A Much Better Valentine

Before I met Mike, I didn’t think much about Valentine’s Day. I didn’t hate or love it, I was just pretty indifferent. I didn’t used to be a very sentimental or sappy person. I mean, I thought love was great and all but I didn’t really get all of the ooey gooey stuff.

Then I met Mike about 2 weeks before Valentine’s Day and I felt a little different about the day that I once viewed as a Hallmark Campaign To Make Money. Every year, since we met, my sweet husband has given me a beautiful card in which he writes a very sincere and tear inducing message to me. This year, I got in my car this morning to find my card sitting on my driver’s seat. It was an incredible way to start my day.

The funniest thing about that is that Mike and I are probably the cheapest people on the planet. I mean, we just don’t spend money on things. Well, you know, we buy what we need but we are really pretty frugal. But each year, we trek to the store to buy each other pieces of paper covered in bows and hearts that have sweet poems or messages for the bargain price of $6.99 even though I routinely drive out of my way in this city to about a $.50 toll road. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I love getting that card each year. I love waking up to “my valentine” and getting to come home to him. Mike changed the way I thought of Valentine’s Day and, really, Love entirely.

Then, we had Olivia. I never knew holidays, even the lovey dovey ones like Valentine’s Day, could be so much FUN with a kid! Mike and I have a blast planning out little gifts for her or thinking of little surprises. On Monday night, Mike was so sweet and asked “Should I go to the store to get Oli a Valentine present?” He’s a great dad and my heart was full hearing him ask about getting his sweet girl a Valentine.

When The Boss Lady woke up this morning, we had a basket of goodies waiting for her. One of those things was this dancing pig that reminded me so much of her when I saw it. It dances around and sings and reminds me of Oli when she’s dancing around the kitchen or living room for us. I happily stayed up late each week to make goody bags for her class and get her cards ready for school. I was so excited about her party at school that you might have thought I was the one have a Valentine’s party! Seriously, it’s really FUN celebrating with a kiddo.

This year though, as I am sure I’ll do every single year until I’m dead, throughout the day I was reminded of the horror that was Olivia’s very first Valentine’s Day.

If you haven’t been a reader for very long, feel free to check out that awful day at Humpty Dumpty's Valentine's Day Adventure.Here’s a recap though: On Olivia’s first Valentine’s Day (she was just nearly 6 months old), she and I had come home and I had put her in her Bumbo on the kitchen island—like we ALWAYS did. I was writing a message to Mike in his Valentine’s card when Olivia lunged forward (or something, I’m still not really sure) and went flying out of the Bumbo and landed on the floor. It was awful beyond what I can describe. Even just thinking about it today, I felt a little sick.

I remember seeing just a flash and then actually hearing her hit the floor. I remember running (all of 7 steps) to her and seeing her lying face down on the kitchen tile and screaming her head off. I remember picking her up and my mind and heart and adrenaline racing and thinking that if something was wrong with her, my life would be over. I remember thinking how I absolutely could NOT live without her if something happened to her or how devastated I would be if that accident somehow ruined her life. I remember thinking and feeling and seeing all of those things in a matter of about 2.5 seconds. My life was suddenly in slow motion at the sight of my child hurt.

Mike arrived home just as the ambulance was arriving and they recommended we take her to the childrens’ ER. About 6 hours later we found out she had a skull fracture but that she would be just fine. And then they sent us home. Yep, they sent us home with a kid with a broken skull with instructions to give her children’s ibuprofen as needed and to have a nice life. Oh, and to keep the Bumbo off of the kitchen counter. The sense of relief I felt when we found out she was going to be okay was truly overwhelming.

I had no idea I was capable of that kind of emotion, that kind of heart stopping fear or action inducing adrenaline. I had no idea that one tiny person who I had known for less than 6 months who had spent most of that time depriving me of sleep, dousing me in her bodily fluids, and screaming at me for her every need could make me feel so much LOVE.

I knew in that moment that if something happened to her, I would die inside. My soul would be hurt in a way that would be irreparable.

Mike is and always will be the most important human to me but Mike and I are realists. We know that someday one of us IS going to have to live without the other. Of course, we don’t want it to happen and we’d like for that day to be a LOOOOOOOOOOOOONG time from now but the reality is that it will happen. I don't like to even *think* of having to live without Mike which is why we've agreed I can die first. Morbid, yes, but I don't want to live without the man. 

And neither of us is or will ever be prepared to live in a world where there is no Boss Lady. Period.

One of the most magical things about parenthood is the ability to love someone you just met SO FREAKING MUCH. It is a truly unconditional love and I am convinced this is God’s way of giving us a small glimpse into the way He loves us. I love that mine and Mike’s unconditional love for Olivia was born from our unconditional love for each other. And our love of each other was born from the unconditional love of our God. I LOVE the love in my little family. I love that we support each other and lift each other up. I love that even just short of 6 months of knowing her, my sweet girl had taught me how fierce, how unexpected, how incredible love of another can be. I love that even though those first months with her were trying, she showed me how unconditional love could really be.

Truthfully, I did not love the baby phase. I love certain things about it, but it was a butt whippin’. I was tired and my body hurt from having carried a baby for 9 months and having been cut open courtesy of a c-section. I was tired in a way I never had been and for the first time in my life, I could not control a situation to make it go the way I wanted. There were moments in the beginning that I thought, “I thought having kids was supposed to make your life better…” And despite all of the challenges, when Olivia fell, my heart stopped with the knowledge that if ANYTHING bad happened to her, I would die inside. Since the day I knew this kid existed, her name has been embedded in my heart. Even now, as she sits here beside me trying to press buttons on the keyboard, I am struck by the complete way that I love her.

Our third Valentine’s Day evening with Lady Loco went quite a bit better than that first. After dinner, we celebrated with a special treat: chocolate dipped strawberries. We all stood at the kitchen counter around a pot of melted chocolate and dipped and ate strawberries together. It was so sweet to see Olivia getting into it, dipping each strawberry with care and telling us which ones were hers and which were ours.  It was just a nice night together as a family full of chocolate and strawberries and unconditional love.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

"Excuse me, you have some dirt on your head."

So, here we go: 40 (or so) days in the blogosphere, sharing my daily adventures/thoughts/musings/rantings with all of YOU!!! You’re excited, right? Well, I am. Because this will be a challenge for me. One, because I don’t always have time to sit down and write. Scratch that. I don’t always make time to sit down and write. And that’s partly what my Lenten resolution is about this year—MAKING time for the things that are important to me and help me stay sane. One of those things for me is writing and sharing my frustrations and joys with all of you out there. I hope it helps you, too, to know that we often share the same frustrations even when we feel like we are all alone in Crazy Town.

