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.

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 ;).

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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.

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We are never going to be perfect. Sometimes we are going to be messy, and human, and moody.

Sometimes we are going to feel real crappy at this. That’s normal I think.

Sometimes we are going to lose our cool. Like when I held the tablet out the car window and threatened to let it break into one million pieces if EVERYONE DIDN’T LISTEN UP RIGHT NOW. I scared them so badly that then I spent 45 minutes comforting them.

I’m going to call this bonding.

Somedays we might not want anyone to touch us. We won’t want them to tap our face, or jump on our back, or caress our cheek tenderly. We won’t want to share our skin AT ALL on that day, and then we might wonder if Queen Cersei is more maternal than us.

Sometimes there’s going to be a thing “that good moms do” that we don’t want to do. Like crafts for example. Mostly I would rather light my own hair on fire than do a craft.

Sometimes we will want to escape from them. We will want to go somewhere without questions or sticky hands or crumbs. We will want to run and run and run and hopefully end up somewhere that has wine and back massages. If not, then Target will also work.

Sometimes we are going to feel more tired than loving. Like when my kids touch literally everything in a public restroom and I wonder if it is cool to use hand sanitizer on their entire body.

Sometimes we will spend a whole day just saying, “I just said DON’T do that!”

The thing is…

Sometimes we are just going to show up without any warm feelings, or nice thoughts, and it will still be love.

It will be an incredibly strong and resilient kind of love. It will be a mom kind of love.

Sometimes we are going to clean a disgusting toilet while also having an identity crisis (WHAT HAVE I DONE WITH MY LIFE) and it will be love.

Sometimes we are going to tell them “no” and they will not act loved. They will act very very mad and neglected, but it will still be love.

Sometimes we are going to cry in our pillow at night wondering if we are doing a good enough job…and it will be love.

Our love is often unseen and unsung, but it is real and true and beautiful.

I don’t care what your day was like today. I don’t care if you lost your temper or you never put on a bra or if you didn’t get out of bed…you are doing a great job. I SEE YOU. I see you putting bandaids on invisible owies and I see you microwaving quesadillas when you are long past running out of steam. I SEE YOU. I see you singing one last bedtime song when all you want to do is eat an entire Toblerone alone in the bath. I SEE YOU.

I also see that sometimes you don’t sing that last song. That’s OKAY too.

I hope you feel proud of the mom that you are. Not the mom you might be one day, not the one you wish you were, but the mom that you are.

Our kids are not comparing us to a supermom they saw on Facebook or Pinterest. They aren’t wishing we were someone else. They aren’t hoping that one day we will get it together and be more organized, and they aren’t embarrassed that we haven’t done laundry in three weeks.

No one is harder on us than us.

No one has an impossible standard for us…except for us.

Let’s stop wishing we were someone else. Let’s stop wishing for different strengths and gifts and be the moms that we already are. Crafts aren’t my jam. So be it.

Let’s give ourselves a giant break.

As long as we keep them off of Pinterest Birthday Party boards I think everyone is going to be just fine.

To my fellow warriors in the trenches I honor you today.

Today celebrate all your successes and all your wins.

Happy almost Mother’s Day. Now, let’s gear up for some  burnt toast and average flowers.

I SEE YOU.

XOXO

Jess

***

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

You are really excited for their future parent-teacher conferences.

2. DRAMA. That noise that sounds like they’re being de-limbed in the back bedroom? That is the noise the youngest makes when their sock is “bothering them”.

3. You feel optimistic about their future in Politics, Reality TV, or Kickboxing.

4. They are a little power-hungry. One day they ask if you will play with them. You say yes, and then they say, “Okay, you are Cinderella and I am the evil step-mother. DO THE DISHES!” You are not really sure what this means, but you are scared.

You wonder if they offer villain-for-a-day instead of princess-for-a-day at Disney.

5. They never EVER want to watch the same thing as ANYONE on family movie night.

6. They work the system. You realize this when you ask them to carry their coat and they say, “I can’t because I’m a baby tiger and I only have claws.” and you say, “Oh, right, okay.”

Half way to the car you think…wait what??

7. With the first you were a perfectionist, with the last you are truly a free spirit. And by free spirit I mean they are probably going to get more cavities than all your other kids combined.

8. They have every single person in the family wrapped around their finger. Every. Single. Person.

Except that middle child, he’s on to her.

9. They pretend to be helpless and everyone believes them. They don’t put on their own shoes until they’re like eleven.

Let me rephrase that: please God, let them put on their own shoes by the age of eleven.

10. They are not boring. When it comes to personality they bring their A-game. They have a loud voice and big opinions. Kind of like a lap dog that thinks it’s a Doberman. By the time you reach post-bedtime you are ragged. You have earned that ice-cream. You have earned it, and you will eat it, and you will sometimes cry.

Tomorrow is a new day.

11. People offer you advice. They say, “You know, my Henry did that. I just looked at him one time and I said ‘NO’. You should think about trying that, it really works.” You want to commit an act of violence, but you don’t…because you’re awesome.

Hang in there.

12. They have received actual disciplinary measures from the grandparents. You didn’t know there was a line that was crossable. Your youngest found the line, and then they bulldozed that shit.

