If I Didn't Have Children...

If I didn’t have children, my life would be grand.
I’d fly off to Hawaii, dig my toes in the sand.

No more need to take care of everyone else.
No more, “I didn’t touch it. It broke by itself.”

No monsters in closets or “I need a drink.”
No wishing and hoping for one full night’s sleep.

No more silly questions, “Are we almost there yet?
“Where does snow go in summer?"
"Why’s water so wet?”

No sending my skinny clothes off to Good Will.
No, “Mommy, come in here and see what I spilled.”

If I didn’t have children, my life would be swell.
I could travel the world, sleep in five-star hotels.

I could have peace and quiet, spend time all alone.
Without a trail of destruction all over my home.

I could go back to school, get another degree,
Have a life and career that is all about me.

No more tantrums over broken crayons;
Or touching my stuff with chocolaty hands.

No more, “Tell her not to look at me!”
Or, “Mommy, I’m about to pee!”

No more changing poopy pants.
No Mickey’s Clubhouse Hot Dog Dance.



Yes, that is how my life could be                                                
Without these kids all over me.

BUT…

If I didn’t have children, there’s a lot I would miss.
Like the soft little “pip” of a sweet baby kiss.


No more first little smiles or sweet baby giggles.
No, “I love you, Mommy;” no tummies to tickle.

No more, “This Little Piggy” on those teeny toes.
No rocking, no singing,
No “Where’s mommy’s nose?”

No more pictures of all the cute things that they do.
No, “what a cute baby! She looks just like you!”

Not as much to celebrate, no more “firsts” to share.
No more little pigtail sprouts sticking in the air.

No more special bedtime prayers;
No more evening cuddles.
No more, “Good night, Daddy;”
No more morning snuggles.

I wouldn’t know the deepest love anyone can know.
I wouldn't see the miracle of watching as they grow.

I wouldn’t know the joy of holding little hands.
Sacrifice and selflessness - I couldn’t understand.

I wouldn’t be as tired and I wouldn’t be as bored.
But because of all my struggles,
I walk closer with the Lord.

And so as hard as it can be,
I’d rather have them here with me.

Because I have children, my life is complete;
And I am blessed beyond belief.


I’m proud and I’m grateful. I’m faithful and strong.
Because I have children; because I’m a mom.

Perfect Holidays: Hostess with the... Mostest?

