On medicating my kid

Scrolling through my newsfeed I’ve seen countless articles and posts spouting that we have become a society that is needlessly drugging our kids. That there is an epidemic of misdiagnosis of ADHD, when in fact, we are simply in the midst of a generation of active children with parents who think a pill is the solution that will make their lives a little easier.  Drug them into obedience – shouldn’t we be ashamed of ourselves? What these kids need is good parenting! Interesting perspective. I didn’t give it much thought. Even seemed plausible.

But in hindsight, I was ignorant.

Because here I am, with a child who has been recently diagnosed with ADHD… who has been prescribed medication… and truly needed it.

Our seeking professional help was not the first choice. And if we’re being honest, we knew something was different about Brogan’s behavior since he was very young. He was super, super active, he was defiant, he was disrespectful, he was impulsive.  He expressed himself with outbursts of rage. We did research and thought the answer was “spirited child” (which he probably is too), so we settled on that self-diagnosis and did our best to equip ourselves with strategies that help kids like him. It worked some times. But not most the time. And so we found ourselves in a cycle of time outs, taking stuff away, sending him to his room and spankings. None of which actually stopped the bad behavior. But at least we felt like we were trying and so we kept on.

Fast forward to this fall. All these behaviors that we’d experienced at home started surfacing more at school. His impulsivity was getting worse. His decisions were poor. He was saying inappropriate things. He started seeing the school counselor who tried working with him on his filter, his social skills and how to stay focused at class. He was hard to teach, but his teachers tried loving him through it. He started to get down on himself about his poor choices. But after months of various tactics and incentives ultimately being ineffective, his teacher, his counselor, his principal and an academic advisor sat Blake and I down and said they felt he was unable (not unwilling) to control his behavior. They thought he had ADHD. We heard them out and committed to do whatever was necessary to help him be successful in school… and in life. And so we immediately made an appointment with his doctor and a psychiatrist.

Prior to this, I’d always thought ADHD was simply about hyperactivity and focus. I thought because he was able to focus in some scenarios, that he didn’t fit in the box. But there are many other symptoms, I discovered, like impulsivity, lack of executive functioning, disorganization and lack of a social filter that are evident in ADHD kids. Mind blown.

As we sat in the psychiatrist’s office, after the testing was complete and she had made her official diagnosis – ADHD and Oppositional Defiant Disorder (with a statistical certainty of 89%) –  we felt relieved that we had an answer. When she said that traditional parenting techniques don’t work with kids with these conditions, we felt reassured that we didn’t just suck at parenting. When we heard her say that kids with ADHD and ODD, who are born into the wrong homes, are often abused, we felt thankful that God chose Brogan to be our son.

We are now a few weeks post-medication – a slow release version of Ritalin – and wow, what a difference. His teacher said the change in his behavior is like night and day – he’s able to focus on his work, his reading comprehension has improved, his handwriting has improved, he’s getting along better with his friends, he keeps his hands to himself and the impulsivity has nearly stopped. But he’s not a zombie – he’s full of spunk and energy and life. He still eats. He still sleeps well. He still fights with his brother (bummer we couldn’t fix that part ha!).  He’s still Brogan – only now he’s Brogan at his full potential. He likes himself on it too – says he feels more in control and able to make good decisions. He gladly takes his medicine each day.

And so here’s the part where I get on my soapbox. Where I get mad about the spouting of ignorant generalizations that claim my kid is one of the multitude that we are drugging in an effort to make parenting easier on ourselves. That claim mental illnesses such as these are a hoax, citing the unprecedented rise in cases.  You know, there are other conditions that seem to be much more prevalent now than when I was a child, such as food allergies, but no one looks at me sideways as I tote my Epipen around. While I suppose I can’t say that all children diagnosed  with ADHD and prescribed pharmaceuticals are all correctly diagnosed, I can speak for my child. I can say that he has a real condition that needed treatment. I can say that I am at peace with our decision to take action to medicate him rather than live in denial of his mental health condition. I can say that giving him a pill each morning that helps him excel at school, get along with his friends, and improves his self-esteem allows us to sleep well at night. From my soapbox, I can confidently say that I refuse to feel guilt or shame for this choice, and I hope to instill that same confidence in Brogan.

