burnt toast life

camping utopia

There’s this campground we go to every year. It’s about 45 minutes away from my house, but somehow it feels like a different universe. I’d happily live there if I could.

How do I explain it? It’s like stepping back in time. It’s like living in a time before strangers in vans with candy, a time before the articles your friends share on Facebook made you want to weep for the world. At this campground, any kid old enough to ride a bike has one and uses it from sunup to sundown. It’s not uncommon to see kids as young as 7 cycling by themselves all around the grounds and not even worrying about it much because the speed limit it 5 MPH and everyone obeys it. Also, the bike curfew is strictly enforced (as Eric learned the hard way).

I don’t know if it’s coincidence or I’m just noticing it more now, but ever since we got home I keep seeing articles pop up about lonely moms who miss the “it takes a village” mentality of raising children. It seems like we’re all so isolated now, peering at our neighbor’s pristine white kitchens via Instagram rather than visiting their houses in real life and noticing the jelly fingerprints cropped from the photo. It’s depressing. We need to get back to the village.

The campground was like a village as a whole and because we were camping with the extended family. There were occasions where I lost track of Liam for periods up to half an hour. At first, it scared me out because I’m used to freaking out when I don’t have a direct sight line to my 2-year-old. But as the week went on, I learned to just go with it.

“Have you seen Liam?”

“Yeah, he was on the playground with the boys a little bit ago.”

“OK, cool, I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

I’m not naive — I know that no campground is immune to creeps and we did set some boundaries. When Molly said she met a new friend and was going to their campsite alone, I was like hell to the no you’re not. But still — camping at a place where kids could be kids and parents could stop helicoptering, where there was a lake for fishing and boating, where we biked instead of driving, where the highlight of every day was an antique fire truck ride for the kids — yeah, that was pretty awesome.

Fun fact: my mom took me to this same campground when I was a kid, though I have no recollection of it. Meanwhile, we’re already planning our trip for next year.

We love you, Otter Lake! Never change.

IMG_4750

 

IMG_4716

 

IMG_4735

 

 

remembering that she’s just a little girl

Some people are guilty of babying their children. I’m the opposite.

When I say Molly is exceptionally well-behaved and mature for an *almost* three and a half year old, I’m not saying it because she’s my kid or because I like to brag. Heck, in the same breath I’ll be the first to admit that Liam is a real handful (a sweetheart who will win your heart and then promptly trample it in a fit of wailing and screaming during a textbook terrible twos tantrum). In other words, Molly’s extraordinary self-possession is not a testament to my exemplary parenting skills, but is rather just a “hit” in the ol’ parenting lottery that we all play when we have children. Some kids are naturally easier than others. In that regard, we’ve been abundantly blessed.

So imagine my surprise when our little angel child started acting out at dance class on Saturday. From day one of class 12 months ago, Molly marched in and owned that classroom with barely a backward glance in my direction. (I’ll pretend I didn’t look around the room with a smug smile, trying not to look too pleased with myself in front of parents whose children were crying as though they were being led into a pit of hungry lions rather than into a dance studio). She was so brave and outgoing that I could not fathom why, as a year veteran and the oldest child in the group, she suddenly dissolved into a pile of tears this past Saturday two minutes after the class started.

Trying to speak to her calmly and rationally changed nothing. She didn’t want to dance; she needed mommy to hold her. No amount of bribing with candy or threatening to skip the other fun events we had planned for the day would change her mind. I was completely mystified.

Her dance teacher, a grandmother many times over who is adept with crying children (probably one of the reasons she’s brave enough to offer a dance class for 2 and 3 year olds), suggested that maybe she was having trouble adjusting to the new baby.

“That’s ridiculous!” I scoffed, “She loves the baby, and she’s already used to being a big sister. It has to be something else.”

Her teacher gave me a patronizing smile and said, “I’m sure she’s a wonderful big sister. But I’ve been around the block a few times and I can tell you that kids act out sometimes when there’s a big change like that.”

I nodded so that the conversation would end but inside I still disagreed. I figured she must have seen something that scared her (one girl was wearing aggressive blue eyeshadow for a Halloween parade later… maybe that?), or perhaps she woke up too early, or maybe she was just overstimulated thinking about our busy day ahead… it just couldn’t be the baby. Right?

That morning I had been getting ready while ignoring Madeline’s cries in the Rock n Play. With three kids, there’s just no way for me to instantly take care of her needs the moment she starts fussing or I’d never get anything done. Usually she’s forced to scream for up to five ten some number of minutes at a time while I finish whatever I’m doing, since Lord knows all she wants to do is hang out on my boob forever. So anyway, I was there blow drying my hair (which these days only happens about once a month) and throwing on some mascara when Madeline got the memo I must be taking some much needed me-time and started wailing like I hadn’t fed her in 62 years (untrue). I made up my mind to let her cry for as long as it took when all of the sudden she got quiet. I peeked around the corner into the living room to find Molly gently rocking her chair back and forth, whispering, “It’s ok, little baby, Mommy will be here soon.”

First of all… heart eyes emoji, right? And second, it took all of my restraint not to humble-brag post the whole thing on social media. But I didn’t have time because, remember, blow dryer and mascara. I knew even with Molly’s help I only had five minutes to finish, tops.

But that’s my point! She loves her sister. She’s happy; she’s adjusted. Right?

The dance class incident got me thinking about the past couple weeks. Molly has been unnaturally clingy. Like at Madeline’s baptism, where I was running around like a chicken without a head like I do anytime I host a party. Fun-loving, party-loving, relative-loving Molly had a total meltdown and refused to be comforted by anyone besides me… which seriously never happens. Every time I rushed out of the room to refill coffee or cut up fruit or hide from the guests in the bathroom, she’d run along behind in a panic as though I were fleeing the building forever. At the time I attributed it to the same factors — being overtired, overstimulated, or some combination of those.