The second reason this will be challenging for me is that, because I don’t write every day, I edit what I want to say so that I can sort of make it count so to speak. This daily sharing thing will be interesting because some days I’m sure I’ll have nothing profound or entertaining to say at all.

Okay, enough about all of the why behind my internet display of insanity. Either you’ll love reading these daily musings or you won’t. Either way, it’s happening people. And it all started today with Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent and the preparation for Easter Sunday.

For my protestant friends out there, you may be wondering what in the heck Lent is or what in the heck Ash Wednesday is. And I’ll give a small overview but *very* small because I’m not a theologian and I don’t want to give any misinformation.

Basically, Lent is a time of preparation for Easter. It’s a time of penance which is why many people “give up” something or challenge themselves to do more of something. It’s a time to prepare yourself for the celebration of the death and resurrection of Christ (Easter). Ash Wednesday is the kick-off and during an Ash Wednesday service, you get ashes smudged on your forehead in the shape of a cross. The ashes are an outward sign of repentance to God.

 Ash Wednesday is one of my favorite services the Catholic Church offers. This “celebration” is more exciting to me than New Year’s. I mean, I LOVE this season in the Church. I love the weeks leading up to Easter. I feel so much anticipation in preparing for the VERY reason we are able to call ourselves Christian—the death and resurrection of Christ. I even love this more than Christmas.

I mean, I enjoy the celebration of the birth of Christ but it was his DEATH that saved us from our sins and I just love that the Church recognizes this whole season as being incredibly significant to us as Christians. And I’m probably not doing it very much justice because it’s so much deeper than that. I’m not sure I am or that I can articulate well why this build up to Easter makes me feel so ALIVE inside.

Based on what you now know about my excitement about Lent, you probably guessed that I was in attendance at the Ash Wednesday service this morning.  And I brought The Boss Lady. By myself.

Now, if Lent is a time of penance for our sins, I feel pretty strongly that enduring church with Olivia should be considered part of my penance. I mean, I cannot tell you how many church services Mike and I have endured with her where we wanted the floor to just open up and swallow us before we died of embarrassment.

Olivia is not a quiet kid. Or a calm kid. Or the kind of kid who listens to instructions very well. Like right now, she’s watching a movie as I type this and we are about 15 minutes into the movie and she’s gotten up no fewer than 7 times.

At some point during mass she is jumping up and down on the pews or singing The Wheels on the Bus at the top of her lungs or demanding water/goldfish/jellybeans/whatever. Last Sunday, the priest said something about Jesus having given his body up for us and in the dead quiet of the church Olivia loudly pronounced, “How sad.” After nearly every song she claps loudly and asks, “All done?”

Don’t get me wrong, some of that’s just funny. I’ll admit there have been many times when I had to turn my head or bury my head in my hands and just laugh, shoulders shaking, trying so hard not to let her see that I think she’s funny.  

But sometimes it’s just exhausting. Like this morning when she was making weird noises with her mouth. And have you ever been in a Catholic church? They echo. A lot. So, I asked her to stop. So she said “NO!” So, I knelt down and in my Scary Mommy Quiet Whisper said “If your behavior does not improve, do you know what is going to happen?” And my little angel child danced around and in a sing song voice said “TIME OUT! TIME OUT! TIME OUT!”  I was stumped. What now? She knew the consequence and clearly she didn’t give a crap. I was flustered with not knowing how to respond to that. I was flustered that I was trying to enjoy my favorite service and I just couldn’t with all of the NOISE going on. I was just really, really flustered. And embarrassed. Because every time the ladies in front of my glanced back in our direction I just KNEW they were not appreciative of the chaos erupting behind them.  

So, okay, I know what you are thinking, “Doesn’t the church have a nursery she can go to during service?” I get that and several people have asked the question and I’ve often wondered myself why we don’t send her to the nursery so we can enjoy the service.

Today, I realized WHY we don’t send her. And it’s not because we love the pain. We don’t send her to the nursery because we don’t believe that kids belong AWAY from mass. Look, I get it if you send your kid to the nursery. It’s SO distracting to have a munchkin around while you are trying to hear the word of God. And we’ve utilized the nursery a time or two when she was younger. But it just didn’t feel right to me.

We WANT Olivia to be a part of our family during church. Yes, our church does offer a children’s message while the priest is giving his message and I think that’s a great thing. We will encourage her to go to that when she’s old enough. The thing I don’t love about the nursery though is that it’s the WHOLE time. What’s the point of going to church as a family if we aren’t actually together during that time? I want Olivia to grow up knowing that we go church as a family and that we hear the message together and celebrate communion together. And the only way she’s going to learn that and know that is if we just do it—even when it’s a whoopin’.

As I sat there in the pew today with Olivia as she demanded “I want to sing another song!” when the choir was finished, I realized that God speaks to us in so many ways. Yes, I wish I could really pay attention to the message and get something from it. Before we had Olivia, I would bring a notebook and take notes so that I could reflect on what was being said. But that’s not my life right now. Right now, my life with a strong-willed, loud, and sometimes embarrassing two and a half year old. Right now, God needs me to take care of HER. He needs me to teach her that being in church as a family is important. He needs me to teach her reverence and respect and penance and all of those things that are so important to me and even more important to Him. But if she isn’t even in the room, HOW is she going to learn those things?

I kind of imagine that if I had a conversation with God and I told Him, “Look, I’m really sorry that I can’t pay attention very well right now. I mean, my kid is kind of insane during church and I’m lucky if we can get through a service without her announcing that she farted,” I think He would say something like, “Um, do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I didn’t have a hand in the creation of this child? Do you think I don’t know what I challenge you with every time you are here? I know,” And then I would just feel silly for ever thinking that God didn’t already KNOW my heart. That He didn’t already know that I want to pay attention but am busy raising Lady Loco to act like a human being. That He didn’t already know the strong willed personality He gave her. He knows. He’s God for crying out loud.

As for the ladies in the pew in front of me this morning: when church ended, they all turned around and said “She’s so cute!” I looked around for the mother and child they were talking to because I knew it wasn’t me and mine. But it was. And they meant it.  

As we were walking to the holy water fount, an elderly gentlemen patted the top of Oli’s head. And when my kiddo reached her fingertips in the water (instead of trying to immerse herself in it as she has done on every previous visit) and crossed herself, I got choked up. Because THAT’S why we keep Olivia in church with us. Because we know that one day, eventually, after we’ve endured more embarrassment than our junior high years combined, she’ll KNOW our faith. She’ll have a deeper understanding and appreciation for all it means to be a Catholic Christian.  

