Oh the little pieces


Today was a series of unfortunate events. We have a good life. I can’t complain but sometimes it’s like this ripple effect. The ripple of rotten. Starts with something as simple as a 4am wake  up and turns into a crap storm of just, what the ___! Today felt like one of those days. And there wasn’t even that much going on.

My reality is that of a woman who has not slept through the night in 16 years. You think I am joking but I am not. I’m not even exaggerating that much. Devlynn born into this world as the worst sleeper known to man, just set the caliber for who could torture me the most. By the time Dixon was born I realized there was no hope of sleeping till he was close to five. Even Dexter still night wakes. I’m tired. And most mornings one or both babies are up at the very latest, 6:00am and I try to beat them up so I have an hour to myself. Lately it’s not been working because much like this morning, a tiny voice wakes me and anyone else in the room. Up at 4:00am. Wide awake. And they are little enough that they still need me to get all the things. And most of the time it’s before I’ve brewed the coffee. I need to invest in one that auto brews but truth be known, I am not sure I could every begin to guess what time to set it.

Now, I’m not complaining. I signed up for this. They’re mine even when they’re obsessively repeating, “milk please”. But I am still tired. Very tired. And tired sets a tone for a day no matter how you try to avoid it.

So tired mom sits down to work a little but no work gets completed because milk cups need filled and the wooden train calls and when friends are over we make pancakes. And then I yelled at poor Dexter over hot oil and bacon and the big boys tried to save him. And Kevin’s phone wouldn’t back up and wouldn’t charge and all I wanted to do was shower, work and run and errand before he went to work but it all went to hell in a handbasket and now, I sit here wondering at the same time how the day could of gone by so slowly and yet wondering how it’s 9:00pm.

It was one of those days.

It feels a lot like groundhogs days. Days for which I am grateful and sometimes pray would slow down but ground hogs day indeed. And with each repeat of the milk cup I wonder if I will ever stop being tired.

Will I ever get enough sleep?

Of course I don’t mean that literally but I can’t even explain what I really mean.

Each morning I try and start my day with the good. I try and take the time to nurse my baby as long as he needs and then tuck him back into our warm bed to dream of the things baby’s dream of. I remember every morning to look my little ones in the face as they sleep and wish each one a good morning. It’s the time of the day I hear about Devlynn’s school and what they’re excited about but often, by the time it’s time to go, I’m a crazy mom, upset we’re late or that I can’t find shoes or whatever. And it’s because I am just so tired…

I have to figure out a way to break the cycle.


I am taking this week to think about ways to change the days. To make them less tired.


This week will all be sunny. I am gonna try and take a moment to write every day about something that brings me joy. The more joy, the less tired. Right? So here goes, 7 sunny days. Wanna join me?


Pinterest is ruining my life


“I just want a cute house,”.

I have said this over and over to my poor husband. I have painted and pushed and rearranged and framed and painted and reframed and repainted and still, it doesn’t look anything like Pinterest. Ever.

Pinterest is ruining my life. It is. Plain and simple.

I bought that white chalk board from someone who upcycles. It was a steal. I didn’t have to mix the chalk paint and I would just slap that baby on the wall and wal-la… instant pinterest wall. Only it had a like a shelf attached to it when it first came home with me and it was so heavy that Kevin said he could never get it to hang on our plaster walls. Then I stepped on it and then I tore it off and that’s what I was left with.

It still says, “happy holidays” because whoever made it didn’t prime the chalk board before writing on it and I hung it before repainting it and ya. It doesn’t match. It doesn’t look cute and collage-y. It looks like I threw it up there and hope I could fake Pinterest fame until I could figure something else out.

Hang in threes it said. Lies. All lies.

I am not a house decorator. My house is always a mess. My mother’s house, well you could eat off the floor, literally but mine? You’re lucky to see it. This apple, well I fell so far outside the orchard that they call me and orange.


imageThis is my media cabinet. We bought it about a month ago because I was tired of looking at the toys and DVD player and Direct TV box. I have no idea what to do with it. I don’t think I could bare the thought of dusting little figurines and well, I suck at this. It’s bad. For someone as “creative” as I am. My house is like a dungeon of sadness sprinkled with legos, fake food and Mount Laundry.

Someone please help. Someone please tell me it’s okay that my house doesn’t look like a Pinterest palace. Tell me that your house too looks like mine!

It’s hard to keep up, isn’t it? Hard to know what’s in and what is out and what should be at the top of my attention list. Who comes over to my house and says, “Oh girl, you are failing profoundly in the Pinterest reports cards of life”. No one. No one actually comes to my house. I cannot imagine that my single friend that does occasionally pop over, thinks to herself, “OH MY GAWD THERE ARE SNEAKERS EVERYWHERE!!!”

