I haven’t been myself this week. I’ve been more uptight and snappy than I should be. I asked you to be quieter when you were just laughing and having a good time. I sent you to the other room to wrestle even though I usually love it when you play.  I got mad and yelled when you got in a fight instead of paying attention to what you needed and listening to your side of the story. .

I haven’t been myself, and I’m sorry.  It’s been a weird week and it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Not a single bit of it is your fault. I let my stress get the best of me, and that’s the truth. I’m sorry.

I really thought adults had it all figured out, but I am one now, and it turns out I don’t. Sometimes fear snatches my heart and I can’t seem to think of anything else. I forget who I am and I forget to be strong. I forget to smile and to laugh. I forget to see you and to hear you even though you’re the very thing that matters most to me. I’m working on that.

So my darling, here’s what I’m going to do:

I’m going to suit up for another day. I’m going to throw on my cowgirl boots and show up for battle. I’m going to dig deep into my strength and tell fear to sit down. I’m going to choose faith and courage and I’m going to hold onto them fiercely. I’m going to strive to be the very best version of myself for you, my love.

Even so, I hope that my weakness teaches you something. I hope that when you come upon your own stress, tiredness, fear, and confusion, that you won’t feel shame because you will know I’ve been there too. I’ve been there many many times. We all struggle with those things and it’s quite possible that in the darkness you will find you’re stronger than you ever knew. Perfection isn’t required, but humility is and I already know you’ve got this.

I’m sorry I haven’t been myself. I’m sorry I’ve been off. I’m sorry for anyway I’ve hurt your feelings or made you feel like you were doing something wrong. I’m not saying I’m going to get it all right from here on out (I already know that I won’t), but when I fail I’m going to keep showing up, saying sorry, and trying again.

I’m going to dig deep into the strength I know is there.

I love you forever.

My darling, the future looks bright.

Love,

Mama

Be patient with me as I learn to let you go.

I know it’s time. I know you’re growing and becoming and that sometimes it’s uncomfortable. Be patient with me because it’s not just you who is adjusting, my love. It’s me too.

I know it’s hard to understand, but hear me out.

I dreamed about you before you were a whisper or a reality. I dreamed of you when you were so tiny in my belly no one could see you, but me. I dreamed of you when I was bent over a toilet until there was nothing left. I dreamed of you while I laid on the couch telling Dad that yes, I was sure I needed fries ASAP and another episode of Lost. I dreamed of you and I treasured you as my belly made my pants tight and uncomfortable, as my legs swelled, and as my cheeks grew full and my dimples deeper. I dreamed of you on the sleepless nights holding my belly and counting contractions like the midwives told me I should. I dreamed of you as I gave my body over to something that was completely beyond my control.

I’d never felt such purpose and anticipation, my love.

I dreamed of you when the contractions radiated through my body and I knew this was it. I dreamed of you as I labored through a pain I didn’t know existed. In my heart I knew you were worth every breath, every pain, every push. I knew, because I was the one who carried you. I carried you in my womb, in my heart, and in my soul.

You were my dream before the world even knew you existed.

I dreamed of you as the hospital room became a war zone and I fought with all my strength for your entrance into the world.

And then you were on my chest, there you were, my dream; my reason, my heart. You were all my purpose in one tiny body, pressed against my soul.  Every second was worth it, every single second.

I never wanted to feel that pain again, but I also knew I’d do it a thousand times just to hold you in my arms. A mother’s love is unexplainable; it’s unreasonable; it’s undone. A mother’s love completely belongs to her children. There are no corridors of her heart that are off limits.

Every door is wide open for you; I am all yours.

And then you grew.

Every day I doubted myself. I struggled to become the woman who I felt you deserved. I wanted to give you the world, but my actions seemed to fall short.

I dreamed of your future as I spent sleepless nights with milk soaked sheets. I dreamed of you as you sat screaming at me from your timeout chair in the thick of your toddler years. I dreamed of you when I cried myself to sleep because I was sure I was doing it all wrong and I so badly wanted to get it all right. I dreamed of you when I snuggled your warm body after a bad dream. I dreamed of you when I held your hand and walked you to your first day of kindergarten. I dreamed of you as I watched you run onto the football field for the very first time.