After church and after I dropped Olivia off, I went to work sporting a smudge of ash on my head. As coworkers stopped to politely tell me, “Excuse me, but you have some dirt on your head,” I was not only reminded of this time of penance but of the time that is my life right now. A time of raising Olivia to have an appreciation and love of this time of year. Of raising her to appreciate the death of our Savior that allows us to call ourselves Christians.

My apologies to anyone in our congregation who is put out with The Boss Lady’s clapping, singing, and announcements of her bodily functions. We’re going to keep coming. After all, we’re trying to raise a Christian woman here! And if spending time in church with her is my penance, then, yeah, I’ll take it.
 

Facebook is Porn

This is a thought that’s been circulating in my head for quite some time now but today it REALLY rang true for me. Let me see if I can explain this analogy to you.

Before I got married and had the opportunity to have a love life that was actually satisfying to both body AND soul, I didn’t see what the big deal was about porn. I didn’t personally care for it but I didn’t think it was such a big deal if other people did. Then I started to understand that the problem with porn is that it’s all a bunch lies. And for the people that watch porn all it really accomplishes is creating a skewed view of what real sex is really like. It makes men think that women are willing to bring farm animals and other “equipment” into the bedroom when we’re really not and it makes women think that there’s something wrong with them if they aren’t willing to do those things. Oh, and if you don’t have huge perfectly shaped boobs and a belly you can bounce a quarter off of then you don’t look right either.

As anyone who’s ever been in a loving, trusting sexual relationship knows: porn is a lie. Real sex is often messier and sometimes awkward and I’m still not even sure how anyone manages to mix in any other props when I have a hard enough time keeping all of my limbs where they’re supposed to be. And sometimes your body makes strange noises and your belly hangs down a *little* lower than you’d like, and…well…you know, sometimes sex just isn’t SEXY.

That’s Facebook. It’s porn for life. On Facebook everyone posts the Best of the Best about their lives. Everyone posts wonderful pictures of their kids playing happily together or at the park or they post things like “What a beautiful day that the Lord has made! Went to church, breakfast with the kids, a happy afternoon at home, and then we found a sack of money and rainbows started coming out of our a$$es.” Or you know, something to that effect.

My day today made me hate the porn that is Facebook. I felt very frustrated today. To be honest, I feel that way a lot of days. As I scroll through my Facebook Newsfeed (And why do they call it a “newsfeed” anyway?? Rarely do I find anything newsworthy in my scrolling.), I see pictures of my friends and their families and everyone looks so stinkin’ HAPPY. And I started to wonder “Why didn’t MY day go like that??”

I work full time in an office and ALL FREAKING WEEK I look forward to the weekend. I look forward to sleeping in and leisurely eating breakfast with Mike and Oli and then just doing what we *want* to do all weekend. And, inevitably, at some point, sometimes multiple points, in the weekend, I am counting down the hours until I can go back to work!!! Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I feel like I can’t freaking win in this game.

This morning was one of the ones I counted down to all week. At around 7:30, I heard a scratching noise beside my bed. I groggily opened one eye to find The Boss Lady standing beside my bed, scratching the sheets. Weird, right? But that really wasn’t so bad. We got up and made some coffee and hot chocolate and watched Shrek, which, you know, I always enjoy because I’ve only seen it 4,589 times.

We made waffles and bacon with Mike and basically enjoyed our morning. Since the weather was going to be incredible today, I surfed the internet to see what might be going on in this ginormous city we live in and found that one of the local museums was having a Family Day until 2. A Family Day??? Boy, did that sound swell for our family! I mean, what family doesn’t enjoy a good ole’ fashioned Family Day?

Like a herd of turtles, we raced out of the house and into the car and drove 20 minutes to our destination. We got out of the car and this lady walks up and asks if we want her parking pass so we don’t have to pay for parking. Score! What an incredible day so far! We start walking to the museum and the weather was just gorgeous. The sun was shining, there was just enough breeze, and the temperature was perfect. We held our sweet girl’s hands as we walked.

When we got there, there was so much activity! There were booths with face painting and calligraphy and origami and kids playing everywhere. “Olivia, what would you like to do?” I excitedly asked. “I want to climb the stairs,” she answered matter-of-factly. And so, while Family Day activities ensued around us, we climbed the stairs. Up the stairs. Down the stairs. Up the stairs. Down the stairs. How is it I continue to show up at these things without a flask?

I got a break though because 2 year old bladders aren’t very big so she had to go potty pretty soon and off we headed to the one thing in this world that literally causes me recurring nightmares: A Public Restroom.

But my kid isn’t afraid of any public restroom, oh no! In fact, the way she acts, you’d think a public restroom was the most fun place on earth. After like 15 minutes of yelling “Stop touching things!” and swatting her hand away from the tampon trash can I finally get us out of there with only minor feelings of my skin crawling with germs. On a side note: anyone know where I can by a hazmat suit?

Anyway, eventually we moved on with the promise of going to the park. We walked around a sculpture garden where my sweet girl found—you guessed it: MORE STAIRS! Another promise of the park and now promises of ice cream and we were off again.

Arrival at the park started out a little better. This is a new park that opened in October (I think) and it is really very cool. It’s built above a highway and there’s tons of grass and tables and chairs and lots of room to move around. There’s a playground and it looks like they are even building an amphitheater. They even have these books/newspaper/game stands where you can grab a board game or a book and sit and play or read. I mean, this place is COOL. And the best part is all of these yummy food trucks sitting nearby waiting to make your day even better.  

So, Olivia gets excited about the fountains (yep, fountains too!) so we head over and take off her shoes and socks and roll up her pants legs and then she decides she doesn’t want to go in the fountains because there are too many kids there. So, we walk to the food trucks and we buy some cupcakes and we eat those and that was okay. But then she tells us she wants to go play. Off we go again and we just let her lead the way and she walks right up to where the construction crew is working on the amphitheater and demands to play there. “Where?” I ask. “There,” she demands, pointing up at the scaffolding. Um…no? Really? This HUGE INCREDIBLY COOL PARK AND MY KID WANTS TO PLAY ON THE SCAFFOLDING???

We convinced her to try the play area again and she’s good for all of 37 seconds until she decides she likes NOTHING there so we start to walk again but she doesn’t want to actually leave the play area so she starts to throw a fit. So we leave her there and just walk away and she follows us stomping her feet and making pissed off animal-with-its-foot-stuck-in-a-trap noises and finally Mike just throws her over his shoulder and we head back to the car.

Yay, Family Day.

