mother's day lessons.

Here's what I know about mothering:

That some days are bad and some days are good. And just because it's bad today doesn't mean it won't get better. And that really good day you had? Burn that into your memory because soon it'll go downhill again. Sometimes all within a matter of minutes.

Some of the best mothers I've ever met don't have children. 

Ice cream for dinner is okay once in a while.

Yelling doesn't make the situation better. But for some reason, I keep doing it.

A supportive husband can make or break you.

For our family, I'm a better mother because I work outside the home. Some days I wish I was a stay-at-home mom, but most days I do not. I know the grass is always greener on the other side so I try to remind myself of that when I'm feeling sorry for myself. And then I remember to water where I'm at and shut up about it.

Naps are important. And if you can get your kids to take them too, that'd be good.

Sometimes my children don't know why they're crying, they just want to cry. Maybe if more adults did this once in a while, we'd all be happier. A good cry is powerful therapy.

Seeing what I put in my children's bodies and how it effects their poop has changed the way I eat. Also, I can now talk about poop with a completely straight face and in all seriousness. Well, most of the time, anyway.

We all mother differently. I'm not right and you're not wrong. We're all just doing the best we can. But telling someone they're wrong because it's not how you would do it destroys us all. So stop it.

Mess is okay sometimes. I'm still working on acceptance of this one.

There's beauty in the unplanned.  Loosen up, Mary.

Sing songs even if you can't sing. Your children don't know that yet and they love your voice anyway. You might even start to think you don't sound that bad. But your husband will bring you back down to Earth soon, so don't you worry about that recording contract just yet.

There's power in I'm sorry. Show your kids that grace.

And a good snuggle can cure most bad days.

Happy Mother's day.

three dolla holla + national mom's nite out

(dress: thrifted, belt: Kohls, necklace: Forever 21, wedges: JC Penny)

[Random thoughts: I realize this is my second navy outfit post today. Apparently, I'm on a classic navy kick. Also, I got this dress for THREE DOLLARS at the thrift shop. It's like vintage, union-approved factory made and everything. Probably my most proud thrifting moment to date. And props to Kaitlyn Meeks for spying it in the Treasure Room.]

Did you know that tonight is National Mom's Nite Out? Nationwide, moms are being celebrated and pampered. Today is a great day to be a mom, I'm just sayin'.  And mostly I'm sayin' that because some days it's not too great being a mom. And that's the truth.

If you're local to Indy, I know that the area Simon Malls are holding some pretty sweet events that you could attend with your girlfriends. It's not too late to call the babysitter or tell your significant other to pick up a pizza because you've got plans with the girls. (I know that is easier said than done, but for just tonight, make it happen!!).

I was lucky enough to be invited to attend a Mom's Nite Out event sponsored by Restaurant.com and put together by theCityMoms and Indy with Kids at Sushi on the Rocks---there's going to be a fashion show, shopping, giveaways, and, the best part, sushi! I might have picked up a new dress and shoes for the occasion. If you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, I'll be pretty active tonight so you can follow along with all the events or, if that's not your thing, just wait patiently for the exciting post next week. (Can't make it out? Follow along here for the video feed of the event and you can still win prizes if you have a Twitter account!)

Either way, if you're a mom, make sure you treat yourself to a little something special tonight. Because you deserve it!

Linking up with Lena B, Actually for A Passion for Fashion.

two by two: my daughters

One day, my beautiful girls, it will be just you two.

You will be the Graham family. You might have new last names, but you will always and forever be Grahams.

And you will always and forever be sisters. Best friends. Confidantes.

It will be you two that remember the embarrassing stories, the family vacations, the secrets, your weird daddy and your silly mommy.

Please be kind to each other even when you don't want to.

Take care of each other, not because it's your job, but because it is your joy.

I sometimes worry that two isn't enough, that you need more siblings to help you, for later.

And there was a moment where that was to be true.

But I believe that for us, for you both, two is good. You can handle the sole responsibility to love and care for each other, to be a family when we are no longer here telling you how to be, what to do, how to love.

Hopefully you'll have learned a few things from us and learned more things for yourselves.

