Fighting Feelings of Failure

I’ve been a slacker at blogging. I was talking to my friend at church the other day, and I told her it’s hard to blog because I feel like a hypocrite. The whole point of this blog is to encourage others on their journey to work from home with small kids, and lately I feel like I am failing at it. I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Life has been crazy, and it doesn’t help that I am pregnant.

Yes, I am 11 weeks now, which means I can see the light of the second trimester at the end of the tunnel. It was a bit of a shock at first, not really feeling “ready” for two, but I am excited for this baby and so thankful. Pregnancy brain sure has zapped me of motivation and creativity though. And of course, I just want to sleep when I don’t have “real work” to do. This pregnancy has been harder than my last one, but I know it could be so much worse.

Anyways, sometimes I feel like what’s the point? Like, I am never going to be one of those “successful bloggers.” Maybe I should just stick to poetry and writing web content for others. I don’t know. It could be the pregnancy hormones talking. I know I tend to give up on things too easily.

I know no one is going to believe in my writing and this blog like I am.

No one will make my dreams come true except for me. And the reality is, no matter what obstacles I face, I am truly the only one getting in my own way.

failure

I know this is a short post and it’s definitely not perfect, but I am writing it to say, I am sticking around. I will be sharing more of my own personal journey with you as a mom and wanna-be  writer.  I am going to stop trying to be like other mom blogs, stop beating myself over the head trying to follow the “formula to success” and just be myself.

So, please excuse my short and sweet and rather pointless rant. I am hungry and nauseous and anxious and my self-esteem has seen better days, but I am going to keep writing.

Thanks for being here with me on this journey while I attempt to follow my dreams, blog and parent. When you feel like a failure, remember:

  1. You are probably being way too hard on yourself.
  2. Tomorrow is a brand new day.

Take it easy. Breathe. Celebrate the little things. Tell yourself something good. I am gonna go try to follow my own advice now.

Peace & Creativity,

The Stay-at-Home Something

When Motherhood Doesn’t Feel Magical

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It’s bedtime and I am dreading it, but like everything in life I just have to deal with it and get it done. I didn’t always dread bedtime. My girl used to be the best sleeper. Every since Aurelia realized how easy it was to climb out of her crib and we decided to remove the railing and turn into a big girl bed, it’s not so easy.

I know, I know. It’s never easy. I know lots of you reading have newborns and multiple kids. Many of you are single moms, or may as well be. Many of you are just exhausted, emotionally done, anxious and depressed. Some of you fight to get up every morning because you want children so badly and you can’t have them. Some of you have gone through the unspeakable grief of losing a child. It’s easy to compare my situation and scold myself,

You shouldn’t feel this way. Count your blessings! 

On the flip side, I know sometimes I just need to stop filling my head with other people’s magical motherhood moments on social media. It’s too easy to think that’s real life and internalize it and somehow think I come up short.

I rub my fingers through her 2-year-old cherub-like blonde curls and feel a surge of intense love.

I don’t always FEEL that way. Lately, I am just numb. I have this beautiful, intense and intelligent child coming more and more alive to the word around her every day, and most days I am just getting by.  For that I also feel guilty and judge myself and the cycle continues.

I want to have this magical feeling of being in love with my kid 24/7. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? To feel overwhelmed with joy and rapture constantly. Some days I feel like I don’t even deserve her and I take her for granted. Some days I am not even sure if I can handle another child even though I want one so badly. Most days I just feel inexperienced and unprepared.

“You’re a good mom,” a friend will tell me.

But it’s hard to accept it sometimes. It feels a little like being in junior high and a boy told me I am pretty for the first time. I am not sure I believe it, because I don’t believe in myself enough.

Most days I wonder if I got too frustrated, if I was too strict, not fun enough. I feel my patience running out so much. I honestly didn’t think it would be like this. I used to be so care-free, so patient and laid-back. (Or so I thought.)

She’s sleeping finally. I am sitting on her floor next to her big girl bed because that’s what I do now. Her baby sixth-sense will know the second I get up to leave and she will bolt out of her bed to bang on her locked door. The only way to prevent this is by making sure she is in a deep sleep, like REM, and that’s not as easy as it used to be for her.

My back aches from the position I am in and I still have to take care of the dog and make dinner and do laundry. I know I am selfish. I’ve always done what I wanted when I wanted. I’ve always treasured being alone, having quiet time with my thoughts time to write.