Someday maybe you’ll see. Maybe you’ll hold your own baby on your chest for the very first time. Maybe your heart will shatter into a million pieces and be built again from scratch. A love like this is impossible to explain until you’ve had the chance to touch it.

These baby, these are the days I dreamed of. I dreamed of the person you’d become; I dreamed of seeing you fly. Please be patient with me my love, as I learn to let go and let you stretch your legs and use your voice. Be patient with me as I go through yet another transition and becoming.

You’re growing, and I am too.

You were my dream before the world got to share you. You were my dream before your very first breath.

Be patient with me as I unclench these fingers and loosen these hands that have held you. Be patient with me as I relax these arms that have carried you since the first day you breathed life. Be patient with me as I recognize that the time has come to do less protecting and holding and more listening and cheering.

I dreamed of you and here you are.

And still I dream.

I love you more than you will ever know.

Love,

Mama

***

For more like this can follow me (Jess of Wonderoak) here, on Facebook, and on Instagram. Thank you for stopping by!!

My most recent “method” has been pretty advanced, it’s called: surviving.

The other day one of them had a meltdown at a friends house. I was late to get somewhere and I was in a hurry. The ending was abrupt and she didn’t take it well. She dug in her heels and I dug in mine and what ensued next was a battle of wills that escalated to level: shit show.

Afterwards I thought back wondering what I could have done differently. The nagging question I couldn’t get away from was: why was I in such a hurry?

I am always in a hurry, and I don’t know why.

Yes, I was late, but no one was going to die if I took ten minutes longer than I did.

I don’t think I could have avoided the tantrum, but I know that I didn’t help by adding in my stress to the concoction of emotions she was already feeling. Here sweetie, how about I add this lighter fluid to your fire??

I wake up in the morning and I already feel behind. The kitchen’s dirty, everyone needs breakfast, and I usually need (or want) to get out the door. I channel all my stress into rushing. I constantly feel like I’m driving down a road going as fast as I can and someone is tailgating me honking their horn. I don’t know if that’s part of my struggle with anxiety, or just my personality.

When one of my strong-willed kids has a blow up I try to rush through it the same way I do everything. I think I was looking at all those parenting techniques as quick fix-its. I expected them to work like a button I could push to stop the meltdown (FOR THE LOVE MAKE IT STOP) but that’s not realistic (at least for us).

What I haven’t tried is waiting. (Waiting…patiently.)

I don’t mean “waiting” as a new parenting technique to somehow teach them to stop (there’s no secret plan here), but waiting for the sake of waiting. Waiting because I’m a grown up and I could use some lessons in slowing the eff down.

Waiting because they’re little and I’m creating space for them to be little.

These meltdowns and tantrums are like storms. They will blow over. I know from experience that we will cuddle afterwards and we will be able to talk then, but they can’t talk in the moment. I have to give them space, and I have to give them time.

Yes, I need my kids to respect me and listen, however, there’s barely ever the rush I think there is for that to happen. The only rush is coming from my own impatience and embarrassment.

My husband and sons went out of town this week and so it was just me and my two girls. I decided to experiment and I gave myself one goal: slow down.

I can’t tell you how many times I felt the familiar angst and hurrying feelings rising up in my chest, but (most) of the time I asked myself this:

 What the hell is the hurry?

And then I told myself to SLOW DOWN.

And it was amazing.

There was only a couple meltdowns, but when they did happen I reminded myself that I didn’t have to be anywhere but there in that moment, and that I had all the time in the world to wait for the emotions to wind down.

I’m not saying all this because it’s a “fix” for all strong-willed kids everywhere. It’s not. It isn’t a fix for all moms and dads either, because we are all different.

All I want to say is if you are “hurried” like me, I feel you girlfriend. The struggle is real.

My new summer goal is this: slow the crap down.

***

For more like this you can follow me here, on Facebook, and on Insta.

Also follow my friend Liz, the photographer behind these beautiful photos on Facebook and Instagram. (*EDITS ADDED*)

I can’t give you perfection, but I can give you all of me, without holding anything back.

I can give you my whole heart.

