Monday, December 8, 2014

I felt prompted to write this post and I have no idea why. 

It's deeply personal. More personal than asking if you can stick your tongue in my nose. 

I would say no, by the way. 

I'm also not posting this one on facebook. Not yet at least. 

Maybe it's something to get off my chest in an effort to fully restore my soul, or maybe to help someone with a similar weight. 

Whatever the purpose, it's going to be uncomfortable for all of us. If you want to stop reading after the next sentence, I completely understand. 

I was sexually abused as a child. 

Thinking about typing those words has caused serious heart palpitations. Typing them is borderline panic attack. I have to keep going though. Whether for myself, or someone else, I still don't know. I'm writing this as fast as my fingers can type on an iPhone. 

Did you know I blog 100% from my phone? True story. 

Anyway, twice when I was nine years old and once when I was ten, my step dad molested me, for lack of a more eloquent term. I've always hated the word molest. I don't know if it's the stigma attached to its meaning, but the word itself just feels like a travesty to humanity. 

I never told anyone until I was 14 and a friend confided in me that she had been abused as well. For years after that, I shoved it so far back into my subconscious that I had no adverse affects in my life. I shoveled so much dirt and buried it so deep. 

I was a survivor, but that really wasn't THAT difficult to accomplish. 

My mom found out and brought up the idea of pressing charges. At this point I was 19 and wanted nothing more than forget that human had ever existed. Another few shovels of dirt to make sure it stayed down this time. 

Then one night, after being married for just a few weeks, it all came back. 

Like the walking dead of emotional trauma.

I laid in bed crying. Praying to forget it all again. Begging for it all to just disappear. I clawed at my chest in the dark, trying to feel something, ANYTHING, except the growing pain, fear, and disgust that was overwhelming me. 

Poor husband had no idea what was happening. I had never told him because that meant it had to be real. Too many years had been spent pushing and shoving and stomping that notion down. 

Now here it was. In my bed. With my husband. And I was paralyzed. He asked me what was wrong and I just couldn't say it. All he wanted to do was help, but even his loving embraces triggered flashbacks and another tidal wave of turmoil. Helpless, he suggested giving me a blessing. 

In my church, worthy men are given power from God through the Priesthood. That power can be used to give blessings of healing, comfort, strength, and peace. 

Having faith in this power, I agreed and my husband began the blessing. He blessed me to know my Father in heaven loves me and knows me and knows my struggles and my pain. He blessed me to feel that love and to have the peace it carries with it. When the blessing was finished, I finally fell asleep. 

The next day, I told husband what was wrong. I expected the head tilt, knitted brow, whimper of sympathy that I detest more than anything. Instead he stared at me for a moment and then asked to give me another blessing. It followed much the same as the one the night before, but it had one key part that shook me. 

"I bless you with the ability to forgive."

It's been almost 20 years since that first terrible night, and I have yet to bring that blessing to fruition. I don't know if I ever will, especially since having daughters and seeing their frail innocence and remembering and thinking, "how could you even THINK of it, let alone commit such heinous crimes?!"

I am not perfect, and I'm still a little not ok. But having reached the end of my post, my heart isn't beating wildly in protest and my stomach isn't churning at the thought of revealing such a raw part of my life. So I guess that's a step in the right direction. 

Just please, please, please don't pity me. Don't put your hand to your heart and say "oh you poor thing". Don't treat me any differently. This is part of who I am and part of who I've always been. I'm a fighter. I'm strong. And I will do more than survive. 

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Avid

You know what's magical?

Books. 


I used to be one of those "e readers are for noobs" kind of people. I love the feel and smell and weight of a book in my hand. 

Then I discovered something that would forever change my literary world. 

There is an app that lets you check out e books from the library. You don't even have to physically GO to the library. You don't have to drag three children through two aisles of adult fiction before the growing crescendo of "I WANT TO PLAY WITH THE PUZZLESSSS!!!!" begins to cause a weary eye to turn your direction. 

You sit in your home or the local McDonald's with free wifi, peruse the titles gingerly, make a selection, and BAM! 

There's a book in your hand. An unbridled universe of fact, fiction, paragraph and prose at your fingertips. 

The best part? 

