Let it go, let it go

IMG_2895Dixon can sing. He sings more than he talks. I think he’s partial to Mumford and Sons, “I will wait for you” but we’ve added “Let it Go” from Frozen to our impressive list of lyrical awesomeness.

He says Papa, Daddy (sounds more like Dadeeeee), Bubba and I poop. This week we added shoes to his ever present, Go. He talks a lot. He’s lightyears ahead of where Dexter was and it makes me feel bad that I did not push for help with Dexter sooner. Mom guilt. There is always some sort of mom guilt, isn’t there?

As a mother I never know what the right thing to do is. And everyone has their opinion. Everyone who loves your child, weighs in. They want what is best for them too. And then, if you’re like me, you have other children to compare too. So one may talk late but need no assistance while another should of had more help from day one.

Sometimes it feels like a losing battle.

I wonder too, sometimes, if the invitation of social media to my life and the lives of my children has grown the guilt monster. I know it’s grown Guilt’s friend, Doubt and through the years I have found my self sharing less and less because I don’t want the weigh in. People with good intentions, without inflection. They mean well but come across mean or hurtful… because well, interwebs (inside joke)

“Did someone suggest that because they think I am a bad mother? Do they think I am not spending enough time with this one or that one? Did I make the wrong choice?”

We have to learn to just let it go. I have to learn to let it go. I am thankful for the tiny sounds of Dixon, to remind me.

We can’t be right all the time. In years we will look back and questions our decisions I am sure. Was it right to move Devlynn across the country? Did I kill her social life? Maybe but she goes to schools that make the schools in Denver look like playtime. She has the fortunate opportunity to live in the history epicenter and her love of history flourishes here and just grows stronger. She may not have a gaggle of friends but she has other things instead.

All we can do is try and do our best, right? Learn from our mistakes. Walk away from the bad and try and start over with better, with different choices. And learn to forgive ourselves and let it go.


Baseball season approaches again. My favorite sport of them all. Last year, I put too much pressure on myself and on my kids. I worried too much about something, that in scheme of things, won’t matter in time. This year, we’re taking a different approach. No travel teams. Just private lesson and rec. It’s Davis’ last year at the rec league and I’m not gonna ruin it by putting pressure on him or myself. It’s probably an unpopular decision but it’s the only one that works for my family. Letting go of the pressure. Let it go.

Baseball, lacrosse, Cub Scouts, well they should be fun. Yes, they’re work and they’ll teach our kids things but in the end, if they’re not enjoying it, they’re not taking away from it the important lessons we put them in these things, to learn. If there is anything I want my children to know, it is that you don’t have to be miserable. Find work that you love. Find people that you love to be around. Life doesn’t have to be full of misery. Not if you don’t want it to.

We have to learn to let the bullshit go. Let it go.

That’s my mantra this year.. hopefully, I can stick with it.



Dreaded Valentine’s Day

IMG_0721In elementary school, our school had love bears. You paid a dollar or something like that for them and sent them to the “friends” you wanted. In my entire time at Ryan Elementary, I never got one. Not once. I started hating Valentine’s Day right then and there.

It’s a stupid holiday really. Love, schmuve. The Saint Valentine story isn’t very romantic. I mean, I guess *he* (St. Valentine) was a little. He married people, in secret. Claudius put a ban on marriage with the thinking that unmarried soldiers fought better. Typical idiotic thinking. Saint Valentine married them anyway and then got his head cut off.

So now, we exchange tokens of love or, like me, we don’t at all and spend the rest of our lives thinking about how stupid the holiday really is.

Devlynn and I were walking through Wegmen’s. She pouted through the pink and red of the Valentine’s section. She hates it too. She’s single. Having trouble with fitting in and making friends that last. She too hates Valentine’s Day.

And now, to add the the distaste, I’ve fallen into the pressure of “world’s best toddler/preschool Valentine”. Because I am “that mom”. And I used to really love to make them but now? It’s like a competition of who can make and deliver the best Valentine ever. It’s really sucked the fun out of it.

This year I may let the kids pick boxed cards. I may refuse to attach lollipops and pencils. I may send dark cards with bad jokes or I may just ignore it all together.

I have slowly but surely fallen into the “I hate the holidays” slump. Christmas about sends me over the edge every year and now I am starting to dread the little ones too. Easter may put me in a straight jacket if I see another basket stuffed with 10 speeds and iPhones.

But as I complain, I wonder to myself, why do I care? Why does it matter what someone else fills their child’s basket with? It doesn’t but I can’t help but flash back to the day when I didn’t get the bear Valentine and the many years after when I just wasn’t “important” enough to celebrate.