And I trust that two will be enough, that with a God bigger than I could even imagine, you two, my precious babies, will be enough for the world.

I guess the bigger question is is the world ready for you two?

(I've had some requests for pin-able images so hopefully these will help!)

loud music in my minivan

(skinnies: Old Navy, t-shirt: Walmart, sweater & scarf: thrifted, boots: Target, bracelets: Kohls)

I don't know why that second picture got all orangey. I'm sure it has something to do with my superior photo-editing skills, but I could be mistaken.

Do people listen to the Kings of Leon anymore?

Asking for a friend.

If you would have told my 21-year-old self that I would, at 31 listen to very little hip and cool music, I would have laughed in your face. Also, I probably would have been drunk, but that's beside the point.

It's amazing what I listen to now: NPR, random Pandora stations when I remember to turn it on, and kids music. Occasionally, I'll listen to current hip hop (is that what kids call it these days?) and crank it up loud in my minivan.

But later, I forget that I've turned it up loud when I get back into said minivan and the shock of the loud music when I turn the key normally scares the pee out of me.

Then I remember I'm not young, I have less bladder control than I used to, and I would much rather prefer silence to music these days.

This post has been full of little gems, hasn't it?

I think I am done here.

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You know who does the whole motherhood thing pretty good? Julie at Back to the Basics blog. We can all learn a little something from her.

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Did you win the Valentine's book giveaway? Congrats to Amber, Jennifer, and Bethany! Check your emails for details on getting your awesome book.

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Make sure you enter to win a $100 Target gift card from Texas Lovebirds and all her amazing sponsors (that might be me...). This is too good to pass up!

in the blink of an eye: four

I would like this post to be all about how time flies. I would like it to be all about how my baby turned four last week and I can't believe it.

Even as I type that my daughter is four, I don't quite comprehend it.

But as any parent knows, time goes too fast.

Not the day-to-day, that can sometimes drag. Some moments--some good and some bad--seem to last forever. And there are days when I can't wait for bed time. Not mine, but my children's.

But today is not one of those days. Today, I want time to slow down, for my baby to still be a baby. For the most important part of our day be snuggling on the couch together and getting some tummy time.

But she's got things to do: coloring, video games, wrestling with the dog, and make-believe with her stuffed animals. Big kid stuff.

At some point today, she'll crawl into my lap and ask to have a book read to her.

And in that moment, I'll hold her a little tighter than normal. I'll breath in her strawberry-scented hair a little deeper than last time and I'll read just a little bit slower.

She won't notice a difference, but I will.

And that will be enough.

jumbled up and messy: when nothing makes sense.

(my first baby meeting my last baby)

There was a large part of me that hesitated to share my story of accidental pregnancy and miscarriage with the world. It felt too easy, because not many people knew, to sweep it under the rug. To carry on and not share.

But then there was this very small part of me that wanted everyone to know.

And that's the part that prevailed.

I struggled with admitting that I got pregnant--without trying--and didn't want to be pregnant, because I have so many amazing people in my life that long for babies and don't have them. I'm a part of a beautiful online community where I've read story after story of couples that struggle with infertility and are draining themselves and their resources to have a baby. And my heart hurts for them. With that in mind, I was afraid my words would add pain where no more was needed.

I wrestled (and still wrestle) with a lot of guilt for bad thoughts I had when I was trying to come to grips with being pregnant. The shock was literally overwhelming and I thought bad things, wished for bad things, and felt extremely sorry for myself. In my head I know that I did not cause my miscarriage by my bad thoughts. But my heart is having a pretty hard time coming to terms with that one.

I'm mad at my body for not being able to do what it's supposed to. To create something that was so easy the first two times--why didn't it work this time? Then I start thinking about wanting and longing for a baby and losing it--I can't put in to words how that makes me feel. And what it makes me feel when I look at my daughters.

I have such a confusing mix of emotions that at times I'm not sure how I feel about no longer being pregnant. I mourn for the baby that was in my womb and now isn't. But it doesn't make me want to try for another one. This roller coaster ride has only confirmed in my head that two is good, that we are done having kids. The miscarriage did not flip some magical switch that shined light on my hidden dream of a bigger family. It actually did the opposite.