So before you are quick to judge, quick to discount the merits of medication, just remember that many, many children truly need it. Do the research and discover that ADHD is a real disorder based on decades of research, and more recently backed by brain scan and DNA evidence. Realize that when you make uneducated generalizations, you further the stigma associated with mental health conditions such as these. And I ask that when you hear that someone has reached the decision to medicate their child, please try to respond from a place of respect and love.

 

 

 

 

My New Piece of Advice

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged about the fam. It’s a combination of reasons, really. Three kids means not as much free time, a lot of my evenings are now spent editing photos, and frankly, motherhood has humbled me – all the advice that I once thought I had, well… in retrospect all seems a bit smug. I think I got a few things wrong.

The reality of parenting is that there are lots of great ideas on how to succeed. However, most of those great ideas forget that most days we’re just trying to survive. Trying to get through the daily grind and salvage some sanity and happiness in the midst of chaos.  While I don’t discount that helpful suggestions and well meaning advice do aid in the plight of parenthood, my sometimes one-size-fits-all approach was naive. “If you want to get your kids to sleep through the night, do this… “. “If you don’t want your kids to be picky eaters, do this…”. I’m here to tell you if your kid doesn’t want to sleep, she won’t. And if your kid doesn’t want to eat the broccoli, honey, she is not going to eat it. And if she does, you will both be a little worse for the wear. I think the worry about whether we’re doing it all just right is futile. I’ve parented my kids from most sides of the various parenting trends, and I’ve not a clue if any of those decisions will yield well-adjusted, Christ-like, productive members of society. And while that is my prayer for my children, I’m fairly confident that it won’t be because I breast fed or bottle fed, co-slept or let ’em cry-it-out, restricted screen time or allowed a free-for-all, fed them organic or indulged them with candy, spanked them or did time out. It’s as if I thought good works might get us to the parenting promised land. Not so, my friend.

So when a few years ago I’d sit down at my computer each evening and be excited to share my war stories, my triumphs – feeling certain that my insights were unique and maybe even influential and inspiring – the delusion has faded. I’ve gotten wiser. I’ve realized that not only do I truly have no idea what I’m doing, I’m no longer looking to myself for all the answers. I come home some days to one kid who was in trouble at school and is pitching a fit over homework, one kid who screams out “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” every few minutes and throws himself on the floor for attention, and one who is only happy when she’s eating snacks… and so I feed her snacks all the way up until dinner, and then shocker, she doesn’t eat dinner. They’re all screaming and running around and fighting and tattling and destroying the house and being disrespectful, and I think really, am I qualified to do this? Never mind give advice, can I even successfully raise my own kids??  Truth is none of us are qualified. Will I make it through this parenting journey? Yes. But will I act as though I’ve got all the answers? Nope – because I don’t.

Interestingly enough, though my tone may have told a different story, today was actually a really good day. All the kids surprised us with good attitudes and helpful spirits. We enjoyed each other’s company and there was minimal fighting. Homework was done without a complaint and the two littlest played contently outside. And so with kids in bed, and a little “me time” I felt like writing. Felt like sharing about my victory of a day and what lesson could be told. But as I thought about how I wanted to tell the story, how I wanted to boast about my awesome day, God laid a bit of humility on my heart. I was reminded that this perfect day was not of my own doing. I was a reminder that He is and always will be in control. And so while we can run ourselves ragged trying to be the perfect parents – of our own kids and of everyone else’s too – He does not call us to perfection. He calls us to be kind, to show grace, to treat others how we would want to be treated and most of all, to love.  To love our children and each other. I hope I always remember what it was like when I was told the “right” thing to do, but couldn’t muster the energy to execute… or it just didn’t sit right with my soul. I hope I remember my own feelings of unworthiness and failure, of judgement and hopelessness. I hope in moments where the urge comes to judge or see situations through my own narrow lens, I choose grace, compassion and humility. And so as I reflect on what I do know as a mom, the only piece of advice I feel qualified to give is this: seek the answers to parenthood through prayer, and honey, give yourself a break.

