blogging is something I think about daily. I actually feel like I write something in my head every day. I come up with amazing ideas and topics during the strangest times. Buckling the strap on my heels, returning the shopping cart to the rack, listening to the older women at the gym chatter, buying lunch, driving in the car in complete silence. Topics stroll through my mind about love, forgiveness, acceptance, truth, kids, frustration, work-life non-balance, happiness, stress, hate, freedom, husbands, friends....I could go on and on. They are all topics I have tackled. But in reality my last real entry was from September 2011. Sigh.

My past few months have been inundated with lots of things. The struggle to find the work life balance has been futile. About three weeks ago I came to the conclusion that there is no balance. It's no possible. There isn't a perfect amount of this and a little of that and then happiness. I've decided it's less about balance and more about acceptance. Acceptance that there isn't this perfect algorithm that I just haven't found.  It was a disappointing moment but it was also freeing. To accept that I was searching for something that wasn't going to happen lifted a weight. One thing on my perpetual to do list was permanently marked off.

So much about life is about acceptance. Acceptance of the imbalance. Acceptance that the blog ideas will have to wait.  That just because I don't write them doesn't mean that the ideas disappear. Acceptance that it won't always be this hard. Sometimes the hard gets less hard and sometimes the hard changes.  There is even acceptance of acceptance. Acceptance that sometimes it just wont work out. Acceptance that every day is a new day and we are all doing our best.

  1. Tomorrow we begin again. xo



I'm back! Well, I hope I'm back. It feels like I've spent the past few months in a time vacuum. Days wiz past faster than I had ever imagined.

Many days I question if I am really equipped for this whole "mom" thing. It just seems that some people are made to be moms. Not to say that these "made" mommies don't struggle and find themselves looking for five minutes of quiet and find those five minutes locked in their closet with a glass of wine. I certainly don't doubt that. But on the bad days I usually say to myself that I just wasn't made for this kinda work. Like a 4'11", 95lbs person probably isn't cut out to be a lumber jack. But I make it through and will, cause that's what mommies do.

I'd like to think that part of what keeps me half sane is the nutty things the kids do. For instance....
On a particularly challenging morning (which translates to a morning with two time outs each, hitting, crying and me finally just accepting that I won't be at work by 8am) I got in the truck practically in tears only to look in the rear view mirror to see the boys fist pumping to Stone Temple Pilots. I could I not laugh....and cry.

Or the time when she spent the day shuffling around the house in those horrid, stupid, irritating plastic high heels saying she was really busy with her work. She collected random bits from around the house - an old remote, a napkin, something from under the couch (don't ask), and a few toys - and stuffed them into a small box. It looked hoarder-ish (a behavior I try to prevent). When I asked her what she was up to, she would only reply "I'm really busy. I'm working." You don't have to look to hard to see where that came from........


It's been months since my last post (this sounds like a confession). I don't have many excuses, well, I guess I have a handful of them - three kids, a husband, a home and a flourishing business. It's not that I haven't thought about blogging. I've thought about it a lot. Unfortunately thinking about blogging doesn't make it happen. Mr. Steve Jobs needs to get on an app for that.

Time. Or maybe lack there of. This has become a huge theme in my life. Time to get up. Time to get dressed. Time to leave. Time to work. Not enough time to get everything done. Time for dinner. Time for bed. Time to catch up on house work. Not enough time to get it all done. Time to rest. Not enough time to rest. Blah, blah, blah....

Sigh. As a result of time and lack of time, blogging has taken a back seat. Well, let's be honest. Blogging isn't even in the same vehicle. I had to let blogging out of the car. Each night I would vow to let it back in (along with other things that had been pushed out). Why it's happening today? Who knows. But I'm certainly not complaining.

She is now four. Four going on fourteen. Sassy (wonder where she gets that) and smart. Bad combination. She also has the memory of an elephant. Which is not in my favor either. She's constantly reminding me what I had said to her earlier - "Mommy, are you forgetting something?"
"Um, what?"
"You said that I could have a present if I was good all day."
"I did?"
"Yes. Remember when we were getting dressed this morning and you were brushing my hair."
"Oh, that's right."
"So where is my present?"

Gawd. She's only four.

The boys are two and there are two of them so that calculates to four. And that is how it feels. That there are four of them. Fights, yelling, choke holds, hugs, time outs, smiles, laughter, mine-mine-mine, me first.
It's a wild ride. They are amazing. The process of having them in my life is an amazing experience and I am so thankful. But......but wow. What a job. As I lay them down to sleep, kiss their heads, listen to their mumbled jabber as they chatter with pacifiers in their mouth, I am so thankful for their little faces but I am also so thankful that they are going to bed.