I can let you see me laugh and cry and everything in between.

I can admit when I’m wrong (even if it takes me awhile to realize sometimes).

I can hold you when everything seems to be falling apart.

I know I will disappoint you sometimes. I wish that wasn’t the case, but it is.

I will hurt your feelings. I will snap when I should be kind. I will be hard on you when you need softness. I know that I will, (I have already).

I will let you down. More than I’d like to admit.

I can’t give you perfection, dear one, but…

I can listen when I realize I’ve hurt you. I can apologize and do my best to do better the next time.

I can be your safe place when you mess up (again) and believe me, you will mess up a lot.  We all mess up a lot, my love.

My eggs are often overcooked and I always burn the toast, but I will give you enough to grow and think and dream. It will be enough to be an astronaut or a lawyer or an artist.

I am messy and disorganized and I forget to sign your school papers.

I’m fiery and sometimes I react before I think it through.

I’m grumpy, tired, and stressed more than I’d like to be.

I can’t give you perfection, not even close…

But I can give you room and space to feel your emotions too.

I can give you my listening ear to hear your stories, your fears, your struggles, and your dreams.

I can give you my best and my bravest. I will never stop loving you or striving to do better by you. You are my treasure, my star, my firework.

My heart is yours, forever and for always.

I will partner with you and stand by you through every hardship, and through every milestone.

I won’t be perfect, but I will be present.

Despite how I fail, I pray that you will know how widely and deeply and safely YOU ARE LOVED. The thing is, dear one, I can’t ever give you perfection, but I don’t expect perfection from you either.

Feel free to make a mess and to make mistakes. I will be right here by you. I have lots of experience with messes and we are in this together;

Every. Single. Step. Of. The. Way.

Love,

Mama

***

This pic is compliments of my amazing friend Liz. You can follow her sweet lifestyle blog on Insta &Facebook.

For more words like this, you can follow me here, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

Look, I know that’s tempting. I dropped the F-bomb at the kiddy park today when my dog pulled over my stroller and later mom-handled a isntshetoooldforthis tantrum from my four-year-old. In that moment, I remembered how my friend used to use a fake name at the bar, and considered that that might be a good idea for me at the park. Hello, I’m Veronica and these are my kids Kevin, Stuart, Jenny, and Britney. You will not find us on Facebook. Please forget we ever met, kthanksbye.

On my walk home, I remembered for the thousandth time that the only people I want in my life are the ones who take me as I am. I am a mom who has five months of hair grow out, enjoys long walks alone at Trader Joes, and swears when startled. That is who I am. I am also madly in love with my kids and husband, I’m a loyal friend, and I’m passionate about social justice issues.

If someone doesn’t accept you with your flaws, they don’t deserve your gifts either.

The mom-koolaid is the idea that we have to have it together, and it’s a load of toddler poop (toddler poop comes second only to dog poop in grossness amiright?). Connection requires that we keep it real, and honestly, motherhood has required that I keep it more real than ever before.

Being a mom has pulled out all the gold in my heart, and it has pulled out all the crap too. I thought I was patient-ish until I became a mom. If someone had ever recorded my husband and I’s middle of the night feeding conversations, you’d know what I mean. It was really precious.

Motherhood accentuates our flaws and it enlarges our hearts 1000x its original size at the same time. It IS MESSY, it is exhausting, and you need people who GET IT and GET YOU more than ever.

I think there is so much shame attached to our flaws as parents because it matters so much to us. I’ve never wanted to be good at anything more than I want to be good at being my kids’ mom. I want to stay connected to their precious hearts forever. The facts are though, I make mistakes daily. I struggle with being the best I can be while shaking off the mom guilt that sometimes grips my heart.

My current struggle is with how distracted I am through the day. I’m distracted with my phone, distracted with my work, distracted with the fact that I’m pretty sure my butt is getting big. This struggle is exactly that though, it’s a struggle. It’s a wrestling with wanting to be the best I can be, while also loving myself how I am (just like I want my kids to love themselves how they are).

Motherhood is wonderful, it’s beautiful, it’s messy as hell, and it has the potential to be a very lonely job.

