My Babies Need me to Lock Myself in my Room

Wednesday afternoon is one of my favorite times of the week. It’s the day I finish that week’s blog post and I look forward to it. I jot down ideas and snippets throughout the week and then on Wednesday I take a little time to fit all the pieces together. My daughter is usually with her grandma on Wednesdays, so in the afternoon while my boy sleeps I get uninterrupted TIME. It's beautiful you guys. I usually work on tasks for my business with my music turned all the way up. And then during my last little chunk of being child-free, I make sure my blog post is ready to go. 

Beautiful, glorious Wednesdays. 

However, last week my mother-in-law (aka angel on Earth) left for a two week trip to visit her parents. My gosh, I had not fully realized how much my sanity relies on those Wednesday afternoons. They had become the ‘battery recharge’ for my introverted mind. So, Grandma was gone and her trip coincided with a week's worth of rain (which creates kids with cabin fever) and my husband pulling a couple extra 12 hour days. All of these things lining up at the same time were not the end of world. It was nothing too terrible, it just made for one tuckered out stay-at-home mom. 

And that brings us to this Wednesday. Grandma was still gone, so I thought I would take the kids to a new park. My hope was that they would wear themselves out and be ready to rest in the afternoon. I even chased them and did the whole 'run from the mommy tickle monster' thing until I couldn't breathe. Between my gasps for more oxygen, I glanced at my clock and saw it was almost nap time. I hoped the kids were tired but I also thought about how tired I was. Not just from chasing them at the park, but so completely worn out overall. As I sat down to try and catch my breath, I realized it was Wednesday and that meant finishing my blog post. I quickly prayed and asked God to give me the final piece that was missing from the post I had been working on. But instead of hearing an idea that perfectly answered my question, I just felt tired. I whispered to the Lord that what I really wanted to do was rest. As soon as the word ‘rest’ left my thoughts, I felt the Lord nudge me and say, “Yes.” I brushed it away because I am a task-oriented person. If I have a task that needs finishing I don’t like to rest until it’s done. Besides, I was sure that this trip to the park would secure me an easy transition into an afternoon of quiet office time. I convinced myself that once I was in front of my computer I would be able to get in the zone and finish my checklist.

I had given them their five minute warning about it being time to go. Instead of being the perfectly behaved children I had hoped for, they completely lost their minds. My son, who rarely full-out defies me, started to walk towards the car, then glanced back at the playground and took off laughing while he yelled 'I NO LEAVE DAAA PAAAAAAWK!!' My daughter saw him in a rare act of defiance and decided to let it fuel her response. If he was going to take on the unanticipated portrayal of the misbehaving bandit, then she wasn't going to miss her opportunity to be the Bonnie to his Clyde. It wasn't pretty you guys. I had to use my 'Mommy is tiiiiicked' voice. Buddies were taken away and threats to never come to a park ever again were issued. 

The second I got them settled for nap and quiet time I didn’t even realize I was walking like a zombie into my bedroom. The complete opposite direction of my office. I saw my cozy bed beckoning me and immediately plopped myself down. My mind was fried. My heart was tired. As I lay there trying to muster up the energy to go downstairs and accomplish something, I saw my Kindle sitting on my nightstand. Then I felt that word from the Lord tug on my heart again, “rest.” It was then that I remembered the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy had gone unwatched for days. Suddenly I became compelled to find out how they were going to handle the whole fugitive sets himself on fire and causes explosion therefore trapping Dr. Edwards and a little girl behind a wall of fire. Absolutely and completely ridiculous drama-filled entertainment. But you know what else it could be called? Self care. And my mind and heart were craving 42 minutes of it.

My little girl spent the first 19 minutes coloring in her room and the rest of it sitting outside my door playing with her ridiculously loud toy computer and knocking on my door 27 times. Once the doctors saved the day and the credits rolled, my 42 minutes were up. It’s so amazing what that little bit of time did for my soul. Now I was ready to engage her with a rested heart. And I know I was a better mom for her the rest of the day as opposed to the version I would have been if I hadn't taken that break. 

Whatever rest looks like for you, I encourage you to do it. Being Super Mom (or Super Dad) doesn't mean taking care of everyone else and neglecting yourself. Even superheroes have their bat caves and fortresses of solitude. I know it's hard. Some days it's just not possible and sometimes you do have to power through. But, maybe, just look for those moments of opportunity.  Give the mommy/daddy guilt a swift kick to the stomach and put on a movie for your kids so you can take a bath, read a chapter of your book, or eat the last cookie without having to share it with your kids. 

When you’re taking care of everyone else, don’t forget to take care of yourself too. 

What do you do for self care? Is it something you need to do more? 