At a trunk or treat event at her school the same night as the failed dance class, she once again stuck by my side like glue. It was dark and crowded but we were there with ten people we knew and there was no reason for her to act that way. One instance may have been a fluke and two a coincidence, but with distinct events in our recent past I think it’s time to admit what this is: a pattern.

And actually, she’s been clingy other times too. She seems unnaturally frightened of me leaving her places, even though I’ve never left her anywhere and now that I work from home, I am literally with her 24/7 most days. Maybe that’s part of the problem?

I was getting ready this morning and once again Madeline was crying in her Rock n Play (it’s a lot like Groundhog Day around here, the weather may change but our routines do not). Remembering the sweetness and, let’s be honest, the convenience of Molly’s help the day before, I asked her if she would rock Maddy for a couple minutes while Mommy finished getting ready.

She said no.

At the time I was annoyed because despite my dear husband’s suggestion, I cannot simply ignore the baby crying. Her little cry makes me stressed out and rush through whatever I’m doing, as it’s biologically conditioned to do. But then I thought about it logically for a minute. My daughter is not even three and a half years old. Why in the world was I expecting her to stop playing and soothe a screaming newborn?

I think part of it stems from my own stereotypical first child experience. When you are the oldest and especially when you are naturally mature and extra especially when you are female, adults naturally place more responsibility on your shoulders than you probably deserve. Right or wrong, sexist or not, that’s just the way it is. When I was ten I was scheduling my own dentist appointments. When I was twelve I was solely in charge of my two younger siblings when my parents were at work.

At the time I resented the responsibilities but in retrospect, I’ve come to appreciate them for shaping me into the adult I am today. Yes, it’s partly just my nature to be trustworthy, but I also think that having adults trust me that much gave me self-confidence I wouldn’t have otherwise. And as a technical millennial, I’m happy to be a functioning member of society, not one of those stereotypical overgrown children who can’t make it out of their parents’ basements.

I don’t remember the exact age that people started treating me like a mini adult. It was probably older than three, but who knows. I do know that I’ve been guilty of expecting that from my little firstborn. How can I begrudge her little tantrums when I have my own mini meltdowns on a daily basis? How can I hold her to some ridiculous “perfect child” standard when in the same breath I concede there’s no such thing as the perfect mom?

I was so busy worrying about how Liam would accept the new baby that I forgot to consider Molly might need to adjust to her too. Maybe she is having a hard time sharing her mom, just as I’m having a harder time juggling the three of them than I’d like to admit.

I really need to remind myself that she’s still just a little girl, even if she doesn’t always act that way.

even the best big sisters need a break sometimes

even the best big sisters need a break sometimes

here in the state of bliss

It’s fairly chaotic going from two to three kids. Anyone who tells you differently is lying (or medicated, or blessed, or has older kids).

But it’s also amazing.

The thing about newborns is that they sleep a lot. At least mine does. She’s either eating or sleeping or pooping in her sleep (or pooping while eating). She’s awake for, let’s say, 10 minutes per day. The chaos comes from corraling the preschooler and the toddler, trying to keep the dogs from eating precious Shopkins that are strewn about (the eternal struggle), an endless cycle of meals and snacks, laundry, nursing, keeping a close eye on the newborn in her rock ‘n’ play because any day now she’s likely to be smothered in hugs (literally) by one or both older siblings. Did I mention dishes and laundry and cleaning? All of it. Chaos 90% of the time.

But… but. The sweetness is nearly unbearable. I gave Liam way too little credit when it came to adjusting to his new sister. I thought for sure he’d be annoyed at her presence; I figured he’d act out and push her away and generally treat her like some kind of intruder. But in fact, he loves her. He is enchanted by “Baybee!” and is concerned when she cries. This could very well change as she gets older and needier but at this moment, I could not ask for better adjustment from him. And of course Molly is enamored/obsessed/helpful as I knew she would be.

I suppose I owe you all a birth story for Madeline but I fear that a planned c-section simply isn’t as exciting as a surprise birth. We made it to the date we planned for – Friday, 8/25, 2 weeks ago today. We arrived at the hospital at 6AM for our 8AM surgery. I expected to be bumped in favor of emergency c-sections or other more pressing births since the end of summer is the start of “busy season” in the maternity wing. But instead of waiting, they were actually ready for me at 8 sharp. Unfortunately, I was not ready because once again it took 4 freaking people to get my IV in. Have I mentioned how shitty my veins are? I swear, I dread getting an IV more than the actual surgery. I was crying and shaking and had almost passed out by the time they finally got one in. Now two weeks later both forearms, hands, and wrists are still covered in ugly purple and yellow bruises from all the poking.

Meanwhile, the more serious cut is healing beautifully. It seriously seems like each c-section gets easier, or maybe it’s just that I know what to expect. More likely it’s that I don’t have time to be incapacitated with 3 kids to care for. Eric took a few days off work but even when he had to go back, the fact that he works from home has been an eternal blessing. He can be full-on working and still within shouting distance. Also it has proven invaluable for naptime errand running because I can just leave the house with one or two or zero kids and know that he can keep an ear peeled for the sleeping ones. It’s very convenient.

The only other big news from the birth was that I’m no longer allowed to go past 37 weeks. Apparently just like last time my uterus was super thin, but this time dangerously so. I mentioned that next time I wanted to put in two embryos and my OB/GYN said it really wasn’t a great idea. She said then she’d have to take me even earlier, and we’d likely be stuck in the NICU, with 3 kids at home… overall, just unwise. But when I asked her if I could safely have two more pregnancies she said she didn’t see why not. Five c-sections sounds excessive but if she says it’s OK and if my body continues to heal as well as it does, I guess it’s not the worst thing. The thought of being pregnant two more times is extremely exhausting but it’s also not something I need to think about right this minute. My baby is 2 weeks old. I can just chill for a minute.

As much as I fought the notion that I’d need to take time off work, I am glad I did. This week has been a little nuts with Molly starting preschool – which so far she LOVES. Me, I love being able to drop her off and pick her up, and love that I’ll be able to continue doing so even after I go back to work.

