The other blog

...you know!...the one I use to just ramble about my life?

I have had so many little blips of fear, lately. So small, if they didn't happen in succession, I wouldn't notice them.

Last week, I started walking and doing some exercises. Jenna asked if she could do it with me. I was happy to have a partner! But as I looked at my daughter planking, I had a blip.

I feel like I make a conscious effort to not use the "F word". (Not that one. I'll work on that one, next.)
Recently, for the first time, I heard Jenna say someone was fat. It was someone I've never met and it was said as a descriptor. Not malicious. Clearly repeated. I had a blip.

This morning, as she ( so very annoyingly) was watching me get ready, she asked me why I wash my face with a special brush and put so many lotions on. And as I answered, I had a blip.

I know what I'm supposed to say, and I say it.
"We're exercising to be Strong! And take care of our bodies."
"Please don't ever say the word "fat". It could hurt someone's feelings."
"We have to take care of our skin. Protect it from sun and try to keep it safe."

But I feel like there is Such a fine line. The first news story I saw, this morning, was a study saying "Women's Beauty Peaks At 29" and I thought "what if my little girl thinks that?" And it broke my heart.
What if my little girl believes society's lies and thinks she will 'peak' at 29 years old?

I will do all I can to fight society's rules that could lead my little girl to fear, insecurity, eating disorders, etc., but she will always see me trying to look better. She will hear me say "sun protection" but she will one day know it's more "no wrinkles and I can't afford the upkeep of Botox". She'll hear me say "don't ever say Fat", but one day she'll see me write down my daily calories and know it's more "I don't want to be fat."

How do we combat? How do we figure out how to balance on the line of our own vanity/fear of aging and not building critical body images in our children?

This is the part in a blog where I should offer suggestions. Maybe even the final answer.
Or I write some cute little sum up about how parenting is hard and we all mess up and we should laugh and know we're all in the same boat.
But I don't have any of that.
This is a problem in today's world, and I hope we can work hard as parents to find an answer. Hope you'll help me.

O Holy Night

I've been searching for the line of Christmas. I want them to understand the true meaning. But they're little. I want them to have the magic and awe of Santa, too. I've been in a crossfire; praying Jenna has an "Ah Ha" moment of the peace and glory of Christ's birth. Yet, 3 minutes later, I'm "Jenna!! Come look at the reindeer cam!" So I spent the night still in that confusing land. We went to church, we drove around and listened to the music. I watched in my rear view; will they feel it? Will they have a moment? Then I got them to bed and spent hours becoming Santa. Is there a lonelier time for a single parent? The building, the wrapping, eating a cookie, biting a carrot. No one to share it with. No one to say,"will he love this?", "will they notice?" to. But I finished it all, and then i sat outside, waiting for the satisfaction. At least that could help a little. I built a train table, for crap's sake. But, instead of the pat on the back, I got a shove to my knees. And the words to O Holy Night filled my head and my heart and my lips. And I had a moment. And I realized I had spent so much worry on if they would have one, I didn't see that I'm the one who needed it. Thank you, God, for your son. For my Christ and my salvation. I pray you don't even need "a moment" today. That you are filled to the brim with peace and love. Merry Christmas

I get a lot of my news from Weekend Update

I don't know why I do this. I said I wasn't going to. I literally can't help myself. Thought I could at least spare the public and do it here. I'm not a politician. But I'm a healthcare provider. So I'll speak as that. And as much as you may dislike doctors, there are truly a lot of brilliant ones out there. They are selfless and dedicated and have an ethical code we could only hope to have, in regards to their work. All day long I've been making my opinion known on, what I believe, to be one of the scariest decisions I've seen the US government make. My problem is not accessibility. I think that may be my entire thesis. As a republican, and a tax-payer, I have problems with the abuse of "handouts". But that's not what makes me sick about this. I want everyone to have access to healthcare. I can promise you that. Even if they didn't work to get it. Healthcare is one thing I feel every human being deserves. The problem is so much bigger than that. When the government tells those brilliant and ethical physicians how to treat their patients, we will all have access to a catastrophe. There will be fewer and fewer good doctors practicing. There will be longer and longer waits to see the ones that are. There will be more and more drug decisions made by people who are not doctors of medicine. There will be more and more hurting and less and less healing. It's Independence Day. I hope we all stand together as Americans to realize that we are in a broken system, but we are united by something much bigger.