We weren’t in the car 7 minutes when Olivia completely passed out. I was nearly in tears. WHY couldn’t WE have a family day? Why couldn’t we be one of the families that was playing and having fun in the beautiful sunshine? “WHY???” Mike and I spent most of the car ride discussing whether or not this was normal 2 year old behavior or whether Olivia was just one of those kids who’s on those Sweet Sixteen shows and their parents have spent all this money on an elaborate party and the kid is in the parking lot throwing a screaming hissy fit because they got a BMW instead of a Mercedes for their birthday. We wondered if our plans to take her to Disney World in the next couple of years should just be thrown out now to avoid a massive meltdown at an amusement park that costs like a gajillion dollars to get into.

Here’s the crazy thing though: ALL of Olivia’s school reports are FANTASTIC. I’m serious. The teachers are constantly telling us how great Oli is and how well behaved and one of her teachers even got really brave once and told me that she had literally never heard Olivia cry. WTH???? How is that even possible? What are we doing WRONG???

We were supposed to go meet some of Oli’s classmates for a play date later in the afternoon and we stopped back at the house before heading there. When we got home, Olivia woke up and immediately started crying and telling me how tired she was. I asked if she needed to go potty and she definitively told me no. Three minutes later, I was cleaning up a puddle of pee and getting a new pair of Minnie Mouse panties. UGH.

In my hopes that we might get a little break from The Afternoon That Turned To Crap, we opted to skip the play date. I put Olivia in her bed and told her to rest her eyes if she was so tired. She pulled her blankets up to her chin and rolled over. I breathed a sigh of relief, went into the living room, and sank into the couch. Not 5 minutes later, in she comes, crying AGAIN. So, I take her back to her room and decide to lay down with her hoping that will help.

But she laid there, wiggling around, asking me 10,000 questions about everything under the sun, taking her socks off and putting them on her hands as gloves. Eventually, Mike came in to check on us and he laid down too. But then she got up. So, it was just me and Mike in Oli’s bed, clinging to each other for dear life and The Boss Lady running around her room making a sound like a siren.

I pulled out my phone and opened up Facebook and then that just made things worse. Because there were all of my “friends” talking about their perfect day with their perfect kids and their perfect lives and there I was laying in a toddler’s bed while the toddler was running around the room with no pants or panties on and socks on her hands singing The Wheels on the Bus.

Mike and I just looked at each other and laughed. But not in a funny way. In the crazy way. Like how you just don’t know what else to do because you are exasperated. And as I watched Olivia turn herself around in circles until she fell on the floor saying “I’m busy (dizzy),” I wondered ‘Is 3:30 too early to open a bottle of wine?’

At one point, Mike said “This is why boarding schools used to be so popular.” I laughed hysterically. That man cracks me up sometimes.

Look, we love our kid. TONS. She is actually a lot of fun but (and I HATE adding that “but”) lately I feel like everything we do is a crap shoot with her. Every day is a roller coaster of laughter/crying/laughter/crying/laughter/crying and I am just kind of spent on the Bipolar-ness that is Toddlerhood. It’s so freaking exhausting. And I wonder if all of my Facebook friends feel that way too or if their lives really are as serene and perfectly played out as they present in photos. And I wondered if my posts ever made others feel that way too. But I don’t *think* so…I mean, most of my posts aren’t “It’s a beautiful day in our house!” Most of my posts are something like “Just wrestled Olivia’s panties on her for the 87^th time in the middle of church and then tried to convince her to stop yelling ‘I farted’ at lunch.”

I’m sure I have posted some of the “perfect” posts that I am so envious of. Us parents LOVE to showcase the good, after all. Even if the Win column is less populated than the Loss, we will hang on for that one day that goes just as planned.

And I really NEED one of those days right now! Just one freaking time I would love to have that *perfect* Family Day.

You know, I remember my mom just being at her wits’ end when we were kids and we were all going somewhere together and she just yelled “We ARE going to do this as a family and we ARE going to have fun, dammit!!!!” as two of my sisters and I sat in the back seat of the car fighting/complaining/whining/crying/whatever. I totally get that now.

I’m realizing though that the fantasy Family Day in my head is just a bunch of porn.

This evening, as Mike and Olivia got ready for their daddy-daughter date night, I had a *tiny* realization that I hope will stick with me the next time we attempt a Family Fun Day. I watched Oli grab her purse and talk excitedly about eating chicken nuggets and playing with her daddy. I watched her run around the house getting her baby ready for the date as well. I took a little solace in the fact that I would have at least an hour to myself tonight. And I realized that, in the same way that real sex is way better than porn, real parenthood is way better than the fantasy in my head.

Okay, yeah, I’d much rather have a day in the park without a single moment of whining. But then I’m not sure I’d have as much an appreciation for the times that we are at home, just being together. Not perfect, but together. Listening to Olivia sing ‘TinkleTinkle Little Tar’ or running around with just a t-shirt and nothing else  and acting like we are the ones who are strange or watching my sweet husband give The Boss Lady their “reservation” print out for their date to put in her purse.

And I don’t know that I’d have the same appreciation for the incredible man I am blessed to call my husband. A man who makes me laugh when I want to cry. A man who takes his daughter for a date. A man who brought me a glass of wine saying, “I poured myself some too. But I poured you more.” The fantasy Family Day in my head may not involve any whining. But the real Family Day involves a man who is currently zipping his daughter up in her Elmo hoodie and getting ready to spend an evening eating chicken nuggets and playing on a playground.  Oh, and giving me a *tiny* bit of time to myself. And just like real sex is better with a loving partner, real parenthood is WAY better with a partner I can trust, lean on, and who doesn’t mind if occasionally I don’t always have it together. A partner who doesn't scold me for having unrealistic expectations and who always helps me to see the beauty of the reality. We may not make this gig look “sexy” and we may have looked ridiculous being the ONLY family at the park carrying a kicking and screaming child out BUT we focus on the beauty that is our life and we even manage to laugh and have a little fun.  

The picture perfect Family Day

A Real American Love Story...

Eight years ago today, at around this time, I was getting ready to go out to meet some coworkers for a happy hour. There wasn't anything exciting about this happy hour (most of us were single or newlyweds without kids so happy hour was a common occurrence) but I had no idea that that night would literally change my life forever. That night, I met the tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, Catholic Irishman who would turn out to be the person with whom I would spend the rest of my life.

But let me back up to the time when I wanted to run Mike Milligan over with my car:

Mike and I were working for the same company but in different offices. We were both team managers but, because this city is so big, we hadn't run into each other in person. We had, however, had a few *run ins* over the phone. Also, I should mention that his brother, Matt, was a team manager for this same company in the same office where Mike worked.

Matt and I were both weekend managers and one of the many areas of contention with our former employer was “Territory.” Each office handled a set territory and we were all always warring with each other over who got what work in what territory. One weekend, Matt and I got into on the phone over a territory dispute. That was all it took for me to decide that That Milligan Boy was an ass.