Getting back to normal

Dare I say it… but things are getting back to normal: Berkley finally likes people who aren’t named mommy, I get a few hours of “adult” time each evening, and [knock on wood] I’m even getting to sleep through the night again – well, sometimes.

Yep, I’m getting the hang of this mommy-of-three thing. I’m feeling like myself again. A better version of myself, actually. Excuse me while I start reciting clichés, but what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. It’s true. I’m proof. In the last year, I’ve had to grow and pick up a few more life skills – how to control less, how to stress less and how to enjoy the little moments more. I’m Type A and so this was hard. Real hard. But I’m trying.

I’ve learned with three kids there’s not a lot that I really have control over. For the planner in me, this is terrifying. But I live in a world where there is 3 times the chance that some part of my “plan” is going to get uprooted. And there are 3 tiny humans with little to no self control who have their own agendas at work. With them there are two outcomes: behind door #1 there’s “I get what I want when I want it how it want it precisely” and behind door #2 is “tell me no and I will go batshitcrazy on you”. What I want is behind door #3 where “the children obey, don’t ask why and don’t throw themselves violently on the floor”. I hear one day we may get there, but honey, we ain’t there yet. So my point – I’ve learned to surrender to the fact I can’t plan for everything and the kids don’t give a crap about my plans anyways.

Stressing less means that when my kids do go batshitcrazy, I don’t care. Kick your legs like a maniac, go on. Throw your sippy cup across the room. I don’t care. Scream your head off in the grocery store – you’re still not getting that candy bar. And I don’t care what people think of my parenting either. See, I used to think there were some parents who had it all figured out. I thought that those “lucky” ones had cracked the code and were raising consistently obedient children that didn’t throw fits or talk back or require bed-sharing for 11 months. It’s a lie. There are no perfect parents and there are no perfect children. The third child has taught me that 50% of this parenting thing is a crap shoot. So am I apathetic? No. But do I stress about the fact that my child just screamed in public that I’m the poopiest mommy ever? Nope. And he still isn’t getting that candy bar.

Looking back, I don’t think I took enough time with my boys just enjoying them. I was wound up too tight. I couldn’t wait for them to start eating solids or sitting up or crawling or walking. I did a lot of time thinking about their next milestone and not enough cherishing their “now”. But with Berkley it’s been different. Perhaps it’s because she’s our last. Perhaps I’m smarter and know that she’s easier now than she will be at three. Whatever the reason, I have just cherished her little moments. And I’ve been being intentional about doing it with my boys now too. I’ve learned time goes by so fast and they’re not little forever.

For me, normal means I can exhale. It means I can enjoy our life. It means I’ve got energy to spare for my marriage and myself.  I’ve only gotten back to “normal” by surrendering, by reflecting on the craziness of the past year+ and by learning from my mistakes and doing better. Yes, my life is loud and chaotic, but there’s also a calm to it.  It’s contentment knowing that our family is complete. And it’s peace in knowing that God made me the mommy of these precious children.

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Why my third baby turned me crazy

I made the assumption going in to my third pregnancy, that this third child would be easy, as if I had earned some advanced degree in babies, and this little one would just follow suit. I’m a pro at this, I thought. I’ve been through it all, I thought. Of course this baby will sleep through the night, I thought. But somehow over the last 7 months, I have lost my damn mind and forgotten everything I learned with my boys.

You see, we used to be on a schedule. There was a morning nap and and afternoon nap, and nothing, I mean nothing, would get in the way of those. And it worked. My little guys were well rested and generally happy babies. And I thought getting uninterrupted “me time” while the babies napped was the norm.

I used to have babies that slept through the night. Oh yes. From sometime in the 4th or 5th month, my little guys would sleep a solid 8, 9 or 10 hour stretch. And so I also slept long glorious stretches. And it was awesome.