For some reason I recently clicked on that really old super secret blog I had years ago. I kept writing there for about a year before abandoning it and starting Burnt Toast. The last day I posted? August 25, 2011. I mean… how weird is that? If you would have told me then that on August 25, 2017 I’d be welcoming my third baby to our family I would have been so skeptical. I was thinking that the other morning when I had Madeline sleeping on my chest and the other two cradled in my right and left arms. I was immobilized because I was literally covered in children. And I realized that’s all I ever wanted to be, and there I was, living out my dream. It’s weird to feel so content in what I have… given the choice I’d definitely want more money, less debt, and thinner thighs. But overall I am totally happy with what I’ve been given and couldn’t ask for more.

And it’s funny too because I was reading some past posts where I talked about having a kind of pre-midlife crisis, wondering about the Point of It All and just generally feeling blah, but now six months later I feel completely different. Proof that the real problem was simple: I hated my job. Once that one thing changed, everything else felt a million times better.

A part of me feels guilty posting stuff like this because it feels kind of like bragging — oh look at me, everything is SOOOO perfect. Trust me, it’s not. Lots of mini dramas and crappy things going on currently, and even motherhood isn’t always the best time ever. I definitely yelled at Molly for not listening the other day. She went silent for a few minutes and when I looked over, she was just sitting there with huge eyes and silent tears streaming down her face. I said, “Oh my gosh, Molly, what’s wrong??” and she said, “You YELLED at me!” in the most accusatory voice. I guess she’s not used to being yelled at? It was so funny/sad. But also very telling. Even perfect angels like Molly aren’t always perfect. (Her latest thing is to question everything I tell her to do, and give long-winded explanations why she should be able to do it her way, so now my phrase of the moment is “Stop arguing with me!” which she often parrots back to Liam, who seems confused).

Anyway. I feel like I’m rambling and since the other two monkeys are sleeping, I’m neglecting this precious small amount of Mommy/Maddie cuddle time (because I’m usually too busy to just sit around holding her. This poor third child). I’ll leave you with some of my favorite photos from the hospital, which if you follow me on social media you’ve already seen, but oh well. I am obsessed with them and am currently planning a total photo wall redo just to incorporate them.

one of my favorites

one of my favorites

our beautiful Madeline Grace

our beautiful Madeline Grace

what did I do to deserve all of this? how can I possibly thank God for these precious gifts?

my gratitude for these blessings is infinite

reflections on one month at home

It’s been juuuuust over a month of doing the work-at-home mom thing and I thought I’d recap a few observations I’ve noticed in that time. So I can look back and laugh or cringe in a few years when everything is completely different, obviously.

Observation 1: There’s time for boredom.

Those first two weeks were a total whirlwind of figuring out my schedule and settling into a new state of being, but now that I’ve kind of gotten into the groove there are plenty of moments where I’m just… bored.

It’s so weird to be bored.

Granted, I have two young children and they keep me busy, but without the added stress of commuting and working a full time schedule, now there’s actually downtime in my afternoon that wasn’t there before. I have a list of random little projects to tackle that I’ve been chipping away at but it really feels weird to actually be doing them rather than just endlessly adding items and knowing they’ll never get done. I finally cleaned and organized my spice rack and one shelf (baby steps) of my linen closet. It’s incredible. I shudder to think what I’ll be able to accomplish when I’m not 7 months pregnant and super lazy.

Observation 2: I could never be a full time SAHM.

I already knew this about myself but now I REALLY know it. Even working part time makes me a little antsy, like I need to fill my hours with something else or like I’m forgetting to do something. I also find myself allotting way too much time for simple tasks that I used to schedule much differently. Like, I’ll mentally block off an entire afternoon for a quick grocery store run that I used to accomplish in 30 minutes.

Plus, being stuck in the house on rainy days is some particular form of torture. I’m not creative enough to come up with fun activities plus I am working for the mornings. So I’m just stuck with antsy kids who need an outlet. SO FUN.

Observation 3: The weather rules my life.

No offense to old people but… wow, I’m like an old person with how obsessed I’ve become about the weather. I’m constantly checking it and planning my life around it, mostly because our main excitement every day is going to my MIL’s pool, which of course we can’t do in the rain. Last week was crappy and we were going so stir crazy that I loaded up the kids and took them to McDonald’s so they could run around the play place (#parentoftheyear).

Actually, I felt really good about myself because Molly has literally never been to a McDonald’s in her life and kept asking if we were going to see “old McDonald had a farm” and I haven’t been inside one in so many years that I didn’t even know their screens are all digital now. The kids loved the play area and it was just what they needed. Molly marched up to two little girls there and said, “Hi. I’m Molly. I like you guys. Let’s go play.” It’s truly a shame about how shy she is…

But then she was having so much fun playing that she forgot to tell me she had to go potty and ended up having an accident. In the climbing structure. Fun times.

Observation 4: I will never go back to an office. Ever.

So I thought a part of me would miss hanging out with coworkers… or office life in general… but as it turns out, NOPE.

Seriously, I’m sure you’re all sick of hearing this since my last three posts have mentioned it, but if there’s any feasible way for you to do your job from home – make it happen. It’s sooooo good. I’m not going back and you can’t make me.

I supposed that’s it for observations. The end of June was particularly crazy but now on the other side of that it looks like I have absolutely nothing going on between now and Baby Girl’s arrival besides our family beach trip the first week of August. The lack of busyness is actually kind of sad, and I’d love to find something to fill the space between besides just really long grocery store outings and weather checking. It’s sort of annoying to be a faux SAHM, as I like to call myself, because I can’t schedule things in the mornings when I have office hours and by afternoon it’s nap time and after that time to make dinner. I know, I know, FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS.

I do truly enjoy all the extra time spent with the kids and the other morning I came to the realization that I would not have to supplement this baby (hopefully) due to decreased milk supply after returning to work. I know I’ll have to pump so I can get a little stash but it’s not like I’ll have a 3-times-a-day date with my breast pump in a closet somewhere. That is so cool.

