Mountain Air for the Soul

Our time in the mountains was magical. It was the salve for our weary burnt out souls that we all desperately needed. Nothing puts your worries into perspective like standing at the base of an enormous mountain. The moment we arrived, I could feel the stress rolling off of us in waves. We woke up each morning and drank coffee as we took in the spectacular view of the sunlight creeping across the face of the mountain as the dawn broke.  Our little cabin nestled in the side of the mountain felt like our little bubble, floating above the valley below, miles away from civilization.  We explored the surrounding attractions: Tweetsie Railroad, Grandfather Mountain, and the charming town of Blowing Rock. Of all of our adventures, one of my most favorite things was driving along those winding mountain roads. We watched the tree canopy overhead begin to change from shades of green to oranges and yellows just in the few days of our visit. I got dizzy looked down, realizing how close we were to the edge of the drop off below. We saw so many tiny houses built into the side of the mountain and wondered about the people who live there. Were they as amazed by the mountain’s beauty each day or had the magic worn off and faded into the background with tedium? I can’t imagine!

I hope it’s a trip that the kids remember forever. I know I will, there was so much laughter and fun: making s’mores, doing puzzles, riding the rides at Tweetsie, hiking, climbing, and exploring outside. I’m already planning our next adventure!

I’m Back

It’s back by popular demand. 

Who am I?  My name is Katie. I have 1 husband, 3 boys, 1 dog, a house, a bachelor’s degree in English, a culinary certificate, a part time job serving, a love for all things French, a dark sense of humor, no tolerance for bullshit, a yen to travel, a million questions, and absolutely no idea what I’m doing. 

What will you find here?  Musing of the every day, essays, and maybe even a little dabble of fiction. You might not always like what you find here, but this is me: raw and honest. 

Welcome to my world. 

Minimalism for Friendships

Minimalism is the trend sweeping the nation: women are paring down their closets into capsule wardrobes and Marie Kondo is encouraging us to eliminate any sock that doesn't bring us joy.  I've started to apply the same concept to my circle of friends.  As a mom, my free time is scarce and so I'm choosing to be more intentional about where I spend it.  I am keeping a much tighter tribe these days, and I find it much more satisfying.  I only have a finite amount of time and I would rather invest more in a few quality friends with whom I feel a deep genuine connection than splitting it up amongst a variety of less meaningful friendships.  I would rather have two people to call when I have a problem, than score 1,000 likes on social media.

I've cut loose the relationships which never progressed beyond small talk.  Instead, I am cultivating the kinds of friendships where we are able to be vulnerable and honest.  Honesty can get a little weird with me; I need friends who can appreciate the dark and inappropriate twists that my humor can sometimes take.  

My philosophy on finding your tribe is simple: 

Edit out the ones who waste time with petty gossip and negativity.

Embrace the people who bring out the best in you and remember your stories.  

Those are your people.

Weathering the Storm

There is a painful chapter in everyone's life that they don't read out loud.  This is mine:

With much encouragement from Michael's company to put down roots in Charlotte, we bought our first house in the fall of 2015.  We were overjoyed to have our own little corner of the world.  We threw ourselves into making the house a home.  It had previously served as a rental property and needed a little love.  I looked to Pinterest for inspiration.  We stayed up late, drinking cider, painting the house, and dreaming about the future.

Just a year after buying the house, Michael's company announced that they would be moving.  They weren't sure where or when and didn't have much of a plan.  It was a mess and things deteriorated rapidly.  After months of uncertainty, Michael was laid off.  I was 2 months pregnant.  Michael spent countless hours furiously job searching.  He applied to job after job all over the country, often hearing nothing back.  It felt like we were painstakingly folding resumes into paper airplanes and throwing them into an abyss. He came home everyday, dejected and discouraged.  I tried to buoy his spirits, but my own were sinking.  It was the hardest thing to watch him struggle and not be able to help.  There were a few interviews.  Hopes raised and then dashed.  Life continued as it tends to do, and we celebrated milestones: my sister's wedding, holidays with family, visits from friends, but every joy was under a shadow.