I feel like that’s how I survive and lately I am just barely getting by.

Lately, there is a constant feeble, half-whispered prayer in the back of my throat.

I know, it worth it. I know, it’s over so fast. I know, the grass is always greener.

I stroke her hair again, whisper the words I’ve been telling her since she was born:

“Never forget. You are beautiful, brilliant and brave. Mama and daddy love you more than there are stars in the universe. Jesus has amazing things in store for your life.”

I take a moment and let my own words be real, not just a repeated phrase.

I get to be her mom.

It’s the best and hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s a privilege to care for this amazing human being. I know it’s probably never going to get easier, but that’s what grace is for.

I know many days will feel too hard, many will feel mundane, speckled with a few patches of joy and magic.

As a super sensitive person, I have to constantly remind myself life isn’t about feelings either. They are too fickle.

There is a Truth beyond what I feel or don’t feel, and when I purposefully put my eyes there, true peace will follow.

I start another lullaby, and feel the words.

I sing over my daughter and the room became sacred.

I almost hear God echoing the song, singing over me.

When you walk through the river, I will be with you

When you pass through the waters, the waves they will not overtake you

When you walk through the fire, the flames they will not touch you, 

You are mine. You are mine.

The World Is Still Beautiful

This morning I woke up with a heart that felt raw and exposed.

I, like so many others, feel the weight of grief from watching our nation being torn apart.

I, like all of us, am part of conglomerate of voices with feelings, opinions, anger, sadness and disbelief about events across the country and right next door.

I know, everyone is trying to grasp at answers and solutions, we want to blame someone or something.

Evil.


I took my daughter to the park this morning. I watched her fearlessly climb a rope ladder several times taller than she was.

“I climb up to the sky, mama!”

I cheered her on as she kept going upward.

The sun beat down on us through a bright blue sky and I thought of the families whose lives are being torn apart by loss and grief.

I wondered what kind of world my daughter would grow up in.


It’s crazy, thinking of the world I grew up in compared to now. Now, we are daily blasted with opinion, news, videos, live coverage, instantly. There is no time to discuss with our spouses or neighbors, or pray about anything. Often that breeds instant emotional reaction. It’s only human. I think our hearts and  brains literally get overwhelmed with all the information and bad news and we just get depressed and shut down.

We begin to live in constant fear. Nothing feels safe. How can we continue, day after day?

It’s too much.


I watch her climb higher and higher, with no fear. I am trying to raise her right. She’s only 2 and yesterday I let her get a sunburn and I spent the evening feeling guilty. Being in charge of a human being is hard. I want her to be kind and compassionate and brave and confident and that starts right now.

I want to tell her to look for the good, to find beauty in everything,  but I have a feeling she already does.

I watch the other kids play on the playground, lost in the pretend, adventure, the joy of being young.

Innocence. The whole world is open to them. Everything is new and beautiful.

I want to give my daughter that sort of world. No matter what the media is telling me. No matter how heart-breaking and scary my newsfeed becomes.

I know with every day that passes she is seeing more, understanding more. I know one day boo-boos will be bigger and heart-break inevitable, and I can’t protect her forever.

I want to tell her, The World Is Still Beautiful


The older I get, the more black and white my beliefs feel. Ok, maybe “black and white” is the wrong phrase. I guess it’s more like every color in the rainbow. What I mean to say is, some things may be complicated, but the things that really matter are simple.

The gospel is simple. My faith can be simple. It really has to be. It’s the only way to survive in a society that feels so complex.

Yes, there is evil, and it is scary and bad. People will hurt people.

But we have the privilege of knowing how the story ends:

Evil doesn’t win.

Love does.

We can look at the good guys, the heroes and protectors fighting for all things pure and good and innocent.

We can look at the helpers, working and serving, giving everything they have.

We can look at the artists, creating a more beautiful world through expressions of passion.

And we can look at the children, bbelieving in fun and giggles and beauty and light, in the power of a friend, of dreams and imagination.

Believing that at the end of the day, good will triumph and monsters will be vanquished.

Believing that Love will win and joy will be restored.


I watch my daughter grin as she kneels to hug a statue of a bunny rabbit and give it a kiss. I smile and look upward, past the tree branches into a pure sky.

I know what I have to focus on, what I have to write about, what I have to remind myself and others every day:

There is Hope. 

There is redemption. 

The world is still beautiful.