After two weeks, it automagically returns the books FOR YOU! No suddenly remembering it's due that day and frantically rushing to the library in your jim jams in hopes of avoiding the incurred late charge of .20 a day (or $2.00 if its a movie). 

This discovery was life altering for me because I, dear reader, am a reader. 



I get grumpy without a book. I get emotionally involved with nearly every story. I got my Kindle on November 8th. Tomorrow will be one month and I have read...aaaah...let me check my list. Because I kept a list. 

I have read 11.5 books. Not all of them have been profound works of literary art. I will admit I enjoy the written word of rom coms. 

I'm currently reading The Walk series by Richard Paul Evans (which is not a romantic comedy). And I love it. 

I've always loved reading, but what really cemented books into my life was my dad. You see, when we first moved to Texas to live with him, he took us to get library cards. I didn't ever have one and knew nothing of its mystical powers. Then I got grounded for the first time. 

No phone. 

No tv. 

No playing outside or at friends houses. 

You go to the library and you get some books. 

"You mean my punishment is to sit in my room. Alone. And read? For hours on end?"

Guess what, dad? That was zero punishment. That was bliss. I began to read faster and devour books. I remember coming home from church one day and opening the door to find the fifth Harry Potter book on our doorstep. Fresh from Amazon. Before anyone else could realize it was there, I had snatched it up a la Book Thief (minus the Nazis, sorta), ran into my room and hungrily poured over the pages. It was finished in about 8 and a half hours. And yes. I cried. Siriusly.

Too soon?

Older girl child is five and a half and she loves reading as well. I really hope that seeing how much reading means to me will kindle a similar love and devotion to the glossy words contained in each miniature universe, bound in imagination and endless adventure. 

If there's one thing I want my children to inherit from me, it's an absolute adoration for books and reading. 

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Happy Tuesday

You know what?

You look beautiful. 

Those cheerio crumbs in your cleavage really compliment the messy, three days since your last shower ponytail. 

Your spit up accents on your shoulders are the perfect accompaniment to the dark circles under your eyes. 

Those yoga/pajama/sweat pants with the hole worn in the knee make your butt look FABULOUS. 

It means your kids spent the day cared for, having fun, and being loved. 

And there is nothing more beautiful than that. 



Rock that t shirt from your junior year choir trip and believe your husband when he says you look gorgeous today. 

Because you do. Even if you don't feel like it. Please remember how beautiful you are. Maybe not as perky and sleek as you used to be. I know I'm not. But you have a new beauty. It radiates from your soul and shines through your whole being. And that's not just the TV glaring off your greasy hair. 

It's the light of love, patience, power, and compassion that is ignited when you become a mother and will never stop shining. 

I'm blind to it most days as I look in the mirror and see a paunch where a flat six pack used to be. I ignore it when my once perky and perfect boobs sag like two pancakes tacked to a bulletin board. I get angry when husband comes home and tells me how gorgeous I am. 

But when you're sitting on an airplane without your kids, reading a book quietly, and you hear the exasperated cry of a bored toddler, you're light clicks on a little brighter and all you want to do is help. When you swore you would never be a creepy baby ogler, and yet here you are gently cupping the glorious hair of a stranger's infant and cooing about how stunning she is. 

I saw the light of a mother in myself today. And in the frustrated eyes of another mom, and in the tired shoulders of yet another. 

We all have it. Whether we are mothers by birth or adoption or outer space, we all have that brilliant glow within us. 

And we are beautiful. 

Sunday, November 2, 2014

Drunk Preschooler

Boy Child has quite the imagination. 

And a complete lack of conversational normalcy. 

While eating lunch-
"Mom, I'm tired now. I don't want to finish my food. Lobsters don't laugh."

Nice transition of topic, son. 

While driving in the car in complete silence-
"Mom, snakes are just wiggly sticks."

Are you high?

After taking his clean clothes to his room-
"Last night, the moon came close to the earth in space and it made the moon different colors when it was a circle!"

What?

After reading The Pigeon Wants A Puppy-
"If I had a puppy I would...wait. No, if I had a pigeon I would give him a puppy and he would say 'WHAT THE HECK BRO?! I CANT EAT THIS!' And then I would give him......mom can I have fruit snacks?"

Focus, kid. 