I increased my hours at the donut shop to help pay the bills.  My alarm went off early every morning, and I dragged my aching body out of my warm bed.  My coworkers were wonderful; we had a lot of fun, laughing and being creative in the kitchen.  They boosted my morale, and I'm forever grateful for them.  It was a welcome distraction, but the long hours on my feet left me exhausted.  I struggled to maintain my normal pace, but the undeniable truth is that I was slowing down.  The months slogged by as my belly grew.  I was thankful for a healthy pregnancy, but it was hard to enjoy it when the future was one big question mark.  I longed to nest and plan a nursery, but I didn't know whether we would end up staying.  Between the hormones and the stress, Michael and I fought more than usual.  We were both weary down to the soul with no end in sight.  We were in the middle of a relentless, unforgiving storm.

Adam was born on a chilly Tuesday morning in February, a full 5 weeks early.  He was healthy for being so premature, but I was absorbed by a new set of worries: temperature regulation, nursing, birth weight, jaundice.  That time is a blur.  Adam made progress and after only a week spent in the hospital, we were discharged.  I felt like a bear waking from hibernation.  Spring had sprung.  To my eyes, used to the soft glow of florescent light, the sun was blinding.  Flowers had popped up everywhere, trees were budding, and birds were singing.  The world was renewing, but still we were stuck in the same desolate season of life.  Despite the stress of unemployment, I was happy to have Michael's help as we survived those newborn days together and adjusted to our new normal as a family of 5.  One night Michael and I were sitting at the dining room table, watching the kids play, blissfully unaware of the crushing pressure we were facing. We had both run out of hope.  We agreed that the job search was getting nowhere and we needed to come up with an alternative plan for our family.  Life could not continue this way and we simply could not take one more step.  We went to bed broken and defeated.

The very next morning, Michael got an email from a company with whom he had interviewed months before.  We hadn't heard from them in so long, that we had written them off.  They made an offer.  It had taken 8 months, but the rain was finally lifting and the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon.

Checking In

Well, it's been a while since I've posted. The last year has been hell, but that's a story for another time.  

My name is Katie.  I grew up in West Palm Beach and attended the Universtiy of Florida where I earned a bachelor's degree in English and met a handsome teacher's assistant named Michael.  We got married and moved to San Diego where I went to culinary school to pursue my passion for cooking.  I worked at a fancy restaurant for a couple of years until I found out I was expecting.  We quickly realized that we didn't want to raise a family in California, so we moved to Charlotte, NC, where we have lived for the last 4 1/2 years.  Today I am the mother of three crazy little boys: Carter (4), Logan (2), and Adam (2 months).  My life looks crazy most of the time.  We have an endless supply of matchbox cars, Leggos, and superhero paraphernalia.  I stay at home with my littles, which means that I get dangerously little adult interaction.  I sometimes wonder if I'm slowly losing my mind, but they give the sweetest sticky little kisses.  I don't even come close to getting the recommended amount of sleep, so I rely heavily on lots of coffee, under eye concealer, and dry shampoo to function like a human being.  I still love to cook at home, though my children don't always appreciate my elaborate dinners.  I have a hopeless sweet tooth.  My ideal treat is a French pastry, plain latte, and a really good book.  In my free time (hahahaha), I enjoy reading, running, yoga, and knitting.  

I have been fortunate to meet some incredible people along the way and I am thankful to have friends stashed across the country.  I find myself once again uprooting my family and hoping that it will be our forever home.  I'm looking forward to having a new house to decorate and a new city to explore.

Raleigh, here we come!