Blessings,

Shantastic :)

Instagram- @TotallyShantastic

Follow by email- Top right corner

My Baby Has a Mickey Mouse Chair

Tick Tock. The seconds pass. Minutes fly by in a blur. The last four and a half years have whizzed by as my daughter, Grace, has barreled her way through each passing day. In the fall her future includes a year of preschool, and then in 2018…she will be gone. She’ll nosedive out of my nest, wings ablaze, and probably won’t even need to say goodbye as she runs into her Kindergarten classroom. She’s amazing. As school has begun to feel more like a concrete certainty and less like some elusive thing “off in the future”, I started to reflect on how I will feel about the years I got to have her home with me. Will I wish for more days? Will I have any regrets about how I spent my time with her? 

The moment the word regret popped into my mind, I flashed back to the days when I had been trying to get work done in my office and shushed her to be quiet. As I mentioned in a previous post ---> "My Babies Swallowed Me,"  I run a small business from home. My office is my sacred space that is devoted to doing work I love. It nourishes my introverted heart and mind. To be able to put my kids down for their naps and have that little bit of time to pour into something creative feeds my soul. But, when Grace stopped napping, I had to transition her into doing a “quiet time” in her room. Then around the time when she celebrated her fourth birthday, I began hearing footsteps outside my sanctuary and a gentle knock on the door asking me if quiet time was over. So, one afternoon in a moment of desperation, I went into the playroom and dragged her child-sized Mickey Mouse table into my office. I knew that since I had just closed to door to her room for quiet time, she would inevitably come peeking out about 12 minutes later. 

Insisting that she go back to her room could have been an option. But I didn’t want our days together to be spent with me yelling at her to go back into her room until she cried (because that had already happened a couple times). I realized that this was just part of the deal. She was growing up and I needed to figure out a way to evolve. The afternoon when I dragged her table into my office was a day when I absolutely needed to get some work done. I figured she could play with some puzzles or color a picture while I met my deadlines. Sure enough, less than 20 minutes after her quiet time had started, she poked her head around the corner and saw her table in my office. She exploded like a firework in July. “MOMMY!! Did you put my Mickey Mouse table in your office?” Then the bouncing started as she screamed, “Can I work in your office with you?” I figured she was so excited just because I had finally allowed her into a once-forbidden space. She was elated. And so our new phase began where I had a four-year-old coworker by my side. 

I tried to be as welcoming as I could. Some days I had it in me to swallow my own desires of having a child-free moment and some days I really struggled. I tried to make sure to remember to set out different activities for her to do, but there were many moments where I had to shush her and remind her that Mommy needed to get her work done. Sometimes I resorted to letting her watch Netflix on my Kindle and, of course, felt guilty about it.

So when the idea of regrets began floating around in my head, I wondered if that time spent in my office would evolve into being a full blown regret of mine. Should I have played with her more? Should I have figured out a different way to get my work done? In my more anxious moments, I felt my heart sink as I worried that those afternoons in my office of me telling her to stop talking would be the only thing she would remember from our years together. As my busy season wrapped up, I thanked God that my work has times in the year when it halts. I also prayed and asked God to redeem the time that I felt had been lost. I wanted this next season of life to be full of awesome moments that she would remember forever. I wanted her to forget the office days. 

So when I officially finished my busy season, I was the one bouncing this time. I couldn’t wait to spend these afternoons with her while her brother napped. We were going to make cookies, play games, and I wasn’t going to be weighed down with mommy guilt anymore. I was going to be super awesome fun mommy now. As she timidly raised her eyebrows and asked if quiet time was over I replied, “Yes! And guess what!! We’re going to make chocolate chip cookies today!!” She immediately jumped back with a look of confusion on her face. “What? NO. I don’t want to do that Mom.’ She said definitively. “Oh. Ok..” I said surprisingly. I quickly tried to think of a fun activity that I normally didn’t want to take the time to do. “OH what about painting? Do you want to paint with me?” “No” she responded. I tilted my head and asked her, “Really? Ok..what do you want to do?” She took no pause as she declared. “Mom. I WANT to go work in your office with you.” I just stood there, dumbfounded. “You want to go work in my office?” She shook her head yes. I was still stunned as I asked, “You…like working in my office with me?” “Yes Mom! Come on! Let’s go!” And she took off skipping down the hallway. 

She loved it. She loved working in my office with me. When I moved her table into my office, to me it was just a kid-sized desk that was now taking up space in my precious haven. But to her, I was opening up a piece of myself and inviting her into it. My office, which had once been deemed as a “childless space” now had a reserved spot just for her. Not her brother, not my husband. It’s our time for just us. I had no idea she viewed it that way. God answered my prayers for redemption even more completely than I ever anticipated. I wanted him to redeem our future, but He went a step further and redeemed our past. 

