One Of The Best Gifts

Will I ever feel just happy when I see the double lines on that stick? Will my feelings ever be uncomplicated? Of course I’m happy that there is another human growing inside me again, but there’s so much more to it than that.

There’s the worry of will it all go okay? Will I miscarry this one too? There’s the worry of the adjustments that will come with another little one. Everything that is going on in my life right now, plus a newborn too? How will I do it?

There are the lifestyle changes that will take place because of pregnancy; eating better, being more active, sleeping more. The general routine of the days will slow down a notch. It’s a change for the better, but it’s still change.

Speaking of change, there’s all the changes within me that I start to prepare for. The few weeks of nausea that are to come. The bigger every part of me – you name it, it’s getting bigger. Then there’s the hormonal roller coaster that I’m about to jump on and have the ride of my life. My poor husband.

The nine months until due date feels so far away, a goal that I won’t reach for a very long time. But then I think about that little fresh newborn baby, so small, soft and warm against my chest. All of the worry, change and crazy days will be worth it.

Because that new life, held so close to my heart, is one of the best gifts we can get.

Dear Nic

Dear Nic,

I miss you. This last month feels like the busiest one at the end of an already busy year. If you’re not gone, then I am. We live in the same house but we feel more like room mates than anything. I see you everyday but there hasn’t been much time for connecting or catching up. I feel like you are so far away, on a different planet than me. I can’t reach you there. Our minds are running on different wave lengths and I can’t read the frequency of yours.

We went for a date (finally!) on Sunday, and yes it was good. Just the two of us, eating, talking and driving. Nothing special, but special because we were together – actually together, not just occupying the same space. I cried – it’s not a true date if I don’t cry at least once, right? We laughed and we tried to figure out how to get through this busy stage and still keep our love strong. Even though we talked about things we could do, I still feel like we’re not on the same page. I still think you don’t get it. I pushed those feelings of disconnect away and reassured myself that it will be better this week.

But it hasn’t. We’ve gone back to the same story as before our date – busy, disconnected, different worlds. And I miss you. My heart aches for the love I know we have but is hidden right now. It aches at the thoughts and words I have hurled at you in my hurt. This isn’t how I want to be. This isn’t true to me and you.

So I’m going to try again, even though last night I declared that I was done trying. I want forgiveness and a fresh blank slate to start again. I know this love is the best thing I have in my life and it’s worth the effort.

I’m done with missing you.

Love,

Me

Confessions Of A Candy Crush Addict

I have a confession to make. No judging allowed.

I am a candy crush addict.

Seriously.

Let me tell you the story of how that came to be. A couple of my friends were discussing how addicting this game was and I laughed at them – I would never get addicted to a game.

But then I started playing it. And I couldn’t stop. And then I got the new iPhone 4 so that I could play it when I was at home, not only on my in-law’s computer. I played candy crush while I drank my morning coffee. When I sat down to feed Guin. During my quiet hours while Guin napped. I waited anxiously for a new life when I had run out of lives – until I found the hack for getting more lives whenever I wanted and I never had to wait again.

Candy crush became my safe zone. I didn’t have to think about what I was feeling or why I was feeling that way. I could just focus on the game I was playing and block out every part of my life that I didn’t have control over. I was numbing the void that I felt with friendships and connections from moving to a new place and entering motherhood. Nothing really mattered except for passing the next level.

The thrill that I felt when I passed a particularly hard level; I accomplished something in my life! I can do this!

The number of days that I spent only accomplishing a few levels on candy crush are too many to count.

We all have our own numbing mechanisms, some that are more harmful than others. Something that we automatically turn to in order to avoid an emotion.  

Although those days of doing absolutely nothing else are past for me, I still find myself reaching for my phone to get on candy crush when I feel an emotion that is too much to handle. When I want the numbing effect of not having to think about life or anything. I’ve thought of taking candy crush off my phone, but I decided it’s an okay buffering habit as long as I’m aware of how often I’m using it.

Plus, think of all those levels and the hard work I would lose!

Haha.