Solitude

I recently discovered Yoga on Tap at the Old Mecklenburg Brewery in Charlotte where you can get a yoga class and a beer for $5.  Beer and yoga?  Where do I sign up?  If I could rewrite the ever wholesome "My Favorite Things," it might sound something like this:

Flowing in yoga and sarcasm said,

Crispy fried bacon and reading in bed,

Foaming draft beer and the buzz that it brings

These are a few of my favorite things

Julie Andrews would be properly horrified, I'm sure.

Anyways, I went down to OMB last night to check out the class.  It was basically a warehouse with Christmas lights, candles, incense, a choir, and a thousand yogis flowing together.  We sang, held hands during savasana, and the instructor talked about helping our neighbor and getting "yoga stoned."  These are my people.  

Afterwards, I enjoyed a beer in the biergarten.  As I sat there contentedly watching the clouds drift across the sky by myself, it struck me that in my pre children days, I would have felt awkward and self conscious to do something like that alone.  In my younger days, I was a pack animal, feeling safety in numbers, but as I've gotten older I am comfortable to be on my own.  While everyone else seemed to know each other and were chatting amiably, I was happy to sit back and relax.  These days, I relish my solitude and enjoy the peace and quiet, allowing the world to continue around me while I slow down.  I had a great time people watching and day dreaming.  I left feeling recharged and ready to take on the challenges at home.

Empathy

The news has become overwhelmingly depressing: shootings, terrorism, murder, infidelity, hate, injustice.  Every day it's some new horror.  People have become so self absorbed that they lose sight of the humanity of their neighbors.  Certainly man's inhumanity to man has been an issue since the dawn of time, but it seems to be escalating at an astounding rate.

Technology is an amazing gift.  The Internet has made information and communication available instantaneously.  We can keep up with friends that we haven't seen in years, but are we really more connected?  I think social media has provided us with a false sense of intimacy.  We share our thoughts and pictures, but do we really know those people?  A real relationship has to be based on more substance or we end up feeling hollow and dissatisfied.  We often lose the chance to interact with the people around us because our heads are in our phones (I know I'm guilty of this).  We look for validation in the number of virtual likes, while ignoring opportunities to engage in meaningful dialogue with the people sitting next to us.  We are losing the ability to relate to one another on a basic human level.

If you've ever read the comments section of any online article or blog, you have witnessed the scathing remarks.  Behind the veil of anonymity offered by a keyboard, people feel emoboldened to spew hate that they would never dare speak if they were forced to look that person in the eye.  They forget that the person on the other end of the computer is a living breathing human with feelings.  

I think the solution has to take place at the individual level.  Most people are not capable of changing hearts and healing wounds on a grand scale.  I think each person has to do their part to love their neighbors.  I believe parents are on the front lines of this war.  We have to recognize our responsibility in raising the next generation.  We need to make sure they feel heard and learn to channel anger into something productive.  We must put down our phones and turn off the television.  We need to demonstrate empathy, teach them to identify feelings and communicate, take them outside to experience nature, show them what it means to stand up against prejudice and hate, be kinder than is expected, go the extra mile for our neighbors, pay respect to everyone, even those with whom we disagree.  We need to raise them to recognize and honor the dignity of each and every person.

Heroine

I've finally found my perfect literary doppelgänger and her name is Claire Beauchamp.  She is the heroine of the Outlander series.  The television series has used sex to advertise the show, but it has great depth.  The characters are complicated, layered, and multifaceted.  Diana Gabaldon weaves a thick lush fabric of romance, adventure, political intrigue, historical fiction, and fantasy.  Many Outlander fans are distracted by the sex appeal of the leading man.  Let's get it out of the way.  Yes, Jamie is the handsome, rugged and self-sacrificing hero who is fully devoted to his wife.  And he looks damn good in a kilt.  Swoon.  But it is the character of Claire who resonates so deeply with me.  She's anything but the typical fainting damsel in distress.  She swears and holds her liquor, and is presented as the equal of her husband.  She's stubborn, intelligent, strong willed, passionate, and unflinching while still maintaining a vulnerability. 