Singing along in the car to "Little Talks"-
"Though the truth may bury our sheets will carry our...MOM THEY SAID CARRY! LIKE GRANDMA CARRIE! Can we go to California now?"
Me: your sister is at school. We can't just go to California. 
"Yes we can. She can stay at school for sleeping."

How kind of you. 

Monday, October 20, 2014

Real Talk

I wanted to high five the little old lady who gave me real talk at the grocery store. Boy child was running in circles, Younger girl child was pterodactyl screaming just for funzies, and I was just trying to get everything I needed and get out. 

This 80 year old woman comes up and says "I do not miss these days at all. Hopefully it's almost nap time sweetie!" 

That was worth so much more to me than all the "oh it goes so fast. You better enjoy them!" I usually get. 

Why?

Because when I'm in public and my kids are being "those kids" and I'm trying my hardest to keep cool, I'm definitely not enjoying them and I'm certainly not going to miss it. The grandma guilt trip is the worst!!!

So thank you, honest woman at Sprouts, for validating my frustrations and making me feel like I'm not the worst mom in the world for not "enjoying" the grocery store madness. 

Sunday, October 19, 2014

You Is Important


List off the top five most important people to you. 

No really. Do it. 

1. Husband
2. Older girl child
3. Boy child
4. Younger girl child
5. My mom

Some people lump their kids into one person, but they're not one person so list them separately. Mine are in age order, not favoritism order. They equally have good and less good qualities to them. 

But I digress. 

There's usually someone missing from that list that is pretty darn important. 

You. 
 
It's true. I'm important to me because without me, three of the people on that list wouldn't exist. It's easy to forget how important you are when the kids are needing this and wanting that and fighting over everything. 

Motherhood shouldn't make you less important. It makes you MORE important. Those three beasts rely on me to feed, clothe, bathe, protect, and teach them. That's pretty important! 

You do everything you can for your family as soon as you get that glorious second line on a pee stick. 

But when you put yourself in the list of important people and put another list next to it of all the things you do for them, your list might look something like mine:

Husband: support education, make healthy meals, encourage hobbies and activities, listen and provide counsel when needed, fulfill emotional and physical needs, maintain healthy marriage through communication, honor marriage covenants

Older girl child: provide clothing, housing, healthy foods, bathe, love, play, read to her, build self esteem and confidence, help with homework, teach life skills, cuddle and build trusting relationship and communication. 

Boy child: same as above

Younger girl child: same as above, but added diapers (womp womp)

Me: try to eat healthy but end up chugging an instant breakfast and a couple fun size snickers until dinner.

That certainly doesn't seem like I belong on that list because I don't treat myself like I'm a priority. 

Even the secret candy I bought myself for a reward ended up going to Cub Scouts with me last week and handed out to the boys because I forgot a treat. 

Pity party, maybe. But until you start seeing yourself as important and a priority, motherhood and marriage is going to seem like hell with nary a thanks or reciprocation of service to be found. 

Motherhood IS a sacrifice, but not a sacrifice of self worth and importance. 

Even if it's something small like a pint of ice cream and a home pedicure after kids are in bed, take a little time to make yourself a priority on that list. 

Because you're important. You matter most at least sometimes, and that's ok. 

Friday, October 10, 2014

When It Rains, It Pours...a little


A few months ago we bought a truck from my brother in law. The cosmos aligned perfectly for it to happen and so husband dove in and bought the truck, flew up to utah, and drove it back home. 

Upon getting it here, we realized our state's emission requirements are much stricter than Utah. So it failed. The repairs were costly and I sighed heavily and held my breath as it became one repair after another to get the old girl seaworthy. 

We finally did and husband was in heaven in his dream truck. He tried to teach me to drive a stick, but I'm too short to comfortably and smoothly work the clutch so I handed the reigns back to him with a hearty "have fun!"

Then this last week it starts acting up again. A quick top off of oil and it settles back down.  

For a day. 

Then it dies. 

*siiiiiiiiigh* a frequent phrase from my mouth has been "this frickin truck."

Now I certainly can't blame anyone in this situation. Brother in law told us all he knew about the truck honestly and it did pass emissions in Utah. It's just one of those crappy situations that happens to everyone at some point. 

I just keep thinking "what are we supposed to learn from this? Why did everything work out SO perfectly if it was going to end up this way?"