I work hard to make sure my kids feel loved each and every holiday.  I won’t be able to protect them from feeling left out at school or missing out when candy-grams are passed around but I can teach them at home, that their tiny chocolate token has just as much love in it as the neighbor boy’s bicycle. It’s hard to teach kids about comparisons, especially when you’re still navigating the ideas yourself. When you feel like less of a parent because you have to work so much harder for the vacation or the baseball bat or the lacrosse lessons. It’s easy to forget that everyone is working for something. Especially when you’re viewing the highlight reels of Facebook.

This Valentine’s Day I should perhaps ask my children to love on someone who might not get the bear Valentine. Simple acts can change lives. Just tiny things. This holiday we made cookies for our neighbors on both the right and left side. In addition to the two small plates I made for them, I thought to include a third for the nice lady across the street who compliments the children and also roots on our football team. A small plate with pizzelles, oatmeals and gingerbread,s and a few yummy spritz, which are my fav to make. Tiny and sprinkled with lovely sugar. I sent the three oldest boys out for delivery on Christmas Eve and thought nothing of it till the third plates owner caught me walking home from school. She thanked us and mentioned her dad had died the 23rd. And that spritz cookies were her favorite and that she’d not made them this year (even though she made them every year with her late mother’s vintage press) because she was so sad. And seeing the tiny plate, delivered by tiny hands with her favorite holiday cookie, made her happy for a moment in a time of great sadness.

Who knew a few cookies could make things okay, even if for just one minute.

So this year, I am going to encourage my kids to send proverbial bears. So no one else hates Valentine’s day. Because no one else should feel unloved…..




The bigs and the littles


You should see the look on people’s faces when I first tell them that we have five children. While I believe large families are more and more common, there are still those people who think, “holy cow that is a lot of kids”. I sort of always giggle to myself and add a comment about being “those people”. They often press on with more questions and the top is generally what their ages are. People are often more shocked to hear the large range we have,






My oldest will graduate high school before my littlest even starts public school. She will probably have children of her own before the youngest two finish school themselves. And I could very well be a grandparent while still navigating the waters of elementary.

I have 18 more years of kids at home. Well 18, give or take.

Before I had Devlynn, the oldest, I swore I’d never marry. That I’d never have kids. I sat in the bathroom of our tiny, one bedroom apartment with that pregnancy test and my work apron in my hands, wiping the tears. I was scared to death. Unmarried and now setting sail on a sea that was far outside my comfort zone. I sort of denied the whole idea of it for a long time and continued to think nothing in my life would change once this little baby arrived. I continued to wait tables, play video games and act like a stupid kid and then, she was born and like that it all changed.

Except we thought she’d be the only one.

Some years later we added Davis and then Drew. Dexter and Dixon graced us a few years later and here we are, a family of seven.

I like my big family. There is always something to do. We have preschool and lacrosse and baseball and football and homework and dodgeball and playdates. They all have different interests and all talk about different things. They’re a great group of children. And I wouldn’t change anything about any of them.

However, as my daughter approaches the end of her school career I have found myself mourning the one on one time I feel like I may of lost with her, adding so many siblings, so spaced apart. I’ve missed a million roller coaster rides sitting on the sidelines with baby and while I am at every.single.game, I know I miss things because I have to protect the toddler from falling down the hill. And it works both ways. I go to far fewer story times because I am so busy with baseball or whatever and the babies are drug all over and I worry that the dragging is making them miss out on free range babying.

It’s the story of having the bigs and having the littles.

You find yourself wishing away the toddler years and praying the teen years slow down. It’s a stark and strange contrast in parenting such a broad range of ages. It’s going through all the good and all the bad all at once.

It also adds an element of weirdness to making adult friends. I have people I know from each child’s age but no one who gets the struggle and awesomeness of having it all at once. So while they relate to my pre-pubescent boy fun-ness, they don’t get that I am having to navigate it while dealing with teen angst and a baby who is teething so badly I want to jump off a cliff.

Large family, big gap. Lots of fun.

Yesterday I was talking to a friend about college and how I worry Devlynn and all she has to give up. And that I hope she doesn’t resent me for encouraging her to stay home and go to school. Not because I don’t think she’ll thrive in a big college far away, but because I want her to have less debt and not worry about working. But by encouraging her to stay home, I am also keeping her with the zoo family. And I worry if she’ll look back and regret being part of it.

There is a lot of guilt that goes with the bigs and the littles.

Parenting is hard enough and sometimes I feel like I have dealt myself a tough hand. I’d never change it. Never. Even when they upcharge me for Great wolf lodge and my Disney entry tickets cost more then your entire vacation. Love my bigs and my littles and every big and little thing that come with them.