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Wow. Best. Walk. Ever

Today, I decided to take the kids on a walk around our neighborhood. We’re trying to be more active, especially for my son who has a heart issue so it’s kind of a battle to keep him active.

So, I rode my bike to the post office to drop off my Ebay packages and then when I got home announced with a smile that we would be going for a walk.

The response was immediate. I could see they were really excited to go for this walk. I can see the family time must be super meaningful to them.

Gnashing of teeth, wailing, crying. Tantrums, stomping of feet.

So, after a bit of nudging and cajoling and threatening, we all set out for the walk. One big happy family.

The baby only screamed and complained, begging for me to pick her up for the first four blocks. Did I mention we walked four blocks?

My son, the 12-year-old, stopped several times, wailing for me to walk slower. The 1/2 mile per hour speed was too fast, so I slowed to a crawl. He only cried for about three blocks. The last block he spent apologizing and asking what privileges he was going to lose, as the baby was still screaming and whining. Explaining to me in a voice three octaves above her usual voice that she needed to suck on her fingers and twirl her hair and that I needed to really, really carry her.

I told her that we were on a walk, not a carry. If we went on a carry, I would be happy to carry her, but that since this was a walk, we were going to walk.

My 7-year-old, usually very teenager-y and complain-y was a dreamboat. She rode her bike and was spelling words, trying to spell things to me about the baby, but of course, with screamy-tantrum pants walking with me, I just couldn’t hear anything but a few letters here and there.

The last minute or so, with the house in sight, the baby stopped screaming, my son stopped complaining, and we had a 1/2 block of pure bliss.

I love family time. Can’t wait for tomorrow’s walk.

*sigh*

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By IncidentalDomestic – October 23, 2012

Ode to an Oreo and a crepe … or two

Wow, you know. There are a few times when being a woman has its challenges. I think my least favorite of these is around a certain time of the month when an Oreo seems to have mystical powers. Like an oracle. Only smaller. And chocolatey. And edible.

For those of you who are squeamish or don’t particularly care for “woman talk” then this post is not for you. I recommend that you immediately stop reading and go look at pictures elsewhere, or turn on ESPN and maybe scratch your nuts a few times, you know, just for the sake of manhood. I won’t be offended that you didn’t read. Really.

I can usually tell when I’m going to have my monthly gift from Mother Nature a few days ahead of time. First of all, because Honey Smacks become increasingly attractive. Then, there’s the Allstate Insurance commercial on TV – with the family standing in front of the house (*sniff, sniff*) and they look so joyous with their little puppy yipping and running happily in the green, lush grass. The family CLEARLY has no kind of emotional baggage whatsoever, the children are obviously well adjusted and of course are star students in their award-winning school. You can really tell that the man and wife have a healthy and happy relationship.  It’s my most favorite commercial of all time …

…

…

…

*sniffle*

Ok. So *sniff, sniff* what was I saying?

Oh yes. I can generally tell when Ruby will be visiting because my view of the world changes a bit. Logic pretty much takes a back seat and Ms. Drama Needy Emotion enjoys unmitigated access to my mental state. During this time, my behaviors are totally funkified, my eyes tend to leak a lot more and my self control is all of naught.

This brings me to my overly dramatic issue at hand. As you know, dear readers, I naturally tend to be a bit domestically challenged. Household duties are not my strength. I mean — don’t get me wrong, I’m not totally without redeeming domestic qualities. Like … I am a great cook, but as I like to say, when I finish cooking or baking, it looks like someone picked up the kitchen, shook it, and put it back down.

My husband has really picked up the slack there. I mean — I rarely clean. I do the dishes and such (sometimes), of course, put loads of laundry in (sometimes). Take care of the kids and make sure they’re fed and clothed and hugged and such. I pick up those freaking small toys that jab into your foot when you’re running to the baby’s room in the middle of the night because she’s using her “I’m scared” cry. I mean well; I even start well. I am an excellent chore STARTER, I’m just not a great chore finisher. I get distracted easily, not because I get distracted easily, but because I WANT to get distracted easily, I am pretty sure.

And I’m anal. It’s ridiculous. My friend came over yesterday — I was showing her how to make crepes. That was the deal. I was going to show her how to make them (they are super easy to make, btw), and then we were just going to hang out and talk and just have some girlfriend time.

