My Baby is Not a Burrito

Imagine this scenario. Eight weeks pregnant, feeling like a bloated, nauseous beast and basically just trying to keep my life together. For the past three weeks my new best friend had become the big green bowl that I carried with me everywhere I went. I’ve been elated and felt blessed to have a new little life growing inside me, but man this kid has been kicking my butt. Obviously my husband has known from the beginning about this pregnancy, but our two kids still didn’t know that there was another sibling in their future. They just thought “mommy was feeling a little sick and needed some prayers.”

One evening when I had just reached the eight week mark, I was cleaning up the remnants of dinner and decided that the shirt I had been wearing for the last 48 hours was in desperate need of changing. I felt a slight twinge of annoyance (and a little guilt) because I realized that since I had been riding the morning sickness train so much lately, I was almost completely out of clean clothes. Who has time to keep up on laundry when you’re just trying to keep your oatmeal down? I figured there had to be at least something I could put on so I huffed and puffed my way up the stairs to my room. I threw open my drawer of t-shirts and found it almost completely empty. I quickly scanned my options and hesitantly picked up a plain red baby-tee and stared at it for a moment. I was hesitating because I knew it would fit a little tight. In my current state of baby-growing, I was in that awkward middle ground where it sort of looked like I might have an emerging pregnant mound OR a complete stranger may have easily thought that I just really like to eat burritos and cheeseburgers. You couldn’t exactly tell yet if it was a food baby or a real baby. I had been trying to wear looser fitting shirts lately so that my daughter wouldn’t start to grow suspicious about my stomach getting bigger. So, I wasn’t all too excited about wearing this shirt that I knew would emphasize my recent weight gain. We still had two whole weeks before we planned on telling her. As I continued to stare at the shirt I thought that I was probably just overreacting. She’s only four. She’s probably not paying attention to my belly. I quickly changed into the red shirt that I knew would hug my baby bump just a little too tight and then slowly met my reflection in the mirror. Confirmation. This shirt made me look pregnant. As my mind flashed back to those first “belly pics” I took when I was pregnant with Grace, I realized that the way my eight week belly was currently looking was more like my 18 week belly pic with her. My how things change the third time around. I stood there staring and my protruding mid-section and decided in that moment that I could either let this be something that got me down, or I could laugh about it and embrace the fact that I’m not in my twenties anymore. The first time I got pregnant my stomach muscles were actually in descent shape. Somewhat tight, not over-stretched by the pressure of an eight pound human. This time it was as if my stomach said to the rest of my body “Oh? This again? Meh why even try to hold it together?” and then it raised its figurative white flag and completely gave up. Imagining my stomach with a lazy personality somehow made me feel better. It actually made me chuckle a little to myself. Tis the season for growing babies and having ab muscles that just totally give up. 

As I marched back downstairs after having given myself a pretty good self-esteem pep talk, I passed by my daughter, Grace. She looked stunned as I rounded the corner to the kitchen and halted all conversation by throwing her hands up in the air and proclaiming, “OH Mom! Look!” I paused and said, “Look at what sweetie?” She ran over to me and put her hand on my belly. I froze and felt speechless because I realized what was going to come out of her mouth next and I had no idea how I was going to respond. She then blurted, “MOM! Your tummy!” Next she pursed her lips to the side in a matter-of-fact sort of way and said definitively, “I think you got a baby in there Mom. Because, look at how big your tummy is! Yep. You gots a baby in there.” My eyes about bugged out of my head and I suddenly heard the muffled laughter of my husband who was standing five feet away. My glance shot over to him with a look of “Please help me NOW!” but all I saw was a man holding the collar of his shirt over his face to try and hide the fact that he was totally losing it over our daughter’s allegations. He finally met my eyes and I had to nearly pinch myself to keep from erupting with laughter. I pressed my lips together dramatically as I tried not to panic. We weren’t ready to tell the world yet about the baby, and if we told my daughter then the world would surely know about it. I didn’t want to lie to her though so I went for the classic “Oh..wouldn’t that be cool? Hey look we still have some cookies from yesterday! Do you want a cookie?”  Maybe not the best method, but hey, it worked. She bounced away down the hallway, cookie in hand, and the talk about a baby being in my belly ceased. 