Stop. Talking.

I say that a lot. You think you say it a lot, don't you? I have a rambling mind, a rambling mouth, and an (almost) 4 year old little girl. I say it more. Some nights, after a 40 minute commute home with Jenna, I am in awe. I'll say things in happy-voice, "wow, girlfriend!! You never stopped talking that ENTIRE ride home!" She proudly acknowledges my admiration with 20 more minutes of straight talking. At some point, my attitude changes as my nerves sizzle, "Jenna. You need to give your mouth a break. Your voice has been working too hard and it's begging you for a break." Then, inevitably, I stare at her (wild eyed and crazy) and say, "Stop. Talking." I say it to myself the most, though. There's no denying that. I need to add in here a little bit about that rambling mouth of mine. I'm a cusser. I hate admitting it, but most of you know. I have an inexplicably filthy mouth. Strike that. Inexplicably is a lie. I come from a long line of over-cussers. Nothing public. Nothing other people would notice. But growing up, no one burned their hand or stubbed their toe without a quiet "shit!" I take it too far. I know that I do. But I get all rationalizing and justifying about it. So I say bad words. Who decided they were even bad? And then who ranked them? Why is a "mother f!*#^er" under my breath when someone cuts me off worse than a "oh, meanie!!"? (don't answer...I'm not really asking.) So, this morning, I had 2 bitter tastes in one 4 minute scenario. It went like this: Me: (ironing clothes, it's 6 am, we're running late, Jenna is on my bed watching me) ugh. These are the mornings I want to just iron the sleeves and collar of your shirt. The parts that stick out of your jumper. JK: you can, mommy. Me: no, babe. It'll be the one day you have an accident and have to change into shorts. And you'll be running around from 2-6 with a wrinkled shirt on. JK: (insulted) I won't have an accident! Me: I know. It wouldn't be your fault. It's just like wearing good panties in case you're in a car wreck. (right at this instant is when I silently begin saying "stop. talking.".) JK: we're going to be in a car accident? Me: no. (wait. I can't say no. I don't know. What if we were?) Well--maybe? I don't know. Point is we'd want to be wearing good panties for the ER. (oh my shit. Stop. Talking.) JK: (cry voice) I don't want to be in a car accident! Me: baby, just forget it. Clothes are ironed! Let's get dressed and I'll grab jake. I go get the baby and pray she's just let it go. Bring him down and toss him on the bed next to her. She looks at him with the most seriously concerned look I've seen her muster. JK: jake. We're going to wear good panties and ironed shirts for our car wreck today. Jake: (stares at her with absolutely No readable emotion) JK: (looks down at the bed. Sighs. And defeatedly says, "f!*k." Lesson learned, my friends. Lesson learned. Now everyone go and have them a "I'm actually a Really good parent" moment. You're welcome.

my thoughts you can't decode

I'm an open book. I'm okay with that. I know it's much more alluring to be mysterious, but I feel safe that my book is sometimes so convoluted, I can still be difficult to figure out. I haven't done it yet, so let me know if you crack the code and then I'll think about restrictions.

I've been away for a long time. A lot of that has just been time constraints, but a lot more of it is bigger than that. I've written so many blogs. Just sitting there in the dash. All seriously thought-provoking subjects from what beauty products I'm addicted to, to my thoughts on time-sucking Pinterest, to my disillusion with television these days. With some kid stories and politics thrown in, of course.

But when I would think of hitting Publish, it felt wrong. I love to entertain. And the idea that those posts are entertaining to a select few makes me really happy. To make one person laugh can make my entire day. But I'm not writing this blog to entertain. I'm chronicling my life. And it feels deceitful to not address what I hope will be the most difficult time of my life.

So this is my Divorce Post.