Yesterday's post was written two days into my miscarriage. I was raw and exhausted. And it's taken me two and a half weeks to write about it again. To begin to process and understand. But writing about it has been the only time I can cry, really cry, about what has happened. Sobbing, actually. Sobbing that hurts my body, makes everything clench up and, later, leaves me feeling sore and tired.

As a writer, I like to end things neat and tidy. Let my writing come full circle, not leave things unfinished and messy.

But right now I can't do that, I don't have answers, just lots of questions. I don't have comfort yet, or peace. I don't have lessons that I learned or good that has come from this heartache.

Right now, I just have mess.

I know answers and peace and lessons will come from this. I trust completely in my God to redeem this story. Redeem my mess.

Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God's work from beginning to end.       
-Ecclesiastes 3:11

But I'm not there yet. So bear with me while I just share the mess. Because, really, it's all I have right now.

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And because I'm uncertain and listening so hard for Him right now, I decided to leave the radio on a Christian station the other morning as opposed to immediately changing it to NPR like I do every morning on my way to work (my husband had been in the car the night before). The next song was this one and I've been listening to it non-stop since it stopped me in my tracks that morning on my way to school. It's my prayer and my cry right now.

for a couple weeks at Christmas we were five.

The week before Christmas I found out I was pregnant.

Unexpected, unplanned, and, frankly, unwanted.

It was overwhelming and crushing and upsetting and a million other things. There was dread and guilt. There was anger and frustration. There was confusion and regret.

That lasted for a few days and then, it all gave way to peace.

And eventually, excitement.

This isn't what we planned---we were done having kids. We had given away all our baby stuff as Harper out grew it. There were no baby clothes, no bottles, no bassinet, no swing, no blankets, no car seat. There was a crib, but only because Harper refused to sleep on the bottom bunk of Elliott's bunk beds.

There was some changing of plans, some new goals made, some re-routing of the life we had planned and we were settling into a new normal. We were going to be a family of five and although it wasn't what we had envisioned for our lives, it wasn't the end of the world like we originally thought.

We waited until after Christmas to tell everyone--we felt it should be our secret for a while. We didn't want to share the news until there was nothing but joy in our hearts. We knew this was going to be completely unexpected news and we needed to be settled and okay before surprising everyone else.

At seven weeks, we shared the news with most of our immediate family and a few close friends.

I'm not going to lie, the out-of-left-field announcement was fun to share--I love a good surprise and this was the ultimate shocker.

No one saw it coming.

You know what else we didn't see coming?

A miscarriage later that week.

A miscarriage.

The baby we had just started to feel joy over. The baby that was going to be a boy, we were just sure. The baby we were now wanting, planning for, dreaming about, was gone.

Chris said it just felt like a cruel joke.

I think it felt like some weird holiday experiment.

I sat in front of the Christmas tree and sobbed the news of a baby to Chris. We talked and complained and whined and then, later, we dreamed about our new reality as we sat in the kitchen by the glowing strands of Christmas lights.   

On New Year's Day, we took down the Christmas decorations and I commented about how it made our house feel cold and empty.

That night I lost the baby.

It made it feel like we just put our baby away with the tree and the light-up snowman and the glittery angels. Like it was temporary and not real and done.

And it made our house, and me, feel cold and empty.

what I would have worn for new year's had I not been in bed by 10:15

(dress: H&M, leggings: Lauren Conrad for Kohls, boots: Old Navy, necklace: Rue 21)

There was a point in time when I would have never admitted to going to bed at 10:15 on New Year's Eve. 

But that time has passed.

The thought crossed my mind to take people up on their invites or to call up some friends for a game night.  But then I thought about how I'd still have to be up at 7:00 AM with two small kids and I immediately got tired just from thinking about it and I completely avoided making plans.

And so it goes.

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As I've mentioned before, I don't do resolutions, but I do like making some goals.  I set goals all the time.  Monthly goals, weekly goals, daily goals, and, sometimes, hourly goals.  I like a goal just about as much as I like a list.  And I LOVE a good list.

So as is customary on this first day of the new year, I've made some goals for 2013.