As if we don’t have enough pressure. We now have Pinterest too.

I’m starting to feel for those moms who have ranted on and on about the moms like me, who send the eyeball adorned pudding cups for Valentine’s. If you’re that mom? I am sorry I made you feel lesser.

Because the beautiful houses of my Facebook feed and Pinterest? They make me feel less.

I know, my own issue.

There is so much pressure to perform. To be the stay at home parent who not only holds a full time, sales job from the comfort of her perfectly clean couch but who also manages to look fucking hot AND read Little Blue Truck every single time junior asks.

It’s a lot of pressure.

I don’t know why I let it get to me. I don’t know why I care what my house looks like.

This is the current state of my living room. Give or take a day. The spot on the couch? It’s from me scrubbing off the peanut butter. The peanut butter I screamed repeatedly to eat at the table. It may be 6 months before I get books on the bookshelf and that fish only got that pretty bowl because the other one was so filthy, I couldn’t stand the smell long enough to clean it.

I hate that rug. I hate that chair and my husband, the hermit, refuses to open the curtains.

I want it to look like Pinterest but right now I’d settle on it looking like home.

How can you teach your set in cement brain, to let go and realize we’re not all home decorators and it’s okay if all the colors run together like a kindergarten painting. It’s okay that there are toys and every single thing you own is decorated in peanut butter finger prints? How do you give up the Pinterest perfect and live with what you have, happily?

That damn comparison. The thief of Joy. Pinterest is ruining my life. And I am letting it.



I draw and draw and draw

Mickey Mouse DrawingI love that in today’s day you can take a million and one different kinds of classes online. I always felt this void where a degree was missing. I’ve never taken a “real” photography class and I only know how to draw from things I’ve read around the web. I taught myself Photoshop and Illustrator and I still have a lot to learn. A lot.

And I think sometimes from lack of having said degree is what holds me back.

I’m approaching 40 now. I don’t know where the time has gone. And in that time I haven’t done anything that I thought I would. Before Kevin and I met, I never thought I would get married, let alone have five children. I dreamed of traveling and eating and dancing and doing. But things change. Fast.

I somehow I feel like I’ve missed my chance.

I’ve always had this desire to figure things out. I like to know how things work and I have always rathered doing it instead of hiring someone to do it for me. And most of the time I have been able to figure it out. Everything from sewing to WordPress. My biggest struggles have been in carpentry and knitting and I’ve decided to leave those to the more qualified. Ha ha.


But still I feel below, less then because I am not trained. I have waffled with going to school for a couple years but I don’t feel like I can juggle my family with my alternate reality. Who has time to study if they can’t even keep up on the laundry. I wanted to be a nurse. Proudly and publicly, I proclaimed that was indeed what I would be but it didn’t happen. It hasn’t happened and I keep looking for the starting line and when I think I find it, it disappears almost like a mirage. I wanted to be a midwife. I didn’t find my love of pregnancy, the love of women’s health until I was well into baby number 3. The kind hands and the kind words of the midwife who helped me welcome Drew into the world, also lit a fire in me that I haven’t been able to grow. I’d originally thought I would do birth photography but with a family as large as mine and kids going in so many directions, it was just not possible. Not to mention, my marketing is subpar and I didn’t know where to start. And let’s face it, I feared, like everything else I’ve tried, that not only was I not good enough, but that I would fail.

I’ve since waffled with wanting to be a doula, with being a homebirth midwife… I’ve thought about it all but I’ve not been able to put my own needs and desires before what I feel like it my responsibility. These are my kids. Mine and if I am not here to take care of them, who will be. But what kind of mother am I if I don’t do anything, literally anything, for myself.

And what comes with that is that if I fail, when I fail even, I have stolen that time away from my kids doing something that wasn’t nearly as important as them. As raising them. And my brain, my brain just won’t let go of the feeling that I am really good at lots of things but I am not amazing at anything. Damn internet, I should really stay off of it.

So as a mother, one who in good intention, gave up herself, as that mother, how to do reclaim little pieces back for yourself? Because I can hear my mother telling me stories of my Baboo. She’d bowl and dance, because she still needed to be Baboo and these days, I desperately need to be me. And not just mom.

So I draw. Hoping that someday I will be good enough to charge more than 5.00. Hoping that the drawings will help my sprout wings. Wings that will help lift this feeling of stuck and will teach my kids that they have to take care of themselves sometimes too. I draw for self care. I draw to have something on my own. Even if it’s just for a few minutes a day.

It’s exhausting to be invisible.