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

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 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.

I laughed like it was a joke (because that’s what I do when I feel awkward).

I took the kids and we continued down the street feeling kid-shamed.

I think I understand her perspective. This is her street and she’s probably lived on it upwards of fifty years. It would be hard to deal with change and disruption of her normal. It probably feels like the invasion of the Brady Bunch.

However, I often feel like we bother people by being us. Not necessarily by anything we do, but just the idea of what we “might do”. When we’d wait our turn for our passports and tickets to be checked at the airport, we’d hear heavy sighs behind us like, gawd are you kidding me. I felt like turning around and saying, “FYI sir, we paid for six tickets, you paid for one, so we have every right to be here.”

Kids are a normal part of society; it’s always been that way. You are not actually entitled to a child-free life. Sorry, not sorry. You don’t have to have them yourself, and you can go to as many adult-only things as possible, but you don’t get to expect that we are going to keep kids out of your way in the world we all share: parks, sidewalks, grocery stores, restaurants (yes, I take my kids to restaurants and I won’t apologize), the beach, airplanes…etc.

We teach our kids to respect people and to not act like wild animals (except the four-year-old, she’s kind of a loose cannon). We teach them to give up their seats on a train for an elderly person and to look someone in the eyes when they shake their hand. We teach them not to wrestle or yell in inappropriate places and to say please and thank you. They aren’t perfect at it by any means, but they’re pretty damn good. Outside of that, I will not apologize for having kids, and I won’t apologize for my kids being…kids.

I won’t apologize for them laughing loudly while they ride bikes in the cul de sac. I tell them not to yell, but I don’t feel bad when an occasional “whoop” slips their lips. They are kids. Kids are a normal part of life.

When we asked for a rental application for a certain house, the property manager replied with a simple one line e-mail, “Sorry this house is too small for your family.” It was a three bedroom, which is the size of home we’ve always lived in. No questions, no asking if we were sure it would work for us. It was a clear “blow off” from someone who didn’t want to be inconvenienced by children. (If you’re ever in that situation, know your rights).

These “annoying kids” are the future.

A baby in an airplane who is screaming is not “annoying you” and making your flight terrible, they are likely in a lot of pain. You can put on your headphones and crank the music. I guarantee this scenario is a lot worse for the baby and for the parents than it is for you.

I’m not trying to start an argument here (although I might anyway), and I’m not even trying to villainize anyone for being annoyed at my kids…hell, I get annoyed at them too we should have a glass of wine and commiserate together. But actually…buck up buttercup.

Kids are a part of life…period.

In my opinion, they bring a lot of sunshine and joy to the world. I know I like mine.

We visited a church recently where all the generations were represented. We were welcomed like family, the kids even received several handshakes and someone went to find them crayons.

I loved it.

We need each other.

We need the grandmas and the grandpas and we need the babies and the obnoxious four year olds and everyone in between…
like it or not.

***

Jess is mama to Malachi (10), Scout (8), Oaklee (6), and Haven (4). She writes about the joy and the craziness of kid-raising here at wonderoak.com. Her and her husband Graham are currently moving across the country with their crew. You can follow here, Facebook, and Instagram.

The cashier tells me the total and I open up my purse. Damn. There are like 400 receipts, 5 hot wheels, 2 graham crackers, and mass amounts of tampons to dig through. I imagine the people behind me sighing. Half a chocolate chip cookie and a sock fall to the ground as I finally pull it out triumphantly. How you like me now? While I swipe it I think; did I transfer that money? I can’t remember…fingers crossed.

I hear the receipt printing as the three-year-old shrieks for the thousandth time, “THIRSTY! THIRSTY! THIRSTY!” I want to be like, “Listen guys don’t call the authorities, it’s high fructose corn syrup she’s after.” I take a second look at the people behind me though, and none of them look fooled. They all look like either drill sergeants or high school principals. They also look like they would rather be on a space ship to Mars than behind me in line right now.