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Becoming Mom

I decided to share the story of my daughter’s birth I wrote when she was a few weeks old. After all, this is a mom blog and this is about how I became a mom. Plus, she is turning 2 in 2 days and I am feeling extra sentimental. It’s also a nice reminder after the drama of her screaming “I DON’T WANT IT” in Walmart and kicking me while trying on shoes. (Not that that happened today…) Plus, to be honest, it’s been a little crazy lately and I haven’t taken the time to write a new blog post. So here you go. Grab some tissues.


It’s close to four in the morning and I am awakened by the sound of my daughter crying. I slowly emerge out of a sleepy haze, rolling over to get out of bed. I pick my baby up out of her bassinet and try to comfort her. Her cry is loud now, reverberating across a silent house, her pink mouth wide open, waiting for me to feed her. For a moment I just want to drift back to sleep. Sweet, blissful sleep. I am then reminded of how just two weeks ago I longed so badly to hear her cry, and I would have traded every night of sound sleep just to hear her voice.

1.

It’s the sound we all hold our own breaths to hear, as a new baby enters our world and takes their first breath. My daughter struggled with hers, even after she let out her first glorious cry. For some reason we still don’t understand, her lungs never fully expelled the fluid inside them. She was born gasping for breath and we didn’t realize it at first. Everything about her looked alert and perfect, I couldn’t believe how flawless she was, not a wrinkle or imperfection.

I caught her myself after 10 hours of labor, 30 hours of water being broken, and 48 hours of no sleep. I pushed her out with a strength I didn’t think I had left, while on my hands and knees. I had already tried the relaxing birthing tub and every other position in the book, but her head was stuck, until that final, raw and real moment.  My midwife and birth team rushed to cover the beautiful wood floors with towels as Aurelia slipped into this world and into my arms.

I held her for an earth-shattering 20 minutes or so, the last time I would hold her until a week later.

The events after her birth were a gut-wrenching blur. Pure joy followed by overwhelming panic. She wouldn’t nurse, and showed signs of distress. She was given oxygen and a phone call was made. I got stitches. I rested in bed in the next room while medics wheeled in with the proper equipment to give my daughter the breath that she needed. It was storming hard outside, dark and foreboding. I couldn’t go with the ambulance, I wasn’t strong enough yet, I could barely stand. So my husband went. They rolled her into my room to say goodbye. I stood on shaky legs, holding onto the bed post, my vision blurring and blacking. I saw my precious baby hooked up like a science experiment, a pure, precious child inside of a machine with wires and tubes everywhere. I collapsed back on the bed sobbing.

No. This wasn’t our story.

I had just birthed a nearly nine pound baby with nothing to slow down the pain but my breathing. I have avoided hospitals my whole life, always gone “the natural way,” always assuming my body was fine and that it would fix itself. I believe very deeply God heals and protects. I rejected medical advise when I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes and opted to keep it in check myself through diet and exercise, which worked brilliantly. There were no complications and I was once again considered low-risk.

The NICU, this wasn’t our story.

I felt like I was in a bad dream when I finally arrived at the hospital. My father-in-law pushed my wheelchair through the endless maze of hospital corridors. I watched several cops run by us to a group of people standing at the end of a hall watching a man who was broken to pieces, yelling through his tears, “They told me he was alive!”

No. We didn’t belong here.

I was supposed to be enjoying the suite-like relaxing birth center, taking an herbal bath with Aurelia, eating a pancake breakfast in bed with my new, complete family.

We arrived to the hospital room with Louvier on the door, and there she was, hooked up to so many machines, sedated and far away from me like she never left my womb in the first place.

(I wrote this at one of my miserable 2 am moments in the hospital)

the constant mechanical beeping reminds us

of these fragile lives

who came to earth to soon

hanging in the balance

a few numbers

determining survival

but the will to live is strong

it echoes through halls

if you tune out the dark

and choose to hear it

Everyone we met in the hospital had far worse stories than ours. Most couples had preemies who had been there for months. They had been traveling a long, hard road, and there seemed like no end to it. My heart broke every time I walked down the hall and heard the cries of those tiny infants, who often had no one to hold them besides busy nurses and an occasional emotionally frail parent who drove from a long distance away and could barely keep up with their lives back home.

I was humbled, every time I began to feel bad for myself. I know you can’t really downgrade your own pain by comparing your circumstances to others, it is still the most difficult thing I’ve ever been though. But I quickly saw the stark black and white difference my attitude and perspective made in my mood and my overall sanity.