Finding a mother’s helper for the fall has been a particular sort of torture because no one seems to have accountability anymore. The first girl I messaged with for several days sounded like she had so much potential. We scheduled a meeting – she bailed – and then disappeared off the face of the earth. Ohhh kaayyyyy…

The second girl rescheduled twice on me and then showed up late. (Traffic. Obvi.) She was very nice but seemed very young, shy, and quiet for a 19-year-old. Was I like that at 19? Not that there’s anything with being shy… she just seemed, I dunno, immature. Maybe because I already had some negative first impressions from the scheduling issues. And the lack of punctuality.

My third candidate was supposed to come today but – surprise! – she had to reschedule! And she was my favorite, too. WHAT IS UP WITH PEOPLE? If I had a job interview, I would be there when I said I was going to be, and on time. I’m giving her another chance because I’m reaching a point of desperation. Good thing I started my search early…

Anything else? No. Time to go check the weather (again).

work. life. balance.

I’ll open with a joke.

A good and God-fearing lady found herself in financial distress.
She decides to pray and says, “God, I need your help, please let me win the lottery.”

When she doesn’t win, she prays again the next week and says, “God, I really need the money, please oh please let me win the lottery.”

Once again, she doesn’t win, and once again she prays, “God, I have always served you faithfully, please tell me why you won’t let me win the lottery?”

Finally, God replies in exasperation, “Lady, help me out here and go buy yourself a ticket!”

That’s totally how I feel sometimes.

I want to trust in God’s plan for my life, but at the same time I know there is some expectation for me to make things happen. I can’t just sit around waiting for luck to befall me – I have to put in some effort. But also, perplexingly, I need to leave it all up to God.

It’s not easy figuring out where that line is.

This is all leading up to finally, finally discussing that huge problem I was having that is now somehow miraculously solved literally 2 weeks before it all exploded.

The problem was childcare – or rather, lack thereof. My sister can no longer care for my children post-June. I half-heartedly researched daycares many months ago and then decided that the absolute only solution to my problem was that I needed to figure out a way to work from home.

There’s really no reason that I CAN’T work from home. I’m a writer, and 95% of my workday is spent in solitude. As weeks passed, I became more and more resentful that I wasn’t working from home, and that other writers were working from home while I commuted 45 minutes each way to do work that I could just as easily accomplish from my living room.

That’s not to say I asked my current employer if it was an option – for some reason there’s a stigma associated with the practice, and I just got this vibe that it wouldn’t be well-received, even though it was just that – an assumption. Instead, I became obsessed with finding a new job that was remote-based. I suppose if I hadn’t successfully done that, I would have swallowed my pride and had the conversation, though I doubt they would have allowed me to do it five days per week. My current boss telecommutes three days, and I would say that’s their limit. Even that is better than being in the office full-time.

All along I was freelancing for a remote company and months ago I had interviewed for a full-time position with them. I thought that was my ace in the hole – but alas, I didn’t get the job. I got switched to a new team in that company and was busily submitting articles (part of the reason I never blog, because working full time + mom of two + freelancing = zero free time) and hoping another opportunity would present itself.

Weeks went by and my editor let me know that a part-time position on her team was opening up if I was interested. I gave an enthusiastic yes! Then… the waiting started. Each week brought another delay of figuring out details… checking with someone… the hiring process is just longgg and sloooow which of course is standard and not their fault but remember I had a deadline, so… I was in a panic. It got to the point where I’d keep my email tab open all day at work and check it the SECOND a new email came in. I can’t tell you how many times I cursed out Shutterfly for getting my hopes up for absolutely no reason. My stomach was in knots for two solid months.

I kept praying and asking God for the work from home thing to work out. I lined up my little sister Allie as a potential au pair for the summer, too. I figured if I could just get someone to tend to the kids while I worked, it would all be fine. Allie just turned 12… young enough that I don’t feel comfortable leaving her with just Eric (who works from home full time but is often stuck on long conference calls and holed up in the office unavailable) and the kids, but old enough that I know she could be enough help to keep the kiddos occupied while I got some serious writing done.

After many, many weeks and days of having a panic attack every time I got an email, I received word – I was hired part time to work from home! Amazing.

The next hurdle was telling my current employer AND convincing them to let me stay on freelance (since I still need to maintain the same salary, or as close as I can get). Luckily, they agreed to it immediately. Beginning June 5th I will be working part-time for the new company, freelancing for my current company, and at home 100% of the time.

Yay!

As excited as I am, I’m a little nervous about how it will all work out. I have never done anything like this and will need to keep track of billing my freelance customers, keep track of all my hours for the part time role, and really just stay on top of things. Plus, I’m worried the work will dry up. I’ve always enjoyed the security of working full time and not worrying about that. Then again… no job is guaranteed, as I found out the hard way last November when I got laid off.

I’m very excited to be home more with the kids. I won’t be wasting so many hours sitting in traffic, or so much money on gas. I think it will be busy, and hectic, but I am totally romanticizing how nice it will be to be able to preheat the oven for dinner at 4:30 rather than not even stumbling in the door until 6 (by which point Liam is screaming hungry with no concept of “raw chicken must cook”). Or how about how I can throw in a load of towels at 12 noon on a Wednesday? My world is opening up. Domestic goddesshood, here I come. (HA. HA!)

I’m not naive though… Eric’s biggest complaint about working from home is that he’s always at work. If a client emails or calls him at 7PM, he’s expected to answer, and there’s no leaving work at work when your work is at your house. But I figure it’s a fair tradeoff. Also, my job is less stressful than his. I actually enjoy the articles I’ll be writing for this part time gig – they’re fun and not incredibly difficult to write.

Also, I do need to figure out a long-term solution for when Allie goes back to school in the fall – and I will have three kids, not two. But at least by then I will have figured out a rhythm to the work and will have a better idea what hours need to be covered. For now, I’m trying not to think about it. I’m just grateful it worked out with not a day to spare. (Literally – my sister wanted her last day to be June 6th, and I’m starting this job June 5th. That is an incredible coincidence).