I still don't know, but I do know when the wtf moments pile up, there's something to learn and gain from it. 

So now we have a dead truck in need of a fuel pump in the garage and husband is driving a shiny new civic that, by the mercy of God, we were approved for a decent lease.

 There's a silver lining somewhere. I know it. In the meantime, this civic is pretty sweet and I'm jealous husband gets to be the main driver. 

Sunday, October 5, 2014

GUYS. ITS ME.

My friend that posted the thing about the sparkly shoes on her blog has a tendency to regularly speak to my heart and put words to my thoughts and feelings that I just can't. 

You should follow her blog too because 

1. She's hilarious
2. Her kids should be GAP models but without the pageant mom attitude 
3. She is very wise
4. She makes crafty stuff that makes me jealous of her creativity and also inspires me to try new things

This sounds wicked creepy because we aren't even THAT good of friends. We worked together for a little bit, I went to a scentsy party she did, and we're friends on facebook. 

Anyway, her blog is https://seeker-of-happiness.squarespace.com/blog

That little prologue was to give some background to make the phrase "SHE DID IT AGAIN" make more sense. 

Because she FRICKIN did it again! Well, not her exactly, but she posted a link that did. 

I have the hardest time pinpointing myself. I'm an extrovert, but I do enjoy my alone time. But not alone alone. Then I get scared. Probably because I watch too much Supernatural. 

Then I see this post

http://thoughtcatalog.com/heidi-priebe/2014/09/25-struggles-only-enfps-will-understand/

Hopefully, this will help people of similar thought process to better understand themselves and figure out the ways to make themselves happiest. 

Friday, October 3, 2014

Silver Linings


My husband is so good at this. So good. 

Me? 

Not so much. 

He sees the glass as half full all the time. 
I'm just happy the glass hasn't been tipped over and spilled on my freshly washed floor. 

I'm working on it though! I've been trying reeeeeaaaally hard to see the silver lining in my frustrations and problems and situations. 

Something else I have been working on is letting go of the things I can't control. There's a lot that fits under that category let me tell you. The more I delve into my inner Elsa, the more chaotic I feel like my life becomes. 

                   Living in the desert, 
                I wish I had ice powers.

I am super micromanager! With the astounding ability to overanalyze, over prepare, and nitpick every single situation to the point of stress overload. 

It's not a talent I'm proud of. 

So I've decided to find the good in letting go and find balance as well. I have to weeeeaaaan myself off of controlling everything. They don't have AA meetings for people like me. Well they probably do, but I can't afford group therapy and I hate therapists anyway. 

A lot of my good that I've seen in surrendering some control, is I'm less stressed and the kids seem a little less stressed. Not much, but a little. Mostly they're taking advantage of my relinquished rigidity and pushing major boundaries. At target today, the boy wanted a "snow cone" which is what they call icees. After repeatedly telling him no, I just started ignoring him. I reminded him one more time that the answer is no and I wasn't changing my mind. 

Commence the tantrum. 



Full blown screaming and stomping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. He even shoved me a few times. Even being in public I was on the verge of my own meltdown.

And I thought,"he's just a kid. He doesn't care about anything else except the icee. I can't change how he feels and I very obviously can't control him right now."

So I crossed the parking lot with him on my hip and snuggling into my shoulder while he sobbed about how unfair it is to be almost four and not have a "snow cone". All I could do was tell him that it will be ok and hug him with one arm while I steered the cart with the other. 

The bad of that situation far outweighs the good, but if I had gone to my old standard of trying to control it, there wouldn't have been any good to even try to see. Instead, I got some snuggles from my not so little man that are becoming more and more rare as he gets older. 

Oh and he did get a stern lecture when we got home and calmed down enough to listen. 

Monday, September 29, 2014

Like, For Real


This. Every time! I say my daily prayers and noticed on days where I ask for more patience, I'm just given demons for children (and not a Winchester in sight) who are more concerned with who got to the car first, who got the last of the milk, who got to pick the last show than with their poor street urchin looking mother who spent the day with a mouthful of "stop it! What are you doing?! SHE IS A BABY YOU CANNOT HIT HER! Seriously?! Again with the socks?"

I realized, if I don't pray for patience, maybe it'll be better.........