Gratefulness became my lifeline, and as days passed there was more and more to be thankful for.

My baby got better every day. Every single thing they tested her for came back negative. There was no bigger issue, no abnormal development or defect. She was indeed perfect, she just had a rough start.

strong

The nurses changed every 12 hours. Most were excellent, a few were mediocre. One in particular, a cheery, round woman who had been working in the NICU for 25 years, was our own Mary Poppins, our angel. She came right in the middle of our stay and saw Aurelia as healthy and whole, and treated her so. She pushed the doctor to eliminate machines and slow down sedation drips. She even bent the rules so that I could hold my baby, even though I wasn’t supposed to because she still had an IV in.

2.

I walked into the room after one of my long, painful bathroom trips, and Mary Poppins was standing over Aurelia’s bed grinning. She had produced a festive red bow from her magic bag, and placed it on my baby’s sweet head. I stopped, choked up, staring at my baby who finally looked like a little girl, not just a sick child. I got situated in the oversized hospital recliner and the nurse placed Aurelia in my arms. That day was my “due date” and even though she came into the world the week before, I felt like she was being born all over again.

holding

Soon they removed the ventilator which had been keeping Aurelia silent. I waited for her cry, thinking it would happen immediately, but her poor voice box was all scratched from the tubes. A faint, hoarse noise slowly turned to a strong proclamation of life over the next 24 hours.

3.

Her “third birthday” happened a week later when the doctor finally declared her well and signed our discharge papers. We went home, exhausted and overwhelmed with emotion, knowing Aurelia had no medication, condition or even a diagnosis.

“Some babies just have a hard time transitioning,” our pediatrician who I nicknamed “the baby whisperer” explained when we went to our follow-up appointment. Aurelia screamed her lungs out to prove they worked, then calmed down immediately when he put her in a different position.

At home, we quickly fell into a routine and relaxed knowing that whatever normal, hard things we went through with adjusting to having a newborn, at least it wasn’t magnified in the hospital.

We were finally home.

———————————-

Hallelujah 

Every breath is a second chance

(Switchfoot)

———————————–

I don’t claim to know why things happen. I can’t justify the fact innocent babies suffer, and that while we have our happy ending, some in the NICU do not.

I do know that life is so unpredictable, no matter how well you plan and prepare you just never know what road you’ll have to walk down.

I know that you never know how strong you are until you are brought to your very weakest point.

I know that there is a transition that happens in that moment of utter brokeness:

His strength is made perfect in your weakness. 

I know that Grace and Comfort are there in that moment, and He is more real and tangible than the tears in your eyes and the pain in your heart.

I know that sometimes the smallest, more fragile looking things in life often carry the most strength.

And I know my girl has found her voice, and one day, the world will hear it.

 

 

Jean-Thomas wrote Aurelia this song when I was pregnant and sang it for her in the hospital. This was our Fourth of July celebration.

 

Beautiful girl in a beautiful world

Do you know just how much your worth?

Your dreams are already changing this earth

There is so much more you’re destined for 

There are those who’ll tell you you’re wrong

They will try to silence your song

But right here is where you belong

Take your dreams, sail away

 

You’re the dawn of a new day that’s breaking

A masterpiece still in the making

Blue in the ocean of grey

The birth of a star that sends darkness away

Be the hoper of hope far out of reach

Be the dreamer of dreams and impossible things

 

Though this world may try to define you

They can’t take the light that’s inside you

So don’t you dare try to hide

Let your fears fade away

 

You’re the dawn of a new day that’s breaking

A masterpiece still in the making

Blue in the ocean of grey

The birth of a star that sends darkness away

Be the hoper of hope far out of reach

Be the dreamer of dreams and impossible things

and impossible things


Here she is singing a few weeks ago. I’d say she found her voice!

Saying No to a Full-Time Job

It’s only Tuesday and I am already tired.  Mostly from a billion thoughts I can’t get out of my head. I am a little scatter-brained right now.

As much as I love writing freelance, sometimes it’s hard for me to keep track of what is what. Technically, I am working contract for 5 different companies, possibly a 6th soon. Plus I have 2 blogs I am trying to run, as well as projects for my church.

Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I’ll be the first to admit I am not the most organized person. Sometimes I look at the whole thing and it’s overwhelming.