Time for a wee-bit of peace.


Halloween....a belated post.

While Halloween is so yesterday's news, I have yet to recount our experiences. Let me start off by saying that Halloween is one of my least favorite holidays. This wasn't always the case. I loved dressing up. My mom was a master at putting together memorable costumes. I think I was six or seven when I was a Playboy Bunnie. The outfit was complete with a black leotard, high heels a tail and ears. Of course at the time, I had no concept of the scope of this costume, but looking back my mom certainly got a few cool points for that one. Then there was Cyndi Lauper, Madonna (two years in a row) and quite a few others. So, why it is that now Halloween is so boo-boring?

She is fortunate enough to have a cousin a few years older who has sported amazing costumes every year and we get the hand-me-downs. Score! This year the original plan was that she would be JoJo from JoJo's Circus (A children's series about a clown and her friends). The costume is precious. My mother in law (MIL) came over with the costume and she would not come within three feet of the limp suit. No way. She wanted nothing to do with the Minnie Mouse dress as well. I was horrified. Has my distaste for Halloween worn off on her? Horrible mother. I could feel the heavens staring at me cursing my name. Bad mommy.

With a little convincing she gave into trying on the Minnie dress and she feel in love. Thank God. I thought I was going to be on the express flight to the island of bad moms.

For the next week she asked about Halloween. We talked about how people would come to our house and get candy. The first few time she balked at people taking her candy, but I was semi-successful in explaining the concept to her. She clearly has no recollection of last year's Halloween.

The big day arrived and all she could talk about was Halloween and candy and Mickey Minnie Mouse....she was getting the names mixed up. I felt like giving her cue cards, but she doesn't read yet so I had to scratch that idea. She looked pretty cute. No one would care if she said she was Mickey. It almost made the costume cuter.

As we ventured out to our first few houses, I encouraged her to go up to the door, ring the bell and prompted her to say trick or treat when the door opened. Being that she is three (going on 13) I figured I'd stop prompting her. She got into the swing of things pretty quickly. Although she often said trick or treat before the door opened. She would stand with her bag wide open, even after the candy was divvied out and the treating was over. On a few occasions, when the door opened, she walked right in the house and stood there waiting to be served. At one house after the candy was handed out, she reached in the bowl and grabbed a few extra handfuls. After each house she would turn her head and in the cutest little voice ask "can we do another one?"
"Yes, we can do as many as you like."
For one evening I had a guaranteed spot as an awesome mom. The next day when I would limit the amount of candy consumed and I was certain to go back to my usual spot as the 'no fun mom.'

As we rounded the block on our way back home, she announced to me that she had to go potty. I asked her if she could wait because we were almost home. As the door opened to the final house instead of saying trick or treat she switched it up with  "I have to go potty." We all (the adults) laughed.

Oh to be three.



This morning I stopped. For three minutes I actually stopped. Stopped the running, the stress, the frustration. I stopped the madness that has become my life, for three minutes I stopped. She had asked me to read it to her before. I've always said "We can do it later." 

I had just unbuckled her seat belt. Holding up the book and waving it back and forth, she asked "Mommy can we read this?"
She was getting out of the truck. We were at daycare. I was already running late. She wanted me to read her a book now? She wanted me to read her a book.

So I stopped. I sat on the tailgate and put her on my lap.

I stopped and I read the book to her.
I put aside the frenzy that would be today.
The craziness could/would wait.
The meetings the phone calls.
The mountain of paperwork.
I let the boys fuss while she and I had a moment.
I let the cars go by, the kids stare and the minutes pass....hell, they were only minutes.

After the last page I closed the book and paused. In that moment I strained to remember the last time I had done that.

Taken a moment.
Let things sink in.
I tried to soak in her energy, her optimism, her "being". Of course she didn't quite get the moment. Perplexed she turned her head to look at me and said "Mommy, what are you doing? Are you crazy?"

Her honesty shocked me....as it usually does. She's not one to mince words. Clearly she can see right through me.

So today (because I can't guarantee that it will happen tomorrow) I will try to stop. Even if only for a second.


The Other Side

The transition from purchasing toddler clothing to girl clothing isn't exactly the worst thing. Hell, I've ridden bucking runaway horses and still lived to tell about it. But crossing the isle of the store from the baby section to the girl section can go on my list of scary s*&%.