It is! For about an hour. The difference after that hour though? I didn't pray for patience so I'm not recognizing the opportunities to exercise my agency and CHOOSE to be patient. It is so much worse. 

Instead of exasperation, I get full on angry and shout at my kids. Not just yell or use the mom voice. I shout at them to just stop for five frickin minutes so I finish making their dinner that they will probably refuse to eat anyway. 

Those are the days that I yearn for bed time. When each kid is hastily put into their bed with a quick kiss, a half hug, and a not quite sincere as it should be I love you. When I flop on the couch and shake my fist inwardly for not getting a Dr. Pepper earlier at Frys. 

The thing is, how can we expect to be patient if we are never presented with the opportunity to be patient? That's like trying to learn calculus without ever taking a math class. I'm fully confident that my comparison of patience to calculus is an accurate depiction of how difficult patience is for me. Especially because I couldn't even pass geometry. 

Heavenly Father isn't some wizard that can wave a magic wand and grant us our every desire and wish. This isn't Hogwarts, yo. He's our FATHER. He wants us to learn and the only way to learn is to be presented with opportunities to learn. So He does. He gives our kids a little extra energy and a lot more sass and turns them loose on us. But He doesn't abandon us. He's still there. Just a prayer away. Like being in class, raise your hand...ask for help. The teacher knows the answers and knows how to help guide you to figure it out on your own. Heavenly Father is there to guide us too. 

So this morning when I prayed for strength and energy and safety...I swallowed hard and asked for patience and for guidance to know how to best help each of my kids. It's nap time and the house is quiet except for the sizzle of my dinosaur chicken nuggets in the oven (don't you dare judge me). I've done surprisingly well this morning as I've stopped with each tantrum and thought "I prayed for this. I need to figure it out. Help me to figure this out..."

If all else fails, I have Dr. Pepper in the fridge. 

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Growing Like A Weed



We all make first impression judgements of those around us. No matter how hard we try not to do this, it just happens. 

Usually my first impression judgements are followed by a trip in their shoes to try and see the softer side of Sears and why my judgement might be wrong. 

Back before husband and I met, I didn't mess around with dating. I didn't dwell on breakups so when one relationship was over, I was ready to get back out there right away. This had the effect that I appeared to just jump from guy to guy and wasn't very good girlfriend material. This was something a friend of husband told him the day we met. 

In your face.

I also had people tell me things like:

"When I first met you I thought you were insane and probably should be on ADD medication."

"The first time we hung out, I could not believe how ridiculous you were!"

"I always had to warn people that you would probably hug them upon meeting them for the first time."

I was a wildflower. Carefree, growing where I wanted, bending with the breezes and bouncing right back to laugh in the face of the storm. Then I had kids. 

Then...I had kids. 

*sigh*

I started to worry and fret and became a casualty of the Mom. A sickness that affects the mind in a slow deterioration of self and self worth. It strips away who you are and replaces it with who you think you should be. You're a mom. You shouldn't be doing this or that or buying those. A friend posted on her blog awhile ago about a pair of shoes she saw at a store. They were gold and sparkly and everything a mom shouldn't wear. The Mom disease kicked in and told her how impractical gold sparkly shoes are and that as a mom, those shoes were wholly absurd. 

You know what she did?

She flipped Mom disease the bird and bought the shoes. 

Moms, buy the shoes. Buy the shoes and wear them and rock those suckers until your blisters have blisters. 

If your jam is on the radio, let's turn it up and sing the Mom disease into oblivion. 

Dance it into the ground. 

I'm going to do a challenge with this post. I invite you to do the same!

Make a list of all the things you loved to do before you had kids. Doesn't have to be big things. In fact, the more everyday the better. Each day, try to do one of those things. If you can incorporate your kids, do it. 

Bring your old self back and make her be the mom. There isn't a cookie cutter Mom out there. Having kids doesn't suddenly change you into a different person. It rearranges priorities, sure, but I'm still me. Kate can be a mom just like Kathy. In fact, I'm sure she'll be an even better mom than Kathy because she knows how to have fun and how to enjoy each moment. 

I love slurpees and dance parties and Panic! At The Disco and can be wildly inappropriate. I'm a wildflower. I don't want people to wonder about that...I want them to know it as soon as they meet me. 

