old, who hasn't learned yet how to throw a really good tantrum. I treasure these last meltdown-free months.

This is not a going "my kids are so awful but they're really actually wonderful and I need to treasure every moment" post. It's just not. There are plenty of amazing posts out there but I just didn't feel like writing one today.

This is a post to remind you (to remind ME) that we are not alone in this. That, when your child is screaming, melting down, throwing stuff and overall just being an unrecognizable maniac, you are not alone.


I see you struggle with what to do next. Do you pick the fight? Do you give in? Do you walk away and give space or do you accompany the maniac in the tantrum? I SEE YOU.

I hear you use your most patient tone. I hear you lose it and yell. I hear you bargain, plead and cajole. I hear you whisper words of love and encouragement. I HEAR YOU.

I feel your heart break for your child's pain. Whether it's about something significant (but I really WANTED to see that friend) or something ridiculous (I said I wanted the BLUE underwear!), I feel your frustration and your sadness as you watch your child unravel. I FEEL YOU.

The truth is, we've all been there. Maybe some of our kids are more laid back than others (if this is you, can your kid talk to my kid, please?) but we've all been in the thick of it. We know the moment will pass but that does not take away from the suckiness (yes, I'm really that eloquent today) of it.

Know you are not alone. This motherhood we live in? Yeah, it's a sisterhood. That means that, at any point in time, if we are honest and forthright, we can share and receive affirmation from fellow mothers around us. The mud you might be in now and the mud you may be in later is familiar mud to the Sisterhood. We've been there, we KNOW how sticky it can get.

So reach out. Be honest. If you're in a good space, CELEBRATE IT! If you're struggling, LET THE SISTERHOOD KNOW.

We moms need to stick together. Our job is critical and our cargo is precious.

In the meantime, there is wine. There are bubble baths. There is laughter (these kids are FUNNY so do yourself a favor and laugh at them...and with them, I guess that's nicer, right?).

And there is the Sisterhood.

You Can't Turn Off The Motherhood

It's a beautiful day in New England and I am outside with my two daughters. Harper, my youngest, splashes in our kiddie pool. She hates the feel of grass on her feet and refuses to take off her shoes so, there she is, stomping her feet and splashing away with her shoes on. Her sister, Charlotte, the complete opposite, hasn't touched a shoe in days. "I want to wear BARE FEET, mama."

Charlotte, after a brief foray into our 1980s kiddie pool, goes inside to change her clothes. Again. She's worn 3 swimsuits, 2 shirts, 1 dress and at least 3 tutus today. Changing is her favorite pastime and, since her sister is outside in the pool and I can't leave her, I'm in no position to put up a fight.

So I hang with the wee one outside while her sister proceeds with her day-long fashion show.

Sister comes out in wool black-and-white polka dot tights and a navy striped long-sleeve shirt. It's 85 degrees.

Jesus, take the wheel.

After an anything-but rational conversation with this threenager, she acquiesces and returns inside for something more appropriate. She comes out in a bathing suit (perfect) with a snack cup filled to the brim of bunny cookies. Which she got from the cupboard after moving the stool, opening a brand new package and pouring its contents into her favorite purple snack cup. I don't even want to know what the kitchen looks like.

Serenity now.

My daughters are hilarious. And crazy. And busy. And fun. And hard and challenging and (what's a nice word for pains in the asses?) spirited. I wouldn't trade them in, I really wouldn't. I am freaking obsessed with them.

But sometimes, I wish I could take a break. A REAL break. Not a "wander around Target while they're with the sitter" break.

Mother's Day was wonderful this year. There were flowers, a new necklace, a coffee date with a friend and, most of all, there was my wonderful family. But I had a moment in the middle of the night (my youngest cried and I had to run down and help her find her pacifier) where I realized there really are no days off in this whole "being a mother" thing.

That's not to say there aren't kid-free vacations in my future (Barcelona, I'm looking at you!) or lazy Sundays when are kids more independent and sleep past 7am.