The week before Thanksgiving, Hearts at Home hosted its monthly "No More Perfect Moms" blog hop. The topic was a fitting "No More Perfect Holidays" theme. In the pre-Thanksgiving bustle, I skipped out on this one. (I blame my therapist, whose has been successfully encouraging me to lower my expectations, especially of myself). So this is my belated No More Perfect holidays post.

~~~~~~

Shortly following a family gathering, my sister-in-law sent me an email in which she complimented my sense of hospitality.

My first thought… She must be thinking of someone else.

Me? Hospitality? Really?

I had always equated a good sense of hospitality with the “Hostess with the Mostest” type. The scent of the candles matches the season and the decorations are perfectly coordinated - beautiful place settings, matching serving dishes, plate chargers (and if you don’t know what a charger is, keep reading. This is for you).

These women make great hostesses because their commitment to their guests’ experience is apparent in their effort. They have handmade centerpieces and homemade pies. They bustle around non-stop, making sure the drinks stay full and the food keeps coming. Their creative extras add a lot to the party atmosphere, and the fancy touches are endearing. Their parties are so festive. And so fun.

And that's so not me.

Hosting events can be intimidating when you don’t have a Pinterest-worthy flare. It’s tough to host a fall gathering when you’ve been to a party where the soup was served in hollow pumpkins. It’s hard to be proud of cupcakes topped with plain sprinkles after you’ve been to a party where the cupcakes had Minnie Mouse ears. (Think oreo halves and pink sugar bows. Adorable). When you have Martha-Stewart-types friends and family members, it’s easy to feel like everything you do pales in comparison.

Hospitality was a quality I admired in other women, but it’s definitely never been on my list of my own personal strengths. My china is boxed up in the basement; my gravy boat has never been used; and I don’t own a set of napkin rings or plate chargers. (For those still wondering, they’re decorative plates that you put underneath your real plates. Yeah, I don’t get it either). I don’t have much of an eye for decorating, and I don’t use seasonal centerpieces. I prefer to keep things simple.

So what’s to compliment about that?

If you’re one of those women with over-the-top festive flare, that’s awesome. We admire your effort, we envy your creativity, and we have a great time at your parties. But I’m starting to learn that just as much as people appreciate all-out festive fun, they also appreciate the simple, calm, and casual. There’s no need to worry about breaking one of my dishes or spilling red wine on my white tablecloth. (The dishes were cheap and there is no tablecloth). No need to offer to help me in the kitchen. Let’s have fun. I’ll get the mess later.

I come from a “come on in and grab a beer” kind of family, and I’m proud of that. Matt and I host gatherings all the time, despite my mismatched dinnerware and lack of napkin rings. We don’t buzz around for hours beforehand making sure everything is spotless and perfect. We create a “make yourself at home” setting that is nice enough to be welcoming and relaxed enough to comforting. And we’ve discovered that people have just as much fun without plate chargers.

So if you’re next in line to host the big family Christmas, don’t feel like you have to spend hours on Pinterest finding the perfect recipes and creating the perfect table setting. People will appreciate you for whichever kind of hostess you are. A good sense of hospitality goes deeper than what people see when they walk in the door. It’s really about how they feel when they walk out.

Have a merry (and stress-free) Christmas! 

How to be a Perfect Friend

It’s time for another Hearts at Home Third Thursday Blog Hop! I’ve missed the past few months – not because I haven’t had any imperfections to share, but because not taking enough time to write (and do other things for myself) is one of them. The No More Perfect Moms theme continues today with No More Perfect Friends. Happy reading!

Allie clung to my leg, crying to be held. In the other room, Reese and L argued over a toy. It wasn’t even 8:00 am and I was already taking deep breaths as I prepared for a long day. Can I just have 5 minutes to scramble an egg?!

Scanning the room, I immediately wished I had taken the time to pick up the night before. Choosing sleep instead, I left the mess for morning. Bad idea. My daily accomplishments are so limited these days. Between my super high maintenance ten-month-old and the stark personality contrast between Reese and L (who I now babysit 30-40 hours a week), I’m struggling to find peace with my hindered ability to feel even the slightest bit productive throughout the day.

My thoughts immediately turned to other women I know. The mom with 8 kids. The mom who’s two kids are just 13 months apart. The mom with twins. The mom who runs marathons. The mom who cooks everything from scratch. The mom who runs a business. The mom who blogs every day. The mom whose house is always clean. How do they do it?!

Later that morning, my phone vibrated across the counter. I could tell by the rhythm it was a text message. I picked it up and swiped the screen. My friend sent me a picture of the main living space in her home. The room was covered with toys and clutter. The message read “I’m finding peace within today.”

I surveyed my own messy living room again, this time with a smile. I love having a friend who isn't afraid to share her own struggles in the name of connection, compassion, and friendship. I love having a friend who lets me in on her tough moments because she knows I'm on the other side of town having my own moments. I love having a friend who gets it, a friend who knows that I get it.

Three years ago, this friend was on my “how does she do it” list. That was before we grew into the kind of friendship that lets us show up for play dates in our pajamas and text each other pictures of our messes. That was before we could laugh about how many days had passed since our last shower or how challenging life with little ones can be. That was before the many “me too!” conversations that squashed any reason to wonder “how does she do it?”

I hope every mom finds a friend like that, a friend who helps you remember that no one has it all together. We all have different strengths, values, motivators, and priorities. We all have different kids with different schedules and temperaments. We all have different husbands and different sources of stress.