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

A Dweam Wiffin A Dweam


Second year of medical school sucks. And it's only been, like, a month. Sigh, I'm feeling romantic today. 

So I'll ignore the fact that my kids are STILL blowing bubbles in their cups after I told them not to and the baby is probably trying to eat paper again and bring you this gem of a quote. 

I saw a thing on Facebook that I have no idea what it's about, but one of the things the girl said was, "greet each other like you're still dating. Like you've been dying to see each other all day. How would you say hello? A hurried hi and a quick kiss?"

Nope. When we were dating, husband and I were probaby the gag me couple. I have no idea if we really were or not because I couldn't take my eyes away from him long enough to see if others were vomiting in our general direction. 

I've been trying to be more romantic lately, but when there are party decorations to make, tests to study for, kids to feed and put to bed, and episodes of Supernatural to watch, it gets a little tough. 

So in being more romantic (or rather trying to be), I have noticed the little things that have changed. I see pictures from our wedding or dating days and husband looks like a little boy! This was only seven years ago! Not to say he's a grizzly old codger now...more like a refined gentleman of wisdom. A George Clooney who only gets better with age. I was super creepy last night when I came to bed. He was already sleeping and I got ready for bed and then snuggled next to him and just stared. I saw his grey hairs and his little wrinkles. I saw how exhausted he was from working so hard to provide us with a better future. I saw how hard he tries to balance school and family. I saw his faith, his kindness. I saw his absurdity and laugh. I saw every single reason why I chose to spend forever with him. And at that moment, he reached over to hold my hand. 

He reads this, so I apologize for being creepy, but you are just SO handsome! 

Anyway, I was looking at him and drinking in his sleepy face and fell just a little more in love. 

I didn't think it would be possible, but there I was. A little more in love, a little more thankful, and a lot more happy. 


Saturday, September 20, 2014

What was I saying again?


You know what's awesome about blogs? Anyone can have one. 

Anyone. 

What's awesome about everyone being able to have a blog or a Tumblr or a Facebook is that everyone has a chance to share themselves. Sometimes people share things that you REALLY wish they hadn't. Sometimes people share things that are exactly what you needed to read, see, hear, whatever. The internet is so powerful that way!

This is fantastic, and also daunting. Back in the day all you had to worry about was keeping up with the Jones. 

Now you have to keep up with the Jones, the Smiths, the Johnsons, the Jingleheimerschmidts. 

That one is especially hard because whenever they go out, people shout at them in joy. People usually give me side eyes because I'm wearing two different earrings and my hair is only half done. 

What makes it hard is you see everyone else and everything GOOD that they do. Nobody blogs about the week they spent in the same pair of leggings (✔️) or the disastrous peanut butter chocolate birthday cake they made for their husband (✔️). You see the expertly coiffed hair and flawless cat eye makeup and Martha Stewart worthy dinner party. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I am not a blogger of perfection. Rarely do my Pinterest adventures end in confetti and a shiny trophy of success. It's more like a lot of cussing and "DONT TALK TO ME IM TRYING TO DO A THING!" 

I'm not even gonna go back and put apostrophes in that last sentence. 

*grammar rebel*


But while I don't have blog perfection, it's still perfect for me. Because it is me. All me. 

Well me and a screen shot of a Pinterest quote. 

As modern internet surfers, we're bombarded with everyone else's words and thoughts and ideas. It's so easy to get lost in someone's world and then look at our own cluttered counter tops and toy strewn living rooms and sigh the sigh of longing. 

"Maybe if I were a bit more organized. Then clean up would go faster and I would have more time to make something organic and healthy for dinner. Then I would feel better about myself and would be motivated to work out and do my hair and makeup and actually get dressed..." 

So you pin the things to help you be more organized. And the dinner recipes. And the hair and makeup tutorials. And the polyvore outfits. 

And then they sit there. For years. On a board that should be called "ain't nobody got time for that". 

I'm not organized. I like dinosaur chicken nuggets and Taco Bell. I cut all my hair off because I could NEVER get it to curl right and was tired of feeling like a hair failure. 

Yes you can add that to my list of things I gave up on. I gave up on hair. 

I'm so disorganized I had to scroll back up and remember what I was supposed to be writing about. This post has almost nothing to do with that quote. 

