Geez, people.  CAN’T OUR MOM BRAINS GET JUST ONE WEEK OFF?!  First the hot chick on TIME breastfeeding her kid, now this.  I feel like I’m about 2.5 seconds away from imploding from the sheer exhaustion of swirling around the media’s porcelian bowl.  On the other hand, this topic totally sparks my interest because we’re in that stage right now where we’re molding our little family, deciding what works for us.

I love Doug & Harrison in unique ways to what they bring to my life.  I love them for the different people that they are.  I love Doug for the strong partner he is & that’s not something Harrison can provide.  But I love Harrison for softness he gives my life & that’s not something Doug can do for me.  If there was a burning fire & I could only save one of them, I’d stand & sob that I couldn’t choose until Doug told me that he wants me to save Harry.

I’d do that because I know that’s what Doug would want, what I would want if it was Doug having to choose, but I wouldn’t be okay with it.

On the other hand, I put Doug first in our family & I hope that Harrison understands & respects that.

When Doug walks in the door, my goal is to greet him.  When Doug needs to talk, I give Harrison an independent activity.  If I’m serving up dinner, I serve Doug’s plate first.  (Doug does the same for me.)  I don’t always do it perfectly & I get distracted & sometimes Harrison is sick & demands my full attention.  Little spurts of life happen, but I try to focus on the bigger picture of our relationships.

I remember as a little girl watching my parents do the same & it never filled me with resentment, but rather a peace knowing that no matter what happened, my parents would be there together.  Their solid marriage was a comfort & coming home was a comfort.

For me, putting our marriage before children says “Hey babe, I know this is rough but I’m on your side.”  Parenting is work. Marriage is work, hard work.  So in the hustle & bustle of coming years, from more babies to new houses & soccer practices, I remind myself that it will all fade soon.  My babies will grow & take on their own life adventures & their own families; once again, it will just be me & Doug.

I don’t want to wonder in 20 years who I’m married to & whether he only liked me because I was the mother of his children.  I don’t want to wish back these years of babies & cling to the past.

I want to look at him & say, “Holy cow.  Look at this life we built together.”

But it sounded whiney & frankly, that pissed me off because living apart 5 nights per week isn’t ideal, but it’s far from troublesome.  Military spouses do far worse.  & having a queen-sized bed to myself isn’t so bad.

Except when I roll over at 4am to find a two-year-old staring at me like the child of the corn & there’s nobody there to hold me while I scream.  Because that totally happened the other night.

I wrote a post on Babble about how I completely freaked when I thought Harrison’s class was having a “Mother’s Day Tea” that I would have to miss due to work, but there’s a tiny piece in that article that speaks huge volumes:

THIS is the work-life balance that I fought so hard to get as a working mom – the ability to do my office job well, but have time to be the wife and momma my family deserves. 

These days, we wake up at 7am & have breakfast together.  I get Harrison dressed & out the door & I’m in my office at 9am.  I’m not frantic or exhausted or stressed because I haven’t spent an hour in the car with a screaming toddler.  I work, walk/run on my lunch break since my boss doesn’t mind me being sweaty the rest of the afternoon.  I pull into the driveway at 5:30pm.  No more bumper-to-bumper traffic with an exhuasted kiddo.  No more 6:30pm arrival times with dinner & bathtime looming.  Instead, we took a walk last night before dinner & it was lovely.

Which is why seeing “contingent” next to our house listing gives me happy tingles.

It’s like I got 3 hours back in my day.

p.s. why doesn’t doug stay with us? other than getting mail & keeping an eye on the house, he just does not sleep well at my parents house. doug sleeping well = i don’t sleep well.  us not sleeping well together = cranky.  cranky = me not a nice wife, not an efficient worker, not a patient momma.  as hard as it is to be apart, this is the best solution overall.

Being your momma is my greatest joy, my greatest accomplishment, my greatest love in life.

At night when I kneel by your bed & you thank God for playing outside & yellow slides & tow trucks & oatmeal, my heart beats that I am so, so thankful for you.

Love always,
Momma

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mommas out there. May your day be filled with happiness & may there be pretty cake with buttercream roses on it.

I don’t know if you’re liberal or conservative or Christian or agnostic.  I don’t know whether you put signs in your front yard or prefer to keep quiet about political opinions.

I don’t usually talk about politics or religious theories because I never feel like I know enough .  If you’ve been reading here for awhile, it should not come as a shock to you that I am a registered Republican.  You know that I am a Christian, a Jesus-lover that also adores wine & a properly placed curse word.  I’m still growing up in my faith & political beliefs, know that they are firming & changing as I experience more of life.  But I do believe in love & equality & fairness of citizenship.