I used to have babies that fell asleep on their own when you laid them down. It was easy – It was like magic. Lay baby down. Walk away. Poof!! Baby goes to sleep.

I used to have babies that slept in their crib… in their room. As soon as I went back to work both times we made the transition. They could have cared less. They went with the flow. I mean, that’s what a nursery with a crib is for right?

I used to have babies who would allow others to hold them. It was great. It’d go something like this: “Awe, can I hold the baby?” “Sure!” [I hand over baby, baby remains happy, happiness continues whether I stay in the room or walk away].

But now… Now I don’t even recognize that mom I used to be – the one who had this whole baby thing figured out. I almost wonder if I dreamt up my past baby experiences, because this time around it is not that easy.

You see, now there is no schedule. Ideally she’d take a nap, or two. But that doesn’t happen every day. If she does sleep, it’s in her bouncy seat, or in the car, or some other place where the poor kid’s exhaustion is greater than the level of craziness and noise that is constant with a three and five year old. And bedtime – that’s just as soon as we corral the boys to go to sleep… and I’ve finished the dishes… and picked up… and washed my face and put my PJ’s on. Oh wait! Her bedtime is my bedtime!

And sleeping through the night – ha ha ha. Wait a second, she’s done it… once. Which may even be crueler than me living in a world where I thought she was incapable of the feat. Ignorance would have been bliss. But nope, her MO is a wake up call for me every two to three hours. But it’s cool. 8 hours is super over-rated. Humans don’t need that much sleep – and plus I hear that waking up that much makes it easier to get up at 5:30 am to go to work.

And this one sort of falls asleep on her own. All she has to do is be in my arms… and nursing… and boom! She’s out. Until I move her… then we start over. Repeat two or three (or four) times. No big deal – I mean it’s almost the same, right?

Yes, Berkley has her own room. Yes, in that room there is a crib. No, she has never slept in either. That’s right, I have a 7-month-old with a beautiful nursery who has never caught one wink of sleep in it. Good thing me and a lot of my family members busted our tails to make sure it was ready before she was born! Good thing. Nope, this girl sleeps in our room. But she sleeps in her swing. Initially. Until she wakes up (which is anywhere between 5 minutes and 2 hours from when I place her in the swing – which no longer swings, for the record). Then she sleeps in our bed. I mean, a king sized bed was meant for three people right? I think deep down if we really cared to not share our bed, we’d have gone with the queen. Yep. And when she’s sleeping in our bed, all she wants is to be touching all night – tummy to tummy or cheek to cheek, that’s all. She wants to be able to run her (clammy) hands through my hair or caress (pinch) my face. It’s sweet actually. No, really it is.

And no, she doesn’t want anyone but me to hold her. And if I’m lucky enough to pass her off occasionally, I better run. She better not see me. Because as soon as I come into view, she remembers that I’m not holding her, and commence the water works and the pitiful “someone-must-be-pinching-me screams”. But then all I have to do is drop whatever I was trying to do without a baby in my arms, hold her and voila! She’s better.

You know, as I think more about it, she’s really an easy baby. All I’ve got to do is hold her or be within arms reach all day and night. That’s it. She’s happy. Never mind that I’m a wife, or mother to two others, or work a full time job outside the house, or have hobbies like laundry or dishes.

So how did I wind up here? I’ve thought about this a lot. Maybe she is just predispositioned to be a stage 5 clinger. Maybe. Maybe it’s because I know she’s my last and I feed into all her baby-ness and want her close all the time. Maybe I am so damn sleep deprived and exhausted that I am unwilling to do anything that in the short term may cause an inkling of further sleep deprivation or exhaustion (regardless of the potential future benefit), and so I live in the moment of make her stop crying now, please.

