And then they handed you a baby. Your baby. It was magic. You felt everything, and didn’t feel anything. You glimpsed heaven for a minute and you also wondered if you were feeling everything you’re “supposed to feel” in that moment.

Let’s get one thing straight right away…

There is no “supposed to”. You get to feel whatever you feel the entire way, and believe me…you will feel all of the things.

In just a couple short days they said, “Let’s check your carseat and send you home.”

You might have thought…with me?? Are you sure?? Who will help me get my latch right and make sure I’m having bowel movements??

You are beginning on a crazy, beautiful, journey and even if it doesn’t feel like it, this calling will soon fit like a glove.

In the (short) eleven years I’ve spent parenting, here are some things I’ve learned and things to expect…

1. When you try and eat anything your kids will appear. They will be like sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water. They start this the second they’re born. You put a fork in your mouth and they begin screaming like they haven’t eaten in 47 hours. When they’re older it will go like this…

What are you eating?

Nothing.

It doesn’t smell like nothing.

It’s medicine.

What?

With vegetables in it.

It looks like ice cream.

I can’t really talk about it right now.

2. “I slept like a baby” is the worst saying ever. What do they mean exactly? That they woke up crying 19 times in 8 hours and each time they had to make themselves a sandwich?

You will probably sleep like crap for a long time. You might be the rare exception, but probably not. You will experience the kind of tired that makes you want to go slap your pre-parent self in the face. Just remember…this too will pass. You will sleep again (mostly, sort of). Until then coffee.

3. Take care of yourself. I mean it. No one can run on empty forever. Go on a walk, go out for drinks with the hubs or friends. Take a long bath. Trust other people with your baby. Re-fuel your soul. You can do this, but you have to treat yourself well.

4. Gift shops are a TRAP, avoid them at all cost. You must keep at least twenty yards between you and that zoo gift shop. Your kids will say, “Mom I just want to look!”

Listen to me.

THEY ARE LYING.

They will not just look. They will fall in love with a stuffed tortoise and name him Felix. Felix will cost $99.99. Before you know it you will be dragging your spawn out while they scream NO FELIX NOOOOOOOO!

It will be like a very sad movie where everyone thinks you are kidnapping your own kid.

What a fun game.

5. Making promises is almost always a terrible idea. KIDS DO NOT FORGET ANYTHING EVER.

And remember…if you promise a bike ride a rainstorm and a headache will come, it’s science.

6. If you clean the house, they will wreck it. Every time.

Daily dilemmas include:

Should I sweep so they can spill breakfast on a clean floor?

Should I vacuum the car before they throw up in it?

Should I put a clean shirt on them so that they roll in the dirt?

Should I make healthy food so they can cry about it and finally eat one bite?

7. DO. NOT. GOOGLE. EVER. When in doubt call the doctor. Don’t ever google anything unless you enjoy panic attacks in the middle of the night.

8. You will nail parenting sometimes, and other times you will completely screw up. Period. Everybody is learning and trying their best. When you win, give yourself credit for being amazing. When you lose, say sorry, and then give yourself credit for being amazing. Love covers a multitude of mistakes and remember, you aren’t alone. WE ARE ALL MAKING THEM TOGETHER.

9. Time will go so quickly and so slowly. You will love your kids so hard it will feel like an actual knife in the heart. You will also have moments where you wonder if they have boarding schools for three-year-olds. Motherhood is full of contradictions. It’s normal and emotional, roll with it.

10. Don’t forget to find a tribe. Find the moms who get it. Find the ones who won’t judge you when the floor of your suburban looks like the land fill. The ones who will get coffee (or wine) at a moments notice. Find your people. They are out there just like you. You are not alone, ever.

10. Don’t worry, you’ve got this. I promise. You don’t need to be perfect (no one is) and you don’t need to know everything (no one does). Don’t forget to ask for help. Give yourself a break, kiss those little cheeks, and pat yourself on the back. You’re doing just fine.