Full Hands, Full Heart

When you have four little blondies that are within inches of the same height, you get many comments at the grocery store- or anywhere for that matter. Some are nice to hear, “Wow, four kids?! They are so beautiful and well behaved!” Some are not, “Tell your husband to leave you alone!” One that I hear often is “You’ve got your hands full!” And I suppose I do.

I remember when I was expecting my third, I felt like my hands were full with the two that I had. One kid on the right, one on the left, everything is under control. Then number three came, and where do I put him? On my back? On my head? And now number four- on my shoulders? Carry her on my foot somehow? We could all hold hands as we cross the parking lot towards the store, looking like one giant choo-choo train. But yes, my hands are full – and so is my heart.

I have four children to love, and who love me in return. They teach me as much, if not more, as I am trying to teach them. They make me grow when it feels like it would be easier to stay as I am. They remind me about what is most important in life. They show me how to slow down and take in the small moments even when it feels like that’s the last thing I have time for.

Sometimes I feel like I’m going to go crazy, but then there are the little moments like a good morning squeeze. A deep belly laugh. Them laughing at their own little made up jokes. The proud smile when they learned something new. A new phrase that comes out of nowhere. ('Cause I am a stronger man!) And I remember why I’m doing the crazy.

End Of The Day Guilt

The kids are all tucked in upstairs, cozy in their warm beds. I reheat my cup of coffee, grab (yet another) chunk of chocolate and go sit on the couch. The happenings of today run through my mind, like a black and white film.

A flash of red in the footage catches my eye. Oh, that was when I had a spaz over the spilt cereal bowl this morning. Nice. Then another spot of red catches my eye; Emerson kept asking me to read his book as I was busy doing laundry. Really good. The film continues to play through the whole day, but it’s more like a black, white, and red all over film.

I start to criticize myself. Why? Why do I always have to react to situations? Why can’t I learn to be more calm, cool, and collected? I said this when I should’ve said that. And right there, I really didn’t set a good example for how we behave. Good job, Gloria. Great job.

How many times have I told myself that tomorrow I’ll be a better mom. Tomorrow I will be more patient, more kind, more loving. Yet the next day, I find myself stuck in that same reel. I know this role, and even though it’s not how I want to be, I go back to this pattern because it’s comfortable. I tell myself I want to change, to be better.

But change is hard! It takes conscious thought, being intentional in everything. It’s too easy to slip into the known sequence, the automatic behaviors.

So again, I make myself run through that same reel of today. And I pick out the bits of yellow that I didn’t see before when I was so focused on all the red. There. I wanted so badly to yell when I tripped over that stupid toy that was laying in the middle of the floor, but I just breathed deeply. And there – I finally read Emerson his book after I finished the laundry, even though I wanted to get started on my own book.

It’s so easy to focus on where I failed and what I could’ve done better. But that doesn’t get you anywhere except feeling bad about yourself. Instead, look for the times that you did try to do something differently and the small victories. Focus on those and how much better it made you feel. Slowly but surely it will become more natural.

Plus, that’s what forgiveness and a fresh day tomorrow are for.

Unseen, Unheard

I know that being a mom is a very important job- loving your kids and raising them correctly. But still, I feel like it’s not enough. A part of me knows that being a good enough mom is all that I need to do, but there’s the other side of me that is looking for something more. Something that is me, that I see results from. Where I can see myself and hear myself.

My days are full of feeding kids, cleaning faces, wiping bums, picking up toys, piles of laundry-clean and waiting to be put away, dirty and ready for washing- both stacked high. These chores are the type that if you do them they aren’t noticed; but if you don’t do them, it’s very clear that they need to be done. I clean up the books and toys, the kids wake up from their naps and the toys are spread all over again. I wipe the table, we eat, and it needs to be wiped again. I change baby’s diaper, she poops, and needs to be changed again. This never-ending cycle of repeating my actions over and over. Maybe this is why I feel unseen- I’m continually doing something that I will have to do again in the near future.

My days are full of “Don’t touch that!” and “Did you hear what I said? Do you remember what I just told you about x, y, and z?” Always reminding my kids how we behave, how we talk, how we act. But five minutes later they are doing the exact same thing. Is it any wonder that I feel unheard?