So what does the future hold? Are the mistakes I’m making today dooming me for tomorrow? Surely she won’t be like this forever (and if you know any two or three year olds still exhibiting these behaviors, please, please for the love of God, do not tell me – I’m living off hope right now). One thing I do know is that she won’t be a baby forever. One day, sooner than I would like, she won’t have those baby rolls or that baby smell. She won’t want to me hold her all the time or snuggle in bed. One thing my older boys have taught me is that kids grow up way too fast. Before I know it she’ll be grown, and I would give anything to have the sweetness of this stage again.

So as crazy as it may sound, I’m good with life right now. And while it may come as a shock to most (including my former self) that I am still a breast-feeding, co-sleeping, attachment-parenting kind of mom – I’m good. Sure a full nights’ sleep every now and then would probably do me good. However, I know one day I will sleep again. But another thing I’m certain of is that she will never, ever be this little again.

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Back to Work

My first week back to work is behind me. It was a good week. Sunday night was hard as I was faced with the reality that I’d be leaving my sweet baby girl, who had not been away from me for more than just a few hours. I worried about how she’d feel and how well she’d eat (she’s been exclusively breastfed for the past few weeks and had a hard time with a bottle the last time she was given one). I knew I would miss her and the boys and all of our extra quality time. I knew my boys would miss me being home in the mornings and picking them up from school. I’d miss all the craziness and just being with them. But I also knew I’d be leaving them in good hands, and that for our family it’s the right thing to do, and so I decided to be at peace with it. And I was, and come Monday morning, there were no tears, just smiles.

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Working for me is both a necessity and a choice – at this point in our lives, I am needed to help support our family, but even if I wasn’t, I think I would still work. But there is a lot of judgement and guilt wrapped up in that truth. Just the other day I called our pediatrician to setup an appointment for Berkley’s 2 month checkup (and shots). As I was talking to the receptionist about the time that would be best, I began thinking out loud… “I work and so late afternoon would be best…” The lady replied, “You work?” Initially I thought she was inquiring what me working had to do with the time choice so I felt the need to elaborate. “I work and since she’s having shots, I want to make sure I’m home with her afterwards in case she doesn’t feel well.” To which she replied, “No, I just noticed that you have three really little ones.” The judgement in her tone was apparent. It sort of kicked me in the gut. I searched for a quick light-hearted response, but I was offended. I’m sure people think it all the time, but she said it and I heard it and it stung a little bit.

So why is it that I want to work? I’ve asked myself this question many times. I’ve felt selfish and guilty about it. The truth is that I’m not sure I have a really good answer. Nothing when you say it out loud seems a good enough excuse to not spend every possible moment with your children. But, whether it’s a good reason or not, I think it’s because I work best when my plate is really full. I need a lot of balls in the air. I function at my highest potential when things (to outsiders) seem to be busy beyond belief. In college, I earned my best grades when I had 2 jobs and 18 credit hours – straight A’s. At work, when I’ve got the most projects and biggest workload is when I find myself most efficient and productive. At home when I’ve got a to-do list a mile long I become energized and accomplished. And so when I look at my life and my different roles – wife, mother, employee, friend, home-cook/blogger/photographer, having all of those hats just feels right. I feel challenged and fulfilled in trying to be the best I can in each of them – and in that, I feel I am living as my best possible self. I really do. At this point in my life, I feel like being all of these things doesn’t take away from each role, but adds to them. Plainly put, I feel like I am a better mom to my kids because I work. This doesn’t mean that I don’t wish I spent more time with them or that there aren’t days I wish I didn’t have to go to work – I do. But I keep focused on the big picture and what I know about myself… and I know my decision to work is the best one for us.

Part of what makes it possible to be at peace with working is knowing my kids are well cared for in my absence. And they always have been. For years they were lovingly looked after by a lady named Elaine, who was tragically killed in a car accident last summer. Then we had Katie and Sarah who loved my boys and had so much fun with them too. We’re now so fortunate to have Blake’s cousin Jessica for the next few months, and we could not be happier!  We weren’t sure what our plan for childcare would be when I went back to work until just a few weeks ago. I had decided this time around I wasn’t going to stress about it – and instead I prayed. It’s amazing how God always has a plan and sometimes in letting go of the worry and trusting Him, some of the greatest things happen. Jessica seemed to have a had a good week with them all – only a few time-outs, and Berkley took her bottles well. She even ventured out of the house to an indoor playground with all three on Friday – hats off sister!  Oh, and my dishwasher was unloaded each day, which is like the best present you can give a gal – so thank you, thank you, Jess.