The funny thing is, I didn't even know there were TWO of them. Every time I saw the initials MM, my lip would involuntarily curl up in a snarl. I was convinced this “MM” was a total terd.

I know this all sounds childish but, trust me; this territory nonsense was a big deal back then.

Several weeks later, I had the perfect opportunity to pay back my nemesis and I seized it! That Milligan Boy (Mike this time, not Matt) called me to discuss a territory dispute and I proudly told him that there was nothing to discuss  and disconnected our call. I silently high fived my B%*&$y self and went on about my day. Crazily enough, my behavior didn't make “MM” my biggest fan either.

You can imagine the egg on my face when I found out there was more than one of That Milligan Boy and that my revenge had been visited on the wrong one. But still, they were brothers and if one deserved it, the other probably did too!

So there I was, 8 years ago tonight, getting ready for a happy hour with my office. I wore my standard blue jeans, black shirt, and black boots. As I locked my apartment door and got in my car, I said a prayer that my debit card had enough money to cover the bar tab.

I arrived and started chatting with my coworkers and about half way into my first beer, one of my team members, Adam, walks in with this good looking guy. He was tall, had a friendly face and warm eyes, and was wearing a brown leather jacket. He and Adam headed my way and as he sauntered slowly and deliciously across the room, the sweetest smile locked on his handsome face, I *KNEW* that this was That Damn Milligan Boy.

He walked up to me all cool and collected. Adam introduced me and he stuck out his hand and said “I’m Mike Milligan.” “I know who you are,” I replied and walked away. ‘Ha!’ I thought to myself. ‘I’m so freaking cool. I’ll show *him* who’s still in charge here.’ Lame, yes. I know. I was young and dumb and trying to impress a boy. I probably read that trick in Cosmo or something.

As the night went on, our group moved to another bar and after a few more beers, I found myself chatting it with The Milligan Boy. And as it turned out, he was pretty nice. And even cuter up close without my b*&%h face on.

On a side note, Matt also came out that night and I got the chance to distinguish between the two Milligan boys. I found that Matt was pretty nice too. I also got to meet his sweet and funny girlfriend too (who would later become my sister in law!).  I realized this Milligan crew was kind of a lot of fun and not so terdy as I originally thought.

At some point in the evening, we got to talking about investments. Please don’t ask me how that conversation came up because I’m still not sure. Anyway, so Mike says something about investing and I, attempting to impress this good looking and apparently investment savvy man, say “Oh, I love investing!” His eyes lit up with excitement. “Really?” he asked with genuine delight. “What are you investing in right now? What investments do you have?” Aw, crap.

I blinked several times like I was having a seizure, bit my lip to appear seductive and cute and stammered, “Oh, er, um, I don’t actually have any investments…but I think they’re kind of cool. I’d like to have some…someday (when I don’t have student loans coming out of my ears and finally have money for more than just ketchup and baking soda in my fridge).”

And I should have known then that this man was special because my sweet and gracious future husband just smiled and said “Oh, that’s great!” And he totally let me off the hook.

My new found crush also tricked me that night. A couple of years after we met, Mike was giving a guy friend some dating advice and he said something like “You know when you are ‘in’ with a girl when she buys you a beer.” I scoffed and said “Looks like that didn't work so great for YOU.” “Really, you sure?” he asked all innocently. I had to think back to our happy hour meeting and then I remembered: I HAD BOUGHT HIM A BEER! How did that happen?? How did I end up buying him a beer? He’s good ladies, he’s good. And he was right: I was REALLY into him.

And, okay, I’ll tell this part of the story though it casts Mike and me in an…interesting…light:  After who-knows-how-many beers, we kissed. A lot. And he was the best kisser I had EVER kissed. True story. Still is, folks, still is.

At the end of the night, he asked for my number and said he would call me the next day. I wasn't sure I believed that but I really hoped he would.

That night, as I drove home, I felt happy and excited. I didn't have any feelings of *knowing* that he was THE ONE or anything like that. I just felt happy and peaceful and like I had just had a great night talking to (and, er, kissing) a really great guy. I really did hope he would call but I didn't want to get my hopes up.

But hope is what Mike Milligan brought into my life that day and he’s delivered on his promises every day since. 

The next day, as promised, my phone rang. I said hello and had my very first phone conversation with the man who became my very last boyfriend. 

How to Fail

Today I had the pleasure of talking to a soon-to-be-new dad. I say it was a pleasure because it truly was wonderful to hear him talking about some of the things he is worried about or prepping for in anticipation of his child. I was reminded of my own concerns before The Boss Lady was born, of Mike’s concerns, and of our concerns now. Concerns about whether or not we would be able to cut it as parents or whether or not we are raising this crazy monkey child to someday be a productive member of our human society. The thing is ALL parents: expecting or currently on this roller coaster ride, have concerns about whether what we are doing is right or wrong.

But here’s what I told this Dad To Be and what I tell myself so frequently it’s becoming a little bit of my mantra: There are crackheads all over the world having babies and most of them turn out just fine. If a crackhead can do it, so can I.

Okay, yeah, I know. I shouldn’t set my standards so high as a crack head. But here’s my point--often times in this parenthood gig, you don’t even have to do it “right.” You just have to do it.

And, oh yeah, here’s the big one: You have to care. You don’t have to get it “right” every single day but you do HAVE to give a crap.

You don’t fail when you feed your toddler ravioli for the third night in a row. You don’t fail when you forget to change your kid’s diaper for 6 hours. You don’t fail when you open a door, not realizing they are standing RIGHT THERE, and slam their head into it. You don’t fail when yell or lose your s&*t because they haven’t let you get a good night’s sleep in 2 months.

You fail when you stop caring. Those parents who people look at with a raised eyebrow, you know THOSE parents, those parents stopped caring. They stopped being present in their kids’ lives. They stopped waking up every day with the attitude that it was time to get back on the horse and try it again.

I feel like I have this “get back on the horse” conversation with myself every other day. I have it so often that I wonder if my “horse” might actually be one pissed off bull because it bucks me off so often. And that’s totally okay. If I was a neurosurgeon and every day I went into surgery and my patients came out brain damaged, well, then I MIGHT want to consider permanently dismounting the horse. But parenthood isn’t like that. You can screw up A LOT and still go back after it the next day. And your kid will be so happy you did. There’s no HR department here keeping tabs on how many times you screw up. Thank goodness for that too because I would have been fired months ago for excessive foul language and drinking on the job.

Kids don’t have that same tally sheet us grownups do. They aren’t keeping track of every time you blow it. They aren’t holding a grudge against you for all of your wrongs. Kids care about being cared for, being loved, and knowing that their parents keep trying to do their best. They’re so much more resilient than we give them credit for. In their tiny little bodies God has given us a glimpse of His own grace and His ability to forgive us our wrongs and love us despite of and because of our flaws.