Even though I still find myself craving my own quiet time in my office, I just know the day when she heads off to school I’ll sit in my office weeping at the sight of that stupid, empty, Mickey Mouse chair. She loves sitting in that chair. And I had no idea. 

If you’re like me and you tend to be a bit too hard on yourself, just breathe. You’re probably doing better than you thought you were. 

Blessings,

Shantastic

******************************************

Have you ever had a moment similar to this? Perhaps when you felt like a lazy parent for letting your kid eat macaroni and cheese with cut up hot dogs and then found out it was her favorite meal she’s ever had?? Let’s hear it! Comment below or find me on Instagram @TotallyShantastic !!

FOLLOW BY EMAIL: Enter your email address in the box on the top right to get new posts sent directly to your inbox! Your address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time!

My Baby Did Something Gross

And the award for best (aka worst) parenthood story goes to….

When we were pregnant with Grace, one of our friends gave us some great advice about how to approach parenthood as a couple. She said, “Don’t keep score with your spouse.” She went on to explain that parenthood is not a situation where you and your spouse are competing or keeping score. Like, if you were the one who was home when your infant projectile vomited all over your church outfit and you had to clean it up by yourself, you can’t hold that over your spouse’s head and be like, “Now you have to change the poops for a week.” Parenthood is messy and we all get our fair share of having to be the cleaner-upper. It could have easily been Seth who ended up being 25 minutes late to church because he had to change his outfit at the last minute and then realized that the outfit Grace just threw up all over was the last clean “church outfit” he had that fit his post-pregnancy body…But it wasn’t him was it. It was me. And you know what? That’s not his fault. 

But on the other side of it, I can say with a proud sense of accomplishment that I have never been peed on by one of my kids. There’s been the occasional leak that seeped out onto my pants (that time it happened when I was AT church…) but he’s the one who has gotten the bare bottom spray of pee all over his shirt. Miraculously enough, he’s also the only one who has gotten the privilege of cleaning up all the bathtub poops. It’s fine though because since I stay home with them that means I get to do all the daytime poopies, so we’re good. We’ve got a good balance and know how to “take one for the team”.

We tried to take my friend’s advice and not keep score in an unhealthy way. However, we were still able to joke with one another if we ever felt like we needed just a little acknowledgement or credit for the most recent gross thing we had to do. For example, there was a time right before Christmas when I was about to walk out the door and enjoy un-interrupted adult alone time. I had barely taken one step outside the frame of the door when I heard Seth cry out from the bathroom that he had yet another bathtub full of poop. I hesitantly turned back in toward the house (the poop-filled side) and as I was about to offer to stay back and help, he popped his head around the corner and said with an overdramatic flare, “Just go babe. Just go.” He knew that we would be joking about it for the next week and that he had been the hero to take the fall alone while I got to go eat Chick-Fil-A waffle fries ALL BY MYSELF. So, I made sure to give Seth some much deserved credit for tackling PoopGate 2016 and being the hero who saved Mommy’s magical Christmas shopping day. 

Even though he appreciated the adoration, we both knew there was nothing that would ever dethrone me from what happened last spring. It would take a lot more than a floating turd to relinquish my crown. Those fateful seconds last May forever solidified my ranking as the one in our marriage who has the best (aka worst) parenthood story. No bathtub stink or pee soak would ever top “the incident”. 

Seth had taken our daughter out for a date and I remember I had been attempting to finish the last few dishes in the sink. But of course, my babe who never wants to be more than five feet away from me wasn’t havin' it. He came waddling over and started pulling on my leg, begging for my attention. As I looked down at his little face that was beaming back up at me I realized, wait a second, I have JUST Emmett right now which means I can give him one-on-one attention and just ENJOY his presence. Peace out dishes. I’ll see ya later. I instantaneously melted down to the floor and he crawled up into my lap. As I sat down I felt my phone dig into my side so I quick grabbed it out of my pocket. I started to set my phone on the counter and then thought it would be funny to send a couple Snapchats to my family. Emmett seemed to be relishing in his recent victory for my attention and was in the perfect mood for a couple silly videos. As I started recording little ten second clips of us I kept laughing hysterically as he hammed it up. He was feeding off my laughter and started slobbering and squealing into the screen. I giggled even more as I realized that he still had leftover peanut butter smeared on his cheek from dinner. He was quite the sight. 

I glanced down at my phone to select the people I was going to send the Snapchat to. I was a little distracted as I clicked the different names and right before I pressed the “send” button I felt something lightly brush my cheek. I thought to myself, oh gross. Emmett probably just wiped some spit on me..or worse, some of the peanut butter that was smeared on his face. Ew. I quickly sent off the snapchat and as I glanced up at Emmett I saw him standing face-to-face with me…with his hand down the back of his pants. He then pulled out his hand and extended it to me. 

It was in that moment I realized…. I had poop on my face. 

The award for best story goes to me.