She is not out of the toddler girls clothing section, but her limbs are so long that I have been purchasing clothing a few sizes larger. I was on a hunt for pants and was completely unsuccessful in the toddler girl section. Besides the fact that they all were a horrible pattern or white (Kids and white pants. WTF?), they were just too short.

Before I crossed, I looked both ways and took the four steps to the other side. The girls section was large, much larger than the toddler section. It was complete with overly inappropriate clothing and then very matronly clothing.Tube tops for a girl? Khaki pleated front slacks? Who designs this crap?

I wandered very slowly and tactfully as though I was creeping through a forest. Of course I realized this after I was half way through the section. I must have looked like a crazy person. I zigged and zagged through the racks. Past the dresses, shirts, pants, accessories. And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw something white. My stomach dropped. A training bra. Really? Say it isn't so.

I know that I constantly wish that she will grow up. Get to that point where she is self-sufficient. But can we skip the training bra phase?


Fit Club

I feel like I have always been active. Gymnastics, ballet, tap and soccer as a kid. Horses for over a decade. After my equine retirement I was at a loss on how to stay fit. I first stepped into the gym at 23....before then the world was my playground (are you laughing at the fact that I just typed that? Well, I am. Ha ha!). But it's the truth. I always has a physical activity. Going to the gym had never entered my universe.

Being me, I found solace in the gym. My obsession was short lived, but while I was there I got in the best shape of my life. Then I met a great guy, dug into my new career, got married and had kids. Each live changer took time away from the gym and added a pound here and there. I always had my membership just in case I would end up with an extra hour....an extra hour? What a joke.

For a while I would make it to the gym at least three days a week. Then it trickled to two days, then one, and then once every two weeks. You get the idea. Something else always took priority....or maybe I just let other things become a priority...however ya wanna shake it, I wasn't making it to the gym.

I hurt my back a few weeks ago when I fell with one of the boys in my arm...sounds much more dramatic that it really was. The pain was bad and I limped to a new chiropractor to get a tune up.
After a 15 minute download on my personal, physical and diet history, the doctor gave me my marching orders. Change your diet (no dairy, no meet, no gluten) to cure the every present ulcer and start exercising....chasing kids and cleaning up toys was not enough. Time....couldn't you have written me a prescription for more time? Just one extra hour?

I had been waking up at 4am (truth) to get some work items done. So, why not exercise then? Well, CPS usually frowns on leaving the kids alone for extended periods of time. I was on a mission to find something that I could do at home. What comes to mind first when working out in your living room? The horrors of Jane Fonda or Sweating to the oldies VHS tapes. I can't do that. My ego has enough bruises. Richard Simmons would be the beginning of my complete demise. Next I'd be shopping QVC late nights hoping for a great deal on Quacker Factory clothing. FML.

I had heard of the P90X thing for a while. The infomercials showed fit people working out and getting more fit. But where were the chubby kids? Where were the soft people? The round shape club? Well, when my box of P90X tricks arrived in the mail, I quickly found out.

Getting down to business I completely ignored the note about taking a fit test before hand. Fit test? I'll be fine. 12 CD's complete with a calendar to track your progress. Let's get it on!!!

The first day I didn't have much time so I decided to do the shortest CD. Ab Ripper X. This guy Tony who is in amazing shape appears on the TV screen...remember its before 5am. So chipper people are frowned upon. He doesn't mess around. We did something like 349 ab/core exercises in less than 15 minutes. No breaks, no water, no messing around. It was hell. I looked like a fish flopping on the carpet. I cursed at this Tony dude at least a dozen times as he and his disciples effortlessly crunched and flexed their ripped bodies. P90X isn't for fat kids....it's for fit people....I am not a fit person...yet.

My hip flexors (muscles at the top of your thigh, right where your thigh meets your hip) were so sore that while driving I could not lift my leg from the gas petal to the break with out crying out in pain. She would comment "what's wrong? Why are you making that noise?"
"My legs hurt."
"Do you need a bandaide?"
I wish it was that easy.

Two days later I did plyometrics aka jump training....I could barely walk down a slight incline. It was horror. I continue to curse Tony each time I see his smug mug on the TV screen. Two days ago I did Kenpo X...basically a lot of Karate kicks and punches. I can barely straighten my arms. Tomorrow I will tackle another CD...what can I say, I am a bit of a masochist.