New theme song: We can work from home… wo-ah, wo-ah.

….even though that song is DEFINITELY not about working.

room for all of us

I’ll never forget a conversation I overheard once. Someone asked a mom if she was going to have more children and she replied that she would like to, but had decided against it simply because she didn’t have any more bedrooms in her house.

That’s insane.

Now that I’m pregnant with my third, I can’t tell you how many people ask me where the child will sleep. Our house was advertised as a 2-bedroom and we went to look at it anyway. I’m glad we did because it actually had 3 bedrooms (though not technically since that third “room” didn’t have a closet). As it stands, with Eric working from home full time and being the sort of person who needs an office/man cave/escape from screaming toddlers, we have two bedrooms – one master and one combo kid bedroom and playroom.

There is nowhere for this new baby to go. And yet… I know she’ll be just fine.

(Also, to answer the question, she’ll sleep in our room in a bassinet next to our bed as both my other newborns did. Then after some months go by… I don’t know, we’ll figure it out then).

I shared a room with my sister growing up. I don’t remember loving or hating it – that’s just how things were. My brother had a bedroom the size of a shoebox and I think I was just happy to have a space I could actually twirl around in, even if it was shared. There’s also something comforting about sharing a bedroom – especially at an age when you kind of think monsters might still exist.

I also remember how weird it was moving when I was 16 – we went from a 1,600 square foot cape cod with one bathroom to a 3,500 square foot McMansion. It was exciting, but lonely. For those first few months I definitely saw my family less and while that was appealing to the snarky teen in me… looking back, it really wasn’t that great. I missed my old house because I’m hostile to change and also because I missed the closeness. I’m sure the adults thought it was cramped and small but I never did.

In 2016, average American home size was up to 2,687 square feet – a huge increase from the 1973 average, which was 1,660 square feet. Also, unsurprisingly, the number of occupants per home has dwindled from 3.0 to 2.5 (yes, I researched all of this because I was curious. Huge nerd alert). I didn’t bother looking up older statistics but I’m fairly certain our great-great-grandparents shared rooms and even beds all the time – with entire families jammed into small spaces and not even complaining about it. Where did we get the idea that we need so much space to exist?

There are a lot of things I don’t like about my house – and actually, the lack of a playroom is one of them, because despite my minimalist daydreams, the toys are slowly but surely taking over every available inch of space. But one thing I do love is how I don’t even need a baby monitor because my kids’ room is a few feet from my own door and I can practically hear them breathing at night.

I remember freaking out over having the nursery ready for Molly, and knowing I was being ridiculous but still being so concerned about it. When I was pregnant with Liam, I did take the time to get ready and at least attempted to incorporate boy things but I was a lot more chill. This baby? Hmmm, the newborn clothes have been untouched for almost three years and are probably mouse eaten, the bassinet is completely disassembled, and all the other “baby stuff” is just sitting in a heap in the attic. It’s not that I don’t care about her or that I’m not excited… it’s that now for the third go-round, I know what matters.

I’ve become fond of saying babies need two things – boobies and warm hugs. Our sweet little girl won’t be able to see very well, but she’ll be able to feel all the love that’s waiting to welcome her. She definitely won’t notice that she doesn’t have her own room. At least… not for a few years.

That’s been on my mind lately. I stumbled upon the cutest toddler bunk beds that I definitely want to get for Liam & Molly once the baby is big enough to move into the big kid room. Coincidentally, it was one year ago today that I moved Molly into her big girl bed and Liam into the crib, so she wasn’t quite two… that’s exactly how old Liam will be when I need to move the baby in with them. I can’t imagine him being ready but then again it’s hard to overestimate the maturity difference between 1.5 and 2. I guess I forgot.

I hope everyone had a lovely Mother’s Day! Ours was low-key and spent with extended family… just how I like it. I wanted to go to the zoo with the kids but it was a weird weather day so we’re saving our fun family outing for another time. As I said on Facebook, coming home to a cleaned house Friday night was honestly the best gift I could have received. I keep telling Eric I’d rather have experience gifts than physical items (the experience of not house cleaning…?) and he came through for me, big time.

It’s going to sound cheesy but Mother’s Day is supposed to be about celebrating moms but all I can ever think about is how I’m just so happy to BE a mom at all. Everyone talks about giving mom a break but I don’t want a break… not even on Mother’s Day. I just want allllll the motherhood. Even the crappy parts. I know that’s super weird.

Have a lovely week, even if your house is small!

 

minimalism on my mind

desk-1081708_1920

This post has been ruminating in my head for so long that it actually feels silly to write about it now. It seems like old news.

As I’m prone to do, I caught on to the “new” trend towards minimalism a full five years after everyone else. OK, not quite, but basically.

A few things happened that made me move from “minimalism sounds sort of interesting” to “yes, I’m going to pursue this.”

  • I started following blogs and watching Netflix documentaries on the topic. Turns out it’s fairly addictive. The irony is now that I have so many thoughts churning, it’s actually stressing me out, which I realize is HIGHLY ironic because the whole movement is supposed to make you feel more calm and peaceful.
  • My makeup collection includes eyeshadow from ten years ago. Seriously. I don’t wear it (ew), but I hold onto it because hey, maybe my 6 months pregnant 30-something-year-old self WILL need bacterially questionable jet black eyeshadow for a night on the town one day soon. Also, it was expensive.
  • I just keep thinking of a funny story about my mother-in-law. For a really long time she had this gigantic collection of cookie tins lining a wall in her dining room, stacked up to the ceiling. She took them all down a few years ago when the room was being repainted and she had every intention of putting them back up but never did. Once they were down she saw it looked way better without them.

I feel like I have a similar relationship with my “stuff” – it’s there now and I’m used to it, but if I could just bring myself to box it all up and see how the room looked without it, I know I’d like it better.