Your kids don’t give you recognition for all you do because they don’t even realize half of what you do. The people that you are spending your days with don’t know how to appreciate what you do for them (yet!), but they do know how to do one thing very well: they love you. They still love you when you lose your temper cleaning up yet another spill. They still love you when you are trying to teach them about sharing for the umpteenth time. They forgive your faults so automatically and they love with their entire heart.

I also know that they do see and hear me. They pick up on small mannerisms and sayings that I don’t even realize I do. (Some of these I wish they wouldn’t pick up on!) I know that they are learning the important things that I’m trying to teach them too, it just might be a while before I see those results.

Or maybe they are already there, I’m just not looking in the right places.

My Husband's Family

We walk out the front door together, Nic and I. The door closes and the noise from inside is muffled. I take a sip of my coffee and try to breathe deep. It’s just another normal evening at his parents, our kids are inside enjoying the spotlight and all the love that is lavished on them. I turn to Nic and I can’t stop the tears from running down my face. I wish we were at my parents instead. We’ve been married for a handful of years, but still. This living far away from them is so hard. On a normal evening like tonight – eating supper, normal daily things happening, talking and laughing – I can’t help but wish that we could experience these moments with my family too.

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Our families have some similarities; both consist of many people and they have that together feeling. They are both a little bit, special shall we say. We have similar upbringings and the same beliefs. But they are also so different; different people and ideas, different ways of doing things. How can one not compare the new to the old? There were times when the new way wouldn’t meet the standards that I created in my mind. In my family, we did it this way.

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I hear a faint sound as I’m putting the last touches on the chocolate cheesecake, it sounds kind of like a squealing pig. I smile to myself because without even looking out the window, I know that my sister in laws have arrived for our sauna and game night. Sure enough, there they are in the yard – going crazy over Gus who is thoroughly soaking in the attention. Then they come through the front door, mumble-jumbling their way into the kitchen. In this moment, I am so thankful for them and all of their craziness.

Most of all, I am thankful that I was able to let go of that worn out measuring stick. That I got to know Nic’s family for themselves. I learned to relax a bit and enjoy their noise and chaos. The biggest thing that I learned though, is how deeply they love. They love my kids and I so completely. They accepted me into their family – I am a daughter, a part of the family – not just the girl who married their son.

They aren't simply my husband's family anymore - they are my family too.

My Three Year Old Boy

I look at Gus as he plays with his very special birthday dirt bike. He is such a bull in a china shop – loud noises, brash movements, and completely unpredictable. When the mood strikes, he doesn’t stop to question it he just follows through.

He is so packed full of energy that I can just about see it exploding from him. He’s here – then he’s over there. He gives Rosie a BIG old hug and then runs in circles around her. He’s driving his little mini dirt bike on me and the next minute he’s driving Guin’s doll stroller like a dirt bike, crashing into the furniture and laughing like a maniac. He is so stubborn; he has his own idea about how his day should go. He thinks he knows better than mommy or daddy on many issues and he isn’t afraid to argue. But he is also the one that wants everyone happy and laughing at his tricks. He is quick to give a hug sorry and move on to the next fun project.

To say the least, he drives me crazy a dozen times a day. But he is here with me. My heart aches for the mom that doesn’t get to wrap her arms around her three-year-old terror anymore. It breaks at the thought of having to give my boy away; even if he gets to be in the most perfect of places – heaven.

It’s NOT FAIR! I want to scream. Why should any mom have to say goodbye to their most mischievous of kids? Nobody should have to try to heal from this kind of a wound, to adjust to a new normal daily life without their three-year-old boy wreaking havoc. It goes beyond my understanding and comprehending, the why’s and the how’s. And that’s where trust comes in, trusting that God’s plan is perfect even when the pain feels too great to bear. Trusting that God knew best when to take that little angel boy from this world, even if the timing doesn’t make sense in our minds.

As for my little boy, I give him a few extra squeezes a day. I remember to sit down on the couch with him and just hold him a little extra longer. He still presses my buttons and pushes his limits, and I still get upset when he’s not listening. But the love and forgiveness come a little faster these days.