Don’t drink the mom-Koolaid. NO ONE has it all together. I PROMISE.

You have nothing to prove.

If you are around people that make you feel like you’ve got to pretend to fit in, either stop pretending and see what happens, or find new friends.

You are worth it exactly as you are today, and if you don’t have any one else to say this, let me say it:

I see you in your mess and your flaws and YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.

Your kids love you more than you think.

Your tribe is out there, I promise.

***

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I’m laying on my bed hiding right now. I can hear the kids bickering as they get ready for bed, and a little voice calling for water and a song. I’m tired and weary to my bones. I will get up anyway. I will go kiss little foreheads and pray a prayer. I will get the extra sip of water and I will listen while they tell me about their toe with the sliver. I will say, “Okay sweetie, no more talking. It’s time to sleep now, ” but then I will still say “uh-huh” a couple more times as I sneak out the door.

Now that I’m a mom, I’ve learned that motherhood is a lot more about showing up than it is about anything else.

It’s about showing up when you are tired, and scared, and exhausted, and mad. It’s pulling yourself through the motions when you have nothing left to give.

There were times in my life when I expected perfection from you. I expected you to know what to say and to never get tired or upset. I expected you to be a goddess instead of a mother, and now I know; now I get it.

I dream back about my life and I can imagine how you must have felt (just like I do now). I can imagine it because I’ve walked ten miles in your shoes.

Now I know, you were perfect.

I don’t judge a single decision that you made, or a single thing you said. I get it. I understand.

I understand what you sacrificed. I understand now how you laid your life down for my brother and I. I understand how you put things on hold to give us all you could. I understand how you wrestled with every decision you made.

I imagine how you must have felt the first time you held us in your arms. How you must have felt such love, such magic, and been oh so overwhelmed.

I imagine the tears you must have cried, that I will never know about.

No matter what happened in our lives everything felt stable because of you. “It will be fine, you’ll be fine, we are fine,” you said. Now I know that you said that even when you were scared.

In my teen years and my young adulthood I looked for what broke me. There was so much talk about counseling and inner healing. All those things are good, sure, but I was broken because we are all broken. It wasn’t anyone’s fault and it definitely wasn’t yours.

You did your best and that is the most precious gift anyone has ever given me.

You showed up again and again and again.

You came and tucked me in when you were weary to the bone. You tried your best to get it right, and you apologized when you thought you got it wrong.

I will never again hold you or anyone else to the impossible standard of perfect.

Thank you Mom.

You did an amazing job.

I understand, and now I know.

I know my kids won’t understand half of what I do. I know I will frustrate and confuse them. I know there will be times when they will wonder at how I let them down, and that’s okay. I haven’t been perfect, I have made lots and lots of mistakes, but I will keep showing up again and again and again…

just like you did.

Maybe one day they’ll walk ten miles in my shoes and they will know, but even if they don’t, I’m okay with that.

You taught me how to be a mother, and amazing mother…

Thank you Mom.

***

For more like this you can follow me here, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

The thing I’ve noticed is that when I don’t pretend, I find my people (the ones who don’t pretend either), and to me that reward is everything. Literally everything.

So to the women, the moms, the people, who don’t pretend…

THANK YOU.

Thank you for your bravery.

There is no one more beautiful to me than you.

There’s no one more beautiful to me than my friend with a messy bun on top of her head, a kitchen sink overflowing with dishes, a screaming baby on her hip, and a struggle she’s in the middle of.

There’s no one more beautiful to me than my friend who walked through a terrible miscarriage open and vulnerably, and is now holding her rainbow baby in her arms.

The reality is that life is raw and unpredictable.

There’s no one more perfect to me than the ones who walk bravely in their imperfection.

There’s no house I’d rather be in than the one where real people live. The ones where there are messes, dirty laundry, true stories, laughter, and tears. I will take my friends with all of it, and a glass of wine on the side.

There’s no greater gift than to be invited into another person’s truth.

So please don’t think when you don’t pretend it doesn’t matter to people. It really matters. It changes the status quo and it reminds all of us that we are alright and that messes can be beautiful.