13. They seem like a baby FOREVER. They use things like pacifiers, boobs, diapers, and cribs for a debatable…if not concerning amount of time and their sole contribution to household chores is picking-their-nose-in-the-corner.

They just seem so little still.

Except NOBODY thinks that, but you. Especially not your other kids during said household chores.

14. You’re the best at enjoying them. You’ve seen how your other kids have blown through stages and milestones in a whirlwind blur. You take more moments to notice with your youngest, to smell them, and to hold them.

15. They will always be your baby. You can’t help it and you don’t want to help it.

They are the Sriracha to your stir-fry, the cherry on your sundae. They are the last piece of the picture. It’s sorrow mixed with joy to watch your littlest grow big, knowing each stage will be “the last time”. You wish you could bottle up those giggles and kisses and keep them forever.

Your littlest stretches you to the max, but your heart is fuller than you ever could have imagined.

You wouldn’t change a thing.

***

If you are new to Wonderoak, we have just begun a world trip with our four kids and best friends!! We just arrived in the Cook Islands this morning and I already want to come back a thousand times again. I can’t wait to tell you all about it!! To see more about our travels click here. 

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

Feature photo credit: Marianne Wiest

You are not going to get advice from me on teaching toddlers to read, or getting your kids to stop gagging on their vegetables. I could however offer a step-by-step guide to watching them chew on the same vegetable for two hours, until you eventually give up and let them spit it out.

I am not very perfect at parenting, but I do love my kids enough to cuddle with them while they smell like pee, and I feel like that’s kind of a lot.

I’m not perfect, but I am enough…and so are you.

I enjoy them enough. 

Sometimes I smell their hair and I kiss their cheeks. I laugh at their jokes and I marvel that I am so blessed. Time stops in moments like that and everything is perfect and worth it.

Other times I am unsure if I will survive the hours of 4:00-8:30 pm, and if one can die of overexposure to bickering.

One can. I’m sure of it.

I enjoy them enough.

*

I am good enough at bedtime. 

Sometimes we read together. We snuggle on the couch and I read them Hardy Boys or Anne of Green Gables.

Other times I race through a bedtime song like I’m Alvin the chipmunk. I punctuate it with a kiss and I run outa there like it is a hostage situation. (Because it is). They cry out after me that their water is old, that their backs itch, and their underwear is twisted. This is when I hide behind the freezer door shoveling cookie dough ice cream into my mouth, wondering who will give up first…me or them.

I am good enough at bedtime. 

*

I am together enough. 

We eat meals together. We love each other, and we laugh together.

I also lose all school papers even though they come in a convenient shade of neon and my daughter (age 6)  just asked me that, “if I’m going to come to her school today could I please wear ‘real’ clothes?” Then, on the way there (in case she wasn’t clear earlier) she asked me if I remembered my pants.

I am together enough.

*

I am fun enough. 

Sometimes I take every single thing too seriously. Like crumbs and clutter and teeth brushing. I have an out of body experience while I am lecturing them and I wonder if they will remember anything other than me being grumpy.

Other times I laugh so hard with my kids that my stomach hurts.  We play games, we go on hikes, and we dance in the living room in our pajamas.

I am fun enough. 

*

I’m good enough at housekeeping. 

Sometimes I pick crumbs off of the carpet and throw them under my couch. Sometimes the downstairs bathroom causes me to imagine the Health Department coming to my house and posting a D- in my front window. I fantasize that they will shut us down and we will be forced to eat at our parents house every single night from now on.

That sounds wonderful.

Other times my house is vacuumed and my counters are clean. I’m playing coffeehouse radio on Spotify and there’s a candle burning.

 I am good enough at housekeeping. 

*

I am good enough at self care. 

Sometimes I cannot recall my last shower.  I go to the grocery store with a pillow imprint still on my face and a pair of sweats that the 18-year-old cashiers never wanted to know about.

Other times I wear makeup and I brush my hair…and nothing…not a thousand rabid hyenas can keep me away from a ladies’ night.

I’m good enough at self care. 

*

I am a good enough wife. 

Sometimes I’m a great listener and an epic encourager. We laugh together and dream together and he is truly my favorite person.

Sometimes he gets all the brunt of my frustration. He gets my snappy responses and my rolling eyes. Sometimes when he needs a pep talk I say, “Why did you do that?”

Which he loves, for the record.

I am a good enough wife.

*

I am good enough at nutrition. 

Sometimes I declare it a pizza night. We use paper plates and I share my love affair with ranch dressing.

Other times I buy large bags of organic carrots and force feed my children spinach. I plan meals and I worry if they’re eating too much sugar.

I am good enough at nutrition.

*

I love them enough.

I LOVE MY KIDS. I love them in all their messy, smelly, ridiculous, and hilarious glory.

I love them and I love them and I love them…

and that’s what makes everything else I do enough.

It makes everything you do enough too Mama.

We love them enough.

*

I have had a lot of requests for this hoodie, so here ya go…

I’ve recently become connected with amazon as an influencer. My shop is https://www.amazon.com/shop/wonderoakblog

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

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