This Week’s THING ON THE INTERNETS!

The big discussion this week is whether or not you love your husband more than your kids, thanks to a recent survey where 75% of mothers said they love their children more than their husbands.

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.

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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.

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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.”

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A conservative Christian against Amendment One. Otherwise titled “Oh look! It’s a unicorn!”

60306082479779350 MHV1QguF c A conservative Christian against Amendment One. Otherwise titled Oh look! Its a unicorn!I don’t know how many of you live in North Carolina.  Maybe you live in California.

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 call for responsible discourse.

Last week it was suggested that I am an abusive & neglectful mother for letting my child play alone in our secure backyard, only feet away while I empty a dishwasher.

“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.

Dirty Moms.

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Hi. I'm wearing old jeans & an oversized sports shirt but my hair is clean & I'm wearing a bra.

This past week, Curvy Girls Guide posted a guest piece on “Why I’m Not a ‘Dirty Mom’.”  You know, the moms that roll up in sweatpants & three-day hair under a baseball cap on the regular because there’s nobody to impress in the carpool lane.  To sum it up, there was this gal that wrote a piece about how we females should dump the frump & put on some eyeliner to show ourselves & society some respect.

I read this piece in yoga pants stuffed into my beloved UGG boots with second-day hair & no make-up.

Oops.

Then there were the comments (because everyone knows the most entertaining part of blogging is the comments), ranging from “ROCK ON!” to “YOU SELF-IMPORTANT BITCH, I AM TRAINING MY CHILDREN TO BE FUTURE WORLD LEADERS SO STEP OFF MY NON-COVERGIRL NUTS.”   I know it’s the kiss of death in blogging to sit on the fence, but I admit that on this topic?  I’m straddling the fence & hoping I don’t get a camel toe from it.

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...but sometimes I look like this.

I’m a total crap-shoot as a mom when it comes to fashion.  I either look cute or I look like a dog& there’s really not too much in-between.  I could blame my workload but I’m going to be honest – my physical appearance is usually a good indicator of my mental health.  If I look pretty, it means it’s a good day & I’m feeling self-confident & in control. My to-do list is being checked off, dinner is planned, & the kid’s face is scrubbed.  If I’m in yoga pants, it’s probably because they were the first thing on top of the laundry pile that I managed to recognize.  But sometimes, even when all I want are Doug’s tshirts & to never see a bottle of shampoo again, I put on jeans & a flannel & a little blush.  It’s not much, but it does make me feel human & doesn’t send me into a spiral of shame when I run into a neighbor at Target.

So I smell what K.C. Wells is steppin’ in.  Putting effort into myself tells me & society that “hey! I care about myself!  I’m more than a momma in a carpool lane!”  I think it’s important to put my best & freshest face forward on the regular & at the risk of feminist backlash, I think it’s nice for my husband to see me in more than a ponytail when he loves my hair down & curly.

On the other hand, she should have used a different word than “dirty.”  Getting primped isn’t something I necessarily enjoy.  I like getting my hair cut & I desire to be pretty, but I have never had the patience for a hairstyle that takes more than 5 minutes or a make-up routine that requires sponges & brushes.  But I’m not “dirty.”  I shower on the regular & I shave my legs & visit the dentist every six months.  I would simply rather be chasing Harrison outside than curling my hair & I’ll always choose reading a book over painting my nails.  That doesn’t make me a better mom, nor does it make me dirty.  It just makes me…me.

So sometimes I’m a walking commercial for Ann Taylor & sometimes I look like I’m headed to the gym when in truth, I haven’t had a gym membership since 2007.

But I promise if you hug me, I don’t smell.

Heart & encouragement for the mommas with bottles.

It’s 2am & dark in the house.  The waves in the sound machine & the little breaths from my boy are the sounds that fill my ears along with the creak of the glider, a hand-me-down that has seen so many hours of the morning.

He burries his nose further into my neck, shifting in my lap until his legs drape down across the sides & I think back to flannel swaddling blankets.  His hand grabs my pajamas & finds it’s way into my shirt until his little palm rests upon my belly, soft from pregnancy & motherhood.  He snuggles down further until his head rests against my chest & he’s listening to my heartbeat & comforted.  He knows me inside & out, the same way I know him.

I think back to the times when I was told that this bonding would not happen as long as he fed from a bottle.  I remember the comments about how nothing could compare to the bond between a child & nursing mother & I wonder why I take that phrase so personally.  How two years later, those thoughts still sting me because I love my baby, too & I think we’re pretty okay together.  I worried I would never experience my child needing me physically & now he finally calms as his head rests against the breasts that never fed him, & I know that bonding flows deeper than milk in all mothers & babies.

Stealing is for losers. Copyright 2008-2012 Beth Anne Ballance