I feel relief rushing over me as the cashier tears off the reciept and hands it to me to sign. It is only then that I hear the “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Listen Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.” It’s my eight year old. My eight year old’s voice is like white noise to me. It has something to do with the tone…I NEVER HEAR HIM.

WHAT?! I ask very sweetly, because I feel very sweet when I am red and embarrassed and sweating profusely.

“Can we get…”

“NO.”

“What are we doing tomorrow?”

“NO.”

It is then that someone says, “Wow, you sure have your hands full…” and then laughs awkwardly like this is something I have never heard before.

Listen stranger who is wearing clean pants,

I have something to tell you…

It has been exactly eight years since I have gone ANYWHERE publicly with my kids and NOT been told that. Eight years since I had my second son and suddenly my hands were “full”. This has been society’s prime (if not only) commentary on my life.

YES, I do have my hands full.

Saying this is not helpful.

I won’t clobber you if you say this and I won’t throw a moldy pb&j at you either…I won’t even be offended, but there are a lot of things that would be awesome to say, and this is not one of them. This is like saying to a person who’s balding, “Wow, no hair huh? Your scalp is shiny.”

Here are a few ideas of other things to say:

Your family is adorable. Especially that one who’s red and screaming.

I can tell you’re a good parent by the way you pinned your six year old like that…do you work out?

I like your yoga pants.

Can I offer you a glass of wine?

Listen people, I would even settle for a fist bump. 

Yes my hands are full, but this isn’t something unfortunate that has happened to me like a house fire or a fender bender.

I like each of my kids, in fact, I love them. They are treasures that have brought more joy to my life than I could ever possibly describe.

This life is a gift that I’m thankful for every. single. day.

Some days, just not until I’ve had a hot shower and a glass of wine.

No regrets.

I chose these kids and I chose this life.

Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll do my bi-annual purse cleaning.

***

*Now to those who are about to comment that those people had the best intentions, I know, this is all in fun ;).

For more like this you can follow me here on Wonderoak, like my page on Facebook, and follow Wonderoak Blog on Instagram!

I guess It teaches patience. At least I’m assuming that’s what it does, it hasn’t worked on me yet, but we are all awaiting this gift with eager expectation.

Here are the 6 laws of dinnertime with children:

1. Someone will always fall out of their chair. It’s science. There is a 98% chance that this will happen to one particular child (who shall remain nameless) multiple times every single night for the rest of your life.

2. Someone will be moved to tears (not the happy kind) over your meal of choice. The more work you put in, the more they will hate it. You will insist they eat it anyway, and let them know how it makes you feel when they act like your dinner is the worst thing that’s ever happened to them.

This will result in weeping and gagging while they choke out, “Thanks for dinner mom”. This will make you feel so much better.

3. It will lead to very interesting conversation. For example your oldest son might tell you how funny it is to tell his teachers he’s going to the bar to have a beer after school.

4. You will forget who likes what. Wait I thought you were the kid that liked avocado?? Doesn’t matter what you chose, you will be wrong.

5. Someone will ask for more of something before you’ve even dished yourself up. You will be the only one that doesn’t eat dinner while it’s hot, and you are also the only one who even likes dinner. What are the odds??

6. The after dinner wreckage will be as though a hurricane of food blew through your home. You won’t even be sure HOW the crumbs made it all the way to the couch…but they did.

WHY?!

Dinnertime is the ultimate character building experience. I think that if someone is looking for enlightenment they should look no further than my dining room. Come one, come all, find out what your made of. Think you’re a basically “good” person? Let’s see what making a lasagna and watching people cry over it before “accidentally” smashing it into the carpet does for you.

I think Jesus wants to call you to the next level of holiness.

If you are raising kids who you want to have fond dinnertime memories (but mostly it’s the worst), then you are my people and here are my survival tips:

I make what I want for dinner anyway. There is going to be weeping no matter what. Breakfast and lunch are usually kid-friendly, but dinner is the sliver of humanity I cling to. They can take my dignity, but they cannot take my fish tacos. We will eat adult people food for dinner and I will not make multiple meals. Aintnoonegottimeforthat. Whether it’s stir-fry, curry, or soup, I don’t keep the veggies separate, I mix it all together, and I don’t do substitutes.