Today, North Carolina citizens will vote for or against an amendment to our consitution which will state that one man & one woman form the only legally recognized union in North Carolina.

When I see signs in yards that state “Another family FOR Amendment One!” I wonder if they feel this way because of a religious belief?  If it is solely based upon religious belief, how would they feel if the tables were reversed & the government forced an Islamic or Jewish or Hindu belief upon citizens?  Do they recognize it as prejudice & hate against a group of people?  What is so terrifying about gay marriage when there are children dying of starvation & young men being murdered for race & Britney Spears marries in a Vegas chapel for a few hours?

I believe in Jesus.
I do not believe the government should be ruled by religious agendas.
I believe that the greatest commandment Jesus gave was to love.
I do not believe that the people voting for this amendment in the name of Jesus are exemplifying the love & grace He asks His followers to show.

 I will be voting AGAINST Amendment One.

For more information:
yes for amendment one  |  no for amendment one

A contingent offer, based on the buyers selling their current home.

So that’s kind of a damper on the OMG SQUEEEAAAA feeling that I really thought we’d have when an offer came through.  It ended up being pretty anticlimactic, actually.  I really thought I’d be spraying myself with champagne & running naked on the Quad or something like that, but I basically just sat there for five minutes & then made a cup of tea.  I think it’s the “contingency” that makes me a little nervous – the buyers have to sell their home in order to purchase ours, which is a fairly common practice.  There’s no time limit but if another person comes along during the contingency (oh yes, we still have showings) & makes an offer, the contingent folks have to pony up in 24 hours with a non-contigent offer or they could potentially lose the house.

So now we pray for a speedy sale over in Chapel Hill for our buyers.

It’s starting to hit me that the offer means we need to start making some sort of plan other than showing up at my parents house with boxes on closing day, so we’re meeting with a lender to discuss options for purchasing another house.  Since I’m a 1099-er (aka contract person) then buying a house gets a little sticky & we may be checking out apartments.

Can you keep a secret?

It’s all so crazy & up in the air, but I’m thrilled for all of this change.  I’m thrilled with the idea of a new house or even a small apartment.  I’m thrilled with moving in closer to friends & family.  It’s this entire new adventure for our little family.  I’m so not afraid of this.

oh, & if you need me…I’ll be on Pinterest.

Counter.

::twiddles thumbs::

Counter.

Counter.

::bites fingernails to the quick::

Wait….wait…wait…

Accept.

This kid, he bear-hug loves his momma.

& his momma loves him back.

I came alive as Harrison’s mother over the past few months.  The doubts & lack of confidence & inability to focus simply shed away & I’m not sure whether it was from the sunshine in the backyard or being the boss of my own day or his incredible tiny grin.   But I came alive in the happiest & most fulfilling way possible, all the way down to my toes until motherhood felt like a calling to my soul.  Driving through town with the windows down & groceries in the backseat, I’d flick my eyes to the rearview mirror & catch Harry’s smile & I would think to myself YES.

Yes, motherhood.

Yes, incredible joy & worthwhile sacrifice & overwhelming love.

Yes, I’ve finally got it.

I’ve always been a little off-beat but I think the oddest thing is that the longer I’m with Harrison, the more I mother, the less tired & overwhelmed I feel.  Two hours can bring me to my knees but three months home can be a balm to the soul where we’ve figured our quirks & my patience surprises me with its ability to simply roll with the tide, even when there’s a gallon of milk on my floor.  To where he’s the beat of my heart & being without him feels like I might as well leave my right arm with him, too.  Here, take my kidney too.

Only three months & already I feel lost without his little arms wrapped around my legs but the penchant is still there to count everything & it’s a private joke that only I know when I lift the second half of my sandwich & think “two” & I smile.  My new boss must think I’m strange & maybe I am, but I’m a momma above all, even with my fingers flying above a keyboard.

That ain’t happening.  My sanity can’t take it & my Twitter stream cannot handle any more LOOK HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO GET HOME! that they had this past winter.

So to cut back the time by roughly an hour each way, Harrison & I will be living out of suitcases on work nights & then trudging back to our home for the weekends.  Doug will be doing a 50/50 dance of checking on the house & staying with us.  I’m not looking forward to being without my husband so much, but we know it’s temporary.

This is the room I’ll be staying in – one of the guest rooms that has zero of the personality it used to have with college banners & football trophies from when my brother lived in here.  I’ll be moving in my desk & computer & I switched out one of the nightstands for a bookcase (I love having my books close).  The Momma is clearing out space in the closet as I type.  But I’m at a loss as to what to do…I’ll be here 5 nights out of the week without my husband for who knows how long & I am wondering if I should try to bring a little of “us” to this room.  Bring pictures of our little family, use a bedspread from home.