I should know. I screw up a lot.

See, I come from a family of Yellers. My dad was a Yeller. My mom was a Yeller. Whenever any of us got upset at something or each other—we yelled. Sometimes I yell without even being totally aware of it. Sometimes I’m not even that upset but because I’m a Yeller, someone who doesn’t know me might think I’m royally ticked. Lucky for me, I was blessed with a kiddo who’s either deaf or isn’t fazed by my antics. Often, after I’m done with a rant, she’ll just sort of look at me like “Blah, blah, blah, Mom. Have another drink.”

And though this is a little embarrassing, I’ll admit that there have been times when I really snapped at or yelled at Olivia and I felt AWFUL afterward. I felt/feel so terrible and sick about talking to my child in such an ugly manner.

Here’s where I believe the defining moment is though.

Have you ever had your feelings hurt by someone who just would NOT or never did say “I’m sorry?” It sucks. It is the worst feeling to know that someone has hurt you, whether they meant to or not, and didn’t even have the give-a-crap to apologize.

So, when I screw up, I kneel down in front of The Boss Lady and I say, “I’m sorry I acted like that.” And that’s it. I don’t say “I’m sorry but your behavior caused it,” or “I’m sorry but I was having a bad day,” or “I’m sorry but ANYTHING.” I don’t have a “but” in my apology. The thing is, the apology isn’t to explain what SHE did wrong. It’s to atone for what I did wrong.

And for all of the other little things us parents can get all twisted about: the type of school they go to, the amount or type of food they eat, friends they’ve made or not made, clothing and where it came from or how much it costs, potty training to late or too early, talking/not talking, sleeping (or not), rewarding good behavior or punishing bad, fit throwing, daycare or no daycare, whether or not they are enrolled in enough “programs,” etc., etc., etc.

I just take that queue from Lady Loco. I watch her to see if SHE is happy and healthy and developing at a rate that is healthy and good for HER. A very good friend of mine once said something that I thought was brilliant and it was shared with her by a “veteran” mom.

My friend and I were talking about daycare/school for young kids and she was saying that she really would like to be at home with her kiddos and sometimes had mixed emotions about how long she was away from them during the day. And this other veteran mom asked her this, “Are your kids HAPPY?” To which she had to answer “Yes.” And the veteran mom explained that that was the important thing. All of the guilt and the worry about whether or not we are doing the right thing is going to be something we just have to work through.

One of the biggest compliments I have ever gotten about Oli came from her teacher at school. When we went for her Parent/Teacher Conference in September she said that from the moment she met Oli she knew that she was “very well parented.” I sort of looked around the room for the people who were responsible for that and then I realized, “Oh, wow, that’s US!”  

I try to make it a point not to worry too much about whether or not I’m good at this gig. Some days I’m just not. That’s what wine is for. I kid! I kid! Kind of. I do have those days when I’m sobbing and telling Mike I should just go to some secluded island because Olivia is better off without me screwing things up all of the time. Really though I think that stems more from my need of an island vacation and a fantasy about laying on a lawn chair with unlimited pina coladas.   

Some other days I feel like I have knocked it out of the park…okay, so maybe like 3 days in 2 & ½ years I’ve felt that way, but STILL! I do have good days—even if I can only count them on one hand so far. And for the most part, I have quite a bit of confidence about the job we’re doing with Olivia. She’s a great kid. And if we’re not doing it right, she can always cash in her college fund for therapy. Or get her own reality show (Honey Boo-boo, anyone??).  

I think The Boss Lady’s going to turn out just fine though. I can tell by the smile on her face each day and the way that others love to be around her. Mostly, I can tell in the way she lights up when she sees me each morning when she wakes up and each night when I get home. That light in her eyes lets me know that she doesn’t hold a grudge for my earlier transgressions, that she loves me as I am, and that it’s worth it to get back up on the bucking bronco each day—even if I just get thrown off again. 

Mama Bear

I have officially become one of those moms who corrects other mothers’ children at playgrounds/jungle gyms/the grocery store/etc. And I’m not one bit ashamed of it. Because what I’m starting to realize is that there are a lot of moms out there who just don’t give a crap about their own child’s behavior. As long as their kid isn’t terrorizing them, they really don’t care that Junior or Pretty Princes is busy peeing in a corner or pushing other kids or taking toys away from smaller children. And to those moms, I’m just gonna say it: You suck.

Now, if you are reading this blog, you probably aren’t one of the moms I’m talking about because most of the readers of this hopefully-someday-world-renowned site are my friends. And I don’t have sucky friends.

So, why the sudden rant? Here’s why:

 Yesterday Mike and I took Olivia to one of these indoor play places that seem to be in every strip mall around here. This one is an “indoor safari park” and it had jungle gyms and a train and these mechanical jungle animals that the kids can ride. Luckily (or so I thought), there were separate play areas for the little kids (ages 2-4) and the big kids (ages 5-10).

Now, Mike and I are probably a little tough on Olivia in the sense that we watch her every behavior when we are out (and at home for that matter) to make sure she’s behaving—being polite, not taking toys away from others, waiting her turn, etc. For all of The Boss Lady’s rambunctiousness, she’s actually got a very sensitive and sweet spirit. She’s the kid who’s always helping others in her class if they are uncomfortable or sad. She waits her turn and if another child takes a toy from her, she just lets them have it. She is not the aggressor and this is the one area of her personality I can definitely say she got from Mike and Mike alone. This is something I adore about my husband—that he has a big heart and can shrug off most things. He’s firm without being pushy and he’s earned a lot of respect from every single person who meets him because he is so easy to get along with. I am proud that my daughter has inherited this from him. I am…well, I’m a little more of a firecracker. Let’s just say that. Loveable, but fiery.

So anyway, we’re standing beside the little kid jungle gym watching Olivia navigate through the slides and ball pits and she slides down the slide and is coming out of the ball pit and she comes face to face with this really cute little boy probably just a couple of months younger than her. I think, “Oh good, she’ll make a friend,” as they stood there just staring at each other like toddlers do. I had seen this kid and his mom around the place earlier and his mom was sitting just a few feet away chatting with a friend of hers. And I watch this super cute little boy bring his right arm back behind him, swinging it forward, and landing a kidney shot on Olivia’s left rib cage. So I ran over, gave the kid a roundhouse kick to the head, put him in a triangle hold, and choked him out. The end.

Okay, not really.

What I did do was walk to my sweet girl who was now in tears, kneel down beside both of them, and say to this very cute future serial killer/sociopath, “Sweetie (Butthole), we do NOT hit other people. That is not a good way to express yourself.” He looked at me contritely and I followed up with, “Now you need to say you’re sorry.” “I’m saw-wee,” he said and moved to hug Oli. Olivia grudgingly hugged him back and we went to find another activity.