Within about 10 minutes, she was directing traffic, folding clothes, and we ended up putting the crepes aside so we could pick up a bit. She helped me sort the clothes and was flabbergasted at my sorting method, which involves separating towels into certain stacks, and the colors into different stacks based on how they are put away (shirts are hung, some clothes don’t go in the dryer, some are little, some are big, etc.). Laughing, she said something like, “No WONDER you can’t get anything done!” And then she proceeded to show me her method, (much simpler) and I had to bite my anal tongue and make some concessions and it was worth it. Her methods really did make a difference. Things went much faster after I got out of the way.

Anyway, so, basically, whatever we did, she showed me an easier, seemingly common sense-filled method that was much faster and more efficient. FINALLY, after what seemed like an eternity of cleaning, with me saying, “WHY! Why do we have to do this now, can’t we just eat crepes?!! I’m tired, I don’t wanna clean anymore!” every so often, the house was looking pretty good and it was time to make crepes.

Long story short, even though it felt like a lot longer, we only cleaned for like two and a half hours and in that time we got more done than I would normally get done in a week. She was unbelievably patient. You know that you have a true friend when she puts up with THAT for two and a half hours and still wants to be your friend.

One of the things that helped me though — to not turn into a walking incarnation of Mommy Dearest, was thinking how happy my husband would be to come home and actually SEE the loveseat because it wasn’t covered in clean clothes waiting to be folded (which he always ends up folding and putting away because it takes me forever).

I was thinking how happy he would be to come home and not feel like the mess was taking over our home. So he wouldn’t feel like he as to gently ask me “Please, honey, can you clean just ONE thing tomorrow? Maybe? Just one thing?”

So… of course, The Chick Switch (in it’s full upright position) had this whole scenario built up in my head. When he got home to see dinner made, the house picked up (and vacuumed, even) and to realize that we actually still owned a love seat, then he would be SO appreciative that he would want to tell me how amazing I am, sweep me into the bedroom and ravish me until we are breathless.

*sigh*

So, when he got home two hours late in not a great mood, and I didn’t get to go work out, and he didn’t really notice that anything was different and he didn’t really say much about dinner, I pretty much caved in emotionally.

Logic. Gone. I know I can’t expect him to come home and take the script I wrote in my head and follow it. That’s dumb. Really. Stupid. Seriously? But. Like I said, Ms. Drama Needy Emotion was driving. No holds barred here.

Logic was yelling from the back seat. “Listen Jenn! Don’t be a JERK!  He was at work for 15 hours today and you just need to enjoy the feeling of getting that stuff done and stop being so stinkin’ high maintenance. Look, see? The kids think we got a new couch, look how happy they are?!!!!”

So. I bit my tongue, and smiled and just loved him. To show him the respect that he totally deserves after working hard all day and to not get all butt hurt about him not acknowledging my efforts. That felt pretty good.

I listened to Logic.  Small victories. But I still want Oreos.

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By IncidentalDomestic – October 15, 2012

Age and Wisdom and … 4-Inch Heels

Wow… what a September. I turned 40 this month. I remember when I was 17 years old, how I felt about someone who was 40. Let’s face it. When you’re 17, anything over 35 is soooo ooooold! Ancient. Forty is like another universe. However, now that I’m actually 40, I honestly don’t feel all that much different … well. except for the obvious things, like needing great push-up bras and not being able to eat as many Oreos.

I still have pesky insecurities that barrage my thoughts at times;  I’m still battling certain issues I’ve been battling my entire life— I’m just older, and I think here I am supposed to say wiser as well. Ironically, however, I think part of the curse of being “wiser” is that you realize just how unwise you really are. What a catch-22 that is, and definitely something I didn’t learn in kindergarten, but something I would have liked to have understood sooner.

Earlier this month, I traveled by myself to Philadelphia for an Ebay On Location meeting. I think it was the first time in a really long time that I was really able to unplug the stress cords of dealing with my domestic demons and just enjoy the drive  (16 hours one-way), enjoy the networking and the people I met — and especially enjoy the head space. There were times during my trip I left my phone in my room, and didn’t even realize it until I came back to my room and saw it there. Hours without my phone! If I were home and did that, I’d be a flippin’ basket case!!

It was nice to dress up and go out to nice restaurants in 4-inch heels and with good company. It was nice to focus on my professional side for a bit and get away from the daily grind of domestic duties. I came home feeling totally refreshed and ready to get back to domesti-land. I was really quite floaty when I returned home. It was just what I needed. …  I thought.