What I mean is that, there is no off switch. There is no "time out." You can't turn off The Motherhood. 

The Motherhood isn't a job. The Motherhood is a state of being. No, a WAY of being. To turn it off would be a departure from myself. From who I have become and from who my children have made me. The Motherhood is my most significant lens through which I see this world. It's permanent, there's no going back. 

There is no off switch because I will never stop caring that Harper needs help finding her paci at 2am. Or that Charlotte tries to con me into letting her eat bunny cookies for dinner. There is no off switch for the love. There is no turning off The Motherhood. 

I find myself in the throes of The Motherhood when I read the news or when I see other children. From my neighbor's precocious toddler with ice cream all over her face to the image of the Syrian mother carrying her baby in a donated Ergo carrier, my heart cannot stop being a mother. I see these faces and these children and my heart opens up to them, even though they are not mine. 

Because, you can't turn off The Motherhood.   

And it's HARD. I sometimes wish I could care less because it would require less of me. I wouldn't be haunted by stories of hungry babies or abused children. I wouldn't so wholeheartedly believe that there is no such thing as other people's children. It would be so much easier that way. 

Ah, but The Motherhood. It won't let me care less. It won't turn off. It won't go away. 

And you know what? Thank God. Because I don't want to miss any of this. The fashion shows, the middle-of-the-night stirrings, the ice cream faces and even the pain in the world. Because to turn away from some of it is to turn away from it all.

***If you are looking for a way to care for children, consider The Compassion Collective, a new initiative that uses no donation money for overhead, aids Syrian refugees and homeless youth in our country. Started by Cheryl Strayed, Glennon Melton, Rob Bell, Brene Brown and Elizabeth Gilbert, it's the organization I'm choosing to give to in this crazy time. 

It's All True

How can so many things be true at the same time? My brain is having a hard time coping with all of the information it's been receiving. Let me give you a few examples:

My daughter is finally potty-trained (praise be, Hallelujah!).

Beyonce walked the red carpet at the Met Gala... alone.

My 16-month-old's favorite word is "cheese" and she says it every time she sees a phone because she assumes it will be used to take a picture of her.

Donald Trump is the presumptive nominee of the Republican party. 

It's time to plant my early crops in my vegetable garden even though warm weather may never actually arrive.

Jojo Gaines is officially the coolest woman alive. 

Mother's Day is this weekend and OMG I love my mom and need to send her something.

We don't hear even a quarter of what is actually going on in this world on the news.

Just finished a presentation to a group of Beachbody coaches about expanding their reach.

Princess Kate was on the cover of British Vogue and HOW DO I GET A COPY?

My husband is residing our house beginning this summer and the scaffolding he ordered just arrived.

I just heard a piece on NPR about two Syrian families living in refugee camps in Macedonia with their children and I just cannot imagine.

I think Charlotte may be getting ready to give up her afternoon nap. She is over 3, after all.

One of the children from the NPR story sits on her father's lap while he strokes her hair. She just vomited from food poisoning - a soup kitchen's egg sandwich.

Harper is just like her older sister- loves her warm milk after her nap. My sweet 16-month-old sitting with her big sister on the couch makes my heart swell.

One of the father's at the camp in Macedonia traveled with the rest of his family from Syria. The father and their 6-month-old daughter were separated from the rest of the family while being loaded onto boats. Rather than being breastfed, she drinks milk out of a bottle on his lap as he wonders how they will reunite with her mother. 

How can all of these thoughts coexist? How can all these realities coexist? How on earth can there be so much abundance and so much lack? How can there be so much beauty and so much need? So much silliness and so much gravity? 

I have no answers, I offer no wisdom. I'm just here witnessing to the fact that this world of ours is a paradox and we dwell in it. That when we open ourselves up to the extremities, we open ourselves up to the truth. It's all true. All of it.

We exist in paradox. We care about silly little things and huge, world-changing things. We get stuck in the weeds of every day life but also see the landscape of our time. And you know what? It's all true. It's all real. 