I feel so relieved to have made it to the ten week mark. Now my girl knows all about the real reason why my belly is getting bigger and I no longer have to distract her with cookies to keep her from talking about it. Right after our kids found out about the baby I overheard my husband explaining to them that this baby means that Mom might need more help around the house. When I walked over to them in the middle of this conversation Grace was beaming and said, “Mom! Daddy says we can help you by putting our dishes in the sink and helping you clean because your tummy is going to get SO HUGE! Is your tummy going to get really big Momma?” I smiled down at her as I relished the joy that was emanating from her. She was so purely happy about us having another baby, and she was already feeling proud of herself for knowing that it means we might ask more of her. I chuckled and pulled her close as I said, “Hon, I will definitely need more help and yes, my tummy is going to get huge.” 

Cheers to the season of growing a baby. I like to joke about some of the unpleasant side effects (like abs that give up on you) but really, this is such an amazing journey. I’m honored to be on it …even if I can’t find a clean shirt that fits. 

Blessings,

Shantastic

P.S. If you missed last week’s post, surprise! I’m expecting baby number 3! You can get caught up here ——> My Baby is a Kumquat and find out what made us want to jump on this roller coaster one last time! 

My Babies Totally Don't Get It

Everyone has those moments in life. When you have reached adulthood and you suddenly freeze because you realize you just did something that was EXACTLY like one of your parents. For some people this causes them to shudder and essentially freak out, but thankfully not for me. I never set out to purposefully not turn into my parents. They’re pretty amazing people. Many of the things I learned from having them as my parents were very easy to engrain into my own life because they are simply fundamental. Unconditional love, making family a priority, the importance of quality time and all that good mushy stuff just naturally came out of living life as their kid. 

A lot of the things they tried to teach me totally made sense, such as kindness and respect. Other things I didn’t quite comprehend because they were adults and I was just a kid. I remember I never understood my dad’s tradition of making my brother and I give him a little peck on the cheek if we wanted something. I would come bounding into the room blurting out a request and before he would start to get up from his chair he would just barely lean his cheek toward me and slowly reach up one finger to tap the side of his face. He didn't even have to say anything because we knew what he meant. In our childhood impatience we would sigh, run over and give him a quick kiss and then start bouncing again while we asked if NOW he would complete our request. Nearly every time we directly asked him for something, to get the sprinkler out or to have a snack, without fail he would just tap his cheek and we knew. I remember completely not understanding how in the world a kiss on the cheek from me could be payment for spending two hours chasing us around the yard with the hose while we hooted and giggled. 

As the kid, I didn’t understand it. Now, I do. 

This time I’m the parent. Once my daughter reached an age in which she knew and understood what kisses were, I caught myself doing the exact same thing my dad had done so many years ago. My little girl came sprinting over to me to ask if we could play with bubbles, and without even thinking I smirked at her, raised my finger up to my cheek and pointed. The moment my finger hit my cheek I paused and thought, wow, like father like daughter. In the case of continuing super sweet and simple family traditions, I was choosing to have my apple not fall far from the tree. As Grace stared at me with a very confused look on her face, I prompted her again with another tap to my cheek and said, “a kiss please”. She saw this as the quickest way to get what she wanted so she obliged and went on her way. She totally didn’t get it. But suddenly, I knew why my dad had done that for all those years.

Getting kisses on the cheek from your kids is pretty much the sweetest thing in the world. You spend what feels like forever with this baby that you love SO MUCH and the baby literally can’t do anything except eat, poop, and sleep. And then, one day that kid can magically give you a kiss and somehow your heart is filled to the brim just by feeling their little wet lips on your cheek. It’s the best.

So, I have continued my dad’s tradition with Grace and then even passed it on to Emmett when he got old enough. He has caught on to the point where he even includes the kiss in his request. “Hey MomMom can you get my down from this slide? I give you kiiiisss!” And obviously, sometimes they are just not up for my silly requests to get kisses on the cheek. And that’s ok. I’ll never force them to do it, but if they’re in a happy mood I want them to know how much I cherish their affection. 

Dad, I get it now. And I know now that you didn't need the kisses in order to motivate you to do those fun things for us (like chase us around the yard with the hose). You did it because you wanted to. And you asked for those sweet little kisses from your kids because you wanted those too. I promise Dad, I'll never be too old to give you a kiss on the cheek. All you have to do is ask. 