Now, three weeks after my trip, I’m feeling restless. I don’t know if this is a good thing, or a bad thing just yet. But I feel like I want to go. Drive? Do more grown-uppy kinds of things. Put on my 4-inch heels and paint the town red. My friends took me out for my birthday celebration last week and it was crazy fun! This just really makes me want to do that more. And if I think about that enough, I start to feel trapped in my not-so-perfect domesti-land … but I have to say, that kind of irritates me and I’m not yet sure how to emotionally resolve these feelings.

I know I’m still a mommy. And I love, love, LOVE being a mommy.  And right now, I feel even if it means that the only painting I’m going to be doing most weeks is with my fingers or a watercolor brush, I’m okay with that. They need me. I need them. In all my 40-year-old restlessness, no 4-inch stiletto can replace the enjoyment and fulfillment I receive from my relationships with my children, nor can it replace the responsibilities I have to take care of things at home.

Part of growing wiser is that you learn what you need to hold on to, and can more easily see what you need to throw out. The crappy thing is that sometimes it’s hard to let go of things you know need to throw out because they are comfortable and easy. Or they make you feel good for a time. But just because something is comfortable and easy, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s something you want to keep in your pocket forever. Sometimes, comfortable and easy means complacency, which, in the broad scope of things is not really a good thing anyway.

The more I think about this, the more I’m spinning in circles, so for now, with the occasional exception, I will probably just wear my 4-inch heels while I’m mulling around the house deftly avoiding folding the pile of laundry on the loveseat and trying hard not to step directly on the dog as she’s running under my feet. Aaaaand I may not be out of the house most weekends, but at least my legs will look great while I’m doing the dishes.

More adventures tomorrow…

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By IncidentalDomestic – September 28, 2012

I Choose to Focus on … uh … That Thing I Was Going to Focus on

I don’t know if I’m writing this because I really wanna write it, or because I just realized I had the word “pee-pee” big and bold on the front page of my blog for more than two weeks.  I think there might be some kind of unwritten blog rule that this particular word should not be big and bold on the front page of your blog for more than a few days, unless for some reason the title of your blog has the word “pee-pee” in it, in which case I suppose that rule would not apply.

Person looking very happy to clean.

Wow, they really nailed it!! This is EXACTLY how I look when I’m cleaning the house. :|

So, yeah. We’re cleaning today. Well, I was cleaning. I mean, I AM cleaning, but I’m taking a break because I was just hit with some inspirational thoughts about cleaning that I needed to discuss in far more detail than is generally required in normal conversational mediums.  (Yeah …  nice try.)

But really, I have this new approach that I’ve been working on, starting a couple of days ago.  … One that I will clearly need to attempt  again as soon as I finish this post (old habits die hard).

My new approach to domestic self-actualization is to choose. To make the choice to focus on the task (whatever it may be) and really just get that task done. It’s really not that the cleaning is hard. Cleaning by itself is really not hard… mostly. I recently realized that it’s really the staying focused part that’s hard. And I know I crack jokes about being domestically challenged. BUT. The truth is, I think, the only way to do it is to choose to do it. And I’ve been choosing to allow myself to be distracted by the 11 million things I need to do every day to maintain my home, my family and my sanity which really just leads to a random flibbertigibbet approach that doesn’t really work.

“Put your underwear back on!!” I am hearing my son say to the baby. *giggle* I’m listening to the kids playing and laughing as they are supposed to be staying focused on their own cleaning tasks. It’s taking forever for them to complete these simple tasks! Why do they get so distracted?!!!

Um. I mean. Well. Anyway.

Gosh that sounds so simple: just gotta choose. Why can’t it be THAT simple? I start doing the laundry and then when I come in my room to get the laundry basket so I can take the clothes out of the dryer, I think … hmm, I think the word “pee-pee” is still big and bold on the front page of my blog. I really need to remedy that ASAP and maybe at the same time I can share my new choosing thing because I know sharing it is totally going to help me solidify my resolve and maybe help someone else in the process. Sooooo, I sit down and start writing this post.