I love the quote that says…

“Behind every great kid is a mom who’s pretty sure she’s screwing it up.” (author unknown)

You aren’t the only one who doubts she has what it takes. WE ALL DO THAT, and here’s the truth:

Keep loving.

Keep apologizing.

Keep forgiving (yourself).

You are going to be a way better mom than you think.

***

You can follow Jess and her crazy beautiful mess here, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

*P.S. If anyone knows the author of the quote please enlighten me!

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.

***

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.

***

What questionable things have you taught your kids??

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

This is my thirties.

I am still young-ish, but I do have the lines around my eyes. Dammit.

I’ll tell you what else I have…

Hair. Hair is sprouting everywhere you guys. I’m getting a new chin hair per month. Pretty soon I’m going to have a better beard than my husband. What once was a small crop of pube-overgrowth has turned into a wooly mammoth situation. I have to shave my thighs now. AS IF I DIDN’T ALREADY HAVE ENOUGH GOING ON IN MY LIFE.

A hangover after one Mike’s. Dear young ones, yes, this is a thing. Groggy, headache, zero motivation…the results of a lot less poor choices than you might think. Nope. Just one, singular, alcohol flavored Koolaid I found at the bottom of my parents’ ice chest.

Saggy boobs. I am guessing that this is because I grew behemoth nursing breasts. Normally I am a size A on a good day, so a DDD was a lot for the little ladies to handle. Now we have a deflated birthday balloon situation. It is every bit as sad as it sounds. My body is a memorial of  better times and wasted dreams. Luckily my months of boob-glory also included crying infants, bras that smelled of spoiled milk, and mastitis…just to balance out my overwhelming sex appeal.

My friends and I are looking for a Groupon for boob jobs; let me know if you hear of anything.

I am forced to make healthy choices. Sometimes it is truly a tragedy. For example, this gluten-free, dairy-free, egg-free bar thing. I bought this out of a case full of croissants. I try to tell myself it tastes good, but it doesn’t. It tastes like glue with raisins in it. The reason I do this is because my body is weird now. I am old enough to get heartburn like my Grandpa you guys; we both have to sit up in our recliners for awhile after a spicy meal.

Pee in my pants. Kids, that was a great game of Crack the Egg on the trampoline, but mom has to go inside now.

MOM PEED HER PANTS OKAY LET IT GO.

I’m too old to go to the Olympics for anything, unless maybe I become a phenomenal marksman. The other day I saw my high school career teacher. We reminisced about the good old days when I took a “job test” in her class. The test said I should be an FBI agent. We nodded in solidarity as we realized together that this was never going to happen for me. She said I’d probably be good at catching my kids doing bad things in high school though. So there’s that.

Being called Ma’am by the 16-year-old cashier makes me want to ask if it’s okay to call them Satan.

Nothing compares to the time I went to get froyo with my friends (two of whom were visibly pregnant) and the boy at the counter kept referring to them as “my girls”. Finally I was like, “Um. Do you think they’re my daughters?”

“Yes. Is that offensive?”

No, but I am going to go home and swim away in a river of tears, right after I burn this dress that I’m wearing.

I realized what high school math was for. My third grader’s homework, that’s what. Life has come back to laugh in my face because it only gets worse from here. I became a mother and a writer SPECIFICALLY TO PROVE TO MY CHEMISTRY TEACHER THAT I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW PERIODIC TABLES.

Touche’ Mr. E., Touche’.

Sleeping on a crappy mattress does the exact same thing to my body as what one might expect from falling down several staircases or participating in the Cross Fit Games.

I will do and wear whatever I want. Do you guys remember when that article came out about what not to wear after 30? I will wear sparkly pants, with big sunglasses, AND, a graphic tee IF I WANT TO. That is probably NOT what I want to do though, in case you were wondering. Probably I just want to keep wearing these yoga pants…the point is, I’m in my thirties and I do what I want.

I do have the lines around my eyes…but I do what I want.

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

*

Feature photo by C. Bowden Photography.