I’ll need to remember to bring over Harry’s favorite bedtime books & toys for the evenings.  I’ll need to leave a post-it note reminding Doug to water the garden every night.  It’s going to be crazy-weird living under my parent’s roof again, except now I’m an adult & it’s so temporary.  Hopefully our house will sell this spring so that we can put all this nasty commuting mess behind us for good.

But for now, I guess I’m moving back to the homestead.

Y’all.

“So I unload the top of the dishwasher, then peek out to check. Unload the bottom dishwasher & peek out to check. Wipe down the counters & brew a cup of coffee & head outside for another 30 minutes.” ~from my Babble.com post

The comments poured in, different opinions & questions & then first neglect, then abuse.  oh, the rage.  It was strong.  Not because someone disagreed with my parenting choices or felt they were wrong – I highly expect that for every decision I make regarding my child.  I formula fed & suffered postpartum depression & don’t spank my child so if you think I still have a thin skin regarding parenting choices, try again.

My rage came from blatantly flippant use of the words “abuse” & “neglect.”

Definition of child abuse (per dictionary):
mistreatment of child: severe mistreatment of a child by a parent, guardian, or other adult responsible for his or her welfare, e.g. physical violence, neglect, sexual assault, or emotional cruelty

Definition of child neglect (childhelp.org):
Failure to provide for a child’s physical needs. This includes lack of supervision, inappropriate housing or shelter, inadequate provision of food and water, inappropriate clothing for season or weather, abandonment, denial of medical care and inadequate hygiene.

My child playing 10 feet away where I can hear & see him easily is not severe mistreatment.  Him learning independent play in a secure environment where I am seconds away is not careless disregard.

It makes me wonder if those that throw those harsh words around so easily have ever seen true neglect & abuse first-hand.  If they’ve ever lived with a nine-year-old boy that only weighs 40 lbs because his mother bought drugs instead of food.  If they’ve ever had to carry a hyperventilating six-year-old out of a store because a piece of glitter landed on her hand & she had a flashback to years of child pornography.  If they’ve ever sat with social workers for hours as part of a home study & heard a little boy say he was given to the devil.  Because I have & those are memories that marked my heart forever to where the word “abuse” is as strong as a racial slur or the R-word.

Child abuse & neglect are powerful words, real words that are real in our society.  They are the children that are starved & beaten & locked in closets, torn apart at the hands of people they know, molested & left for days.  Every ten seconds, a report of child abuse is made.  More than five children die every day as a result of abuse.  Child abuse is serious & it is a serious allegation.

I beg you to be mindful of the words used to describe another parent’s actions.  Are they truly abusing their child, causing danger to the child’s overall well-being?  Or is it a simple heated discussion where you feel you are right, by golly? 

Let’s talk about parenting.  Let’s share ideas & concerns & hopes & fears.  Feel free to disagree with me respectfully & accept that I may defend my stance.  But let’s have this parenting discourse responsibly.

If you do see child abuse & neglect happening, please call the National Child Abuse Hotline at 1-800-422-4453.

Our boy.

He doesn’t talk the way other kids his age do.

I’ve known it for over a year, watching him & practicing & my heart hurting the way he seems to struggle.  The way he doesn’t quite form the words & I know that part of him being so quiet is the perfectionist trait he inherited from his momma, not wanting to try unless he knows he can succeed.  The way my heart burst one thousand times when he put two words together on his own in January, saying “Bye-bye, moon!” when we went inside & I nearly cried.  How many times I’ve cried, out of pure joy when he says a word clearly & in frustration when he is screaming & I’m begging him to please, please use a word or show Momma, but no screaming.  How once & twice a week for the past six months, I’ve sat on the floor in speech therapy, taking mental notes for ways to play with him, read to him, teach him to use language.

I don’t understand it because language has always come easily for me, from talking to reading & writing.  I may not always know what to say, but I always have something to say.  It is so different with my boy, who sits quietly while we race monster trucks & bake wooden cookies.

I know this is a “common” thing, especially for young boys.  I hear stories of kids that open their mouths for the first time with full sentences when they are four & stories of apraxia with years of therapy.  There are people that tell me to wait it out, that he’ll speak someday.  There are others that warn me against waiting too long, that push for a diagnosis.  We are doing what feels right for our son.  All other opinions are just unwelcome noise. 

He is my baby & I am his momma & I love the parts of him that are hard for me to grasp.