Yet, we’re all in the same boat. We all have the same amount of time in a day. We’re all struggling to fit everything in. We’re all trying to balance the needs of our husbands, our homes, our kids, and ourselves. And we’re all looking at each other and wondering, “How do you do it?”

The answer is really pretty simple - we don't have an answer. None of us does. We’re all just doing the best we can with what we have. No one has magical secret powers. There are no Supermoms (despite what those looking in on a snapshot of our lives might think). No one has anything special figured out.

But I do know one thing. You may not be the perfect woman and you may not be the perfect mom, but it's those imperfections that give you the ability to reach out and be the perfect friend.

Hurry, Hurry

Reese set her book down next to me and crawled into my lap. I immediately recognized the cover and title, though I haven't read it in many years. My mom saved my collection of children's books and she gave them to me when Reese was born. Between those and Reese's own growing collection of books, we still haven't read them all. 

I read the title out loud, "Hurry, Hurry." I recalled the words with ease as I read to Reese about "Funny Old Miss Mugs" and her inability to do anything at a relaxed pace. 

"Hurry, Suzie, brush your teeth... Hurry, eat your breakfast.... Hurry, put your shoes on... or you will be late for school." 

As she rushes Suzie along to school, Miss Mugs runs into one problem after another. She runs into the milkman, trips a lady walking her dog, falls through a manhole, and gets scooped up by a bulldozer. She's in such a hurry that she forgets to say "sorry" to those she inconveniences and she forgets to say "thank you" to the people who help her out of her messes. As she rushes off, each person warns her, "Don't be in such a hurry or something worse may happen!"

Finally, Miss Mugs walks into a ladder with a large bucket of glue on top. The glue covers her from head to toe. Suzie helps her get cleaned up, but she is unable to remove the glue from Miss Mugs' shoes. Miss Mugs has no choice but to walk very slowly, and she quickly discovers that it is much more enjoyable (and much less hazardous) to slow down and lighten up. 

Yikes, that sounds a lot like me, I thought. I've always been one of those ninety miles an hour people. Always thinking ahead to the next task. Never getting enough done. Never fully relaxed. Missing out on opportunities to experience the fullness of my life and the depths of my gratitude for it. Too busy to pray. Too busy to breathe. Too busy to notice. It makes a giant glue spill sound rather inviting.

The next morning, I got my kids out of bed and started the breakfast routine. As I lowered Allie onto the living room floor, a sharp pain in my lower back brought me to my knees. I don't know much about back injuries, but I knew I must have pinched, pulled, or strained something important. I made my way over to the couch and got back to my feet, but it was a struggle. I quickly learned that I could still function as long as I avoided sudden or unnecessary movements. 

I stood up slowly. I shuffled to the kitchen slowly. I made breakfast slowly. After breakfast I sat down to play with my girls. My phone range in the living room. I ignored it. The dryer buzzed in the laundry room. I didn't get up. Every few minutes, I felt an urge to go do something... this room needs to be vacuumed... that desk is awfully dusty... did I ever pay the insurance bill?  

Normally, I respond to those urges. Hurry, hurry. Get everything done. 

Only I couldn't hurry. I couldn't do much of anything. For nearly a week, I shuffled around the house. Like the glue on Miss Mugs' shoes, the twinge in my lower back kept me in check. I played with my kids without feeling guilty that messes were piling up. At the end of the day, I listened to my body's need for rest rather than my head's desire to restore order to my living room. I prayed more. I breathed more. I noticed more.  

It's been over a week, and I feel totally normal again. As ability to "hurry, hurry" returns, I am grateful for the quick recovery but I am also thankful for my real life Miss Mugs' reminder that "it is quite a joy to move slowly, and a terrible bother to hurry."

Be a Champion of Imperfection

I haven't made my bed in weeks.

Sometimes I cringe when Reese says, “Mommy, you wanna go play?”

I have forgotten to strap one of my kids into her car seat before driving across town... three times. 

Did you know that I make myself feel guilty when those things happen? Think about some of your imperfections as a wife or a mother. Do you ever make yourself feel guilty about them? 

Have you ever found yourself judging another mom because of the way she disciplines her children or because she chooses to work (or not to work) or because her marriage fell apart?

Why?

Why are we so hard on ourselves? Why are we so hard on each other? 

Several weeks ago, we had some friends over for dinner. I had gone on a cleaning spree the day before (purely a coincidence), and I could see the looks on their faces when they walked into my immaculate home. I could have let them believe that this is how I really live. I could have let them leave wondering how I’m able to keep such a clean house with two small kids. I could have, but I didn’t. 

“This is the cleanest this place has been in six months,” I said proudly. (It’s fun to see the relief on another mom’s face when you admit that you’re actually quite the hot mess behind closed doors). 

If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that I don’t hold much back. I don’t do it because I want to air my dirty laundry on the internet or because I necessarily like having an electronic window in my living room. I do it because I believe whole-heartedly in authenticity, and I believe the areas of life where society tells us to be ashamed are the ones in which we should instead be banding together and lifting each other up. The world would be a better place if everyone could be themselves wholly and authentically without fear of judgment. 