A friend of mine researches every health related issue, and spends her extra change on the supplements she reads about. It is her passion, and it’s how she loves her family and friends so well. I spend that money on lattes and stretch pants.

I look at the “Wait Until 8th” pledge and think, hell-if-my-kids-will-have-smart-phones- before-they’re-sixteen-atleast. I may end up eating my words (God knows I have before), but I just don’t want the internet in the back pocket of my teens. I have friends that give their kids phones as soon as they start playing sports. I totally get it. We both gotta do what we feel is best for our kids.

I have a friend that rarely (if ever) raises her voice or loses her cool. I DON’T ACTUALLY KNOW HOW SHE DOES IT. I would call my parenting style “fiery with lots of fire”. If I’m mad, or sad, or scared…my kids know it, but they also know that I love them fiercely.

I have a friend who keeps life simple so they can afford to send their kids to private school. She makes daily sacrifices to continue their education. Her love and dedication to her kids is amazing, and I’m humbled when I think about it, but I don’t blink twice when I drop my kids by the flagpole at our local elementary.

We are all good parents.

I choose babysitters like I’m recruiting for the FBI. It is a strenuous process. My friend will knock on the neighbor’s door and ask if the nearest tween would be willing to pop over for a minute while she runs to the grocery store. She high-fives the youth as she sprints out the door.

I am outnumbered by sisters who homeschool. They are good at it, and I can tell that it has had a healthy impact on their kids. I tried homeschooling once. I want my kids to still like me (and also know how to read), so I stopped. It’s not for me; I’m not good at it.

I have friends who baby-wised, who co-slept, and who attachment parented. I have friends who nursed and who bottle fed. I have friends that feed their kids snacks after dinner, and those who don’t. I’ve got friends who are working moms and stay-at-home-moms.

We are all over the map.

We are all good parents.

We need to trust ourselves more.

Each of us makes different decisions for our kids, but we are all fantastic moms. Do you know how I know that? Because we love them. We love them with our whole hearts and we do our best. Each of us would stand in front of an oncoming bus to protect them.

We would walk through fire for them, and sometimes we do.

The internet is a liar; there’s no “one-way” to do this well. WE DO OUR BEST…and guess what? OUR BEST IS ENOUGH, and even if it isn’t…that’s all we can offer.

There are a thousand, million, opinions out there about the “right” way to parent.

Sometimes we gotta let that shit go, and trust our gut.

There are some things that are out of our control, but as Jack from This is Us said,

We’re their parents,

we do the best we can,

but at the end of the day…

what happens to them?

It’s bigger than us.

Why is it so hard to trust ourselves when it comes to parenting?

Is it because we’re scared? Is it because parenthood has become more like an Olympic sport than an organic process? Is it because we look back at the mistakes our parents made and are scared to make the same ones?  Is it because we’ve realized that the standard we judged our parents by was actually pretty unfair and even impossible?

Is it because we think the preschool we choose might be the actual difference between raising a humanitarian or a drug dealer? Is it because we doubt that our love is enough? Is it because we long for a futuristic thanksgiving table full of friendship and laughter…not one we saw once on a SNL sketch?

Yes, I think so.

A word to my generation of moms…

We’ve got this. Mom guilt is a liar and the internet is a liar. No one can do it all. Trust your gut and do the best you can…we are in this together.

The kids are going to be fine.

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

These photos are compliments of the amazing @isaacjohnston at isaacjohnston.co.

I may have overshot my expectations.

First things first we got Starbucks. I got a triple, and I got cookie dough cake pops for the girls. They thought they were too sweet and now I don’t even know if I’m raising them right. Don’t worry, I ate all of them because WE DO NOT WASTE IN THIS FAMILY.

Target looked like it had been pillaged by vikings. There was barely even any clothing left to purchase in that place. Also, in case anyone is wondering, every child in America is a size 6 apparently. If you also have a six-year-old,  I will salute you in the hallway. I will know it is you by the high-waters and stained Disney T-shirt you “picked out” for their first day of school. Sorry kids, this year is not your year.