I decided not to over think it. Not to write a draft. I never write that way-even when I blog, email, text, Facebook ...and I know it would be unnatural and awkward. So when I re-read this later, I'll regret some things. And I'll have a few "shit-I should have said..." moments. But I think that's much more true to me.

I'm going through a divorce. It is painful and heartbreaking and breath catching and hard. I can't paint it pretty. As secure as I am in knowing this is the right thing for my family, agonizing thoughts exist daily. From birthday parties to Disney vacations to first dates to 16th birthdays to graduations to weddings, I flash to the future and I'm stabbed with the knowledge that the 5 of us won't be in it together. And sometimes I literally suck in my breath.

Living in the now, the cliched "just take it one day at a time" has never been more appropriate. The babies are both so young. Having a 1 year-old and a 3 year-old is challenging to anyone, I have gathered (from obsessively scouring other mothers' blogs in desperate need of validation). Jenna is still a "baby" at times and Jake is a baby. I've been a single mom since September and I can tell you that doing 1 and 3 with only 1 set of hands is nothing short of ridiculous. I'm exhausted. Not just physically...I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted.

I sat down tonight, after both kids had fallen asleep in the car and had miraculously been transferred from Carseats to cribs, and I didn't know what to do with myself. The right answer

would be to call or email back some of my incredible friends. The ones who call, text, email to no avail checking on me. Who I don't reply to because I feel like the 2 sentence reply (the only one I'm capable of right now) isn't fair to them. But I didn't know where to start.

So I typed in this address and decided to open my book. So that I could write and feel...and then close it. Knowing the next time it's opened, I can go back to what I love. Telling stories about my life that are crazy and boring and funny and random.

I'm going to be okay. Kevin is going to be okay. The kids will be okay. The love that surrounds them is so intensely fierce -nothing can put out their fire.

But for today, there is a lot of hurt and a lot of struggle. There are tears and anger and doubt and fear. Trust in the system is broken, but trust in life and in love and in God is not.

And every single day-I encounter something beautiful. Whether it's through friends or my children or my parents or my sister or even my job. Everyday, I feel something precious.

So goodbye, Divorce Post. You're here on the record and that's all I needed to do.

Beach Blog

I am going to try and not be too wordy, as there are so many pictures to see. But we all know that's difficult for me. Such a fun weekend with such wonderful friends.

We arrived in Surfside to this


and this


and this.

There are very few pics from Friday...Becky and I got into my birthday wine almost immediately. Shocker.

This was one of our several failed deck-barrier attempts. We finally got it right the last night and felt that we deserved to stay one more week based on the barrier alone.

and this was the damn kite.

Saturday morning, they were ready to go.






We didn't exactly know what we were doing with 4 babies on a beach, but decided just to get them down there and see what happened!
Jonas and Jake's first salt-and-sand experience:


















The redheads were, clearly, just too much cuteness. People would stop just to talk to them.










At lunchtime/naptime, Karl purchased us the best beach-gift we could have ever received. the tent.














More of Jake being fat and cute on a beach.







Our family picture. It's so Back to the Future with Kevin and Jenna fogged out in every single attempt.


Red x 2.

Baby Jonas

The bottle fight that signaled that the babies were blissfully tired.







Queso!



My favorite part of Sunday was that we took the one safe place, our perfectly perfect tent, and decided to make it really dangerous. Karl wanted to dig a hole that Jonas couldn't get out of. We were all fully on board. Especially the toddlers.

We decided they should fill it with water, instead.
Drew continually took down the smallest bucket (of 20 options) and would lose his water one foot from the ocean. He's the smart one.








Landon had the time of his life. There were huge family reunions on either side of us. Kids his age, teenagers, adults. He became friends with all of them and basically joined one of the families. He played a lot of volleyball, "surfed", sucked up shrimp from the sand, played cards, and was just a cool beach kid.









I wish I would have taken even more pictures. Of the sharks we saw, of Scattergories (where I'm certain I can't remember when I have laughed that hard), of Jenna and Drew playing together nonstop, of just sitting with the grown-ups on the balcony every night. I didn't. At some point, the camera just stopped always being in someone's hands. But I will remember all of it.

Thank you, Kuhlmans, for a perfect vacation.