I saw a challenge the other day to list your 15 favorite books.  Here are mine:

Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon

Anne of Green Gables series by L. M. Montgomery

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

Little Women by Lousia May Alcott

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling

The Sun Also Risses by Ernest Hemingway

Farenheight 451 by Ray Bradbury

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Game of Thrones series by Gerorg R. R. Martin

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I've noticed a common thread; eight of the books are written by female authors with the main characters being strong women who defy traditional gender roles.  They have an opinion and a voice.  They are not afraid to be seen as being unladylike for speaking their minds.  They are more than just background and support for the male characters to play off of.  Naturally, I would relate to the rebels, the women who disrupt the status quo and challenge their male counterparts.   I've certainly been called a trouble maker.  In fact, my husband's earliest memory of me is when I stormed out of a packed lecture hall after my psychology professor made some absurd political statements.  I yelled, "this is ridiculous," over my shoulder as I slammed the door.  So anytime he accuses me of being difficult, I remind him that he knew that long before we ever started dating.  To quote Claire, "I'm not the meek and obedient type."  Yes!

On Hair and Other Important Issues

I've been reading a lot lately.  I'm a creative junkie and thoughts are bouncing around in my head like a ping pong game that I'm playing by myself with far too many balls (insert inappropriate joke here).  So, I'm going to talk about something really meaningful like my hair.  

I've always identified with Jo from Little Women.  She was the oldest of the March sisters: blunt, feisty, independent, brainy, a tomboy, a writer .  She is described as plain except for her hair, her "one true beauty" as her gorgeous, fashionable, social butterfly little sister (Hey, I have one of those too!) described it.  I don't consider myself to be particularly vain, but I do think of my hair as one of my better features.  So, imagine my feeling of horror and utter betrayal when I woke one morning to discover not a stray gray hair or two, but a whole patch, which sprung up right in front.  I have lovingly named said patch for a certain child... if you've spent more than 5 minutes with my family I'll bet you can guess to whom I am referring.  When I pointed this out to my husband and asked him if it were gray or blonde (serious denial, folks), he looked terrified.  There was no safe answer that would not going to draw my ire.

Unlike Jo, who cut her hair to sell for the sake of her family, I chopped my hair off in what can only be described as a moment of temporary insanity.  I have since cursed myself and vowed to never do that again.  At the time, I had just had a baby and I was hoping for a simpler more manageable hairstyle.  Wrong.  Not only was shorter hair not easier, but I missed my long locks.  While I realize that what I look like isn't particularly important, it's jarring to look in a mirror and not be able to reconcile the image in your head with your reflection.   Who is this stranger?

Now I am in the panstakingly slow process of growing it out.  So I have a graying mullet.  It's magnificent.  It has reached this awkward phase where it is long enough to hang in my face, but not long enough to put up in a ponytail yet.  Thank goodness headbands are in style (or so I think, please don't correct me if I'm wrong).  

I can fairly be described as the least patient person in the world.  I want results and I want them yesterday.  I imagine God is laughing at me as I try to deal with this mess that I created.  But, I think that's life.  I think that I personally create about 90% of my own problems and then become frustrated with myself.

My Frat Boy

My friends call my oldest son The Frat Boy. I can't argue with them. He's rambunctious and loud and always the life of the party. When we go to the park, he runs up to kids he's never met and asks them to play. To him, a stranger is a simply a friend that he hasn't met yet. I love his unbridled enthusiasm and zest for life. He feels emotions so deeply. When he is happy, he is bursting with glee.  He shrieks with excitement and squeals with joy. His giggle is infectious.  When he is mad, watch out!  He's a pistol!

Carter is energy personified.  He has one speed: turbo charged.  He is determined and stubborn.  When he sets his mind to something, he cannot rest until it is done.  I have no doubt that he will be a great leader someday, but it is a challenge day to day to teach and discipline my feisty little person.

My prayer for him is that he never loses that spark. I hope he will always attack life with such with such vigor and passion.  I hope that he is always so unselfconscious and proud of the incredible person he is. 