The stores were made up of frazzled Moms who decided to wait until the last minute. I think it is clear I have found my tribe: the procrastinators. The ones who go school shopping when there is no more Crayola paint sets left. We will be the ones trying to sneak our RoseArt into the supply bins. NO ONE NEEDS TO KNOW.

I heard more tight lipped interactions between mothers and children than I have in the last two years combined.

“Lola, come here sweetie…”

“Lola, come sit on Gramma’s lap honey, I said stop running please….”

“Lola sweetie…”

“LOLA GRANDMA SAID COME SIT ON MY LAP RIGHT NOW!”

“Lola honey…”

“LOLA RIGHT NOW STOP RUNNING!”

It was not a great day for any of us.

In case you were wondering, Lola did not stop running.

At one point I was digging through little girl jeans willing there to be a magical size change when my 6yo began to whine relentlessly.

“OAKLEE,” I said, “Do not whine please, this is FUN, WE ARE HAVING FUN.”

A woman listlessly rummaged through a pile of graphic-tees next to me. Her shoulders hung heavy while her children played tag among the sweatpants. She had lost her will to parent; I recognized this because I have been there.

She looked up with dark, hallow eyes, “You keep telling yourself that,” she said.

I nodded in solidarity.

At that point I decided it was time to checkout. I spent $100 and it is still unclear what exactly I purchased. I will tell you what I did not purchase, and that was shoes. I tried my very hardest to find them and it just really wasn’t happening for us. This is probably because my first grader and I have different interpretations of “gym shoes”, mine being: “gym shoes”, her’s being “ballet slippers with cheetah print”.

We gave up, agree to disagree, whatever it’s fine. Except, now I’m probably going to have to homeschool because my kid doesn’t have shoes.

We comforted ourselves with small cheese pizzas and chicken strips.

So, now we are exhausted. I have a sodium and caffeine hangover and we are the proud owners of a sweater with emojis on it.  SCHOOL, WE ARE READY FOR YOU…sort of.

Also teachers, I humbly thank you, because seriously.

As a new mom I felt very, very alone. I was also newly married, so I tried to make my husband into my girlfriend. He was a terrible girlfriend. First: When I had an emotionally crazy day, he was scared of me. Second: He does not like drama. He can hash out all of life’s problems in under 30 seconds. Third: He makes fun of all TV shows. Fourth: He doesn’t even like junk food.

I wanted to hash out life’s problems over a two-three hour glass of wine. I needed to verbally process the fact that my son’s diaper poop-sploded all over my grocery-filled shopping cart. I needed to laugh until I cried about rediculous topics. I needed to talk about the feeling that I was losing myself in motherhood and didn’t know who I was anymore.

For me, some things just don’t heal unless I can talk, be heard, cry, laugh, and be encouraged. Also, they don’t heal without junk food.

My husband is my best friend, but he’s not that best friend.

Somewhere along the line I woke up and realized that unless I wanted to kidnap the door-to-door Hoover saleslady and make her eat chocolate with me, I was going to have to go out and find my tribe.

Over the years, this is what I’ve learned:

Not unlike House Hunters, sometimes you just have to go out and find your people. You have to go to the coffee shop, go to that book study, or strike up a conversation at the park. It is like scouting for a Hollywood production company, except you don’t pay people to be your friend.

When you get a vibe you like, make the first move. I was terrified of 98% of my friends before I got to know them. I was terrified of rejection and that we wouldn’t find anything to talk about. I was terrified because they were probably perfect.

I was wrong.

DON’T OVER THINK IT. This is the dating period; you aren’t signing a blood oath of best-friendship. Keep it simple; invite them to the beach, or over for drinks…you won’t regret it.

*If you do regret it, pat yourself on the back for being brave and try again.