Blessings,

Shantastic 

I took this photo a couple months ago when my husband had gone out of town and my mom came up to visit. I’m pretty sure she would agree that Emmett gives some of the best cheek kisses in the entire world. I mean, look at those puckered lips. You definitely can never say anything bad about his level of commitment when it comes to kisses on the cheek. 

My Baby Almost Broke my Toe

When people see Grace and me in public, they often chuckle as they ask me, “Is she always so energetic?” I can tell they are assuming that she must just be in an exceptionally good mood or particularly excited about the current events, but I always smile back and raise my eyebrows as I say, “Yes. Yes she is…always.” There are times when it really is so endearing. She'll be trying to tell me a story and she has to pace around in a circle (just like her dad) while her hands fly in the air giving life to her creative retelling of that day’s events (that part’s all me). Those are the times when I don't mind her source of boundless energy. I try to let those memories sink into my heart so that I'll have something to grab onto when her inability to stand still starts to wear on me.

As I mentioned last week, I just came home from a glorious, quiet, and STILL vacation. After having a week away from my kids, I knew I would have to spend some time rebuilding my tolerance level for certain things. The noise, the endless questions, and the never-ceasing movement. These things are largely just part of the deal. Kids are loud, they ask 100 million more questions than you want them to, and they’re always moving. However, with my daughter I sometimes feel like perhaps she was given an extra dose of noise, movement, and an overall zest for life. She’s the kind of person who runs around the living room doing laps and screaming, “MOM BOUGHT ME NEW TOOOOOOOTHPASTE!!” …So you see my struggle right? On the one hand I’m like, wow, what a gift it is to be so genuinely happy about the tiniest little thing. And the other half of me is frantically waving my arms in the air to try and get her attention and tell her to bring it down a notch. 

Shortly after we returned from our trip it was time step back into the normal routines of our lives. My husband headed off to work and I stared down at my little munchkins and realized there would likely be very little reading and crocheting that day. Since it was my first day “back at work”, how do you think my children were choosing to behave? Mmm. Yes. Lots of screaming, crying and me having to yell just so they could hear my voice above their own. I had decided the night before that we would go do something fun (brand new park complete with splash pad) so as they were attempting to upset the other in any way humanly possible, I was trying to shuffle them out the door. 

As we were finishing up getting ready, I finally convinced Grace that she needed to meet me in my bathroom so that I could put her hair into a ponytail. She (of course) shot away from me like a bullet, propelled herself into my room and then rounded the corner to throw herself into the bathroom. I followed quickly behind her and was planning on shutting us both in the bathroom. I knew that if I didn’t do this she would undoubtedly take off flying down the hallway the second I picked up the brush (remember, boundless energy). I turned into the doorway of the bathroom at the exact moment she decided that I must not have made it there fast enough and she would make her grand escape right then and there. As her shoe slammed into my toes I gasped for breath as I felt the crushing blow of a toenail completely breaking off. I instinctively threw my arms out onto my bed and stood there trying to breathe as the pain shot through my entire foot. I could hear her behind me shouting “SorrySorrySorry!!” which for some reason just made me even more annoyed. I could feel my patience completely shatter as I let out a guttural “UGHHHHHH!” up into the air. That obviously wasn’t a smart move because it released more emotions than I intended, and before I could stop myself I turned to her and said very sternly, “NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!” I felt regret smack me in the chest before I had even finished. I immediately starting walking towards her as her face succumbed to the tears and pain she felt for hurting me. I told her I was sorry for raising my voice but she didn’t hear me. She threw her head up towards the ceiling and cried out, “I don’t want you to be mad at meeee.” I dropped down to her level and gently laid my hands on her shoulders. I waited a moment for her to look into my eyes and said, “Sweetie, I’m sorry I yelled. I’m not mad at you.” We hugged it out and like many kids, she recovered quickly by drawing in huge gusts of air and asking to see my ‘really bad owie.” I let her watch as I carefully cleaned my wound and then we both walked out of the bathroom together. 

About ten minutes later she was standing next to me while I changed my son’s diaper. As I finished helping him to his feet, I kept hold of his hands and slowly pulled him towards me for a hug. He obliged and I soon felt Grace’s arms swoop around both of us. She laid her head on Emmett’s shoulder and the three of us stood there silently enjoying each other’s embrace. Eventually, I giggled and whispered, “My babies.” and she replied, “Best mommy in the whole world.” My heart immediately twinged with pain because I thought, I don’t deserve that. I was clearly being a B- mom that day with my lack of patience and emotional outburst. 

