I have a dream...

That one day, I will go to the grocery store and my toddler won't throw a tantrum.

Okay, that's a bit dramatic. 99 out of 100 times she is perfectly behaved while shopping. It just seems that when she isn't, it really gets to me.

I guess my real dream, or goal, whatever, is to appreciate Miss H more. To take note of the 99 times she is behaving nicely in the grocery store, or says "excuse me" to get my attention instead of screaming, or uses gentle hands even though she's clearly upset, etc.

Her big things lately is jumping. I have been making a conscious effort to tell her "Thank you for jumping on the floor" or "You have great listening skills and I appreciate that you're jumping on the floor like Mommy said" as opposed to waiting for her to jump on furniture and then saying, "Miss H, where do we jump? Are we supposed to jump on the furniture?" I'm trying very, very hard to focus on the good behaviour, and not necessarily ignore the "bad" behaviour, (I really hate the word "bad:, I need to find something that doesn't make my skin crawl), but to at least not focus on it very much.

Really, Miss H is such a good girl. I want her to know that, each and every day. I want her to never doubt how proud I am of her, and to know without a doubt, that even if she is behaving in a manner that doesn't make me want to praise her, I love her. Unconditionally. She is my child.

And even if she is tantruming in the middle of the grocery store, I'll still proudly claim her. Because let's face it, she throws a pretty damn good tantrum, too!

You don't fight?

J and I don't fight.

A friend once asked me, "How in the world do you and J never fight!?"

I don't know. I guess for me, it's like, how in the world could we? I love him too much to want to hurt him in any way, which would include fighting.

Don't get me wrong, we've certainly had disagreements. I've been annoyed and sighed a little too loudly or rolled my eyes. But we've never raised our voices to one another.We've never gone to bed unhappy with the other.

We just don't. There's no secret or magic to it all. We're just on the same page for all the important stuff (and some of it took some give and take from each of us to get there). And all the little stuff, well, it's just not important.

We respect each other. We love each other. Which makes it all easy. I mean, if he says x, and I say y, we can typically conclude with z and both be happy. But if not, if x is really important to him, and y isn't really at all important to me, then we go with x, and vice versa.

For instance on a very minor level, it's super important to me that we purchase free-range chicken and grass-fed beef, and preferably local. J doesn't care what kind of meat we eat. So obviously we go with what I want. I prefer gluten-free tortillas, though occasionally I'll go with sprouted whole grain. But if we are making chicken enchiladas, we have corn tortillas because J just won't budge on that one. And that's okay. We compromise in some areas. But really, the areas we are making compromises are the small things, so it just doesn't seem like a big deal.

I don't know. It's funny. The adults around me were always fighting while I was growing up. People yelling was the norm. I figured that's how I'd end up too if I were ever in a relationship. But I'm not. J is just so freaking calm, it's hard not to be as calm and stress-free as him. He doesn't sweat the small things, and I've definitely benefited from taking a page from that book.

So unless it's something that I can seriously say will make an impact on our lives 20 years from now, or be extremely important to us 20 years from now, I let it go. It's just not worth the fight.

Just a Momma

So, back to the getting accepted to Law School but not going...

Someone asked me "why?". Why bother to go through the effort of applying (and to anyone who has ever applied knows it's a bit of a pain in the ass) when I'm not even going to attend after being accepted?

Well...I didn't apply with the intention of not going. At the time, I did intend to. But then once accepted, I just had to be completely honest with myself.

I have zero desire to go to Law School. No wish to ever practice law (which, when put like that, who would want a career that they could never be proficient in???).

So why did I even apply to Law School?

1.) I've always said I would eventually go. I have no great passion, no career or job that I see myself someday loving, so why not Law?

2.) I was feeling a bit worthless when I applied. I was experiencing PPD, I felt inadequate as a mother, as a wife, as a human being in general, and I thought that maybe if I "did something with my life" I would feel better.

3.) I sincerely believed I would not be accepted, but then in 10 years from now I could at least say I "tried."

4.) I figured on the very slight possibility of acceptance, then I would go. Hands down.

But now I know better. Now I know I will not go. Perhaps I will never go. And I'm very happy with this decision.

It's okay to be "just a mom." I am still an extremely intelligent human being. My intelligence does not cease simply because I am no longer in some sort of school.