I forever and always win. 

Blessings,

Shantastic aka Poopface

**********************************************

What’s your best (aka worst) story?? Does it top mine?? Share it below in the comments or find me on Instagram @TotallyShantastic (Or if you know me on Facebook, let me hear it! Do you get the crown in your family for the best story??)

FOLLOW BY EMAIL: Enter your email address in the box on the top right to get new posts sent directly to your inbox! Your address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time!

My Baby's Pants are on Fire

I’m not a morning person. I’m a coffee person. But somehow, half of my DNA has created a little being who is an all day person. She’s a morning, afternoon, evening, and night person. How she is able to literally bounce through her entire day, I’ll never understand. One morning a few months ago I was (very groggily) loading the washing machine with a load of my son’s clothes. We were at that desperate point where if he spilled anything on his current shirt he would be borrowing something of his sister’s (and probably walking around in a pink unicorn dress for the rest of the day.) So, I was tired and distracted by my current task. As my head was shoved part-way in the washing machine, I heard my daughter come jumping around the corner and ask in an excruciatingly loud voice if she could have a cookie from the container on the counter. 

“No, you may not have a cookie right now. We don’t eat cookies for breakfast.” I robotically answered back. We don’t eat cookies for breakfast. Based on my mothering for the last four-and-a-half years, what would possess you to think that I would let you have a cookie for breakfast?? Kids. Ever-so hopeful. After I calmly recited my answer to her, I assumed she had skipped off into the living room to twirl, jump, and dive off the couch like usual. 

I finally finished loading up the washer and as I turned back around towards the kitchen, I instinctively glanced at the counter where I had left the cookie container. For a few seconds I just stared at the EMPTY spot on the counter and tried not to start fuming from my ears. The container was now most definitely not on the counter where it should have been. OH Mommy was awake now. Apparently cookie thievery works better than coffee to wake a person up. However, I didn’t want a crazed mommy monster to attack her with parental rage, so I first paused for a second and tried to steady my breathing. Then I took off marching through the kitchen until I rounded the corner of the living room. There before my eyes was my two-year-old standing over an open container of cookies and gathering them up in his hands. My eyes darted over to the stairs and I saw my daughter sprinting up to her room with a small mountain of cookies cradled in her shirt. 

I miraculously stayed calm as I asked her what she was doing. Her response turned into a ten minute interrogation of her full out LYING to me about having a secret cookie snack. (She even tried to blame it on her brother which could be a whole other post) As I stared in disbelief at her insistence on sticking to her lie, of course, disappointment flashed through my mind. But I also felt a tinge of guilt. Had she somehow learned this behavior from me? What had I done in my parenting techniques to make her think this was ok?

My mind immediately went to the thought that she must have learned this behavior from me because the concept of modeling was fresh in my mind. I had just recently learned a life-changing lesson when I had the flu. First of all, I learned that the flu sucks (totally). But, as Grace was so tenderly taking care of me, I sent one of my friends a picture of it all. It was so endearing. She laid out a blanket and a pillow on the couch and even brought her favorite stuffed animals downstairs to keep me company. She topped off the cuteness by making sure I had a glass of water next to me. My friend texted back and said “She is modeling how well YOU take care of her!” ..YES! My heart soared even though my body just wanted to sink into the couch and never move again. 

Yes, some of her traits are things that she has learned from my modeling and some of them have been learned from other people. But why is it that whenever she displays a characteristic that is…undesirable, I immediately take the blame and assume I have somehow failed her? In the same way that I can’t take the credit for everything awesome about her, I also shouldn’t take the blame when she is working through something hard. I hear the “mommy guilt” thing joked about all the time, and I know that it is something that a lot of moms (and dads) do. Myself included. I also know that mommy guilt is not productive or life-giving. So, with that knowledge, why do I see her lying about eating cookies and immediately feel like it’s my fault? I’ve never modeled how to eat cookies for breakfast and lie about it, but ok, I guess she’s gonna try it anyways! She is her own unique person. And I’m doing the best I can. It’s my job to help her work through these tough situations and not waste time blaming myself for it. Here’s to hoping I can walk alongside her in this journey towards truth-telling, and here’s to having hope that she will no longer be a liar liar with her pants on fire. 

Also…Note to self: Store the cookies in the pantry. Out of sight, out of reaching distance for her to steal them, lie about it, and blame her little brother. 

**********************************

Has your kid gone through a lying phase? How did you handle it? Did your kid get caught with her hand in the cookie jar too? :) 

FOLLOW BY EMAIL: If you would like new posts to be sent right to your inbox, just sign up in the box over to the top-right! It’s super easy to unsubscribe later if you change your mind! Your email address will remain private!

Instagram: I joined Instagram @TotallyShantastic  !! Come join me! :) 

Blessings,

Shantastic