Sometimes I wonder if I made the right career choice.

About a month ago, I applied for a full-time job. I have applied for many jobs, so I was surprised when I got a call back right away. I knew it was in an office, but my husband encouraged me to go interview anyways. I was kind of hoping they would be more flexible with the schedule, maybe allow me to do some of the work at home.

It was a big deal for me to face my fear. The morning of the interview, I woke up feeling sick with anxiety. I don’t do well with these kind of things. I like to hide behind my computer. But somehow I found something “professional” to wear, and got out the door. (It’s been a long time. My attire consists of uncomfortable jeans I don’t wear and yoga pants.)

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Gosh I miss this show.

I guess I did well, because they pretty much told me I had the job on the spot. 45 hours a week in an office. No possibility of remote work. It was a cool office building, I’ll give it that. Everyone looked young and hipster and I felt out of place. My interviewer looked just like Jim from The Office. The content I’d be writing was pretty boring, but the pay was decent,  and it was consistent. It was a tough call.

The day I had to make my decision, I met with 2 other SAHMs and we got to talking why we love to be with our kids and how we couldn’t imagine life any other way.

I knew what I had to do.

I said no because for the millionth time in my life I was reminded I don’t want to throw away my dreams for security.

Because I believe God has something better.

Because  I know that right before the real thing comes, we are tested with a fake thing that may be tempting, but it’s not the best.

It’s such a hard lesson to learn, but so necessary. (Don’t. Ever. Settle.)

I said no because the 9-5 life makes me a little crazy inside.

I love interrupting my day with a trip to the park. I love going to the gym or the grocery store in the morning, working during nap time and after my daughter goes to bed. I love that I can space out my day, work for a bit then play dress-up or go puddle stomping. I don’t just love it, but I think I work better that way.

I want to be there for my daughter. I can’t imagine missing the little moments in her day.

I know that I need to pour my heart into this blog and that’s what I am going to do.

Since I said no, I’ve had a few more opportunities come up. I am currently studying to take a test for a great work-at-home company that pays well and hoping that will work out.

I am trusting God for more. I am trusting Him for favor for myself and for my husband. For provision.

Please don’t think I am putting down moms who work outside the home. Ya’ll are incredible, and I know God gives people the grace for wherever they are.  Everyone has a different path. I just know it’s not for me, for this season.

Even though I’ve had moments of doubt, I believe deep down I made the right decision. I don’t regret pursuing it or doing the interview. It was also kind of a wake-up call. I am a writer. I can can actually do what I love and get paid.

I determine my success and my worth.

I can succeed. I can take a breath and tackle one thing at a time.

My toddler has been screaming in nap avoidance for over an hour and she is finally quiet.

I sit. I breathe. I write.

Peace and Creativity,

The Stay-at-Home Something

I’m Not Famous and That’s Ok

Today I am 31.

It’s a place I’ve never been before, obviously. I’ve mostly stopped having all these high expectations about where my life will be at a certain age, but a few of them I still cling on to.

Like, I honestly thought I would be a successful writer by now.

What is successful? Is it rich and famous? Is it having a loyal fan base? Is it being able to do what I love without working another job? Is it waking up every morning feeling like I am still in love with this whole writing thing? I guess 2 out of 4 isn’t bad.

I am grateful every time I get paid for something I’ve written. I never want to take that for granted. I am grateful every time someone likes a post on WordPress or Facebook. I am thrilled by every comment. I know we are all busy and the fact you are taking time out of your day to read this means a lot. So, thank you.

I think I have given up on the whole fame thing. It’s honestly exhausting even thinking about it. Especially when it means people arguing with you, leaving terrible reviews and saying nasty things in the comments. I know I shouldn’t care about that but I do. It makes me sick to think about. I think my personality just can’t handle it. I got crushed once by an editor and it sucked. I know I just need to get over that.

So yeah, I am 31. I’ve had the same blog for 8 years now. I just started this one hoping to make more traction, more connection.

I am a mom, and I am somehow managing to not screw that up too bad, although there are days when I am not so sure.

It’s beautiful, confusing, heart-breaking, exhausting and wonderful all rolled into one.

My birthday morning started with my 2-year-old putting a tiny plastic ball in her mouth like it was candy. I yelled “No!” and she burst into tears and started crying so hard she couldn’t catch her breath and started gagging. She’s only done this a few times and every time it was because my husband our I raised our voice at her. I felt so bad. I couldn’t console her. She didn’t want to hug me and ended up spitting up all over my shirt.