Be real. As you feel comfortable, start talking about the real stuff. Talk about the bad attitude you had when you woke up that morning or the fact that you forgot your kid’s school performance. Talk about your saggy boobs (that’s my go-to) or don’t change out of your hideous, but beloved sweat pants, and leave some dishes in the sink.

In my opinion, this is the true test of friendship. My closest friends passed this test, and at this stage of my life they are truly the only kind of friends I have time for. If I can’t be my authentic, messy self then I will have to pass, and the same goes for them. If they keep up a facade of perfection, I’ll also have to pass.

True friendship is about knowing and being known. It’s about being loved and accepted as you are.

It’s about being shipwrecked together.

Keep making the time. Friendship takes investment. It takes making time even though you don’t have any.  I recently listened to a podcast talking about how moms often sacrifice taking care of themselves…and one of the first things to go is friendship.

Nothing can replace time invested. It is hard to carve it out of the chaos, but the payoff is sanity. The payoff is roots that grow deep and friends who love you when your hair smells like wet dog.

The pay off is that your roots start to grow deep. They grow deep through miscarriages, through anxiety, and through sickness. They grow through rainbow babies. They grow through healing and celebration and triumph. They grow through hundreds of glasses of wine and hundreds of cups of coffee. They grow through hundreds of playdates, early morning walks, and late night texts.

There’s no substitute for time.

We all want to belong. None of us want to be marooned without our people.

My friend YOU ARE WORTH IT. You are worth the very best of friends exactly as you are today. No masks, no pretending, just you as you are.

There are millions of women in the trenches who get it, we just have to find eachother.

XOXOX,

Jess

For more like this you can follow me here, on 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’m too busy making mistakes and praying my kids turn out alright anyway.

I’m too busy looking at my musty smelling laundry pile and wondering if I should fold it or light it all on fire.

I’m too busy teaching my kids good work ethics which means saying “stop playing and keep cleaning” over and over until everyone is crying.

I’m too busy yelling that everyone needs to STOP YELLING and then wondering if I will ever be able to stop yelling. It’s not really looking good for any of us.

I’m too busy letting my three-year-old use a pacifier and my six-year-old wear Cinderella underwear as a bathing suit.

I’m too busy trying not to fight with my husband in front of the kids even though sometimes we make each other crazy (ESPECIALLY IN THE CAR). I say trying, because last week my three-year-old asked me why daddy and I sometimes argue like little kids.

I’m too busy wondering if that wet spot is from water, juice, or urine.

I’m too busy trying to assess if that Pterodactyl scream was a “we’re having fun” scream or a “blood has been shed” scream.

I’m too busy making risky calls like should I let my son wear that shirt with spaghetti sauce on it to church and do I tell my girls that it’s actually a “vagina” not a “bagina” even though bagina is way more awesome?

I’m too damn busy apologizing to my kids. I’m apologizing for misunderstanding them, for getting grumpy, for bumping their head on a doorway, for not believing them that their tummy hurt until they projectile vomited and for throwing away that ginormous popsicle stick art project they brought home from school.

I’m too busy apologizing FOR my kids, like, “sorry they ate all your snacks and asked you if there’s a baby in your belly”.

I’m too busy being overwhelmed by the fact that it’s already dinner time AGAIN and the food is still at the grocery store.

I’m too busy because this parenting gig is flying by at lightning speed and I’m hanging on for dear life hoping that when it’s over they will look back and say we were loved.

I’m not going to judge your parenting because IT’S HARD and YOU are the qualified one.

I’m not qualified because I don’t worry about your kids like you do. I don’t lie awake at night wrestling with decisions about schools, and friends, and behaviors, and obstacles in their precious lives. I don’t love them, ache for them, feed them, or say sorry to them like you do. I don’t know them. I don’t know their dreams or what makes them tick.

I’m eleven years in and I am now more certain than ever that there isn’t “one way” to do this well. I’m just trying to figure out how to parent my own kids and how many margaritas I can have without getting a hangover. Life is complicated.

If we can’t be real and share the struggle, then it just doesn’t work for me.

I’m a fan of all MOMS.