But she said what she felt. She was choosing to see the best in me, to let the good outweigh the bad. 

None of us are perfect. We’re all just trying to be the best moms (and dads) we can for our kids. Somehow, at such a young age, my beautiful little girl can see that even though I make mistakes, I really am trying to be what she needs me to be. 

I’m going to choose to celebrate how she can find so much joy in such a small thing like a new tube of toothpaste. 

Here’s to trying to teach her to be the kind of person who can run and bounce throughout her life WITHOUT accidentally hurting people, and to not totally losing my cool when she (inevitably) loses control. 

And hey, toenails grow back, right? 

Blessings,

Shantastic

My Babies' Mom was on Vacation

Dinners that were uninterrupted. Conversations that got to be finished. Paddleboat rides and reading almost exactly one half of a 700 page book. Yes my friends, I have been blessed. I just spent the last 6 days with my husband. Without our kids. At a cabin in a town where we didn't know a single soul. My introverted heart was doing fist pumps for nearly a week straight.

When we left for our trip, Seth asked if I would miss the kids and then laughed while he answered his own question with a 'Nahh you probably won't.' He wasn't being mean by saying this, because he was right. For the most part. I did miss them from time to time and pictured seeing their faces. When we FaceTimed I couldn't suppress the longing I felt to kiss their skin. But getting a break like this from parenthood is rare, and I cherished every single second of it. As I've hinted in a few previous posts, I've been itching for a break from my 24/7 job. My four-year-old is starting to outgrow her quiet time (my one moment of peace during the day) and my two-year-old is a two-year-old. There’s not much I have to do to explain the exhaustion that comes with that. I choose to stay home with them and I really do feel completely blessed to be able to do that. But I've found that one of the tricky parts is you never quite feel like you've left your job. Your work shift doesn't end at 5 or 6 o' clock. It just keeps on going until bedtime. And even then you've got the disasters from the day staring you in the face and trying to tempt you to keep working instead of rest. I also know that when you work outside the home there can be a similar struggle because you just trade one work environment for another. Sure you're probably very excited to see your kids when you get home from work. Perhaps you smile wide as they greet you at the door with their excited squeals. Then, maybe they show you the art project they made in school with pride beaming in their eyes and as they run off down the hallway giggling you smile to yourself and think, my gosh I have been blessed. But then, four minutes later you hear one of them screaming and the other is crying because someone grabbed someone else's dinosaur, and you are reminded that work is not over yet. Parenthood really is a full time gig. 

After five years of being everything as often as I could be, I was starting to feel a bit weary as I continued to love and parent my children. I was a battery that was slowly losing its ability to recharge. Even though I've tried to find little pockets to breathe, this trip was just such a relief. As soon as the plans were set, I finally allowed myself to feel just how much I had been longing for a chance to set down my responsibilities. It was like I had been holding my breath and only just now realized how much my lungs were crying for more air to be let in. I had been in denial about how much I wanted a break because yours kids are your kids, and there’s isn’t a break from that. 

Our miraculous ten year anniversary trip came to be because one of my closest friends agreed to do a trade with me. I provided my business services to her for a job she needed done, and she gave us the keys to her family’s gorgeous cabin that rests on an open body of water. When I wrote to my mother-in-law asking her if she and my father-in-law would be willing to watch the kids for six days, she answered back with the most beautiful word I had ever seen… “Sure.” Those four letters solidified that my dream for a break was becoming a reality. 

For six glorious days, my husband and I got to talk each other without being interrupted 57 thousand times. We ate our food in peace. I took a nap one day in the middle of the afternoon simply because my busy schedule of going on the paddleboat and then reading was just.too.exhausting. This past week my schedule and routine has been quite different from the norm. I've been on my first real vacation with my husband since our honeymoon ten years ago. I've gotten to sit and READ A BOOK in the middle of the afternoon. Instead of scraping dried yogurt off the counter I got to be transported to a different world in a different time. My inner monologue throughout the week sounded less like a parent and more like a girl who was immensely enjoying her gift of rest. Instead of analyzing the most recent temper tantrum and trying to figure out how I could be a better Mom the next time, I talked to myself about whether or not I should eat a snack before I went to go sit on the dock. 'Hmm yes, Shan. I think casually nibbling on these strawberries while the breeze tickles your arms is a great way to spend your time before you go dangle your feet in the water.' 