This is what the scene looked like in my head though (I thought out posting a pic from the internet but I’m not sure if that’s a copyright issue so you’ll have to endure my incredibly artistry):

And The Future Unibomber’s mother NEVER EVEN STOPPED CHATTING WITH HER FRIEND. And I KNOW she saw what happened and she saw me kneeling beside her kid and my kid bawling and she didn’t even  say a word to her own kid, to mine, or to me. Now, if I saw another mother having a chat with my child, I would go over and find out what was going on. And if I found out that Olivia had purposefully hit another person, I would pull her pants and panties down and I’d bust her ass right there in front of God and everybody. I’m serious. That’s intolerable.

I know that there is a certain age where kids hit. Olivia went through a phase around her first birthday where she would hit me. It was almost like she was just trying to figure out how she could use all of her new-found mobility. And a couple of months ago, when she pushed that line again and hit me, her pants were pulled down and she got a swat on her behind. Because at this age, she knows better. Or at least we should be well on the road to that understanding. That is the ONLY behavior in our house that gets a spanking. We do NOT hit or cause harm to anyone or anything purposefully. Period. And this little boy was old enough to know better. And if he wasn’t, his mother should have stopped her gabbing for 2 flipping seconds to come over and teach him better.

But it doesn’t stop there. About 30 minutes later, Olivia is jumping on this trampoline thing and the little boy comes over and Oli immediately moves away from him and points and says “That boy hit me!” We assured her all was well and that everyone could play together nicely. No sooner was that assurance out of our mouths than Little Mussolini walks up to Olivia and moves to hit her again. But this time, she moves out of the way before he can make contact. So he pokes her in the face! The face!!!  Well, Mike didn’t see that first incident but he sure did see this one and he yells “HEY, KID! BACK OFF!” I mean, really it was a little jarring.

If my scene with the kid looked bad in my head, here’s what Mike’s scene looked like:

 As I mentioned before, my husband is an incredibly kind soul. So for him to get upset enough to call down another child that sternly it had to be pretty bad. I mean, some little terrorist just hurt his little girl for crying out loud. I’m not gonna lie—I felt a little proud. And then I realized that if we stuck around this insane kid we’d end up on an episode of Cops or something because sooner or later I was going to confront the woman who didn’t care that her spawn was creating chaos for other children. We walked away from that area and found another place to play. I kept my eye on the little devil though and watched as he threw balls at and hit other kids. And still his mother sat gabbing on about the latest sale at My-Son-Is-A-Future-Puppy-Kicker Kids’ Consignment or something like that.

Sadly, this is not the only incident we’ve had where Olivia has been injured by another child.

When she was about 18 months, there were several biting incidences at her school. About every other week, she would come home with a note saying she had been bitten. Then we got a note saying she had been bitten on her face. For real. I nearly came unglued.

 See, I’m not as kind hearted as my other half. I may live in the ‘burbs now and I may throw a party with Martha Stewart-esque vibes, but I’ll get Trailer Park on your ass before you know what hit you. And that instinct was fired up when my kid came home looking like she had been hanging out with Hannibal Lecter. After that incident, I sat down with the director, we had a chat, and a few things got changed at Oli’s school.

This August, just 2 days before her 2^nd birthday, I got a call from her new school saying that she had been pushed by another kid off of a play fort. When I went to pick her up that afternoon, she couldn’t walk. I mean that literally. She could not put any weight on her right leg. We went to the ER, x-rays came back negative and we were told it was probably a muscle strain/sprain and would just have to heal on its own. We had a gym party scheduled for her just 4 days after this incident and I knew something wasn’t right when my normally boisterous kiddo didn’t want to take part in the festivities. After several more doctor’s visits, calls and a full month of watching The Boss Lady favor her right leg, we found out her leg was broken. And had been the entire time. A month in a full leg cast later, she was healed and back in action.

If you have never seen a kid (especially a two year old) in a cast, let me just tell you: it’s heartbreaking. And when it’s your kid and it’s because SOMEONE ELSE caused it, it’s just infuriating. I’m glad I don’t know which kid it was that pushed Oli but I sure hope his or her parents saw my child limping into the school every day with her bright pink cast and a huge smile on her face. Okay, okay, I know that the kid didn’t intend to break Oli’s leg but it was still so sad and upsetting and I cannot tell you what kind of heartbreak it caused for Mike and me. It was really sad and hard to take care of such a young child in a full leg cast.  

See??? Really, really, REALLY sad. And cute. But sad.

Shortly after the cast was removed, we were at a Chick-fil-a play place and an older kid decided Olivia wasn’t moving fast enough down the slide and pushed her off. I was up and out of my seat, flying over to the two of them before I really had my wits about me. “HEY!” I screamed, putting myself in check as I knelt down beside the two. I looked the older boy in the face and explained that he didn’t need to push younger kids or any kids for that matter. The little terd just shrugged his shoulders and started to walk away. I grabbed his arm, turned him back toward me, and said, “No sir. You are going to listen to me,” as I further explained how he needed to be careful when playing around others.

Again, a situation where his mother was sitting RIGHT THERE and never said a word.

Folks, I am just baffled by this. I know that parenting is hard and exhausting and sometimes you just want to let your kid run free. And as long as they aren’t bothering YOU, well then, sorry to the suckers who are getting terrorized by them. But that’s not the right way. I am not an expert in this gig and I certainly do not deign to give out parenting advice but this is right up there with letting your kids drink beer and smoke cigarettes. It’s just not right.

Mike and I have had the conversation a few times now about how to teach Olivia proper self-defense. In a way, we’d like to just teach her to go all guerilla warfare and just take out anyone who lays a finger on her.  But I don’t WANT that kid. If I have to choose between the kid who is causing harm and the one who is being harmed, I’d rather have the kid who is being harmed. Weird to think about, I know. But I would be mortified and horrified if I knew Olivia was causing harm to someone. She’ll survive being bullied a little. I certainly did and so do millions of kids every year. The kid who is BEING the bully though…well, I don’t know who that kid ends up being.

And look, I understand that some kiddos just have behavior issues and I know there are lots of parents out there who are dealing with those kids and trying to work through those issues. I applaud those parents for continuing to try to teach those kids how to have better behavior.

 However, those parents  who just sit by and let their kid do whatever they want…well, I don’t have any problem trying to teach your kid if you won’t. Cause when someone hurts my kid, I’m worse than a mama grizzly bear. I’m a mama bear who’s just a little bit trailer park. 