I’m too damn busy for anything else.

***

Cheers friends! For more like this you can follow me here, on Facebook and on Instagram!

If you oiled a 1950’s tractor with urine. We are a very slow moving machine that smells like pee, is what I’m trying to say.

It is a longstanding tradition in my family to create stressful family vacations. My grandpa used to pile us all in a motorhome so that he and my dad could argue over traffic laws for five days straight. I have fond memories of driving down the L.A. freeway in a giant monstrosity of a bus, while people sped by flipping us the bird.

I remember thinking, why aren’t the adults having more fun? 

NOW I KNOW WHY. Having fun comes at a cost. It comes at the cost of stress-related ulcers for the adults.

I was eleven, and I thought it was mostly hilarious to watch the adults simultaneously combust into flames, and also I thought Disney was awesome. So hashtag worthit??

I think my grandpa and dad would genuinely say so.

Vacation can take out the weak my friends, we must be prepared for this. First thing to do? Make realistic goals.

1. Create one special memory a day:

People still eat, stub their toes, poop, and get grumpy on vacation…and that doesn’t even include the kids.

There are the idyllic moments when everyone is playing together harmoniously. Other moments are pulling a slippery three-year-old out of the pool while she’s screaming.

There is going to be whole lot of normal surrounding a sliver of magical.

2. Family photos with everyone present.

I am D.O.N.E. trying to achieve photos where everyone is smiling like we are a Costco ad for vacations. We are embracing backwards shirts and crappitudes, because that is what we have to work with. I am happy if all people are present for the photo, even if that means one kid is laying on the ground crying because they want french fries.

3. Arguing with your spouse more than normal.

We love each other, we really do, but we do not love how the other packs the suitcase OR how they define “watching the kids at the beach”.

Me: Am I watching the kids or are you? Him: I am.

I chalk this up to being wired differently, even though I KNOW FOR SURE MY WAY IS BETTER.

4. Your family will annoy you.

We get away so that we can spend 24 hours a day with the people we love the most, except that turns out to be a lot of time.

I did not realize how much our kids bickered or ate before this. I am pretty sure getting snacks and saying “stop arguing,” is 85% of what we have done on this trip.

5. If your trip is long enough, someone might ask to go live with grandma.

This is hypothetical of course, but if hypothetically this did happen, this is definitely hypothetically when I knew the trip was a big success.

6. Things will not go like you planned.

Period. End of story. Write down your travel dreams on some pretty stationary and then light them all on fire.

The good news is, sometimes the best times come out of the unexpected. My goal this trip is to let go of control as much as possible. I can plan and prepare as much as I want, but at some point it’s best to let go and ride the wave.

8. You will get stressed. 

If you want to know what panic looks like, walk through an airport. I recently saw a dad yelling, running, and nearly crying. He was toting a Disney backpack and two pigtailed girls through LAX.

I feel like we don’t REALLY know what we are made of until we go through a TSA checkpoint with children. I wanted to high five this man, and say hey, we know you aren’t like this at home. Keep up the good fight my friend.

7. Remember why you’re doing it.

Why am I doing it? I’m doing it for the same reason that my grandpa and my dad did it. I’m doing it for the shared adventure and experience. I’m doing it to expand my kids’ minds and to spark their imaginations. I’m doing it to give them a gift that lasts forever. I’m doing it to have stories that make us laugh so hard we cry.

Honestly? Some of the best times are the ones when things went “wrong”, and some of the best memories are when the unexpected happened.

Good luck on your summer vacays my friends…

XOXO,

Jess

***

We are currently traveling the world with our four kids and our best friends. Special thanks to Sunwing Resort in Kamala Beach, Thailand for sponsoring a week of our trip. There is nothing like a kid-friendly place to stay to make family trips more doable and fun.

For more like this you can follow me here, on Facebook, and on Instagram. So far we have traveled to the Cook Islands, New Zealand, Australia, Thailand, Singapore, Vietnam…and we just arrived in Italy!

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!