So to tie it all back to that, this is my blog. My voice. May it inspire you to find your own, but make sure it's YOURS. You don't want my voice or my story. It's disorganized and scattered and doesn't make much sense. You can't have my dance moves. They're way too sick for y'all anyway. 


Thursday, September 18, 2014

It Is Enough

http://youtu.be/3n-DOKBffuU

The Mormon Messages channel on YouTube put this video out. I was scrolling along on Facebook and saw it. Usually I ignore them, but for some reason I clicked this one. 

From the first few shots I wanted to cry. This was my life. A not so dramatic reenactment of my every day. I know the feeling of crossing one thing off my list and adding two more. I know the feeling of being someone's last resort and not having the heart to say no. You can FEEL the desperation pouring into your soul as they ask for a favor. Having been the one in dire need, I know how beautiful that "sure I can do it" sounds. 

A lot of the comments on the Facebook page are from woman saying things like "if this is how good Mormon women are supposed to act, then I'm nowhere near a good Mormon woman!" Or "so the message of this video is that we need to completely ignore our own needs and serve to the point of a complete breakdown?!"

Oh dear sisters. No. If that's how this video is being interpreted, then I'm sorry you did so. To me this video wasn't a reprimand that I'm not doing enough. That I'm not sacrificing enough. That I could always do more and my own desires be damned. 

To me this video was so utterly relatable I cried through the whole thing. I saw every day of the last five years of my life in 8 minutes. It was hopeless. It was depressing. It was stressful. Then, the ending. Very often I'm ushering kids to bed only to hear Allie say "but what about prayers?" I'll admit there are times when I'm so 100% done that I literally can't even. Not for all the yoga pants in Starbucks. The times I do kneel down with the kids and hear their prayers, I'm blown away by the things they say. I remember one time Allie was saying our prayer before bed and she said "please bless mama to have a good day and get lots of sleep so she can be happy tomorrow." I didn't get much sleep that night, but her prayer stayed in my mind the next day and I tried so hard to be happy despite my lack of rest. 

There's an LDS hymn called Have I Done Any Good? 

Any good. Not all the good.

So moms, dads, friends...watch this video. Don't feel like you should be like the woman portrayed. Instead, feel like the things you do are enough.  

 


Tuesday, September 16, 2014

On Finding Friends



 We moved a lot growing up and I went to three different schools just for third grade.  Some people in that situation find themselves very shy and unwilling to make friends because, odds are, you'll move again and have to leave another friend behind. For me it had the opposite effect. 

My step mom called me a social butterfly and at 13 I honestly had no clue what she meant other than butterflies are pretty and people like butterflies. All I know is that I wasted zero time finding a new best friend wherever we went and cementing that relationship into my heart. Instead of worrying over losing that friendship, I decided to enjoy it while I could before the next city brought me another BFF to adventure with. I would try to stay in contact, but in a land before cell phones and Facebook and Instagram, it became impossible. But that's ok because I have the memories.

I will add that since the invention of these things, I've been able to not only maintain, but expand the friendships I thought I would have to leave behind. 

Since becoming a mom though, it's harder and harder to find these friends. Mostly because the candidates I've come across are also moms and mom friendships rarely have time to blossom into full BFF status. Being a social butterfly (still don't fully understand that one but whatevs), I get really moody and melancholy and morose without a BFF. I feel like I have nobody to really connect with on a girl level and I need that. I'm also very physical and some people find that off putting. I'm a hugger, a hand holder, a butt slapper, and I may or may not love to just cuddle with my BFF.

Being LDS and a stay at home mom, my primary adult interaction is at church. Moving into a new ward is much more daunting than a new school. Especially family wards. Some of these people have been here for YEEEAAAARS. They've made lifelong friendships and thus the borderline inappropriate best friend positions have all been filled.


 Sometimes though, I find one. 

I find a curly ginger girl who has the best michigan accent and loves to dance in the back of trucks and could eat gallons of Chubby Hubby ice cream. Who can make me laugh, cry, and scream all during one phone call. Who has always had a kind word on a hard day. A girl who is so incredible and has endured so much, that I still cry for her. 

I find my person in my visiting teaching companion and we share Dr. Pepper and Greys Anatomy and horribly fail at late night spin classes. Who knew exactly how to help without ever being asked and without questioning what was in it for her. A girl who can make you feel like the funniest person on earth with a laugh that is so infectious, we should probably call the cdc on her. 