Our Home

I sit in our living room, curled up on my favorite green chair with silence surrounding me for a few more minutes before that yellow bus comes down the road. I look around at this partially finished room. There is a piece of plywood in place of a railing by the staircase (that never got it’s second layer of paint when we moved in). There is fresh drywall, with some spots still needing mud and tape, let alone a couple coats of paint. There are some cobwebs in the corners, which I’ll blame on this growing pregnancy. (Although truth be told, I’m not much of a cleaner even without a big belly.) Our floors are plywood, stained from months without mopping and drops of paint from miscellaneous art sessions. There are holes in the walls from rewiring electrical work.

These details usually don’t even register in my mind though. I see the room that has been our gathering place for the last 3 years. I also see how it will be one day, all freshly painted and decorated. (And clean maybe? Am I pushing it?) I see love in the way the books are haphazardly tossed onto the bookshelf by the kids, as they hurriedly cleaned up before bedtime snack last night. I also see love in the fact that there are tools and bathroom reno supplies piled by the door. Nic has spent many late nights working on our home.

Besides the construction zone look, there are the random pieces of furniture that we’ve accumulated over our almost seven (!!) years together. This dresser was a deal found at the local thrift store when we were fresh newlyweds. We had no idea of what the coming years would bring when we bought it. It has stood in our living room in every house we have lived in since, seeing many spilt coffee cups and kids climbing on it. Across the room is our still brown bookshelf that has been painted many different shades in my mind, but something more important always comes up before I get it done in real life. There is the piano that Nic surprised me with for my birthday a couple years ago. I look at it and I see his sheepishly proud grin when I came home, pleased with himself for figuring out such a good gift and actually surprising me. The antique rocking horse that looks so well loved and worn sits quietly next to the rocking chair, waiting for the kids to wake up and go for a ride. It was Nic’s first Christmas present so many years ago. On our mirror hangs a sign made by a dear friend that says simply You are so loved. A reminder for myself, my husband, and our children; we are all loved, treasured, and wanted in this house.

Adding the separate stories together begins to tell the story of our family. Our home isn’t perfect or finished, there is a lot of work and cleaning that needs to be done everyday. There’s a lot of character and love in every room. I’d say that it’s a pretty good representation of our family.

Morning Hours

The first rays of sun are coloring the sky as I do my morning stretches. I would like to do a full workout first thing in the morning, but at least I’m getting my muscles warmed up. The kids are fast asleep upstairs, only the little one inside my belly is awake with me, kicking and making (His? Her?) presence known. I eat breakfast, relishing in the quiet- no loud chomping and smacking noises coming from across the table. I grab my morning cup of coffee, pen and paper, and sit down with my thoughts. How good it feels to let the whirling in my head slow down. To let the thoughts start to connect and make sense as they get jotted down in ink.

Before I’m ready, I hear the first rustlings and squeaks coming from their rooms and my first thought is “Not yet, please. Five more minutes.” Just like when my mom used to wake us up on those cold school mornings. The blankets were so warm around me, my good dreams still fresh in my mind. Five more minutes of sweet oblivion in dream world before starting the long day of school. Just like now, I want five more minutes of me time, of thinking time, of peace and quiet and just being.

But then the feet come pounding down the stairs, so full of energy to face the day. They view today as a gift, with so many surprises inside. I can practically hear their thoughts all the way in the kitchen, “Should I play with my dolls first? Maybe I could convince mom to snuggle on the couch for a bit and read me a story.. or two.. or three. Or, ooh look! It’s sunny outside! We could go to the park or ride bikes, or climb a tree. Or stay inside and play playdough!” The options are endless and so full of innocent joy.

I hear them approach the wall that separates the living room from the kitchen, and the steps hesitate and slow. They peek around the corner to see where I’m sitting, and I feel my heart ache. Their sweet little eyes are anxiously scanning my face to gauge what my mood is today. “Is mom happy to see me? Is she busy with something? Is it okay to be downstairs yet?”