Sometimes I forget

Lately, I’m a little worn out. A lot worn out. We’ve got some sleep stuff going on that I was going to share with all of you because, well, you know what they say: Misery loves company. And we are just coming off of the holiday madness and well blah, blah, blah. Bottom line: Parenting a toddler takes a lot of energy.

But then tonight I got a note that made me think about some other stuff. It made me think about what my life used to be like BEFORE Lady Loco moved into the asylum. Sometimes I completely forget what my life was like before Olivia. I feel like I have known her my whole life. I’ve grown and changed so much, Mike and I have grown and changed so much, that it’s hard to imagine our life WITHOUT her.

Sometimes I forget what it was like to have NOTHING to do after work. I forget what it’s like to come home with no plans for dinner and Mike and I just look at each other and say “Want to make some nachos while we figure out what we are going to do for dinner?” And then we’d have a beer and nachos. And that was really dinner.

I forget what it was like to be able to get up an hour before I needed to be somewhere (instead of 2 ½ hours minimum). I forget what it was like to be able to shower and blow dry my hair without stopping to get juice or help turn on/off some toy. I can’t remember the last time I took a crap without someone on my lap or singing “The Wheels on the Bus.”

I forget what it was like to be able to go a movie when I wanted or to eat dinner at a place that doesn’t have a kids’ meal that comes with a toy. And it’s a good thing I’m a master multi-tasker or I wouldn’t ever be able to converse with my husband over dinner with the constant interruption from The Boss Lady.

And the list of things I’ve forgotten goes on. My life has changed in ways I NEVER could have imagined. And I would be a big fat liar if I said that I don’t occasionally fantasize about my life BTBL (Before The Boss Lady). The “me” in that life is well rested with perfectly blow dried hair, a house with windows absent of tiny hand prints, caught up on every new release movie, and enjoys a cocktail on a patio somewhere that serves only fabulously exciting food.

The note I got tonight reminded me of that “Me.” Only, that note reminded me that my Fantastical “Me” is a bunch of crap. I mean, sure, I may have been more rested but taking a crap has never been more entertaining since I started singing “The Wheels on the Bus.”

Sometimes I forget that all of those times that I was doing all of those things that my glasses depict in a rose colored hue, I was looking forward to a day when I was serving up peanut butter and jelly while talking to Mike about the upcoming weekend’s birthday parties and folding tiny pairs of Dora The Explorer underwear.

My life BTBL was complete in the sense that I totally took advantage of the life phase I was in but I always *knew* in my heart that someday that completeness would look empty without the addition of a Mini Milligan. I *knew* that I was called to motherhood. No, I didn’t spend every waking moment waiting for it and I thoroughly enjoyed my life without a kid but Mike and I would always talk about our future with one. We would talk about what our family vacations would look like or what kind of grandparents we’d be like.

And never once did it occur to either of us that our future might never happen. That note tonight reminded me that for some, that future doesn’t happen. For some, the love of a future baby never comes to fruition.

I’m not talking about choosing not to be a parent. That’s different and I actually totally support couples who choose it. In fact, I have a great respect for people who just know their calling is not that of Parenthood.

I’m talking about those folks who have the same life Mike and I did BTBL. The same life where they laughed and loved and did what they wanted to always *knowing* that someday they’d be looking at a little person who was an extension of them. And then it just never happens. Unfortunately, Mike and I have known a few couples for whom that is a reality. I am completely and utterly heart broken for them. And I never know what to say or what comfort I can possibly bring. I don’t even know where to begin to offer comfort to those couples.

Without getting into lots of dirty details, I’ll just share this: creating a baby was very easy for Mike and me. I remember being SO excited that first month of actually trying to make a baby. I remember taking that first pregnancy test, hands trembling, heart racing, trying not to get pee all over my hands. I remember seeing that it was negative and just feeling…DEVASTATED. Yeah, dramatic, I know. One whole month and I was crushed that it didn’t happen. And then the next month, on a stick covered in my own urine, I saw the words that would change my entire heart and soul.

We had talked about what it might be like if we hadn’t been able to have kids. We *think* we would have worked together to work through and to try to live our life fully as just the two of us. But the reality is that I have NO idea how we would have handled that. If I was that devastated and that excited after just one month of “trying”, I cannot imagine month after month of that stupid stick not yielding that symbols or words that my heart so wanted to see. I cannot imagine years of that. I cannot imagine the toll it would take on my emotions or my body or my marriage.

This short note I received tonight reminded me of a life I’ve already forgotten and I needed that reminder right now. I was reminded that my life BTBL was fun and full of doing what I wanted but it wasn’t always perfect. Just like now, I had good days and bad days. Days where I was frustrated and anxious. Days where I was bored. Days where the joy in my heart made me feel so fulfilled. And I had days when I dreamed of someday looking at a tiny face that Mike and I made together. A tiny face that looked like us. In my life BTBL, I really, really, really wanted the life I have now.

And I was reminded that sometimes I take this life for granted. I forget that for many it does not come easy if ever at all. When I do that, when I take this incredible gift of Motherhood for granted, I know that I’m slapping that gift in the face.

Look, I’m not saying I feel guilty or bad for having had a child so easily. I don’t feel guilty for the days that I sit in the midst of blocks and goldfish crumbs and think “I wonder what’s going on in Vegas right now…” I cannot help that there are bad days in this gig and I know it’s natural to let my mind wander back to the days of BTBL.

What I am saying is that my reminder note tonight made me think about how I do have a duty to see past the bad. I have a duty to my fellow mothers and especially to those friends, family, and acquaintances who may never have the opportunity to go on this incredible journey. Sometimes I need to take a break from my fantasies of spending Saturdays laying on the couch watching Lifetime movies and be reminded of how ALIVE my Saturdays are now with birthday parties, park visits, play doh creations, and books about caterpillars and bunny rabbits and tenacious pigs aptly named “Olivia.”

I love my life with The Boss Lady and I would do NOTHING to change the course that our life has taken since her. It’s been an incredible journey so far and I can only imagine the wild ride we still have ahead of us. And when I think of a life WITHOUT her, I feel sad and lost and like a piece of my soul might never have existed had I not met her. If something happened to her tomorrow, I would still feel SO INCREDIBLY BLESSED to have known this child. I would not trade a day of my life with Olivia for any amount of time eating nachos and drinking beer and sleeping in.

I had an opportunity tonight to really remember my old life without any rose colored glasses. I had an opportunity to remember why Mike and I wanted so badly to add to our family. I had an opportunity to remember and reflect on the incredible ass kicking that motherhood really is. Beyond tonight there will still be minutes/days/weeks that I am frustrated with this gig (hell, there will probably be one of those moments tonight!). But because of that note tonight, I got a reminder of the blessing this journey is and it’s a reminder I will not so easily forget.