And if that makes you feel crazy sometimes, you're not alone. 

5 Ways Parenting is Like Being a Teenage Girl

Being a teenage girl was SO fun, right? As if.

While I was lucky enough to escape the teenage years relatively unscathed (belly-button piercing scar excepted), I still thank the Good Lord that I am not thirteen. Or sixteen. Or nineteen. Nope, I am 29 and will forever stay here. No matter how hard Cher sings, you can't turn back time, people. Be realistic (this does not apply to me). 

In addition to being a teenager (let's be clear, this was only like, 10 years ago for me), I was both a camp counselor and a high school teacher for years. I actually ADORE teenagers. They are amazing. Really, I have nothing but love for them.

But, they are intense. Like, really intense. You know what I am saying?

I thought that, being the 20-something gal I am, that I had escaped the tumultuous time of my teens. Then I had children. While my girls are far from being actual teenagers, I am reliving my teenage days IN ALL THEIR GLORY. Let me count the ways... 

The drama. You thought middle school was dramatic? Goths and cheerleaders have nothing on my daughters. If there was a crying Olympics, my children would medal. EVERY. TIME. Seriously, villages in Africa could exist off their tears. Not only would my daughters medal due to the volume of liquid produced, but the lightning speed at which it is produced! Oh, you didn't want that kind of cheese? PUDDLES.

Someone is always telling you what to do. You may have forgotten but, being a teenager is hard. Your voice is seldom heard. Any control you have is pure illusion. Sound familiar? It's kind of like life with my two lady monsters.
     Mama, do not go upstairs.
     Mama, this milk is cold. I want it hot.
     No potty breaks today, mama. (Ok, I am making this one up but you feel me, right?)
     Put Harper in the pink dress, mama. I want us to match.
      

via GIPHY   

The Ups and Downs. When I was a teenage girl, I could have the best moment of my life AND the worst moment of my life in the span of half an hour. This is SO my world now. One minute, Charlotte is reading to Harper and the world stands still and I think, "I am the luckiest lady in the whole wide world." And the next minute, I am in a total "Jesus, Take the Wheel" moment as Charlotte catapults her sister off the coach and the puddles ensue. Perhaps it has something to do with how BIG my heart is for these kids. I feel ALL THE FEELS as if I was going through adolescence again because never before have I been so exposed, so raw. The entirety of my heart is walking on four unstable legs right out in front of me. It's enough to make anyone feel bipolar.

The moodiness. While I put out a ton of moodiness during my teenage years, I also had to deal with a lot from my sister and friends. Here I am again! I am 1000% biased but my daughters are super cute and sweet. AND THEN THEY ARE NOT. 
       Mama, where is my tutu?
       Which tutu, Charlotte?
       The one like cousin Caroline.
       Hmmm let me see, this one? (holding up incorrect tutu).
       No. my. Red. TUTU!  


via GIPHY

The butterflies. Oh the butterflies. I would get crushes on EVERYONE. All. The. Time. From my very first boyfriend Clint (I lived in Texas, people) to the boy who asked me to roller skate with him (I still hold a small candle for you, Adam), butterflies were a way of living. Just one look at that special someone's face and I was done. Well, being a parent is like that, too. Amidst the chaos, all I need to do is take one look at my daughters and the butterflies are back. It's really incredible. I love what Dax Shepard said in an interview about his new daughter, Lincoln, "When I look at her, it’s like when I was in 7th grade and fell in love for the first time, where it’s debilitating. That’s available 24/7 if I want, which is amazing.” I mean, RIGHT?!?!

There is so much to wade through as a teen and as a parent. From angst to acne (oh, the ACNE!), these two phases in life run the bases. Yet, I find myself reflecting on my teenage years with more fondness now that I've put them in perspective. How brave I was to navigate all of that! I'm not sure I could do it again.

But, here I am. In the throes of more tears than I've ever seen, more drama than I've ever made and, most of all, more butterflies than my heart can handle. Would. Not. Change. It.