I put down my pen and open my arms for a big hug. Their faces light up and they rush towards me, happy to be in my embrace. I put aside my own thoughts and plans, they will wait for the next quiet moment that I find. Now it is time to be mom – and isn’t that special?

Learning To Love Me

I am lying on my back as the yoga class comes to an end. I hear the teacher speaking, as though just to me. “When you leave this room, don’t leave your yoga practice behind. Bring it with you into your daily life. Bring the self love, the confidence, the nonjudgement of yourself. Trust in your truth. You are you, and that is enough.” The tears begin to leak from the corners of my eyes, rolling quietly down my face. I feel the remaining tension leave my body as I melt into the mat.

I need to hear this right now. That accepting myself – mom, wife, friend, me – as I am. I strive to be the person I want to be, but to balance it with loving myself on that journey. Taking out the constant berating of myself when I fail to react how I think I should. Being easier on myself as I figure out what this all means to me. Loving the faulty and imperfect me and acknowledging that I am trying my best. And it’s okay.

I read words like this in blog posts, books, hear them on podcasts and from friends. But in this moment, the meaning of them hit me. The actual doing of them, of bringing them into my life and making them a part of me. I don’t need to be a certain way, do certain things, or act certain ways in order to be worthy of love. I am worthy of love from my husband, myself, my friends, because I am. I bring myself to each situation, and that is different from what everyone else brings.

Learning to love. I am me; no more, no less. Enough.

You Vs. Me

I hate when I’m in the habit of tallying scores.

I did the dishes-like always- so 10 points for me. You took out the trash, only after I asked you to, so 5 points for you. Look at all that I did today, plus I kept the kids alive, so 300 million points for me. I’m drained and just completely done after my long day, so my points are well deserved. Okay, you woke up early and had a long day at work (50 points) but believe me, your tired is nothing compared to mine.

In my mind, I look like an old-fashioned school teacher- hair scraped back in a tight bun, spectacles perched on my nose, standing in front of a green chalkboard. My voice screeches like the chalk as I tally the points for my side versus Nic’s. I don’t like this image- I do not want to be a screechy school teacher.

Much better is life when we are a team. When it’s us versus all the things that need to be done. You woke up super early this morning to head into work while the kids and I slept? Don’t worry about putting the kids to bed, I got this. Go to sleep. Or You clearly need some breathing space. Go take a walk by yourself. We’re on the same team. We’re going the same direction, and we want the same goals.

When one of us is down, the other pulls the extra weight. It’s not a contest of who pulls more weight more often, it’s simply working together.

Because we’re in this raising a family thing together.

Number Five

I found out today that you are growing inside my belly. So small, barely even there. But there is life inside of me, a little heart that is beating. The miracle of this strikes me again, that how is it possible? One day it’s just me in my body and the next there is a separate life beginning to grow.

Your dad and I were so happy to see that positive sign. Pregnant! Yet minutes later, the doubts started seeping in. Another baby? So soon? How will I do it? I can’t handle this. What if I miscarry? I don’t want to start a pregnancy if it’s going to end soon. I don’t want to go through that loss again.

But then I thought – Why do I have to focus on my fears and worries? Why can’t I just let myself be excited for this new baby?

So today, I am. I am so excited to know that you are something so tiny, but that you are there. It’s like I’m carrying a little secret around with me, something that you and I share but nobody else knows. Today I’m letting go of my fears of what could go wrong and worries about how everything will go. I am letting myself feel the joy and wonder at a new life inside of me.

I don’t know if I will carry you to term, I can’t say if everything will work out. But I will love you for as many days as I have you.

I pray that in several months I will start to feel your kicking; and that several months after that I will be big and uncomfortable and ready for you to be born. I hope that I will get to birth you and hold you close against my chest. That I will feel your heart beating against mine. I hope that I will get many precious days with you. I can’t say what God’s plan is, but each day that I have you I am blessed.

And for today, that is enough.

Keeping Thoughts To Myself

She came over for lunch on a beautiful summer day. Her three little boys came tumbling out of the van, ready to have a good time. As she walked towards me, I could see that she was wearing a new sweater. It looked so good on her, but I didn’t tell her that.