Maybe just maybe, our kids will learn not to pretend too. Maybe just maybe, they will come to us when they’ve failed and made epic mistakes. Maybe instead of hiding and lying they will share their tears and share their struggle with us, like we’ve shared our struggle with others.

All we can offer our kids, our friends, our partners, our world, is ourselves. The truest, rawest, most honest version is the most powerful one (whether we feel that’s true or not). When we stop pretending we are are one step freer, and when we stop pretending we free others to do the same.

Our kids, our families, our friends, don’t need a Pinterest worthy living room (although those are nice), they don’t need socks that match every day, or someone who never ugly cries. They need us.

So while I was thinking it would be cool to have kids dressed like miniature fashionistas instead of children who rolled out of a Goodwill bin…those days will be few and far between.

I’m okay with people seeing that this mama is a hot mess.

It makes it easier for my tribe to find me and I firmly believe…

I’m enough as I am, and you are too.

***

For more like this follow me here, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

JOIN THE WONDEROAK SISTERHOOD

Shop Sister I Am With You shirts here

For every 20 shirts sold, one shirt will be sent to someone in need of some sisterly support (this is done via nomination on Facebook and Instagram).

Sister, I am with you is a message of solidarity between moms and women. It says I AM FOR you no matter what.

I don’t care if your house looks like the bottom of a cereal box. I don’t care if you’re makeup is fresh or three days old. I don’t care if you smile a lot, cry a lot, or yell a lot. I don’t care if you breastfeed or bottle feed, or if you like a glass of whiskey at the end of a long day. I don’t care if motherhood fits you like a glove or like a too-tight pair of pants that ride up the nether regions. I don’t care if you house smells like lavender or dirty diapers. I don’t care if you stay at home or have a full-time job. I don’t care if you’re keto or paleo or eat a lot of frozen pizza and carrot sticks.

I AM FOR YOU. Sister, I am with you.

10% of proceeds will go to Women for Women International to support and empower women in areas of conflict and war.

ALSO, join Wonderoak Tribe on Facebook.

Like do you mean right now while my kid is spread eagle on the Target floor demanding a slushy? Do you mean when I make dinner and half of the family is crying because it looks weird? Do you mean when I clean the toilets and I wonder how the pee reached the corner under the trash can?

I can do it; it’s worth it. But enjoying every minute is a different type of pressure.

In truth, there are a whole lot of minutes I feel annoyed or tired.

Being a mom is hard work, and that’s okay. It’s okay to admit it. It’s okay to cry about it and to vent about it. That doesn’t make us bad at this, and it doesn’t mean we love our kids any less.

It makes us human. It makes us “doing the best we can”.

I didn’t enjoy every minute when my nipples were cracked and bleeding, when I was falling asleep sitting up because I was so tired. I was anxious, I was milk-soaked, and I was overwhelmed.

When I look back at pictures of my babies during that time, I wish for them back. I wish so hard. It WAS way too fast.

BUT, if I look back at myself, a brand new mama, I wouldn’t tell her to enjoy every minute. I’d tell her to just breathe, it’s all going to turn out fine. I’d tell her she seemed like a fantastic Mom. I’d tell her it’s okay to be overwhelmed sometimes, and that we all are. I’d tell her not to listen to the voices that question her every move (whether internal or external). I’d tell her to enjoy what she could and cry (or scream into a pillow) when she needed to. I’d tell her that motherhood is a constant state of becoming someone we didn’t use to be, and that transition can be hard as crap. I’d tell her it would be worth it and she was going to do great.

I’d tell her not to lose herself.

I’d tell her she was enough (even though it is the hardest thing in the world to believe it).

I’d tell her there are other people whose microwaves look just as gross as hers.

I’d tell her to give away the pants that don’t fit.

I’d tell her that she will NOT under any circumstance be able to enjoy every minute.

I’d tell her to tell to speak her truth when it was hard. I’d tell her she’d find a wonderful community of women that way.

My kids are all past toddlerhood now and I still don’t enjoy every minute. Not even close. I struggle really hard to be present sometimes. There has never been a time when my kids were arguing or whining where I thought “this is so enjoyable“. What I thought was, GOD HELP ME NOT LOSE MY EVERLOVING MIND.