We don’t force feed, but we also don’t do snacks after dinner and the kids know that.

If you are looking to remove the drama from dinnertime, this is not a quick fix, however I will say that it has gotten better with time. Two of my kids are currently obsessed with siracha (??) which is both confusing and wonderful.

****

We are traveling in Thailand right now and doing this at home has made them so much more adaptable. We ate from street vendors last night and every single one of my kids tried all the things and enjoyed them. Except the littlest who kept crying because she just wanted french fries (she is three, thank you for understanding).

I have zero hope that she will ever like vegetables, but I warrior on.

We will take all our miracles as they come.

For more like this you can follow me here on Wonderoak, like my page on Facebook, and follow @wonderoakblog on Instagram!

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I see that you’ve grown over night. Your face is more defined, your eyes look older. A part of me is excited and in awe; I know you have so much ahead of you. Another part is scared because time is racing and I can’t slow it down. I’m afraid that I haven’t always been awake and noticing, and that somehow I have slept through the magic of your growing. I wonder, have I enjoyed you enough? Have I given you what you needed? Is your heart still whole? Is your spirit unbroken?

I’m not always good at this. I’m not always as good as I want to be at being your mom. I want to be great; and sometimes I am, but sometimes I’m not.

Sometimes I get it, and sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes I do it right, and sometimes I completely miss it.

Everyday I make mistakes.

Sometimes I snap when I should be sensitive. Sometimes I lecture and give chores when what you needed was a hug. Sometimes I completely and utterly miss it. I know that I do. I mistake your pain for complaining or your sad heart for a bad attitude. I watch myself miss it, and later I grieve that I didn’t respond differently.

I miss it when I am tired, and you get my leftovers at the end of a long day. I wish that you didn’t, but sometimes you do.

I miss it when I am scared. I am scared of big things and little things. I really thought adults had it all figured out, but I am one now, and it turns out we don’t. Sometimes fear snatches my heart and I can’t seem to think of anything else. I forget to relax and to enjoy you. I forget to smile and to laugh. I’m working on that.

I miss it when I am lost. I’m struggling with my own demons and it has nothing to do with you. Sometimes it’s anxiety or it’s depression, but it’s never, ever your fault. I will keep striving for wholeness so that when you reach those obstacles I can help you do the same.

I know that it is easy to hang on to the negative things and forget all the positive, but I want to set the record straight. When I look at you I am SO. PROUD. When I look at you I see good. I see someone who is mighty. I wonder how I have been trusted with such a treasure. Your heart is pure and soft. You are gentle and kind, you are vivacious and fierce.

I am forever your biggest cheerleader and your greatest fan.

Please keep helping me to see you and to know you. Keep telling me when I hurt your feelings. Keep sharing with me your fears and your insecurities and we will figure it out together.

I’m okay with making mistakes, but I’m never okay with losing your heart. Your heart is what matters to me.

I hope that my weakness teaches you something. I hope that when you come upon your own brokenness, tiredness, fear, and confusion, that you will be okay with it. I pray that your imperfections won’t scare you as they have me. I pray that you won’t run from them, but that you’ll wrestle with them and you will keep showing up, saying sorry, and trying again.

We don’t always get it right and that’s okay.

We are all professional mistake makers, and you will make lots and lots of mistakes. You will make countless amounts of mistakes, just like I have, but not one could darken the light I see when I look at you. You are my treasure, you are my reason.

Even though life is racing by, sometimes we have a moment. Sometimes we can reach out, grab time, and hold it. The world stops, all is quiet, and we really see each other. In this moment when I glimpse the person you are and who you’re becoming, all I can think is…

Wow.

On this morning, where it seems you’ve grown overnight, I want to tell you that you are wonderful. You amaze me everyday – and as I watch you, you inspire me. You inspire me to pull out the greatness that’s inside me. In this family we will make mistakes, but we will keep doing it together and we will keep holding each other other tight.