So what’s the first week really been like? Well first off, I’m tired. No other way to put it. Berkley was sleeping better, but not great. And even if she was sleeping great, waking up at 4:30am just sucks. I’m happy to report, however, that as I type this on a Saturday morning, I’m feeling refreshed because she slept for 6 hours straight last night! Fingers crossed that this one-day trend continues!

When I arrived at work Monday morning I was surprised by a decorated office complete with streamers, balloons and roses. I work with the greatest group of people who are not only my co-workers but my friends and they always make the hard times easier. I got to eat lunch (with adults) from some of my favorite spots – welcome back Chipotle Friday, oh how I missed you!  I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the fact that I also got to pee by myself all week! It’s the little things, people. I’m fortunate enough to have a locking, private office, so pumping was made pretty easy too.

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So yes, it’s been a good week. I’m looking forward to figuring out what our new normal is and then thriving in it. No doubt there will be bumps along the way, but I love my life and my sweet family and trust that things are as they should be. No worry here – just faith.

And Berkley Makes Three

I’m 5 weeks into mom-of-three-kids status – whew. Between Christmas and house guests and the standard newborn fatigue, I’m finally able to share the latest edition to our family – meet Miss Berkley Elaine.

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Berkley is healthy and happy (she just started to smile!). She is already growing so fast –  it seems like overnight she has outgrown her newborn clothes and she’s changing every single day.

It’s amazing how the amount of love you feel as a mother just multiplies when you have another little one. It brings back memories of my boys when they were born, but just as with each of them, there is something new and special about the bond I feel with this sweet girl. I cannot get enough of her – she’s so small and soft and smells so yummy that sometimes all I want to do is hold her and just breath her in – simply put, I adore her.

Of course, with all the joy comes some challenges too. My boys are dealing with a month’s worth of a lot of house guests, a holiday break from school, Christmas and the biggest change of all – a little sister. While the last few weeks have not been without meltdowns and behavioral issues, it has really gone better than I expected.  And while it’s an adjustment, they boys really, really love their sister. And they tell me this often.

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Handling the three kiddos has been interesting. When it’s just me, it’s pure survival mode. Her basic needs come first (eating), and I do the best I can with the rest. I’m nursing and so I feel like 50% of my time is glued to the couch feeding the baby, and so this leaves lots of time for the boys to run a muck… destroying their room…

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painting the back deck…

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…arguing and biting and hitting and kicking each other. Trying to enforce good behavior when I’m immobile is tough, and so I’ve had to use the “I’m calling your dad!!!!” card that I swore I would never use. But it works, and as I stated previously – survival mode.

But when Blake is home our “zone defense” strategy is that Blake deals with the boys, and I take care of Berkley. And this is working great. I find myself very frustrated that the boys don’t listen well, but all the crying and fussiness and sleepless nights with my little princess do not phase me at all. I think it’s because I know this stage won’t last long and so I’m savoring every bit of it. Blake is just the opposite – he has so much patience with the boys and can deal with all the shenanigans, but I’m afraid too much screaming baby may make him crazy. So we divide and conquer and it has been working for us. Thank God.

I’m at the point now where I’m trying to find out what our new normal is. I’m trying to keep myself sane with daily showers and keeping at least one room in my house tidy. So far so good. I’m still cooking most nights, and some how or another, the kids are getting regularly bathed as well. Aside from the daily pickup from preschool, I’m not venturing out much with all three of them by myself. For starters, Berkley screams in the car. Secondly, I’m not that brave… or crazy. One day (soon – hopefully), when I’m certain the boys will hold my hand when I ask them to and I’m fairly confident they won’t run off, we’ll start leaving the house. But until then, homebodies we’ll be – and I’m totally cool with that.