  • Sometimes I get super jealous of my friends’ kids’ toy collections. I mean, some are truly staggering. Wall to wall bins of every imaginable plaything… kitchens with all the handcrafted wooden play food, bins upon bins of Barbies and action figures, train tracks and train tables and Legos, costume closets with adorable mini dresses and shoes, garages packed with scooters, basketball hoops, and Power Wheels, you name it. It makes my own collection feel truly inadequate.

But then I watch my kids playing. The other night they occupied themselves for several hours with some old birthday party decorations they found in a cabinet. Molly took a plain piece of string and invented a whole backstory and life of fun for her “snake” while Liam walked around gleefully with one of those colorful weights you use to hold down balloons. Meanwhile, I know for a fact that some of the friends who have mountains of toys have a hard time getting their kids to put down their iPads. So…

It all fits in nicely with some new research I’ve seen about preschools and kindergartens taking away toys for periods of time to force kids to use their imaginations again. Sure, it sounds extreme… but is it?

My kids definitely have toys and now that I’m reading all this stuff, apparently too many toys, but I think the point is that they play with what they have and the only person who sees what they have as inadequate is me. Then again, I might just be adopting this mentality because I’m too cheap/poor to compete with the mega toy moms. Minimalism is the trendier and cheaper option.

  • One of my big holdups was always my husband, a collector. He likes to be surrounded by souvenirs and has a collection of graphic t-shirts large enough that he could avoid doing laundry for at least 3 months and never wear the same one twice. I knew he wouldn’t see the appeal of minimalizing with me, so I figured doing our house half-assed wasn’t worth doing at all.

But then one day this month without warning, he totally gutted his closet and made it into a minimalist’s dream. Space between hangers! Nothing extra at all! Oh AND he got his pile of crap off the dresser so now when I look with disdain at all the trinkets still left there, I only have myself to blame. Apparently, he is on board – at least for certain things. Who knew?

seriously, you should have seen it before

I grew up in a collector’s house. I won’t use the “H” word (ahem…hoarder), but let’s just say my parents don’t get rid of A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G and they buy A LOT of stuff.

This was really nice growing up because I was very spoiled and whenever you see those lists of toys that will make you nostalgic for your childhood, it’s guaranteed I will have owned 85-90% of them AND even better, could probably still find them with a few hours of digging in my parents’ basement.

True story: I wanted to take my old Dream Phone game on vacation last summer and wouldn’t you know, my mom totally found it in her basement. So you can see that the saving tendencies come in handy when a group of 30-somethings want to drink wine and relive their girlhood.

Despite genetics, I’ve always been more inclined to want less stuff/clutter and have been frantically picturing all the places where de-cluttering needs to happen in my house. I know what needs to get done – mentally, I’m there. But time wise I’m strapped. Besides working full-time during the day and being a mom from dinnertime to bedtime, the weekends are packed full and I never want to start a project I can’t finish or feel rushed doing it.

And I realize now that part of minimalism is actually finding more time in the day and clearing your calendar of all distractions… but it’s hard. All the things I’m doing are pretty fun and I’m sorry not sorry that I’ll never be willing to skip a birthday party so I can clean out my linen closet, no matter how badly I need to get rid of old towels.

As I’ve been cryptically hinting for months, I’m still working towards a solution that would give me more time to be at home and less time spent on the daily grind. Unfortunately, I’m no closer to solving that particular problem, though I know once I do I can fit more minimalist pursuits into my life.

I have tons more to say on the topic and I do want to document my “journey” once I finally get it the hell started, so who knows, maybe this will turn into a blog about going minimal. I’m sure that’s more riveting than long rambling posts about what my kids have been up to – or worse – not posting at all because I can’t figure out what to say.

I’ll never be that super awesome Insta photo with white walls and bare floors because, hello, this is real life. That level is beyond me. But I am working really hard on caring less about the stuff I don’t have and appreciating the stuff I do have. It all boils down to the fact that the stuff will never fill the void – only love can do that.

How about you? Are y’all a bunch of minimalists, or have I secretly-not-so-secretly envied your toy collections?

 

 

hey, remember me? I’m still here…

This time I’m not even going to bother accounting for apologizing for my lengthy absence. Where have I been? Not writing. Not motivated to write.

I alluded to my life slump in earlier posts and my post-quarter pre-mid life crisis which unfortunately is still going strong. The only thing I know beyond a shadow makes me happy is my children, and family in general, which is tricky because my absolute satisfaction with all of them only highlights how dissatisfied I am with everything else going on. Like, if every portion of my life made me as joyful and fulfilled as motherhood, then I’d be shooting sunbeams out my eyes and trailing glitter everywhere I went. But in reality, nothing else even comes close.

I’ve also been panicking over plans for the summer and beyond, childcare-wise. Remember how a few posts ago I was all, “Yeahhhh, no worries, it’ll all work out?” Well, that feeling has passed and super stressed out control freak Amanda has returned in force. WHAT are we going to do? HOW could this possibly work out? I’ve been feverishly prepping in the only way I can see this possibly working but even that is precarious at best and may not happen. I realize this all sounds very cloak and dagger but this is a public blog and for the moment I cannot say more. Maybe that’s part of the reason I’ve been gone from this space – I have a lot to say but cannot say it just yet. Hopefully soon.

The kids are great and the pregnancy is good, moving right along as baby Toast hits 17 weeks (turnip sized in produce analogies) today. I’ve been feeling tiny movements and of course that’s reassuring. I posted a while ago on Facebook about my big bloody scare and had every intention of posting a more detailed account later, but it just never happened. Long story short I woke up to a giant gush of blood and it was scary as hell, but it’s just a subchorionic hematoma that they’ll be monitoring but which shouldn’t really affect anything going forward. Other than that, not much except finding out the gender on 4/14 (I was going to wait but who am I kidding, I can’t wait) and frantically trying to figure out a realistic childcare solution for the not-so-distant fall.

We went skiing a couple of weeks ago, of course I didn’t get to ski, but it was a really good year for me to miss as temperatures stayed stubbornly below zero the entire time we were there. Molly did a fantastic job on skis this year especially compared to last and I have high hopes for enrolling her in the daycamp/ski school for pint-sized skiiers next year. It’s going to be freaking adorable.