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We were sitting in the grass at the park, watching our kids play in the splash pad. A soft breeze was blowing, playing with the ends of her blonde hair to catch the sunlight. Her hands rested on top of her rounded belly. A picture perfect pregnant woman. Again, I kept my thoughts to myself.

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Her three-year-old was throwing a fit over something (justified in his mind, I’m sure). She got down to his level and talked him through it rather than telling him to quit acting like that. She handled it so well and I was amazed at her patience. I didn’t say anything.

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Why didn’t I say what I was thinking? Why is it so hard to compliment another mom? It’s too easy to take something good about another person and use it as a measuring stick for why I’m not good enough.

 That sweater looks so good on her postpartum body… why can’t my body look that good?

She looks like such a gorgeous soon-to-be momma... why do I look like a swollen cow when I’m almost due?

Why can’t I handle my toddler tantrums as well as her?

Instead of internalizing those thoughts and using them as a yardstick to measure my mom-competence, I need to let them out. To not let it be about me- it’s about them.

Because as moms, we all feel like we aren’t good enough. There are always so many ways that we could be a better mom, areas that we are lacking in. It’s so encouraging to have someone compliment you on something that you are actually doing right. Something that you might not even realize is going right. Instead of comparing our weaknesses against others strengths, just let it be that. And tell them.

Moments Like This

The sweet scent of breastmilk. The content sound of gulping, with a quick breath in between. The feel of her small fingers massaging. The dead weight of her head, nestled securely in the crook of my arm. Her other hand clutching my side, holding me close just as I am holding her. Her body so warm and soft, stretched across my belly.

I look at her in wonder, how has she grown so big? Remember when she was so tiny and dainty? I had to support her body with both hands so that she would stay in position while eating. She wasn’t even as long as my arm then. I think about the little sneak peeks into her personality that she is already showing, wondering what she will be like when she’s toddling around with her older siblings. Now she looks up at me after her first hunger has been satiated and grins.

These quiet moments of sitting in my faded green arm chair in the corner of the living room. A chance to slow down and just breathe. To soak in the warm closeness of my precious baby girl, who continues to leave her littleness behind every day. Sometimes these moments aren’t so quiet, with the noise that the three older ones make. They might be running around and around the living room, arguing over a toy, or whatever the flavor of the moment is. But it is always a moment to sit down and enjoy the simple act of feeding my child. She needs me and I need her, as simple as that.

I sit her up and a big belch escapes right away. She looks at me and gives me her special crinkly-eyed smile, dimple winking by her rosebud mouth. These are the moments.

The Fear Of Losing You

I feel you move. A shifting sensation, then a stretch and a kick, as though you are just waking up. Some jabs here, soft punches there, like you are testing your boundaries; wondering why these walls are in your way. A few minutes of feeling you use my bladder as a trampoline before you quiet down again.

When I first felt you move a few months ago, it felt like someone was flicking me from the inside. I didn’t quite believe I was actually feeling you. Hoping with all of my might that it was, but not daring to believe that you’d gotten so big that I could feel you moving around. This whole pregnancy has been a roller coaster of trying not to think about you and plan for when you are born. After my last miscarriage and now the signs of miscarriage with you, I haven’t dared to fully love you yet. I’m scared of the pain and guilt that will come if I lose you too. I worry everyday if you will make it, if I will be able to carry you to term. It’s never far from my mind. Every time I go to the bathroom, I expect to see blood. Every ache and pain that I feel is sure to be preterm labor. I do as little as possible in the hopes that you don't come early.

Coming close after this fear is the guilt. The guilt that I haven’t allowed myself to love you fully yet. The guilt of wondering how I will manage with four; how it will mean less time for me and my plans. The worry of will I have enough love for all of you? Will I be able to bring you up in the way you deserve, as the mother you deserve? Your siblings’ love for me is unconditional, no boundaries. I feel unworthy of such a love.

But God has given you to me. You teach me everyday about love and forgiveness; you remind me of what’s most important. I feel you move inside me again, as this wave of emotion passes. I put my hand on my belly to connect with your kicking. My heart swells with love for you, a love so big that it scares me. Also in this moment, my heart overflows with thankfulness. You are safe in my womb for another day.