I know once I step out this door, out of my room (which I totally cleaned last night, by the way, I’m super proud of that progress), then I’m back in the minefield of distractions. So, I’m choosing to finish this blog post before I deal with the clothes. The laundry basket wasn’t in here anyway, so I’ll have to find it, which means more exposure to more distraction and the pitfalls associated with such distraction. And if I stop writing this post without completing it, the odds of me finishing it within the next couple of days will be astronomical. And of course then, my self-image will suffer incomprehensible damage from the lack of completion of yet another seemingly simple task. Not to mention that I’ll be in increasingly egregious violation of the Blog Front Page “Pee-Pee” Rule.

Ok. I can see that this choosing thing is going to need some additional work on my part.

So. For now, I’m going to wrap this up. I am making the decision to go get that laundry out of the dryer, take care of the load that is currently in the washer and then sort all the laundry to be ready for more loads. I’m watching a movie with the kids at 7 p.m. and I am choosing to get that system all set up so I can continue my laundry tasks during the  movie.

Still a lot of cleaning (and choosing) yet to go. My husband will be home tomorrow and it would be excellent if the house did not look like someone picked it up, shook it, and put it back down. My room is clean, though. Did I mention that? Clean room. Feels good. Proud of that.

More adventures tomorrow…

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By IncidentalDomestic – August 18, 2012

I’m Going to the Pee-Pee Doctor, Wanna Come?

It’s about that time. Going for my yearly fun, fun, fun staring up at the ceiling and pretending to enjoy the witty banter with my doctor.

My 3-year-old came into my room donned in a pair of her shorts, a too-big shirt belonging to her big sis, her white dress shoes and a red purse. She asked where I was going and if she could come. She told me she was ready to go and asked again if she could come with me. And because I have no sense of appropriate answers for young ones, or maybe I was just distracted by her cuteness with the whole dress shoes and purse and shirt hanging off her upper arms thing, I told her that I was going to the pee-pee doctor so she couldn’t come, because only Mommy can go to the pee-pee doctor by herself. She looked at me, tilted her head and said, “Pee-pee doctor?”

I casually said “Yep!” thinking that maybe that would be the end of it.

“But Mommy, I want to gooooo” she started whining. “I’m ready to go Mom, I have my purse!”  (oh blessed mushy cuteness, I love this mommy stuff)

I told her that because this was the pee-pee doctor, and the doctor had to look at my pee-pee, that kids couldn’t go because I needed my privacy.  Realizing at this point, that I should probably have just said I was going to the doctor and told her she couldn’t come,  I was thinking a redirect was in order. So I quickly told her that Daddy would be home soon and that she would have lots of fun with Daddy when he was home. She seemed fine with that, and left the room.

A few minutes later, she came back with her big sister. And my 7-year-old said, “Sissy says you are going to pee on the doctor. Are you gonna pee on the doctor, Mom?”

*sigh*

“No honey.” I said, “I’m going to the pee-pee doctor so she can make sure my pee-pee is all healthy and stuff.”

She turned to her sister and said “See! I told you Mom wasn’t going to pee on the doctor!” then she turned back to me and asked, “Why do you have to go to the pee-pee doctor?”

By this time, I wished I hadn’t actually let the words “pee-pee doctor” ever come out of my mouth. I told her the correct name, OB-GYN and mentioned that this is just one of those things that you do when you get older because there’s a lot going on down there when you get older.

Aaaaand then came the head tilt. (Did I teach them that?)  She said, “Like what do you mean, a lot going on?”

At this point I’m wondering how deep I can dig this hole before I have to really break down the birds and the bees to my not-quite-ready-for-it 7-year-old? “Well, you know, since that’s where babies come out of, we have to really take care of stuff down here after the babies come because our bodies change so much after we have kids.”

And then I was so pleased to hear my almost 12-year-old son bust out with “Yeah, a lot will change in your body when you are older because there are a lot of chemicals called hormones that you will get that will make your body change and you will probably have grumpy times like Mom does when she gets her period.”

Oh for the love of heaven.

As this conversation clearly moved out of my control, I felt escapism was the best approach. I said “OK honey. You know what? Nevermind. I’ve got to go soon — you guys need to go outta here so I can finish my work before I leave. We can talk about this later, ok?”

She seemed totally fine with that — and as she stepped out of the way, I saw my 3-year-old sitting on her butt on the floor with her feet in the air, waving her hand in front of her crotch saying, “Go to the doctor. Stinky, stinky pee-pee. Ew, YUCK!”

Ahhh, another memorable visit to the pee-pee doctor. Can’t wait to see what happens next year.