-Spend less time on my phone and more time reading books.  I've gotten into the habit recently of playing with my phone each night before bed when I used to read until I'd fall asleep. I miss good books before bed.

-Stop saying yes.  I need to understand that sometimes it's just nice that people noticed you're good at something, acknowledge that, and then graciously turn down their offer. Telling people no isn't my strong suit and I've got relationships that are suffering because of it. Time to refocus.

-Continue to get healthier.  Yes, there is a magic number in my head that I think I should be.  And I'll get there eventually, but truly it's about being active and healthy and a good role model to my beautiful girls.

-Keep writing more notes.  I tried focusing on this last year and did it in spurts. This year I'd like to be more consistent because everyone loves a good handwritten note.

-Spend less and save more.  This is the hardest thing in the world for me to do. Hands down.

-More quiet time in the Word.  I'm good for about two to three days a week, but making it a daily routine is something I've not yet done.  And I'm thirty one for cryin' out loud.  Get it together, Mary.

-Be in community more. This is a specific blogging goal. I've met so many great people through this space and have some big ideas I'd like to try. But normally, I just share them with Carly and then don't do anything about them. I'd like that to change.

-Figure out what I want to do when I grow up. 

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Well, that shouldn't be hard at all.

Bring it, 2013.

If you haven't taken my reader survey--check it out now!

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Have some Christmas money burning a hole in your pocket? Check out The Sapphire Bee for some pretty sweet New Year's deals!

so they can really know me.

I've been struggling with my why.

Why I blog.  I needed to get it down, in words, so I could understand it.  So I could have a focus.  Something to look back on when I'm not sure where to go next or if I should share something.

Because there is lots I don't share.

I felt once I could voice my why, I'd be ready to write again. 

But what ended up happening was someone else had the words, I just needed to stumble upon them.

"The Mom Stays in the Picture" by Allison Tate is my why.

I write for my daughters.

So they can know me when I'm gone.  And while I hope that is in a very long time, I don't really have control over it.

And I want them to know me.  Really know me.

So maybe one day, my journey will help them make sense of their own lives.  Because who I am will always be a part of them, the good and the bad. 

Hopefully one day they'll look back at their mom with kind eyes and see that I did what I thought was best at the time.  And they'll understand themselves better.  And they'll be better.

That's why I blog.

when it's all said and done.

There's a constant struggle inside of me.

The mom versus the teacher, taking care of my own kids or someone else's.  Getting these papers graded with constructive comments so that 93 students can become better writers or playing outside on the swing set with my two little girls.

Sometimes other kids come before my own.

Ellie went back to school this week and I missed it because I was at work.  At the exact moment she was being dropped off, I was discussing the importance of setting to a story.  I know what I was doing because I was watching the clock, completely distracted from what my students were saying, just praying that Elliott Quinn would have an amazing first day of school.  That she wouldn't be afraid or nervous, that she would remember all her friends' names, and that everyone would be nice to her.

I admit I was feeling a little sorry for myself. 

I wanted to be with my three year old and not with 31 seventh graders.  I wanted to see, in person, what those neon green skinny jeans (that she picked out all by herself) looked like on her little chicken legs.  I wanted to be there to put her hair in a ponytail (a "small one in the back that hangs down" as she requests).  I wanted to hold her chubby little hand as she walked in to see Ms. Patrice and Ms. Sena for the first time in months.

I chose to become an educator for many reasons, some selfish and some not.  But as my kids get older, I realize that a decision I made twelve years ago will always be in the way of their school experience.  No room-mom duties for me, no lunchroom visits, no class parties, or special programs.  Those are things I don't get to do for my own kids.

And that just bums me out.  A lot.

Tomorrow I won't be so emotional or whiny, I know this is just one day.  It was actually a really good day, and it's only as I sit here with everyone in the house asleep that I get a little reflective on this choice I made, to choose other people's kids over mine.  And I'm just wondering if some day I'll be sorry.

 

I don't want to forget

Ellie learned to ride her bike last week and now all she wants to do is go for bike rides.  I was at work when she finally mastered the art of pedaling so when I got home she had to show off her skills.  And then after dinner we went for a long walk/bike ride. 

Following behind her I was overwhelmed by her big-ness.