 I find them and they find me and it just fits. 

And while it's been over two years since I've had that kind of friend next to me, I know that the only way to find them is to be open. To be free. To be happy. 

Because who wants to be best friends with a surly grump?

Monday, September 15, 2014

Freeing My Funny

If there is anything in this world that can make me laugh, it's whale humor. 

And Tuna the dog, but that's for another post. 


I have this pinned with the caption "I want this on a shirt". And I really do. It's not anything superbly clever or even puntastic. But it makes me smile thinking about a whale* with the confidence to say she (he?) is a diva. 

Rock it, orca. 

*side note: orcas aren't even whales. They're dolphins. Say whaaaaat?

Sunday, September 14, 2014

But what if I fall?


Anyone can attest to my lack of commitment to things. I'm on a constant quest to find my talent and it's not a very fair one. 

I pick up hobbies and drop them quickly after realizing I'm not an instant virtuoso. The list is pretty intense:

Viola
Choir
Dance (I loved it but then kids happened)
Making bows
Making dolls
P90X (loved it but an hour a day to listen to Tony Horton "motivate" me?)

This blog. 

I see these bloggers with followers galore and hundreds of comments about how the reader is utterly INSPIRED! Forget Negative Nancy. I've got Confidence Killer Kathy in my brain. 

"You can't write a blog. Everyone and their dog has a blog these days. There is literally a show called Dog With A Blog. What makes you think that YOU have anything to say that could possibly affect anyone in any way? Just let it gather internet dust and forget you even tried."

Now, I've always been very fickle with my interests, but it's become more of a fear of failure and less of a "this is boring". 

To be more Kate, I'm posting again. And it'll probably only have a couple likes and comments on Facebook. From my mom. But you know what? At least I tried. How many people can say that? How many people want to try but they're afraid to fail?

But oh my dear, what if you succeed?


P.S. I'm still trying to find my one true talent that instantly clicks and I'm a master in one afternoon. So far the only thing I've succeeded at in this endeavor is my ability to put off housework to the point that literally every fork, spoon, and knife is dirty. 

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Free My Happy

Today I took a Facebook quiz. 

You know the kind that are all,"we can guess your spirit animal in ten questions!" 

This one was about your subconscious obsession. I figured mine would be loading the dishwasher the right way, or tuxedo chocolate mousse cake from costco. Instead it was something wholly unexpected. 


I'm a friendly person and I can strike up a conversation with anyone, a trait my five year old daughter has, thankfully, inherited. I wouldn't call myself in a "constant state of happiness" though. I definitely don't always emit positive vibes either. I sent this screen shot to my husband with a note saying "I don't think this quiz knows me at all hahaha". 

I waited for his agreeing remark because he's my husband and knows me well enough to see I had been a victim of the generalizing Facebook quiz. Again, a response wholly unexpected. 


"It's there if you'd quit squelching it."

I stopped my snarky reply and thought,"do I? Do I squelch my happy?" I've been struggling with finding my new self since having kids and becoming a mom. I think back on my single days in my own apartment with fondness and pangs of jealousy for my carefree youth. I found myself bitter at the title of Stay At Home Mom like it labeled some sort of antisocial snack maker.

 I've written countless journal entries asking where did Kate go? That bubbly, snarky, dancing, singing, skinny dipping at 2 am girl? I figured she was long gone and lost on some whirlwind adventure that I wasn't invited to share. My own adventure had begun and it was too mundane for her to stick around. Instead my travel partner became Kathy (a nickname my husband calls me when he really wants to just piss me off). Kathy is far too serious and gruff and prefers loafing about and complaining. 

My husband was right. I squelched my happy. I shooed Kate away because motherhood is serious business and I needed a serious person to help me raise stalwart members of society who would shape the world within their tiny hands. 

So this is my letter to Kate. Please come back. I need more dance parties and less pity parties. 

This is kind of my space to post about the happy in my days. Whether it's tuxedo chocolate mousse cake from Costco (seriously. Go buy one right now.) or just something silly my kids said/did. Possibly an inspirational quote I found on Pinterest. No matter what it is, if it's something that helps me stop squelching, and free my happy, I'm down like a clown Charlie Brown.