More adventures tomorrow…

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By IncidentalDomestic – July 31, 2012

Independence Day in a Bottle

Today, July 4, 2012 is over. Well, mostly over. The kids are playing Dr. Mario on the Wii , my husband is asleep on a stuffed animal on the living room floor and I’m in here typing my blog. For all intents and purposes this was an excellent day, albeit not a “regular” July 4 by any means.

“… when I started thinking about today, it saddened me to realize this is the first July 4 on record that we didn’t have fireworks or go see fireworks or have anything to do with fireworks.”

I think one of the significant differences of working from home is that holidays seem to come and go almost like every other day. Weekends are the same, except generally Sunday because we go to church in the morning, which shakes things up a bit. I remember when I was young, July 4 meant pool time, watermelon, usually some kind of potluck thing or barbeque with friends and fireworks. Lots and lots of fireworks. My mother usually made some creative red, white and blue dessert and it was always an intensely family-oriented day, something I really looked forward to as we celebrated our country’s history and our Forefathers’ wisdom and courage.

Today, shortly after I rolled out of bed at 10 a.m. after another measly four hours of sleep, while I was making my breakfast protein shake (the kids had already eaten on their own), I spoke with my young ones a bit about what this particular holiday means. When my 6-year-old asked questions, her older brother began to detail about the explorers, the settlers, the colonies. Freedom of religion and the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. I really just sat there are stared at him, sucking on my straw, still blinking the sleep out of my eyes,  marveling in awe. It was pretty clear to me at that point that I am not smarter than a 5th grader (Or, an almost 6th grader, anyway). Continued…

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By IncidentalDomestic – July 4, 2012

Because the Laptop is NOT a Shot Put

Video blog number 2 done! Actually started to write this one, but it got a little long (surprise) so I dumped some onto the cutting room floor and recorded the rest.

Parenting is never easy, but healthy, age appropriate boundaries seem to help on the trek to the peak of Perfect Parenting Mountain. And knowing the laptop is NEVER a good shot put. That helps too.

More adventures tomorrow…

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By IncidentalDomestic – June 15, 2012

My First Video Blog

Flying by the seat of my pants as usual; it’s a little rough. My son watched this and told me I really needed a script. Maybe next time.

More adventures tomorrow…

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By IncidentalDomestic – June 9, 2012

20 Things I Learned in The Past Three Years

make-up fun

Just like Mommy, See?! Note to self: Get more make-up remover.

My baby turned 3-years-old today. I bought the pink cake mix because she often asks for pink anything when we let her pick a color. I figured the pink icing would go well with that as well. When I brought them home, showed them to her and told her that was for her birthday cake, she made a very grown-uppy kind of sigh and said “Oh Mom!” as she pulled the box to her chest in a loving embrace, “Stwabewwy! You the BEST Mom, you the BEST!”

*sigh* Yes. My life is complete.

A gesture so innocent and so wonderful. This is one of those memories I want to mark in my mind, in my heart. Such a simple thing and even though I know she is not really old enough to know I’m the best, I feel like I just couldn’t be happier at this moment.

I have learned a lot over this past three years. A lot about myself. A lot about marriage. A lot about life in general. Much of it funneling through this little person who is still not even tall enough to reach the light switch without jumping. As a mother, I continue to be amazed at the things I learn from my children and how much I have continued to grow not just as a person, but in my hip and butt areas as well.

Without further ado, here is a list of realizations I’ve … well… realized (don’t give me a hard time, it’s just after 3 a.m.) in the past three years:

1)  I’m not actually losing my mind, it just kind of appears that way.
2)  I need a lot of kisses and hugs.
3)  Meeting deadlines while creating websites, publications, working with designers and programmers is all but impossible with a baby on one’s hip.
4)  Skull fractures heal a lot faster than you’d expect.
5)  A dog can sure take a lot of abuse from a short person.
6)  I need a lot of kisses and hugs.
7)  Walgreen’s pharmacy will get your medicine to you a LOT faster when your child is throwing up in the waiting area.
8)  Little fingers tangled in my hair is kind of like sleeping medicine for the finger owner.
9)  Girls can be pretty darn emotional.
10)  It’s hard for boys to understand why girls are so darn emotional.
11)  I need a lot of kisses and hugs.
12)  A child batting her eyelashes with her hands clasped together saying “pease, pease, PEASE mommy?” is extremely hard to resist.
13)  Clothes are ALWAYS optional.
14)  Singing Jingle Bells at the top of your lungs is not something reserved only for Christmas time. Any time is Jingle Bell time.
15)  A short person can use all sorts of different, creative and dangerous ways to climb up onto things that she has no business climbing on.
16)  With practice, you can play Barbies with your feet whilst working on a laptop.
17)  I need a lot of kisses and hugs.
18)  It takes a full 24 hours for eyeliner to wear off eyes, cheeks and lips without using make-up remover.
19)  It’s always a good idea to lock your bedroom door during grown-up time.
20)  Preschool might not be such a bad idea, afterall.