Happy Birthday Carter!

Here's to 29

Here I am entering the last year of my 20s and I feel like I'm in a really good place. I spent my 20s figuring out who I am. I lived in 3 states, got married, went to culinary school, and started a family. I've had my adventures and now I'm settling into domestic life. I know who I am and I know who I'm not. I've developed my own taste and found my voice. I'm not afraid to be myself and I'm not seeking anyone's approval.

I was having lunch with my college roommate last week and we were discussing our shared excitement over buying our first homes. "And you won't believe the linen closets!" she exclaimed. We laughed about being so thrilled about such a seemingly mundane thing. I'm so glad that this is where we are. We are able to enjoy the little things, without worrying about if we're "cool" enough. Let's be honest: I never was anyways. This place in life is so comfortable and real. I feel like I am able to be my most authentic self and I am thankful for the wonderful people in my life who have always accepted me as I am. 

I'm ready for the victory lap of my 20s. Let's do it!

Restaurant Life

In my life before children, I woked as a line cook for a fine dining restaurant in San Diego. I still keep in contact with some of my industry friends and am so proud of their successes. I can't help but wonder where I would be today if I hadn't left.  I had gradually climbed my way up the ladder, from prep to garde manger (salad) to fryer to sauté. I wouldn't trade my life for anything, but part of me will always miss the excitement of restaurant cooking. There is no high like that of working in a kitchen on a busy Friday night. I love the dance of the cooks, moving together in smooth synchronization to the frantic hum of the ticket machine, printing orders without pause. Your mind spins in anticipation. The kitchen reaches a fevered pitch as chef barks out the next pick up. You feel the sweat slowly trickle down your back as you find your rhythm: sauté, stock, butter, salt. You grind it out at a merciless pace for hours, until the last plate is done.  Then you methodically put away your mise en place, scrub down the kitchen, and head to the bar across the street. That first beer after an exhausting shift tastes so refreshing. The intensity of the night wears off as your senses dull a bit.  

 I miss the comraderie and the (mostly) friendly competition among the other cooks. I miss pushing myself physically and getting creative with the finest ingredients. Cooking is something that is either in your soul or it isn't. It will always be a part of me, even if the only kitchen that I cook in now is in my home. 

My Mom

 I'll admit that I haven't always appreciated my mom like I should.  The teen years saw many eye rolls and "Oh Mother"s. The older I get, the more I realize that she really is always right. Now that I'm a mom, I appreciate her even more.  She is the most amazing role model. She has the patience of a saint, and the cleanest most organized house I have ever seen. She can whip up an amazing meal on the fly, refinish furniture, and somehow she manages to do it all while looking so beautiful and put together. We used to joke that we had never seen my mother and Martha Stuart in the same room...that was before Martha went to jail...awkward...

My mom gives the best advice and carries herself with class and poise. She's the kind of mom I want to be and the woman against whom I measure myself.  I really don't know what we would do without her. She is the glue that holds our family together. 

Words always fail me to properly thank her for all that she has done for me and everything she means to our family, but here I try again: 

Thank you for always taking the time to talk with me. Whether it's giving me a pep talk to get through another day after a sleepless night or laughing together over the silliness of toddlers. 

Thank you for giving the best advice and for not telling me "I told you so" when I fail to take it. 

Thank you for not killing me as a colicky baby or a surly teenager. I've had my moments and you've loved me through them all. 

Thank you for always thinking of me, for text messages, cards, and care packages. 

Thank you for teaching me that a chocolate malt can fix almost any problem. 

Thank you for being a shining example of what it means to be a wife and mother. 

I love you Mom!  Happy Mothers Day!

To My Second Born

I see you sitting in your bouncy seat as you watch me prepare breakfast for your brother. You wait patiently for your turn. As our eyes meet across the kitchen, the biggest grin spreads across your face. You give a hopeful little coo, shake your head from side to side and chew on your hand in sheer excitement. You don't have the luxury of my full attention like your big brother did, but we have our stolen moments alone. Early in the morning before the sun is up, you sweetly babble while we snuggle. 