She was leaving us in her dust and I felt it in much more than just a literal sense. 

I wanted time to stand still in that moment.  I wanted everyone to stop growing, learning, and leaving.  I wanted to stay trapped in that evening walk and not let the world in. 

I know that can't (and shouldn't) happen.  It's just so shocking sometimes how fast time goes. 

How everything changes in a blink of an eye.

I don't want Ellie to ever stop trying to argue her way out of bedtime by saying she "didn't even take a yawn today."

She told Chris recently that when she goes to a wedding, she needs him to come with her because she can't dance by herself.  I don't want her to figure out that you can dance with other boys.  Right now I'm so thankful that she only has eyes for her daddy and I want that to last forever.

One day she'll stop responding to my I-love-yous with "I love you too, Mum" like we're British and I'll miss it terribly.

There will come a time when Friday nights won't be snug-on-the-couch-and-watch-a-movie night.  Ellie and Harper will be with friends and I'll be stalking them in my car or texting them about curfew.  So right now I try to soak up every moment.

As I walked along with speed-demon Ellie last week, I tried to memorize every sight and sound.  Her little calf muscles working hard and her fingers pulling the bell.  Her giggle and her toothy smile.  Her sweaty neck and her chubby feet. 

Because I understand how quickly it all changes.  And it's just way too fast.

weekend read: Not Becoming My Mother

You'd think reading a book entitled Not Becoming My Mother (and other things she taught me along the way) would be cruel.  And when I first picked up this book (on the sale table at Barnes and Noble on this date night), I thought I could never read this because if my mom saw it, she'd be hurt.  But then I read the inside cover and had to have it.

Not Becoming My Mother by Ruth Reichl is about every daughter's struggle.  I think it's universal that we question our mothers.  Who they really are, who they really were before us, what they taught us, and what they became.  And I don't think it's disrespectful to ask those questions.  As a mother of two daughters, I know without a doubt that I will always want my daughters to be better than me, to question how I did things and make them better.  I want my daughters to be smarter, more patient, more loving, more caring, more self-assured, more confident, more traveled, more loved.  And that doesn't make me a bad mom or my mother inadequate, it's just what moms do.  They just hope for better for those they love.

For Reichl, she didn't truly know her mom until she had passed away.  It was through letters and notes that her mom's true self came through.  At one point, Reichl says, "Like most women, I decided who my mother was long ago, sometime during childhood."  And it wasn't until after her death that Reichl could truly see her mother for what she really was: a manic depressive, a failure in her parents' eyes, a twice married woman who never wanted to be married in the first place, a bored housewife who hated housework, and a mother who felt unworthy. 

Once Reichl started to come to terms with all these things her mother hadn't been, she could see the beauty in what her mother was.  She could see what her mother had done for her.  All the lessons she taught her, all the freedom she had given her, all the passion she has passed on. 

My [Reichl's] grandmother has tried to turn her daughter into a carbon copy of herself.  That had not worked out well.  And so my mother did the opposite: Instead of holding herself up as a model to be emulated, she led by negative example, repeating "I am a failure" over and over, as if it were a mantra.  "I am ridiculous.  Don't be like me.  Don't be like me."

I can hardly imagine how excruciating that must have been.  Parents uearn for their children's respect; most of us want it more than anything else on earth.  And yet my mother deliberately sabotaged my respect and emphasized her failing.  She loved me enough to make me love her less.  She wanted to make sure that I would not follow in her footsteps. 

It was an enormous sacrafice.  She made it willingly.  And I never even thanked her.

from Not Becoming My Mother by Ruth Reichl, pgs. 82-83

This book is a quick read, 112 pages that can easily be read in one sitting.  But it's emotional and hard.  To see a daughter come to love her mother after years of strain is beautiful.  But I could only take it in small doses.  It feels like you're eavesdropping on a very private conversation.

Not becoming My Mother is a love letter.  I'm just sad her mother never got to read it.

P.S. This book, now being printed in paperback, has been retitled For You, Mom.  Finally.  Probably for the same reason I almost didn't buy this book, that the title didn't make it sound right.  Here's the article that discusses the title change. 

on father's day

Here's what I love most about the father of my children: the attention he lavishes on them.