I am enough. Just as I am, a stay at home mom, I am enough. My husband loves me. My children love me. They are happy with me just as I am. And I am happy with me.

There was a time in my life when I thought for sure I would never get married. I would  never have children, and I would only be a successful career woman. But then I met J, we said "I do", decided to have children, and voila! (Okay, so if we are being honest, it might not have happened in that exact order...)

I wouldn't change my life. Not for one single solitary second. Sometimes it's hard. Sometimes I am so pissy because everyone is clingy and whiny. Miss H wants to nurse all freaking day and she has a crappy toddler latch and B is so exhausted that all he does is cry if I put him down for a second, but God forbid he actually sleep ANYWHERE other than in the Ergo on me. So of course that means that the house is trashed and the dinner I had meant to prepare is now going to be replaced by pizza (but aren't I eating Paleo? And don't I know the dangers of fast food and processed food...and now I'm putting that into our bodies!?) Agh! It's so freaking exhausting and difficult and all I want to do is take a hot shower. Alone. And I know it will never happen.

How could I not want to trade all of that in for a nice classroom and some peace and quiet? Because, those are my babies. Because H eventually looks up at me with a milky grin and says "I love you, Momma! Yummy milk! Let's read "Hickory Dickory" now." And I am so amazed that my barely two year old baby girl can speak in full sentences and I love that she cuddles and reads with me. And then the baby does fall asleep and his head is resting on my chest and he is the most peaceful, beautiful thing I've ever witnessed. And I cannot stop inhaling his scent, which I've finally figured out. It's love. The beautiful, untainted smell of love.

And when it's put like that, how could I want to do anything other than be home with them? They are the first, and thus far, only thing in my life that I've ever been so truly passionate about. They make me happy, every single second of my life, even when I think I'm losing my mind. They are the reason I try every day to better myself, to learn new things outside of my comfort zone.

Maybe if I had something else I was passionate about. Maybe if I'd had a career before having children. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe then I would feel differently. But for now, I just want to be their momma.

They won't be little forever. I know that. They will be grown some day and gone. And it will happen before I blink again. So maybe then I will go to Law School. Or maybe not. I'm blessed not to have to know right now.  I can be just a mom.

So instead of worrying about the future and what I may or may not be and do someday, I'll worry about today. Where I am "just a momma." And all I do is "take care of kids." And I will hold my milky babies and pray that I don't take a second of our sweet time for granted.

Don't worry, they wash

It astounds me each and every day how may people are afraid to let their kids get dirty.

Really? They're kids. That's their job!

I'm pretty sure I horrify a lot of people on a pretty common basis. Miss H wants to jump in mud puddles? Go for it! She's wearing a nice, expensive dress? It'll wash - just like her!

Just today while at the park it began to rain, so we, along with a few other moms and kids, moved under the shelter and had an impromptu snack time. Was Miss H bothered by the rain? No! She ran laps while the heaves spit at her. She swung on her belly and bear crawled over the pavement. The other children mostly stayed put and stayed dry.

But H had fun. And when we got home her wet, dirty clothes came off and she dried quite quickly. So why not let her play?

One of her and baby B's favorite thins to do is play in mud. Dirt is nice, but it doesn't smear like mud does. Miss H will happily make mud when our yard seems to be out of it. But it's okay, they really do wash!

With the exception of them being ready to go to church or for photos, they're allowed to get dirty. So yes, that means they often have on dirty clothes if they've found something out and about to get into. Or, when it's warm, they sometimes don't have any clothes on. I'm okay with that. They're small.

This often means I've also got dirty clothes on, from handling dirt-covered or food-covered babes. It doesn't phase me. I'm might not look like June Cleaver, but that's okay, because she isn't really who I want to be anyway.

I want to be the mom who said "yes" because the only reason to say "no" was silly.

So before you freak out over dirty hands or clothes, check yourself, and remember they will wash! Let them play and enjoy!!

Can I help you?

It never fails. Just when things start getting a little boring around here, something happens to make it all interesting again.

This morning while the babes and I were playing out in the backyard, and Jaime was in the front doing yard work, a girl who I presume younger than I, came waltzing down our side street, completely out of it. She walked in between our parked cars and into our yard.

Odd, I thought, even if she were coming to ask for something, that she would not either use our walk way or at least say something to me before walking through our yard.

"Hi," I said, trying to balance baby B on the baby slide.