Quiet naps at home are a rarity for you, but you are content to sleep on the go as we run errands or go to play dates and the park.  I can't hold you all hours of the day as I have to attend to your brother. Many of your clothes and toys are hand me downs. 

There are a few advantages to being the second child. You have the benefit of my experience. I'm not as nervous with you. I don't panic when you start to cry. I've learned a few tricks, some mistakes not to remake, and a new theory or two to try. I remember little things like an extra change of clothes and a spare pacifier. 

You love watching your brother play and you're starting to interact with him more. You accept his rough but well intentioned kisses and endure the occasional bump from a flying toy. You have to be tough, you're a little brother. You adore one another and for that I am very grateful.  I spent many nights of hormonally fueled sobbing, worried about how you two would get along. 

You're only 3 months old, but it seems like you have always been part of our family. You are a little old soul who sighs deeply and furrows his brows, but you always have a smile for your mama.   Continue to be patient with me as I navigate this new role as mother of two. Know that while you have to wait sometimes to have your needs met, that you are never forgotten. You are so precious to me, sweet boy. 

Overcoming Mental Blocks

I've been practicing yoga for about 3 and a half years now. When I first started, I remember staring in awe as other students effortlessly performed some of the more complicated poses. They seemed to defy gravity and the laws of physics with such ease. I watched in amazement, while holding onto the belief that I would never be able to do that. As I have progressed in my practice, I have come to enjoy the challenge of learning a new pose, of being able to move my body in ways that I never thought possible. I have found that the key to mastering a tricky pose isn't about muscling my body into it, but rather letting go, finding lightness, and getting out of my head.  In yoga, as in life, the mental blocks are the most difficult to overcome. Very often, we are our own biggest obstacle. In order to grow, we must be willing to try new things and risk failing or looking silly. When we let go of our "I can't"s, we open ourselves to a world of possibility. 

Lady Magnet

Nothing in the world more quickly attracts a group of women like a new baby. Holding a baby is an open invitation for conversation. Logan is oblivious to his power as a lady magnet-an ability that he'll wish for in about 15 years!  Whether I'm at the grocery store, a restaurant, or church, women of all ages are eager to approach me, from little girls clutching their baby dolls to grandmothers with silver hair.

Elderly women are especially interested in seeing the baby. They offer time tested advice and sweet words of encouragement.  They share stories of their own babies now grown. I can see in their eyes that to them it doesn't seem like it was so long ago.  I imagine that there is something about being at the other end of life and wanting a glimpse of  the next generation with whom they leave the world. Babies represent unlimited possibility and hope for the future. As adults, we are defined by the choices that we have made, but babies offer a sense of renewal and a fresh start. They haven't made any life altering choices, shut any doors, burned any bridges. They know nothing of hatred, anger, or prejudice.  The future is in their tiny chubby hands and that is a powerful thing to witness. 

Parrot

Nothing makes you more aware of the words coming out of your mouth than a toddler who repeats everything he hears. I will admit to not having the cleanest mouth in my life BC (before children).  The restaurant industry is rough, to say the least. I've tried to clean it up as much as possible, but I've accidentally slipped the occasional expletive.

Listening to Carter speak is like holding up a mirror to myself. What phrases do I use so frequently that I am not even aware of them?  And how funny are some adult phrases when they come out of the mouth of a child?  Here are a few that I've heard Carter use:

Let's rock and roll!

Settle down. 

It's ok, Mama's here (used on both baby brother and the dogs!)

That's enough!

Good job!

Go for it!

One of my favorite things to do is to spy on Carter. Listening to him play make believe offers a glimpse into his mind.  I recognize phrases and snippets of his favorite shows, books, and songs. It's always fascinating to see what has stuck with him.  There are also things that surprise me. Where did he pick up some of these words? 