We are fortunate enough to get by on one income so during the school year while I'm teaching, Chris is home with our girls.  His days are filled with carpools to preschool, trips to the zoo, play dates at the museum, and lunches with friends.

It sounds like a pretty sweet gig to me.

And if I didn't get to take over the role for a couple of months each summer, I might have some major envy.

But I love heading to work with my family still snug in their beds.  I love not waking my girls up early to drop them off at daycare.  I love that they get to nap in their beds every day.  I love knowing what they put in their bellies for each meal and how much TV they're watching.  I love that they can stay in their pajamas until noon if they want to.

But the number one thing I love about having a husband that stays home to take care of our kids is the relationship he's establishing with them.

I believe the way he interacts with them now, when they're little, will affect every relationship they have with males for the rest of their lives.  I believe that with every ounce of my being.  I believe that they are learning right now what will be important later when choosing friends, when dating, and when marrying.

And I pray fervently that they will find such confidence and fulfillment in their love from their father (the biological one and the heavenly one) that their interactions with others later won't be out of a need to fill holes.

I'm not naive enough to think we won't damage our kids.  I'm sure I do at least fifteen things a day that are wrong or could be done differently or better or with more love or more patience.

But I know that the stronger my girls' relationship with their father, the better off they'll be.

The better their relationships will be.  

The stronger their marriages will be.

The better moms they'll be.

And that's what I love most about their father, that's he's up for the challenge.  Because it's a big one.

The Little Red Hen

I am a planner.  I like to make a list, set goals, work really hard, and then check it off the list.  Truthfully, I'm sitting at my computer right now with two different notebooks open to lists and a planner with a monthly to-do list on top of them.  When I say I love a list, this is not to be taken lightly.

Lists are my thing.

But here's where things get dicey.

I never have my kids on my list.

I'm really fighting the urge to explain my way out of that sentence.  To make myself not sound bad or neglectful.  But I'm working on worrying less about how something might sound and focusing more on writing honestly.

Because there are times I'm so goal-oriented that I ignore my kids.  Or turn the TV on and let Ellie watch an hour of cartoons while Harper naps.  Or lock myself in the bathroom and read for 15 minutes when all I really had to do was blow my nose.

Sometimes I have bad thoughts about how much stuff I could get done if they weren't around for the day.  I don't know where they would go (the fantasy never gets that far), but it's a thought that crosses my mind every once in a while.  About how easy it would be to clean if someone wasn't following right behind me and making everything dirty and messy again.  About how good dinner could be if you would just leave me alone for a minute.  Tonight I served burnt carrot chips and extra crispy chicken breast.  No one really liked it.  I had a bad attitude while making dinner and I think the meal took on my nastiness.  They say chicken is very versatile so I guess it can absorb bad attitudes also.

But tonight as I sat in a silent house (another truth: I always love my kids more when they're asleep.  It's a lot easier then.), I came across this blog post and it made all the mom-guilt I've been having for the past few weeks come crashing down.  And it almost suffocated me.

How often am I stopping to listen to my children's laughter? 

Because there will come a day when it won't come so easily.  And then another day will come and it won't be in my house at all.

That broke my heart.

And made me hate my lists that I love so much.

Tonight as I put Ellie to bed, she chose The Little Red Hen for her bedtime story.

And here's how I know God has a sense of humor.

The Little Red Hen is all about a hen asking for help doing various things and no one has time for her.  No one is available to help her.  So she does everything by herself.  Until the end when she has the last laugh.

It's a children's book and, I'm sure, not supposed to make a parent feel absolutely horrible about herself. 

But it did.

The Little Red Hen basically bitch slapped me.

Because my kids sometimes get pushed to the back burner while I get stuff done.  Things that I could be doing with them, but I don't want the hassle or to take the extra time.  Or to make the mess.

And that's really not fair.

So here's to a summer of getting less done, but being more.  More mom.  More fun.  More patient.  More flexible.  More Little Red Hen and less lists.

scrubscrubscrub

Today is the start of a week of deep cleaning at the Graham house.

Each day, one room, top to bottom until it sparkles.

Harper got a head start this weekend.