She looked at me, then toward the house and walked right by.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked as she reached for the handle to our mud room door.

Again, she said nothing, dropped something from her hand, and walked into our mud room.

My mind was completely boggled as I watched her proceed to push through our back door and into our house. I scooped up both babes football-style, while Miss H too this time to announce, "I need to go poopy!"

"You're going to have to wait," I said, running down our side street like a crazy lady (the quickest way to get to J out front).

Shaking my head like crazy, both kids still in tow, and laughing because Momma is running, I yelled, but calmly, to J, "Someone just went into our house!"

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Someone just walked right by us, ignored me, and went into our house!"

J immediately neglected what he was doing and raced to the back, while the kids and I stood in the middle of the road.

At this point, I started to panic a little. I didn't have my phone on me, I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't know if this girl was crazy and had found a knife and was dicing my husband into pieces (yes, dramatic, but my head went there). And to make it better, Miss H was pooping in her pants. Not that it was her fault, by any means.

Just then, the man who lived across the street from the house behind us came walking down the street.

"Having a good morning?" he asked.

"Um, I was. But now there is a strange girl in my house. And J just went in there."

"Oh, she came to your house?" he asked, clearly not as thrown off by this whole ordeal as me. "She came into ours a bit of go. T (his wife) is calling the cops. She didn't seem threatening, but we want to make sure she's okay."

You want to make sure she's okay? I was thinking. She just walked into my house! J is in there with her. I want to know that J okay, not this random person who just technically broke into my home!

And then came T, still on the phone with the cops.

She told me how the girl had come into their house, likely through the back door. They had assumed it was their son, but when their dog didn't stop barking they left their bedroom to see who it was. When they noticed the girl they asked her name. She was clearly confused and out of it, and said she wanted to lay down. They asked her where she lived, and she told them "Here." When the girl realized she was not in her home, she got scared and left.

They were totally content to let her stay there and sleep. They are far kinder human beings than me. I wanted her out of my house!

By this point three cop cars had showed up and they had all gone inside where J and the girl were.

My neighbor picked up whatever she dropped, when I told him about it. He said it was a handkerchief and cigarettes, but I really have no idea. I never got close enough to check.

After what seemed like forever two of the cops came out with the girl in handcuffs, telling her that they were going to take her to the hospital because she was really confused and needed some help.

T, nearly in tears, said "Oh, that poor girl! Why did they have to put her in handcuffs? That's unnecessary."

I just shook my head. Maybe she didn't seem like a threat, hell, maybe she wasn't a threat, but she was high as a kite, clearly. And if she had no problems walking into random houses, who knew what else she could do? Whether it be to someone else or to herself?

After talking a bit to the third cop who came out shortly after, followed by J, the cops left and that was that.

J said when he walked into the house she was sitting on our couch. He asked her what she was doing, and she replied, "Waiting for someone."

"Not here, you're not. You don't know anyone who comes to our house," he told her.

The girl said nothing, so J suggested she go outside. The girl said "no" and then stood up and went upstairs to our bedroom and laid down on our bed (that was bare and full of baking soda as I was cleaning the mattress). And apparently that's where she stayed until the cops made her leave.

And to think, sometimes I feel like things aren't exciting around here. I will try to refrain thinking that from now on!

Yes, I actually enjoy mowing the lawn

Call me crazy, but I do. It's pretty much the only "me time" I get. Since having Miss H I haven't so much as gotten to take a shower or use the bathroom by myself. And that's okay. I knew what I was signing up for. And besides, pooping in privacy is totally overrated.

It never seems to fail that whenever I'm mowing the lawn, someone stops to ask me if I'd like some help. Now, I suppose I should be grateful that I live in a really awesome neighborhood where the people I rarely ever speak to are nice enough to offer to mow my lawn (some for a fee, of course...) but really, it annoys the hell out of me.

I'm totally competent and can mow a freaking lawn. Yes, there were times when J was on travel before baby B was born, and I'd be wearing Miss H and mowing with the motor -ess push mower, and I can kind of understand the offer. I'm sure I looked a bit ridiculous wearing a baby and mowing the lawn in flip flops (sue me, you will NOT get tennis shoes on my feet unless I'm working out. Period.). And during those times, I guess I'll give all the nice people some slack and not be too annoyed.