I know it’s easy to remember the highlights and forget the sweat and tears that come with parenting, just like we forget the pain of childbirth. When I think of my sweet babies snuggled in my arms, a part of my heart breaks in half, because it was the best and most wonderful.

But would you remember with me just for a moment?

Would you remember the sore nipples?

Would you remember the sleepless nights and the tears spent wondering if you were doing it right?

Would you remember the fog that comes with being a mom in the thick of it?

Would you remember the messy parts of raising kids?

Would you remember the constant-constant of motherhood?

Would you let us know you remember?

I’m already sad that this will be over before I know it. I already wish I could slow time down, but that doesn’t make this less intense and constant.

They are worth every tear, they are worth every glass of wine, they are worth IT ALL.

When these moments are all over I’m positive I will wish for them all  back.

But this is hard too and that’s okay.

We will enjoy what moments we can like flecks of gold hidden in mountains of dirty laundry and a drawing I just found on my favorite couch pillow.

***

For more like this you can follow me here, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

JOIN THE WONDEROAK SISTERHOOD

Shop Sister I Am With You shirts here

For every 20 shirts sold, one shirt will be sent to someone in need of some sisterly support (this is done via nomination on Facebook and Instagram).

Sister, I am with you is a message of solidarity between moms and women. It says I AM FOR you no matter what.

I don’t care if your house looks like the bottom of a cereal box. I don’t care if you’re makeup is fresh or three days old. I don’t care if you smile a lot, cry a lot, or yell a lot. I don’t care if you breastfeed or bottle feed, or if you like a glass of whiskey at the end of a long day. I don’t care if motherhood fits you like a glove or like a too-tight pair of pants that ride up the nether regions. I don’t care if you house smells like lavender or dirty diapers. I don’t care if you stay at home or have a full-time job. I don’t care if you’re keto or paleo or eat a lot of frozen pizza and carrot sticks.

I AM FOR YOU. Sister, I am with you.

10% of proceeds will go to Women for Women International to support and empower women in areas of conflict and war.

ALSO, join Wonderoak Tribe on Facebook.

I’m so sorry I mouthed.

“You are totally fine!” She smiled encouragingly. A minute later a woman and her older daughter walked by and said, “You’ve got this mama! You’re doing a great job!”

I continued on as a human straight jacket.

I don’t find myself in these positions as much as I used to, and today my sanity stayed intact. It was partly due to the kindness of strangers cheering in my court, and it was partly because I’d already finished a double espresso on ice.

My friend said she broke into a cold sweat on my behalf though.

When the other kids got home from school they were like wild, feral children. They hollered and beat their chests and jumped on furniture like they’d never been in a house before.  I shooshed them and admonished them to pleasefortheloveofgodcalmdown. It didn’t really work by the way, but we survived.

Even so, as we sat around the dinner table tonight and I looked at each of their faces, I had one of those moments where my heart was filled with gratitude.

Even though my life is notably crazy.

Even though they are wild, feral, opinionated, obnoxious, and exhausting.

I remembered why I do this. The world stopped spinning in chaos and I forgot all about my mental list of to-dos. I stopped and I saw. I watched them while they told their stories and ate their pasta. I laughed when they giggled hysterically at their own jokes.

I remembered why I chose a life of absolute insanity, instead of one where my hair is washed and my pants smell nice. I remembered why I choose to live a life of constantly repeating instructions and dragging children off of playground equipment they do not want to leave. I remembered why I don’t mind that my kids are bottomless pits forever asking for snacks.

I didn’t choose them because it would be easy, I chose them because I wanted to give my heart away to something that mattered.

I have given it away, and I never want it back.

It doesn’t really matter if I spend ten minutes hostage on a bench in public. It doesn’t really matter if I spend an afternoon corralling them like wild buffalo.

Sometimes the moments where I truly “see” are few and far between. Sometimes I find myself caught in survival and simply breathing through a tantrum so I don’t start screaming too. That’s normal, I think. I don’t think there is anything wrong with feeling the pain of the life we choose. It isn’t always easy and it requires all of our strength. It requires that we show up again and again and again. It requires that we see our own flaws in the plain light of day and it is hard sometimes.