Sometimes I'll hear a phrase made unintelligible by his clumsy little toddler tongue. He'll repeat it frequently in the same context, so I know it means something to him. Despite turning it over in my mind again and again, I can't make sense of it. Then days later, we'll be watching a movie or reading a book and he'll repeat the phrase and it suddenly makes sense. One such example was "To infinity and beyond."  Thanks, Buzz Lightyear!

Counterfeit

I've been a mom for over 2 years and sometimes it hits me all over again. I'm a mom?  Of two?  I have a toddler?  When did that happen?

Somedays I feel like I'm playing house. I'm not worthy. My parenting theories are shaky at best.  I feel like a counterfeit, passing myself off as the real deal while questioning myself inside.  The real irony is that my little people look up to me with complete trust in their eyes, always believing that I have the answers.  Ha! If only they knew! 

I watch other moms out of the corner of my eye like a student cheating on a test. How does she resolve the same challenges?  Can I learn something from the way she handles her kids?  I suspect that other people feel this way too. Does anyone really feel like they have it all figured out or are we all just making it up as we go?

I remember calling my mom from the depths of sleep deprivation, desperately seeking a remedy to Carter's sleepless nights. Her answer surprised me. "I don't know," she said. Here was my mommy role model and she didn't have a magical  solution. How was this possible?  I felt like Dorothy, pulling back the curtain to find that the great and powerful Oz was just an old man. It was both scary and reassuring at the same time. If she doesn't have all of the answers, then it's okay if I don't either.

Emerging from Hibernation

The first couple of months after a baby is born is about survival.  Feed, diaper, repeat. The primary goal is meeting the needs of the new baby. Trying to sneak in a little sleep and food for yourself becomes an after thought. All nonessential functions come to a grinding halt. Cleaning, grooming, cooking, etc fall by the wayside, especially with multiple kiddos.  

Our household is just beginning to settle into a new schedule and sense of normalcy. There's something apropo about having a winter baby.  I have entered into a new season of life as a mother of two.  I'm reemerging from my hibernation as the temperatures rise and signs of Spring begin to appear. As Nature renews itself, so do I.

I have gained the confidence to go out with both boys.  Carter and I are both so happy to have a change of scenery and visit with our friends. I find myself relying on the Moby (a baby carrier) much more this time around. With a toddler to care for, having free hands is necessary! 

Logan is now taking a bottle, so I even have a bit of personal freedom.  After 2 months of constantly caring for my boys full time, leaving the house alone feels foreign. Like an amputee misses a limb, I feel like I am missing a piece of myself. 

I've begun running again and even returned to yoga class this week. It feels good to get sweaty and challenge myself physically.  I'm slowly beginning to feel like myself, but my sore muscles remind me that I have only taken the first steps on a long journey. 

Ceasefire

If you have ever been down the rabbit hole of online parenting forums, you know that the mom wars are alive and well.  Breastfeeding, formula, natural childbirth, scheduled c section, baby led weaning, co sleeping, cry it out, etc. Strangers passionately argue over the merits of their method of parenting. But I ask you, does it really matter?  Can't we all agree to raise our kids in a way that works for us and support one another?  Being a parent is hard enough without the added pressure of mommy wars. So much of the antagonism stems from an insecurity that lives in the heart of every parent. We fear that we are somehow not enough, that another parent is doing a better job, but that could not be further from the truth. You have been entrusted to raise your little people for a reason and no one knows how to do that better than you. 

I offer my own personal ceasefire. I am not here to compete with you.  My children are not here to compete with your children. I support you and know that you're doing your best. Only you know what works for your family and I'm not judging you.  Let's stop focusing on our differences and instead find common ground. 

When I see you on the playground, I'm not eyeing your choice in snacks or how you choose to discipline your children.  Let's enjoy the sunshine and the giggles of our children playing together. Because that's what it's all about: raising happy kids.