But otherwise, I'm mowing the lawn. I can do it on my own, although it may be surprising (thought I don't know why!). It's the only time I get to really think without worrying about anything else. It's fun. It's relaxing. It gives me some "me time."

And really, if I'm not going to be allowed to shower in peace, please let me mow my lawn in peace.

No one is judging you

Being a mom is hard. Like pretty much the hardest thing you'll ever do. For real.

When I started this amazing, yet incredibly daunting journey of motherhood, I felt like everyone was judging me. For every single little thing.

Admittedly, I didn't know what I was doing. Sure, I had a shit ton of experience with kids and babies. But when it's your own baby, it is a whole new playing field. Other people's kids, other people's rules. I was always good at following rules. So if they said baby was on a schedule, feed him at x time, or baby goes into the crib at x time, and let him cry until he's asleep, I was just kind of like, "Okay, it's your kid." I never thought twice about it, and certainly never judged how any parent raised their kid. Wasn't my place.

And yet, I felt judged all the time after I had Miss H. Before I became pregnant, I thought I knew exactly what kind of parent I would be. Turns out, I'm pretty much the opposite of everything I thought I'd be. And that's okay. But it made things terrifying and difficult, because I really didn't know anyone who shared my "crazy" parenting beliefs. I thought for sure that anyone who put their child to sleep in a crib judged me as being a horrible mother for sleeping with my baby. Anyone who fed their baby on a schedule thought I was awful for feeding on demand. As she got a bit old, anyone who saw her throw a tantrum and me wholly ignore it, other than to maybe say "You're mad and have the right to express your feelings. Let me know when you're done" instead of punsihing her thought I was entirely permissive.

And then it hit me. Why would they be judging me? Maybe I'm naive, that could totally be, but I'm not judging these other people for doing things differently than me. Not even a little bit. So why would they judge me for being different?

I mean, we are all just doing what we believe is best for our babes. For different families, and even for different children, different methods work best. I get that. I have two babes who are night and day different. I all ready do some things differently with them because that is just what works best for them. I get that.

But it's hard, I know, when someone does something differently, not to feel judged. I have zero issues sharing information on the different crazy beliefs I have. I will probably do that forever. A lot of people have told me "thank you" because they didn't realize there was another way of doing xyz, and now they do and that way works better for them.

Trust me, for a lot of things I didn't know there was another way. I learned because someone shared that info with me. Or because, while sleep-deprived and desperate, I just went with my gut instincts.

And then the really fun thing is when you change your beliefs. Yeah, it happens. One day you think that this is the best way to do things, you're pretty stuck in that belief, and then wham! You're like, "Hm, maybe this wasn't the best choice here. Maybe I should try this instead." Trust me, I've been there. It's hard sometimes, to even try that new option, because a part of you feels like that by doing something different you're admitting you were wrong before.

But that's not true. One thing might have worked previously. Now it isn't. So you're changing. Or maybe it didn't work from the get-go, but now you're armed with new resources. And that's okay! You weren't wrong before, you aren't wrong now. You're learning. We all do it.

I said I'd never give my kids pureed food. Miss H made it easy, she never liked it. But baby B...yeah, he eatsit. In fact, since he has started eating it (out of those dang squeezy pouches!) Miss H has decided that she wants them too! Only giving Miss H regular food as a baby worked with her. Although baby B will eat regular food too, he likes his purees. And so what? Different kids, different methods. And I've given myself a break and realized that I will not in fact go to Mommy hell for feeding my kid store-bought purees from a pouch.

Which really, is my biggest point here. I felt bad for doing xyz. I felt judged. But no one is judging me, other than me. (Okay, so maybe people are, I don't know. But in my happy bubble, people are more like me and pretty open-minded). I know I'm not judging others for being different and doing things differently, so I'm pretty sure they aren't judging me.

And besides, doing things differently is what makes this all fun! It'd be boring if we did everything the same. And if everything could only be done one way, we'd be royally screwed if that one way just didn't work for our particular family or our particular child. Then what would happen? Yeah...

So trust me, whether you choose wear your baby or put her in a stroller; feed your child only organic food or allow them free-reign of the Twinkies; use disposable diapers or cloth diapers; home school, public school or private school; or any of the other bazillion things I was once certain others were judging me for, they aren't.

No one if judging you. I promise.

Except for maybe yourself, but we are always our own worst critic.