Who Am I Even?

Nic and I celebrated our sixth anniversary- how can it be six years ago already that we spent hours walking downtown Spokane taking pictures? How can it be six years since I walked down the aisle towards him, barely even remembering to focus on him because I was filled with thoughts of tripping over my dress, saying goodbye to my family, and everyone’s looking at me!

So much has happened in these years we’ve spent together, that the girl who said “I do” feels like a different person, someone separate from me. She was physically different- a flat(ish) belly with no stretch marks racing across it; ribs and hips were still those of a girl, narrow. She was also different on the inside- her mind was filled with grand ideas of how married life would be, how motherhood would be. She thought that being a wife and a mom were her greatest life ambitions, that was all she needed to be happy. She was light, free, and excited about the future that was just beginning. 

Four months out of these six years, I have been just me. The other sixty eight months I have been either pregnant or breastfeeding. Just think about that for a moment. All the changes that your body goes through-physically, emotionally, hormonally- during each pregnancy and postpartum period. And to think that I have been going through these changes most of our married life.. who am I even?! Does Nic even know the me that’s under this hormone roller coaster and flux of my belly? (Big, saggy, repeat.)

Sometimes I miss it, that body that was actually my own. No weird symptoms without a clear cause. (Pregnant?) I can't say I was less hormonal. We'll just leave it at that. I didn't have little hands on my legs at every hour of every day as I tried to accomplish tasks. It was just me.

But as I've heard before, my body tells the story of my children-it has grown, birthed and nourished them. Through all of these changes, my husband has been beside me. Loving me in all the different stages; my good days and bad days, just had a baby days, early pregnancy tiredness days- everything. I guess it's not that there is a real me hiding underneath the changing seasons -this is me now. 

My body also tells the story of me, how I have grown through birthing and raising these children. Of learning how to multitask, to take responsibility for more than just me. Of learning how to care for these littles, and to love them. Motherhood has made me me.

A Proud Momma

To the cashier at the grocery store this morning,

We walked past your line in search of a shorter one. There wasn’t one to be found, so we returned to wait in yours. My baby was fussing because she was hungry. My boys were sitting in the cart, one squishing our hamburger buns while the other was busy ripping the Cheerios box. My daughter was holding onto the cart and asking for every kind of chocolate in sight. I should’ve bought myself at least one for braving the grocery aisle with all 4 munchkins, come to think of it.

I saw you give us the once over, and the thought bubbles were all but exploding above your head. “1-2-3-4?! Does she know where babies come from? She looks like she’s 18.. poor kid must’ve gotten knocked up at like 12! Who in their right mind would have so many kids so close together? They must have been oopsies. Her cart is so full, she’s probably going to try sneak something past me.” I tried to ignore this onslaught of thoughts and continued my attempt at soothing Rosie.

It was our turn to put our items on the conveyor belt and chaos ensued. Amidst many “Sit downs” and “MOMMY will put the eggs, thank you very much!” and “Don’t touch that!” we got all of our purchases out of the cart. I try to remind myself that at least the kids are eager to help me. But MAN is it easier to come to the grocery store by myself!

You greeted me with a stare and a sharp “Bag or no bags?” Where was the “Good morning! How are you? You have your hands full! They sure are beautiful!”? None of that. Ok, I said to myself. I can deal with that, I won’t ask you about your day either. Then came the clincher though.

“And the book is free today?” you asked. I was confused, my brain trying to rapidly make sense of the words it heard- I knew I should’ve had my third cup of coffee before I left the house. Is she making a joke that I’m taking one of the kids for free?

You clarified: “That book in the cart-you’re taking it for free?” I glanced at the cart, thinking I had missed something, but it was empty. Well, as empty as it can be with 4 kids and a diaper bag in it anyways. “I don’t have any books”, I told you and you realized what you thought was a book was indeed nothing. You don’t even apologize, you simply tell me, “Oh, that’s okay.” And proceed to ring through the last purchases and ignore me.