I can’t remember if I told you guys that Molly named the baby already. At my urging, she started referring to him/her as “Emma” because that’s the girl name I really like and I was hoping hearing it in her adorable little voice would help sway Eric on the issue, as he is not convinced. My plan worked perfectly except for the part where she decided that if it’s a boy he will be named Byron… which is totally out of left field. It’s not a name she’s ever heard (that I know of) and Eric swears it’s not a coaching attempt on his part. Weirdly, it is a family name for him but again this is a deceased relative, not someone she’s met, so it’s super odd that she picked that name. I also don’t care for it so I’m kind of hoping it’s not a boy because everyone knows Molly gets her way on everything… probably on naming, too.

Liam is growing like a weed and talking up a storm, mostly gibberish but also plenty of discernible words. He definitely knows what we’re saying and follows directions surprisingly well. The kid literally eats more than I do – I’m talking full servings and often seconds at dinnertime and snack grazing throughout the entire day. If this keeps up, he will singlehandedly necessitate a weekly Sam’s Club trip once he hits teen years.

Speaking of eating… I do think it’s a girl a little because I want nothing but sugar and that’s exactly how I felt while pregnant with Molly (with Liam, it was more craving meat/protein). It’s kind of gross how much sugar I’ve been consuming lately and I’m considering a mini sugar detox to get myself together. Remember, I gained 70lbs with Molly and I have NO intention of doing that again.

I hate to ramble on and on just to have something to post, so I’ll cut it out now. Hopefully more to come soon.

Here are a couple snapshots from that ski trip:

cousin breakfast every morning

cousin breakfast every morning

on the bus to go skiing

on the bus to go skiing

happy Hardings at Smuggs

happy Hardings at Smuggs

really soft leggings for less than $6

Let me just start off by making one thing clear: I am not, on principle, opposed to the MLM business model.

Some people have visceral, negative reactions to direct sales companies, and automatically resort to calling them “pyramid schemes.” Do I think some are more worthwhile than others? Yes. Do I see the value, especially for moms looking to make a few extra bucks, or even build a new career? Hell yes.

Will I go to your home party, politely eat the spinach dip and sip my wine, listen to the spiel, and even make a purchase if the presentation properly impresses me? Sure!

I’ve been to what feels like all of them: Pampered Chef, Tastefully Simple, ThirtyOne, Origami Owl, Mary Kay, Nerium, Lia Sophia, Silpada, Premier, Young Living, Norwex, Jamberry, Scentsy, Stella & Dot, Touchstone Crystal…ha, and those are just the ones I can remember off the top of my head! I bet there are even more I’m neglecting to mention.

Anyway, I’m all about supporting you and your direct sales business. But there’s one that I just can’t seem to wrap my head around.

Lu. La. Roe.

Maybe it’s just in my little corner of the country, but I feel like these wild print outfits are infiltrating my daily interactions and Facebook newsfeed (but hey, that could be because I hid everything remotely political, so all that’s left are sponsored posts and Tasty recipes). I can spot a LuLaRoe-r from across a crowded restaurant because she’s always the one proudly sporting neon pink banana print leggings with a polka dot tunic, or something to that effect.

Now, full disclosure: I do own 2 pairs of LLR leggings. When the phenomenon started blowing up a few months ago, I was intrigued and slightly awed by its swift and exponential growth. One minute I had never heard of the brand, and the next I was spotting those crazy outfits on every street corner and getting invited to online parties and open houses left and right. I admit, I got sucked in at first, and the leggings are really soft.

But they’re not actually too unique.

I think the genius of LuLaRoe is that they provide comfortable casual wear to women who have little time to shop. They also appeal to a variety of sizes, and they don’t degrade plus-sized women with sizing conventions that make them feel bad. Tall and Curvy has a much nicer ring than 2XL – seriously.

There’s also the limited edition print thing, which creates a frenzy over the very few awesome patterns they produce. On Poshmark I’ve seen really cute pairs of LLR leggings listed for $75+. Because in the strange world of LLR, most of the readily available prints are effing hideous (IMHO), and in order to get a “good one” you either have to get lucky or pay out the nose.

Anyway, I’m writing this post to let you in on a little secret, which I didn’t even discover myself but which I can’t resist sharing with the world. My SIL told me about it, and then I did a bit of independent research and found her information to be true and valid.

You can get LLR-esque leggings for $5.88. Seriously.

Have you ever heard of a store called Walmart?

I know, I was doubtful at first too. It sounded too good to be true. But after Google confirmed it with a few product reviews, and after I (begrudgingly) visited my local store and found a pair of my very own, I’m here to report that they aren’t identical but they are DAMN CLOSE. The hand feel is exactly the same… the only difference is that the No Boundaries waistband has a gathered elastic construction, whereas real LLR employs a flatter/smoother fit, which of course is better.

But $20 better? Nahhhhh.

lularoe comparison

Real LLR pictured left; Walmart NB Sueded pictured right

Part of my beef with LLR is the exorbitant prices for overseas manufactured polyester. Like, who do they think they are? Taken out of context, the prices would be laughable by most standards. Put that same unlined, poly blend imported dress on your local Target clothing rack with a $60 price tag, then see how many customers take the bait. I think in that situation they’d be saying, “Target, you lost your damn mind.”

For leggings in particular, I am willing to pay $25 for a good quality pair that I’ll wear all the time, but how many times per month are you seriously wearing fluorescent unicorn print leggings, hmmm? If you’re going to spend that much money on mere leggings, I recommend these (which, by the way, are made from recycled water bottles, Fair Trade produced, and comfy as hell).

Anyway. The LLR-feel-a-likes have a limited online selection but I was able to snag one pair (in a prettier print than anything I saw online) in my local Walmart retail location. And maybe after tons of requests, they will add more prints and colors. Obviously someone in product development knows damn well who they’re copying.