I think it’s healthy to share the struggle, because make no mistake…it IS a struggle. Pretending it’s something we can “enjoy every second of” isn’t helpful for anyone and acknowledging the struggle doesn’t make our joy or our gratitude any less.

I am so grateful to have so many moments that I do enjoy with all of my heart, and I am so grateful for the rest of it because it is all so very worth it.

I wish I could squeeze time into a bottle and save it forever.

They smell like sunshine and wild air. They are so very precious.

I chose this life, I choose it, and I will keep choosing it from now until forever.

So, my friend, whether you are having a moment of nostalgia or a moment of surviving you’re doing it right. We all have both. I am cheering you on from the sidelines…just like those ladies did for me today.

***

Jess Johnston writes about motherhood and keepin’ it real here at wonderoak.com, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

Photo by the hubs @grahamsjohnston.

Swearing.

Yesterday on our way to church my oldest son realized he’d forgotten something at home and hollered out a perfectly timed swear word. My husband and I looked at each other. I didn’t know whether to be stern, or a little proud.

Husband: What?!

Kid: What?

Husband: What did you say?

Kid: What?

We do not have a swear jar in our family because I still need to be able to afford Costco runs and lattes. We don’t call them “bad words” we call them “adult words” because swearing is an awesome perk of being a grown up: wine, no bedtime, and swearing. I try and keep these words to myself, but one never knows when one will hit one’s head on a cupboard or get cut off in traffic.

I grew up in a conservative home where there was zero swearing. This resulted in pretty bad swearing anxiety for me in junior high. Like, how do you just slip in those words so nonchalantly? I had zero cursing chill. I’d do my best to drop a d-bomb whenever I could, but my friends would still say I never swore. DID THEY EVEN KNOW HOW HARD I WAS TRYING???

That will not be my kids future. Nope. They are being groomed for a very non-awkward transition into adulthood. You’re welcome kids. When I do overhear them I will raise my eyebrows and say WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT???! And they will be all, mom, come on.

Farting.

When I met my husband he was thrown off by the fact that I never passed gas around him. I just knew in my heart he wasn’t ready for that. When I did finally “break the barrier” he was horrified and he’s been wishing I would stop ever since. What did he think it would smell like, a field of daisies???

In my family growing up “toots” belonged in the bathroom ONLY. I don’t think I was created for that lifestyle, mostly because of stomach aches. I’ve been becoming more and more free ever since.

Recently I was in a Ross and decided to let one out in the children’s clothing aisle. I calculated that it was a silent one.

It was not.

It rang like a siren through the store, echoing off of the walls with such force that I wanted to melt into the clearance rack. I panicked, then a moment of clarity.

My sweet three-year-old was looking through the dresses. I bent down and said loudly, “OH SWEETIE DO YOU NEED TO GO POTTY?”

It was not a proud moment for me.

BUT, there are a few perks to motherhood, and this is one of them.

The point is, we are a free form farting family. My kids have zero gas shame, which is really only a problem on road trips and in church.

Dancing.

I’m not what you might call a “good dancer”, but what I lack in skill, I make up for in passion. If my song comes on it really doesn’t matter where I’m at, I gotta move, and the kids are the same way. We will spontaneously break out in dance in the car, in the grocery store, at the gas station, and on the side walk. It’s kind of like a flash mob, except the uncoordinated version.

My oldest son is the exception. He still thinks wrestling is the same as dancing, so he just starts attacking his brother and his brother starts yelling (that’s fun). He’s going to love mosh pits.

Apologizing.

Sometimes I react and my brain catches up 30 seconds later. That results in saying sorry a lot. I used to feel bad about that until one time I overheard my two middle kids in the other room getting ready for school.

Him: “OAKLEE, MOVE, YOU’RE IN THE WAY!”

*Pause*

“Sorry  Oaklee, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

Her: “I forgive you.”

Suddenly I felt proud. None of us are perfect. Not me, not them; so apologizing well is an awesome tool to have.

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So, we’re still reading great books and talking about confidence and kindness, but we’re also dancing and passing gas.

I love my little family exactly as we are…quirks and all.

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What questionable things have you taught your kids??

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