This past weekend marked my fourth year in attendance at the Hearts at Home conference. This year's theme was No More Perfect Moms. (This is the reason for the “no more perfect…” posts in the recent Hearts at Home blog hops). Our founder and CEO, Jill Savage, wrote the book No More Perfect Moms in an effort to start a movement toward complete authenticity among the nationwide community of mothers. The  hope is for us moms to stop hiding our own flaws while judging others for theirs, to love our real life rather than longing for an ideal life, and to commit ourselves to living with guilt-free authenticity.

It's about time we make that change. It’s time for the masks of perfection to come off. It’s time we start celebrating our true authentic selves and raise a new generation of fearlessly authentic children.

Let people come over when the beds aren't made and the floors aren't swept. They'll stay anyway. Let them see the vulnerable parts of yourself and your life. They'll love you anyway. Be proud of the imperfections that make you unique. Be accepting of the mistakes that make you human. Give yourself and others the grace that comes from realizing that there are no perfect moms – just imperfect women with imperfect homes, imperfect husbands, and imperfect children.

You are not alone in any of your struggles, and if you believe that you are, it’s only because everyone around you is afraid to give those struggles a voice. Be that voice. Go out and share your story openly. Watch how many people say, “I’ve been there too,” and breathe a much-needed sigh of relief.

Breathe in the encouragement from someone who gets it.

Breathe out feelings of isolation.

Breathe in the realization that they love you anyway.

Breathe out the fear of judgment.

Breathe in acceptance.

Breathe out unnecessary guilt.

Then go forth and continue to be fearlessly, authentically, perfectly you.

** Become a champion of your own imperfections. Set yourself free from the guilt of your mistakes and abandon the urge to judge others for theirs. Share your commitment to authenticity with other moms and let’s build a new commUNITY of authentic moms raising authentic children. Pass this on to the moms in your circle and let them know that they are safe to be their true, beautiful, imperfect selves in your presence. **

You Know You're a Mom If...

If you've ever answered the door looking like this...

If your living room looks like this...

If your toilet paper is rolled like this...
















If you open kitchen drawers and find things like this...

If your camera is filled with pictures like this...















If your Friday nights look like this...















If your Sunday mornings look like this...

And if you do it all because of moments like this...

Smiles like this...















Bonds like this...

And love like this...

Because even when the job seems small,
you know that your purpose is so very big.

Surrender to the Mess

I’m double dipping today and linking up with Bigger Picture Blogs and the Hearts at Home Third Thursday Blog Hop. The theme for the upcoming Hearts at Home conference is “No More Perfect Moms,” which means the Hearts Bloggers will be laying out a few of our many imperfections with our next few topics starting with today’s prompt “no more perfect homes.” Enjoy!
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My house is always clean. Everything I own is neat and organized to an embarrassing degree. Let’s put it this way – the items on my spice rack are in alphabetical order. No joke. Everything has a place and rarely is anything out of its place for very long. Clutter and chaos drive me bananas, and I would gladly forfeit my very scarce bubble bath opportunities in the interest of tidiness.

Sometimes people ask me why I care so much about the condition of my house, especially because I’m not one to fret over anyone’s judgment. The reason actually has nothing to do with other people. I could be a hermit living on a mountaintop and my house would still be just as organized. I’m trying to measure up to my own standard, not anyone else’s. I’ve just always been happier in a clean space and I function better in an organized setting.

Friends and family often teased that I would have to give up my compulsive neatness when I had kids. Well, after Reese was born I didn’t change and neither did my house. I’d like to think that I did it without compromising my responsiveness to her needs (or my own), but I’m sure that wasn’t always the case. Many nights I would put her to bed and then spend my me-time picking up toys, washing dishes, and folding laundry. When Allie came along, I was just as determined to keep up my charade because, after all, a clean home is a happy home.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that I would have to make my peace with the disaster that has overtaken my living space. I’m not sure what pushed it over the edge – the addition of a second child or the toddler who leaves a trail of toys through every room – but I’m finding myself outnumbered by burp cloths and puzzle pieces. In the weeks after Allie was born my efforts to battle the mess were futile, and I slowly began to lower my standards.

Looking back, I see that all I ever got out of my obsessive need for order was a temporary sigh of relief and a side of unnecessary exhaustion. For a long time I thought of housekeeping as a part of my job description as an at-home mom, and I believed that giving it up would mean I had failed in that aspect of the role in which I have so much pride.

Today, my house is no longer the perfectly organized haven to which I have been accustomed for so many years, and I’ve had to find other ways to achieve the inner peace I had always derived from a tidy home. The more I let it go, the easier it got to leave things undone and I’m even finding that I have more time for other things I enjoy – things that bring me greater peace than a spotless kitchen ever did.

Contrary to my fears of failing at my job, letting go of my house is making me a better wife and mother day by day. I finally see that obsessing over my kids is much more worthwhile than obsessing over my chores because there’s nothing miraculous about housework. I don’t cut snuggling sessions short when the dryer buzzes because wrinkles don’t grow up and move away. I don’t stop the puppet show to sweep the kitchen because my days with crumbs on the floor are not numbered. And in those few precious moments when the girls are asleep and the house is quiet, I can finally walk past the dishes, step over the toys, throw my clothes on the floor, and sink into a tub of bubbles because a relaxed mom is a happy mom, and a happy mom makes a happy home.

This is a Bigger Picture Moment. 

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