I was hurt and angry that you made such a rash judgement of me. I stewed for a while over all the hurtful words I could toss back at you, but I held my tongue. As I was leaving the store however, a new feeling dawned on me. Not everybody is going to think my kids are beautiful, and most probably won’t understand why I have four kids so close together. They might not respect me and my decisions, and some might be bolder with letting their opinions be known. But as I walked out of the store into the sunshine, I held my head a little bit higher. I smiled at my kids and took a running start before jumping on the cart to ride it to our red minivan. Because, you know what? I love every single one of my four, and I would not get rid of any of them just to look more normal. I am a lucky mom to have such a full cart.

So, I just wanted to say thank you, lady at the cash register. Thank you for acting how you did, because it strengthened my belief that this life is what I want.

And by the way, I hope you have a good day.

Sincerely, A Proud Momma

With Love

The room is dark, light only coming from the kitchen. I wish I could say I set the mood, that I chose to be in this darkness with a few candles burning for aura. In truth, I didn’t even think of it. Our month old baby is contentedly suckling and kids are quiet upstairs at last. If they are sleeping though, is another question altogether.

My mind strays to all the things I didn’t get done today- dishes are piled high, crumbs all over the floor. My mind also strays to the things I did today that I wish I could erase- getting upset at my toddler for being whiny, my others for playing too loud. I wonder about tomorrow, or next week, and how will we ever get this four kids thing down pat?

I hear a creaking of floor boards from above, then the creaking of the steps. A sure sign that it’s not a ghost coming down to pay a friendly visit. Guin cautiously pokes her head around the corner- “Mom, can I get a drink of water?” She quickly drinks a cup of water and starts up the stairs again. When she reaches the second step though, she turns back around and runs over to me. She throws her arms around my neck and gives a tight squeeze. A quick kiss on my cheek, accompanied by an “I love you” and back to bed she goes.

I lift baby to my chest to burp, and think about that small act of love. Maybe she recognized my tiredness? Maybe she simply wanted me to know how she felt about me. Either way, that was a perfect example of what will happen tomorrow, and next week, and next year. This is how we will get this mom thing down pat.

With love.

This Is Not A Burden

Confession: Sometimes I resent my husband his freedom. He comes home from work and eats supper while reading his book. We’ve had discussions (read: arguments) about this particular topic many times, but he tells me this is his nothing box time. And I know he needs his nothing box, so that is that.

Then he’s done eating and after profusely thanking me for the delicious supper, he sits down on the couch. The kids will usually sit with him for a while, maybe they will read a story together. Then he may or may not fall asleep. Chances are good that if he falls asleep he won’t come up to bed until the wee hours of the morning, because when he’s out, he is out.

On this evening, he falls asleep. The alarm goes off at 8 pm because today is Friday, and that means hockey night for him. He gathers up his stuff and off he goes, forgetting that he told me he would put the kids to bed tonight. Or maybe he never even agreed to doing that, come to think of it- did I even mention it?

So here I am, just another evening with me and my four kids. Diapers to be changed, teeth to be brushed, blankets to be tucked around little bodies all snug and cozy. Forget the pajamas tonight, I want as few steps as possible before I have a quiet house. There are fights and disagreements to be settled, scraped knees to be tended to, and many reminders to listen to what mom says. This evening routine. I know it won’t be like this forever, but this phase stretches out infinitely ahead of me.

Sometimes I get tired of being the one to always tuck them in. I wouldn’t mind to sometimes be the one heading out the door before the bedtime chaos begins. Or to be the one that falls asleep on the couch and not wake up until the house is silent; in full confidence that the kids and house will be taken care of. It would be nice to take a break from the daily routines so that I don’t get so tired of this burden.

Because it’s not really a burden, is it? It’s a privilege to tuck your kids in safely in their beds each night. To know that they are safe and within arms reach. The only sneaking out that might occur at this stage is to grab a cup of water.

This is a good reminder for me as I start the daunting task of bedtime tonight. I get to tuck my four little loves safely in their beds. I let their “Good night, mommy. I love you!” fill my heart. No, this is surely not a burden.