If you go on your own reconnaissance mission, make sure to look for the leggings that are $5.88, not the ones that are $3.88. My store had a plethora of the cheaper ones but one touch and you’ll know those aren’t the holy grail you’ve been seeking. Touch, feel, and purchase wisely.

Let me know how it goes. You’re welcome.

And to my LLR-selling ladies, no hard feelings. I’ll still come to the parties. That spinach dip is delicious.

my fancy bag

A million years ago (actually 7), I worked for a luxury handbag company. Maybe you’ve heard of them? They’re called Coach.

I’m slightly ashamed to admit that while I was there I succumbed to peer pressure, big time. I bought a whole lot of overpriced bags and shoes and gloves and keychains and leather accessories. I justified it with the popular, “but everyone else is doing it!” Also, I argued to my inner self, I worked really hard and deserved nice stuff.

It was all a big fat lie.

One thing about being a Coach employee is that it’s simply not good enough to buy the standard, off-the-shelf bags. Oh, no. Look closely and you’ll notice that certain obsessive customers and employees always go for the “Limited Edition, Special Release” bags, which cost more than double the price and have irresistible features such as snakeskin trim and price tags as high as a typical mortgage payment. It’s disgusting.

I’ll tell you that the discount at Coach is very, very generous, especially compared to other retail stores. But when you’re purchasing $1,000 bags on a regular basis, even a large discount isn’t enough to dull the hit your bank account will suffer.

While I was employed at Coach I was also in college with a $40,000/year tuition bill. I lived with my parents, so I wasn’t paying rent or utilities, but I still only worked part time for close to minimum wage (no, not commission) and spent all my money on aforementioned leather goods as well as clothes from nearby stores in the mall. Also, gourmet popcorn every night, because why the hell not. Despite my mounting debt, I somehow talked myself into a $750 travel bag (I rarely travel), a $300 wallet, (seriously?), $200 sunglasses (um, yeah…), and the piece de resistance – a $900 fancy work bag. For my future fancy work life.

Now, a few things. I fell deeply in love with the bag and I do believe that investing in quality over quantity is always a better option. And while it would probably take me many, many years to spend $900 on cheap imitation handbags, I think if I had purchased the bag and loved the hell out of it and used it every day for the past seven years then maybe, just MAYBE I could justify the cost. Possibly.

But as it stands I purchased the bag for my someday-life, which brings me to the point of this whole post.

When I bought it, I did use it occasionally, but my real purpose/justification was in using it one day when I was a career gal with a high-paying job and a corner office. I’m not sure why any of this featured in my daydreams since I’m a mediocre, unambitious worker at best who has no desire or drive to climb the corporate ladder. If it was a rare, slightly unappetizing proposition then, now it’s just a wild fantasy/nightmare. I don’t want any of that, and I never did. Even when I bought the bag, I didn’t want any of that. These days? My wallet is my phone case, I don’t even carry a handbag, and my diaper bag is some canvas sack I grabbed off the free table at work. I do not have and will never have a fancy life.

I’ve thought a lot about my past visions for my future vs. eventual realities of how everything actually worked out. I’ve been bitching a lot to my friends and family about how I’m having a midlife crisis. So maybe it’s pre-midlife, but post-quarter life. I’m just having some kind of crisis. I’m feeling very unfulfilled and stuck and I don’t know what to do about it.

This new job I have is really great and probably the best I can do right now in terms of full-time jobs… but. There’s a but. I can’t help but wonder what the Point of It all is. I feel grateful to have a job that pays me, but I feel guilty leaving my kids for the bulk of my day every single day. I know that I’m working to provide for them, and there is so much merit in that, but I’m missing out on their amazing little lives in order to write marketing copy for businesses. We have such a short time on this Earth. Is this really how I’m supposed to be spending mine?

I keep seeking out a sign and coming up empty. I’ve also been trying to formulate exactly what I’d want if this were a perfect world where money were no object and I could do or be anything. What would I be and do?

Here’s what I’ve figured out so far…

  • I wouldn’t be a stay at home mom, at least not 100% of the time. Even after weekends of 24/7 kid time I feel totally drained. I don’t know how full-time SAHMs do it.
  • I would be writing things. Maybe from home, freelance, per-project. But I’d be getting paid.
  • I would take small trips with other adults (husband?) to recharge my batteries and step away from being “just mommy” all the damn time.
  • I would align myself with more people who shared my beliefs. Because right now I’m feeling exhausted and combative with all the negativity against what I believe, which yes, I take personally.

I think the irony to all of this is that I got the fancy, expensive education to advance my career. I got the fancy, expensive bag for that eventual career. But in the end, the only reason I am forced to participate in the career is BECAUSE of the education. Had I skipped college, I wouldn’t have to work full time, because I wouldn’t be paying $1,000+/month for student loans. Not that I could have known that then… but wow. And that’s on me. Obviously. I am not saying anyone but me should have to (literally) pay for this gross miscalculation…however, I do reserve the right to complain about it because venting helps me feel better. I think.

And the whole thing is just silly. Because I learned nothing in college that actually helps me in my current (non-fancy) career, or in any career for that matter. All of my skills either come naturally or through on-the-job training. But of course no one would have hired me without that $100,000 piece of paper. It’s all such a racket.

Well, this is a depressing post, isn’t it? I have no idea what the solution is… all I know at this moment is that I’m (mentally and physically) exhausted, disillusioned, and restless. I feel guilty for complaining but also justified in wanting more, which is tricky. I think about my fancy bag all the time and everything it represents… how naive I was at 24. How reckless I was with money when I should have been cautious. How much I let movies/television/pop culture influence my vision of how life would be when I was an “adult.”

And honestly I would just sell the stupid thing on Poshmark, taking a loss but making a few extra bucks for groceries or diapers or something else disgustingly practical that I need in my unfancy real life, but a part of me is still holding on to the fantasy that maybe, one day, it will make sense for me. I still think it’s pretty.

And because I know you’re curious now…

the bag that launched 1,000 existential crises ()

the bag that launched 1,000 existential crises (source.)