The only thing that finally calmed her down was a Cookie Monster video on my phone. The day got better, and delicious birthday cinnamon rolls helped.

birthday
My Favorites

Sometimes that stuff doesn’t phase me, sometimes it does.

Sometimes I think I am doing a great job at mom-ing and sometimes I know I have no clue what I am doing.

Sometimes I just want to sit in a field of flowers alone and write poetry.

Motherhood is messy and unpredictable. But so is writing.

You never know what’s gonna happen next, and I guess that’s part of the excitement.

It’s vulnerable. You’re always on display.

You have to let your heart break, and that always hurts.

So, I will continue to do what I love. I will keep writing, whether I get any recognition or not.

I will love my daughter patiently, day after day, watching her grow and watching my heart expand.

I won’t give up on my dreams, but I will let them take time.

I will let my influence unfold naturally, as God gives me favor,

Not by manipulating people into clicking on my blogs or trying to force fame.

I will stop giving my life deadlines and be prepared to be surprised. 

So bring it, 30’s. Because I am only gonna get better with age. 😉

Peace and Creativity,

The Stay-at-Home Something

Friendship > Opinions

Dear Mamas,

I love being alive in 2016. I really do. I know the world is messy and screwed up and confusing. But can we just stop for a second and acknowledge what an amazing thing it is to be alive, right now, today?

We have so many options. So much potential and so many things available, it’s almost overwhelming. Ok, it is.

There are so many contradicting voices telling us what to do with these tiny people in our charge, and so much fear surrounding all of it.

Ok, so it’s hard being a mom. We’ve all made jokes about it. It’s hard being human. It’s hard living in today’s society. But hasn’t it always been hard?

Our ancestors dug in rocky soil to plant crops to nourish the bodies of their children, and graves for those that didn’t make it.

We worry about our food poisoning our kids, the government controlling our families, too much bad changing our way of life.

We post our opinions online and argue about them. We plant our flags in our camps and yell at the other side.

Our grandmothers walked to their neighbors to bring them bread. We de-friend ours when they don’t agree with our stance on vaccines.

We call names and refuse to break gluten-free bread with those who dare to raise their kids differently than we do.

We are outraged that so-and-so won’t shop at Target anymore, or that our church friend doesn’t care that our children will no longer be safe in bathrooms.

We say we love diversity, but deep down it scares us to death. We say we want to live simply, but we spend more time stressing over comments of total strangers and thinking,

“I am glad I am not ignorant like her.”

Can’t you see it’s killing us?

Our opinions shouldn’t matter more than our friendships.

Guess what? Being a mom is hard. Being a human being is hard. I don’t have time for this bullshit.

I will love you and be your friend whether you vaccinate your kids or not. I honestly don’t care whether you vote for Bernie or Trump or nobody. I am not gonna lose sleep over whether you formula-feed your babies or co-sleep.

I will listen to you talk about your protective parenting, your free-range toddler, your home birth or your C-section. I will smile and laugh with you while you feed your kids raw vegan snacks or chicken nuggets.

I will try my best not to judge, even when we don’t see eye-to-eye.

Because we’re all human and we’re all just feeling our way through life with our eyes half-closed.

None of us really know what we’re doing.

When our kids get sick with a fever and cling to us, when we go through the unthinkable tragedy of losing the baby inside of us before they can grow, when jobs and marriages are lost and out futures are vague, and we are overwhelmed with parenthood and just want to go back simpler days,

We are not alone.

We are all faking it. We’re all trying to play the game of adulthood one day at a time. We are all stressed and fearful, trying to love and be patient and let go and not screw up our kids too bad.

We all just want them to be happy. To survive, but also, thrive. To make something in this world. To think for themselves.

How we do this looks as different as fingerprints, yet we all have them.

So dear mamas, let’s strive to just love and do whatever we have to do for our kids. And help each other along the way with gentle, wanted advice but mostly just a listening ear and support.

Let’s drink coffee and wine and tea together and tell funny stories about potty training and admit discipline is hard and agree to have each others backs.

K2UAX4ERG4

There’s a strength in us moms that roars like that Niagara Falls, a loving force that overcomes the biggest obstacles, causing ourselves and our little people to grow.

Let’s focus on that, instead of our differences in opinions,

and the world will never be the same.