Our vacation is over now and I’m going to be completely honest with you. The first few hours back home were rough. It was probably just the shock of it all. I was excited to see my babies, but after having such a long break to just be myself, suddenly being thrust back into parenthood reminded me of all the little things I have had to give up along the way. It took 45 minutes to finish my oatmeal this morning and I hadn’t even started drinking my coffee. The kids were amped up because Mom and Dad were back and they just didn’t know how to process it. There was a lot of screaming and I had to swallow my impatience as I reminded them to use their inside voices. It had only been a few hours and I was already longing for the quietness of my vacation. As I poured my coffee, I hid my face to make sure my kids didn’t see the tears that were starting to form in my eyes. I missed being at the cabin with my husband. Where everything was quiet and we could just be. 

But then a few minutes later when I peeked my head in the laundry room trying to figure out why my daughter was being so quiet, I saw her curled up in the corner on top of the picnic blanket. We silently gazed at each other for a moment and then I slowly lowered myself down to her level. I kissed the top of her arm and gently nuzzled my face into the crease of her neck. Just breathing her in. She barely moved as she brought her free arm up and tucked it around my waist, pulling me a little closer. As I lay there in that perfect moment I thought, yes Lord, this is it. This is why we gladly give up the little luxuries of eating our oatmeal in peace. It’s because what we have in front of us is so heartbreakingly beautiful. To literally watch life grow and evolve in front of us is a precious gift. A great blessing. 

Vacations are fun. But my life...is here. 

Blessings,

Shantastic

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. 

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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? :) 

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Blessings,

Shantastic

My Babies Have a Pet Alligator

So…I totally lied to my kids (by accident).

We moved into a new house back in September and our yard now backs up to a very small pond. When people have come over to see our new house, the very first question they ask is, “Doesn’t the pond make you a little nervous with the kids?” 

Of course, it does a little. But, they are still so young that we NEVER let them go outside by themselves. Even when we lived in the middle of a neighborhood, if we were playing outside and one person needed to pee, we all went to go pee. Plus, the pond has about a five foot wide layer of thick and spiky weeds, wildflowers, and thistles surrounding it. We knew that the owie-inducing brush would for sure help to be a deterrent and keep them from wanting to explore the pond ‘where the duckies live’. 

But then, as fall approached and the foliage everywhere began dying and wasting away, we realized that the secure layer of “pokey thingies” no longer existed. As I was playing outside with the kids on one of these brisk fall afternoons, I noticed they were getting a little more brave about stepping across the weed/wildflower threshold. I not only wanted them to listen and respect my instructions about not going near the water, but I hate to admit, I did want them to be just a teeny, tiny bit afraid of it. A little healthy fear never hurt anyone right?? (Please tell me I’m right because here comes the part where I turned into a liar with her pants on fire.) 

Really, I blame my daughter. My firstborn who came into this world with a firecracker sizzle would rather give the general concept of authority a big kick in the gut. She wasn’t being swayed by my steady warnings about staying on the grassy side of the yard. I knew that if I really put my foot down and we went through the whole consequences song and dance that we would achieve the same goal, but I was just. so. over it. As she stared me down and began to lift her foot ever so slowly up and over the weed barrier, I quickly blurted out, “Be careful baby. You don’t want to wake up Larry.” She immediately froze with her foot in the air and her eyes grew wide. “Who’s Larry??” she asked with a flash of worry on her face. “Oh hun, he’s the alligator who lives in our pond. He’s pretty cranky so you don't want to get too close to the water and make him mad.” After the words left my mouth I thought, ok, she totally knows I’m kidding right..? This is like that time when she said there was an elephant sitting with us at the dinner table and we all pretended to serve him dinner…Right? 

She slowly lowered her foot back onto the grass/safe side of the yard and then began grilling me with questions about Larry. 

How did he get here? The ducks pick him up and carry him here every spring and then in the fall they bring him down to Florida for the winter

What does he eat? All the food that Emmett wastes (He's a picky eater=lots of wasted food)

Who feeds him? (At night mommy carefully walks down to the pond and sets the food out for him. Larry only likes mommy but even mommy has to be careful because he’s such a cranky alligator) 

After about ten minutes of chatting about Larry I realized, oh my gosh, she totally 100% believes me. So, I decided I would just let it go and assumed that after a few days of not mentioning Larry, he would be lost and gone forever in her little mind. 