It turns out I’m never, ever, going to be perfect, but I am always and forever yours, and I’m always and forever on your team. That I can promise you.

I love you.

Love,

Mama

Written by Jess Johnston

If you love this, you may love my new nationally best selling book “I’ll Be There (But I’ll Be Wearing Sweatpants)” https://amzn.to/3vuyWxN

My kids.

I was right. A week later we brought them. We got a paper tray full of peanuts and my husband instructed everyone that their shells were to be thrown on the floor. I guard the carpet under our kitchen table like a prison warden, so my seven-year-old’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas. His shrill, villainous, laughter could be heard across the bar as he plowed through peanuts just so he could throw the shells to the ground. Graham busted out his pocket knife and my nine-year-old set to work on the table with the prowess of a young Michelangelo.

We are such good parents.

We ordered beers and a pitcher of root beer. I don’t think my kids have seen that much soda in their entire lives. Everyone was so stuffed from circus peanuts and carbonation that we fed our family of six on just one pizza.

Friends, that hasn’t happened since 2007.

Thought the era for hitting that cool pub or brewery had to be traded in for a mellow night at Sizzler? Think again. Bars are awesome for families and here’s why:

Because they are LOUD. If you have to shout to each other, it is the perfect volume for a family outing. No one will notice if your kids are yelling, spilling, whining, or crawling under the table.

Most importantly: you will barely notice your kids are yelling, spilling, whining, and crawling under the table.

You can wear whatever you want and no one will judge. Sweat pants and hoody? Cool, there’s an older gentlemen at the bar wearing the exact same outfit.

The wait staff aren’t always polished, but my friend neither is your five year old.

You can have a drink…If there’s ever a time to have a beer, it’s when you’re out to eat with toddlers. Amiright?

Bar food. If you don’t want teeny tiny sophisticated portions, if you want to eat burgers, pizza, and fish and chips the size of your head…If you want to know that a place has a legitimate ranch option…then a bar is the place for you.

Because drunk people are super encouraging. When I was in the bathroom trying to coax my daughter to “wrap it up”, an older lady with big hair and a couple dozen earrings thought WE WERE THE CUTEST THING EVER, NO, SERIOUSLY SOOOOOOOO CUTE…Thank you, I think so too.

Because even if we are annoying people...then clearly it’s not us – it’s them. They’re at a bar with sawdust on the floor. Someone needs to lower their expectations.

Because bars are awesome. Carve on the table. Throw your peanuts on the floor. Does this not sound like kid heaven?

It sounds like everyone heaven.

Because what happens at the bar, stays at the bar. And by that I mean the crumbs, ALLL the crumbs. I mean the rootbeer that spilled and the dirty dishes. I mean the grease fingerprints all over the table. ThankyouGodandallthatisholy.

Your floor will remain intact and your kitchen won’t look like it belongs in a frat house (#everysingledinnertime). You can go home and take a bath. With bubbles. Yaaaaaas.

So, let other families hit up Pizza Hut, reserve classy places for date night – and take your kids to the bar.

That’s what I do.

For more like this you can follow me here on Wonderoak, like my page on Facebook, and follow Wonderoak Blog on Instagram!

I’m so excited about my newest post for Motherly, because, FOR REALZZZ.

Mornings before kids:

1. Get self ready.

2. Get self in car.

3. Go.

Mornings now:

1. Wake up children.

2. Go to the kitchen to start breakfast.

3. Hear no noise from children.

4. Holler at children every 30 seconds.

5. All appear, except one. Your future seems bright, you keep hollering.

6. You hear last child thrashing and grunting violently. This is the worst moment of his life.

7. Child finally emerges. It is unclear if he is human or zombie.

8. Child sits on couch.

9. Child becomes one with the couch.

10. You call frantically to them while making eggs: “Shoes!” “Hair!” “Clothes!”

11. Child stares into space.

Read more at Motherly…