The greatest thing about adding this little one is the overwhelming fulfillment and completeness that I feel. Before I ever got pregnant with her, I knew I was meant to have her. For a while, Blake only wanted two kids.  At one point when I was worried he would never change his mind I actually grieved this child that did not even exist. But I prayed about it and one day Blake did change his mind. And now here we are with this precious gift and I am overflowing with joy that my little family is complete. And it is complete… and we’ve taken permanent measures to ensure that we’re done. And we’re done.

I’m hoping that once she establishes a more normal bedtime routine that I can get back into the blogging mode. I’ve got recipes and crazy adventures in parenting to share but not the free time to do it. I naively thought that I’d be blogging all the time while on maternity leave – not! I barely have time to go to the bathroom. I’ve been working on this post for 3 weeks! Every time I go back to it I have to change the opening sentence LOL. But I’ll get there. It’s my “me time” and my outlet, so if I don’t make it a priority one day soon, I may go batty.

So until then I’ll leave you with some more pictures of my sweet girl. Hope to chat with you all again soon!

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Managing the crazy

Sometimes I feel like being a mom is like running a factory. It takes strategy and efficiency and planning and meticulous execution to keep it all running on time. And by on time, I don’t really mean on time (because that rarely happens anymore), I really just mean running… barely. Oh yes, motherhood, one of my two full time jobs. Just because I’m not home with my kids during the day doesn’t mean I shirk any of the other mom responsibility. Nope. The daily housekeeping, laundry, dishes, meal planning, grocery shopping, hauling in and putting away all the purchased groceries (as I was reminded of this weekend when I brought home a huge haul from Costco and the hubs wasn’t home to help – holy freaking cow), packing lunches, sports, team mom duties, oh my gosh it goes on and on and on. And somehow all that “stuff” has to get squeezed into my nights and weekends. And throw into the mix that I’m 27 weeks pregnant, not sleeping well and beginning to waddle. However, I’m pretty certain that I should relish in the “easiness” (haha) of just 2 kids, because come 12 weeks from now, it’s really going to hit the fan… but back to the now.

So how does one keep the factory running? It’s a good question, and while I don’t think I’m coming anywhere close to Six Sigma certification, the place is running. I’m churning out clean (well most the time), loved, fed, clothed and healthy little boys into the world each day. But to say it is easy would be a lie. It takes hard work. It doesn’t allow for many “I just don’t feel like it days.” It means coming to “work” whether you feel like it or not, through sickness and fatigue and all out exhaustion. Because once you get the machine running, it takes effort every single day to keep it going. Sure, I could decide on any given Tuesday that I just don’t feel like loading and running the dishwasher. Which would be fine on Tuesday. But come Wednesday when there’s no room for the dinner dishes and I’ve got no clean sippy cups, Houston, we’ve got a problem. This means that at some point I’m going to either run the dishwasher twice in one day, hand wash the darn things or live with a continuous sink full of dirty dishes until the weekend. And it’s easy for husbands to forget this ripple effect. I can’t tell you how many times while complaining about the monotony of the nightly dishes that Blake tells me, “it’s okay to not do them every night.” And then I give him one of those wife stares… and he thinks I’m dramatic… and I think he’s delusional (and perhaps were both a little right).

There is no doubt more than one way to skin the proverbial cat when it comes to running a family. And while I don’t claim to be an expert (at all), I am sometimes asked, “how do you do it all?” And so here is my two cents on a practical approach to managing the crazy:

  1. First off, I don’t do it all. No one can. Some of the things I do may be more visible… because I blog about them, but it’s impossible to fit it all in. What I do is prioritize. I’ve thought about what’s important to me and my family and I make an effort to make those things happen. What causes you the most stress if it doesn’t get done? What can’t you live without? For me, eating home-cooked meals (even on practice nights) is really important.  So I plan my week’s meals on the weekend, go grocery shopping once (assuming everything on my list actually makes it in my cart, ha!), write the weekly menu on a board in the kitchen (to keep me honest and help me remember what I need to pull out of the freezer), sometimes make an extra meal on Sundays and go for the 20-minute options that I pre-prepped the night before on practice nights. It’s a lot of effort, but it’s important and so I make it happen.
  2. Figure out what’s not that important to you, and cut yourself some slack when those things don’t get done. Maybe it’s okay that the kids want to pick out their own (unmatching) outfits for school. Or that they leave the house with bed head. Or that the house isn’t picked up each night. Think about it, own it, don’t stress about it, and use the extra time to focus on what is important to you.
  3. Do things now. You’ll never think back and say, what a bummer that I already folded and put away the laundry! But it is highly likely that on a Sunday evening, when you opted to ignore the dryer buzzer (not once, but twice) and the clothes are cold and wrinkly that you think, why didn’t I take care of that earlier! This is a personal challenge of mine that I’ve been working on for the last 6 weeks. Let’s just say I’ve been successful 4 of those weeks, and the feeling of accomplishment was awesome. You’ve got to cut the procrastination, because in the end, it takes less time to handle things in the now than kicking the can down the road all week long and dealing with the side effects of the undone chores.
  4. Decide what days you want to tackle your chores, and then don’t worry about it on the other days.  For me, this means that I just do laundry on the weekends. Yes, there ends up being a lot of it come Saturday, but I’ve found that once you’re in the mode of doing it, it’s easier to keep it going… rather than trying to find the motivation every single day. Sure, sometimes I run a load during the week. But it’s just because I want to get ahead for the weekend, and I don’t feel a sense of obligation to do it. I’m sure the luxury of this choice will eventually be gone, but for now, I’ve made sure that we’re stocked with enough socks/underwear/practice attire for a full week and I just let it chill till the weekend. On weekdays, all I ask of myself is to cook dinner and do the dishes. If I’m feeling spunky, I pick up the house – sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. This is one of those lower priority things that I don’t stress about if it doesn’t get done (and so please don’t stop by unannounced during the week unless you don’t mind wading through the sea of toys and promise to check your judgement at the door!).
  5. I know planning is not everyone’s thing… but having a plan makes the crazy much easier to handle.  Whether it’s a meal plan, a grocery list, or a to-do list, a little forethought goes a long way. For me, planning out what I’m going to make for dinner each night is the only way I’m able to sustain cooking on a nighty basis. Before I wrote it all out, I’d forget to thaw meat from the freezer, I wasn’t efficient with my prep (if I need onions chopped tonight and tomorrow, might as well chop them all tonight!), I would grocery shop multiple times a week – mostly when I was hungry… and would wind up with a much larger grocery bill than necessary. All things that are frustrating and made weeknight cooking a much bigger chore than it needed to be.
  6. It’s really all a mindset.  I’m a firm believer in being intentional with your thoughts. I feel that if you spend all your energy saying you’re overwhelmed and out of control, you sort of make your own bed. It’s hard to not be those things when that’s what you tell yourself. However, if you focus on getting things in order and think I’ve got this, you probably will. Yes, there will be days where you feel overwhelmed, but it doesn’t mean you are overwhelmed. Make those feelings a blip on the radar of a life where you are in control. Yes, my boys get the best of me at times. Multiple times a week, as a mater of fact. But I don’t dwell on being overwhelmed – I make it a temporary feeling. I remind myself that my attitude on the situation is my reality and I choose not to live the life of someone who is a slave to their kids and their home. I take control. I figure one of these days my boys will behave and things will get easier and so I will keep my eye on that prize.

So now that I’ve got a system to help keep things running, I’m about to tip over the apple cart with a third child. I guess that’s just my MO – always chasing a challenge. I’m hopeful that even with the changes coming to our family, I’m able to find my sanity long enough to keep the factory running. Maybe not as smooth as it is now (haha) – simply running will be just fine. And because I know me, I will. Things will change, I will regroup and then get another plan in place. And then my kids will do everything in their power to throw me off my game, but I won’t let ’em! 😉

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