Happy birthday baby. Mommy super duper loves you!!

More adventures tomorrow…

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By IncidentalDomestic – May 26, 2012

New Mommy, Old Mommy and a Walk in the Park

I was sitting in church a couple of weeks ago, and in the row in front of us was a young mother, her baby in a carrier and her husband. As I was sitting there, I started to reflect on my own path as a mother—the things that brought me from feeling that first amazing movement of my child to where I am now, three growing-walking-talking kids later.

Being a mother is no joke, man. No. Joke. You go through this whole “emotional catharsis” thing from the time you find out you’re pregnant to the time when they walk out the door for the last time. An emotional catharsis that really kinda makes you a little crazy sometimes. Real mothering is no walk in the park.

picture of a park

Mothering Can be a Walk in the Park

Well, that’s not entirely true. It can be at times, but usually the grass on the path is peppered with those sharp sticker things (that really hurt when you step on them),  so you have to make sure all the kids have shoes on. And then there’s always the need to find a place to potty in the park, which is not too bad when they’re young because they can, and will, pee anywhere. And of course, you can’t forget the arguing and complaining when it’s hot and they’re hungry and thirsty or someone is looking out someone else’s window. But even with the threat of sharp pokey things, lack of bathroom facilities, and complaining and arguing, it’s still a walk of quality time with these little people that makes all of that other stuff fade. One kiss, one hug, one “Mom, I REALLY love you” and the hardships disappear and are replaced with that never-ending flow of mushy-gushy mother love that can’t be contained or explained.

As I’m sitting and watching this young couple—the father fumbling with the pacifier, trying to do everything he can to calm the baby and allow his wife to sit and listen … the baby stretching, cooing, rooting—I think about the path of understanding and knowledge I’ve been through on this journey so far. I fought the urge to be the crazy lady who runs up to her and gives her a hug and tells her that it’s totally worth it and awesome and that she’ll learn so much about herself, her husband and he children and it will SO enrich her life in a way that she can’t possibly imagine. (And this would have been particularly crazy-looking being that it was in the middle of a sermon, so kudos to me for fighting that urge.  Yay me!)

I wanted to tell her that even though what seems like a simple thing like getting in the car with a baby feels like organizing a two-week camping trip and that she will never really sleep well or have control of her life again, that it’s all totally, totally worth it and that everything is going to be okay.

I remember when I got pregnant with my first—the knowing glances, smiles with emotions I couldn’t quite grasp, the never ending advice and suggestions—and as I was sitting here in church totally not listening to the sermon, neurotically focused on this little family, I got it. I get it. I understand now.

Mommies need support. NEED SUPPORT. Whether they think they do or not. The joys and pitfalls of parenting fall between such a broad spectrum of thought and emotion, there is no book or parenting method or idea that covers everything. I suppose being a mother is kind of like being a teenager. You get to a point where you think you know everything and then a couple of years down the road, you realize how little you knew. You remember thinking that you had the world by the balls and you realize that it was actually the other way around, you just didn’t know it.

Watching the man carefully place the pacifier in the baby’s mouth for the 27th time, watching that care and gentleness and the clear love he had for his child and his wife was refreshing. Sometimes we forget in the daily grind, that our life with these young ones translates to love. And that is forever.

So my goal for this week, well, for every week as of today, is to make a point to do at least one thing for another mother. Something that shows support somehow. Something even as simple as taking a few minutes to write a note of encouragement. Because being a mommy may not always be easy, but it sure is important. If you are a mommy, and you understand this and can relate to this, please make a commitment to do the same.

And just for the record, I really dig being a mommy. Neurosis and all.

More adventures tomorrow…

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Posted in Parenting, Personal Growth, The New Me, Womanhood.

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By IncidentalDomestic – May 2, 2012