Over a week later when Grandma and Grandpa came to visit, Gracie started rambling on about everything that had been happening to her recently. Without any warning, she began reciting EVERYTHING about the alligator who lives in our pond. Even Emmett chimed in with important little details about him. My parents kept glancing at me trying to figure out what in the world she was talking about. I finally just threw my hands up in the air and sheepishly said, “Well..atleast I know they’re scared to go in the water…??” 

Now, months have gone by, Larry went to live in Florida for the winter, and my kids keep asking if the ducks have brought him back home yet. I keep saying, ‘No, not yet.” because I’m trying to decide if he will. Maybe he’ll stay south for the rest of their childhood and instead of using a fake alligator to keep them safe we’ll put up a fence.

Or maybe…I’ll buy a “Beware of Alligator” sign for our backyard.

Have you ever lied to your kids (by accident, of course) ? 

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It’s been exactly one month since I started up the blog again! If you’re here with me, thank you. Starting to write again has been very life-giving (and maybe just a little scary). Sometimes I write about deep and personal revelations I feel God has given me about motherhood, and sometimes I talk about the fake alligator I lied to my kids about. Either way, my brain feels less cluttered by having a place to let my inner-monologue run wild. Thank you for listening. And please don’t underestimate how much I enjoy hearing from you. I don't have to be the one doing all the talking :) 

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Hugs, love, and onward,

Shantastic 

My Baby is totally a control freak

Date day. That positively glorious moment in time where someone else watches your children so you can have an uninterrupted conversation with your spouse. It’s simply… beautiful. 

A few weeks ago, Seth and I were enjoying one of these miracle days. And to top it off we were doing one my favorite things in the world. Exploring. We had just gotten coffee from a place I had never heard of and as we casually strolled the busy blocks to our next destination, we got to talk to each other. Like actually have an intelligent conversation talk. Sure, we try talking to each other all the time but our two little beings like to make it nearly impossible. Many times our more important conversations have to wait until the kids are in bed for the night. My anecdotes and bits that I think are super clever get interrupted so many times that it’s no longer amusing anymore at all. (Or maybe they were never amusing to begin with…either way, there’s interruption. And that’s annoying) So on this particular date, we got to talk in the MIDDLE OF THE DAY. <magical birds begin chirping and light piano music plays softly in the background>

As we walked and sipped, I can’t remember exactly what I was saying but I was telling some funny story (probably hilarious) about how my daughter is EXACTLY like my husband. Their similarities are so loud and obvious that it’s easy to point them out. He always chuckles and shakes his head because he knows he can’t deny my accusations. 

When I thought about having kids, I naively assumed they would be like me. Even though I know how DNA works, I somehow completely forgot to include my husband into this equation. I think that was partially why I was so surprised by my firstborn aka the most extroverted person I’ve ever met. No, I do not want to talk to every single stranger in the grocery store about your birthday party from FIVE months ago. Seriously, how are you my kid? Grocery stores are for staring at your list and NOT talking to complete strangers. 

But then, right as I thought my jokes to my husband were going to go without rebuttal, he teasingly turned his head toward me and said with a smirk, “You know, you’re always joking about how Grace is exactly like me…but I’m not stubborn, and she is. So where could she have gotten that from, hmm?” I froze in mid-stride in the middle of the sidewalk and just gawked at him with complete surprise. But, as the realization that he was right began to formulate in my brain, my face morphed into a scoffing display of “Well…uhhh. Yeah SO!” After a few more seconds I was able to produce a sentence that said something like, “Well… I can’t really deny that statement because then it will just prove your point that I AM stubborn.” I can’t be stubborn about admitting the fact that I’m stubborn. Dang it. 

After my husband knew he had gotten me, he continued to laugh and said, “You two are more alike than you realize.” I tilted my head as I let that idea slosh around in my brain. Wait a second. Is that why we are always butting heads on everything?? I thought it was because she’s just SO darn particular about EVERY little thing that it drove me nuts. But maybe it drives me nutballs because I too, am particular…about everything. 

Cue the moment when the control freak realizes she has spawned a control freak.

Once this preverbal light bulb went off in my brain it finally shed some light on why we had such a hard time during her toddler years. (See the post about that here --->) She is such a perfectly mixed concoction of my husband and me, but because she is still a child, her traits are unrefined and wild. I’ve learned over the years to tame my controlling tendencies and am now perfect and completely easy to live with. (You know I’m kidding right?) But you get the point. My husband and I have had our whole lives to practice self regulation, self discipline, and learning to let little things go. She, has not. 

I remember once she got so upset with me because I wouldn’t let her bring 5,000 of her toys over to grandma and grandpa’s house. Exaggeration? Maybe. But she really did try climbing into the car with two purses, 3 stuffed animals, a pair of sunglasses, toy phone, toy camera and princess high heels. In a fit of exasperation I told her that she simply could NOT bring that much stuff with her. It was ridiculous. 

However, after Seth very gingerly pointed out that Grace and I have our own similarities too, I caught myself leaving for a family dinner at my in-laws house with my giant owl purse, water bottle, coffee thermos, kindle, crochet needles, yarn, and slippers…crap. All that stuff was important to me to have. Perhaps all her toys were just as important to her. My experience had taught me to simply throw all my things in a large shoulder bag, whereas she was trying to carry everything (and therefore drop everything) with her hands. 

I love her for the things we have in common and for the areas that make me use the scary angry voice in my head. And next time, since I know it’s important to her, I might just have to let her bring all that silly stuff (aka priceless treasures) over to grandma’s. I’ll just be sure to give her a bag first.

Do you have any strangely similar traits with your kid too? Does it make you laugh..or drive you totally crazy?  I started an Instagram account @TotallyShantastic so please connect with me over there or leave a comment below! :) 

Blessings,

Shantastic

My baby doesn't let go

Wow. It has been super fun (and maybe just a teeny bit scary) to be back in the blogging world! If you have been following along with me over the past few weeks, thank you. Thank you for joining me on this wonderful world wide web of ramblings. I’m so glad you’re here.

One of the most recent blog posts I wrote was a heavy one. (Read it here: I chased my baby up a mountain) It was about my daughter and the grueling (and now so rewarding) process of her growing up. It’s just crazy. When I started this blog I was barely pregnant with her. And now, I’ve written a post about the two of us tackling the mountain of toddlerhood. It was a really cool way to come full circle. 

This week the topic on my heart is much lighter. Can you guess what it is? Just close your eyes and picture yourself slowly wrapping your arms around a tiny little cuddle of warmth and adorableness. The fresh smell. The safety and security. Ahhhh can you feel it? Baby hugs! 

I sort of don’t understand when people say they’re not a “baby person”… Babies are totally the best. They’re so cuddly and their cheeks are just always so kissable. Ahhh babies. 

I’m a baby person. Surprise! 

I’m also a hug person (Surprise again?). Maybe that’s why I love babies so much. Baby hugs! Babies are an automatic person you can squeeze. Especially when they’re newborns, all they want to do is get hugs from you. They’re someone you can soothe with a hug, rock to sleep, and cuddle. When I was little, if something scared me or I was hurt, my reaction was immediate. I was running over to my mom and dad as quickly as my little legs would carry me. Hugs are where it’s at. So when I had kids I thought, YES! A brand new human being for me to hug ALL the time! This is fantastic. 

When my kids were babies I hugged them endlessly. Every time I was about to swoop them down into their carseat: hug. Every time I scooped them up from their crib: hug. Ahh I just loved to squeeze them tight and smell their skin. I had heard people say over and over how fast the baby stage goes, so hugging them was my way to stop for those few seconds and just breathe it in. I also think part of the reason why I love hugs so much is because I really enjoy just being still. I like to slow down, watch the waves, soak in the sunset, and just be. I don’t always have to be doing something. I could just sit, hold my child and be. 

But as my firstborn started to get a little older, she began to resist my mommy cuddles. She didn’t want to sit in my lap to watch the parade, she wanted to chase after the floats. She didn’t want to cuddle on my lap during the movie, she wanted to see how high she could jump off the couch (but we couldn’t turn off the movie because she was “still watching it”). This girl is the polar opposite of still. When she was a baby and I first started to sense some hug-resistance from her it was just a little tensing up, almost as if she felt uneasy. Then it evolved into full on back arching and swatting me away. My daughter, my own child, wasn’t a hugger. I wasn’t prepared for this. 

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I remember reading an anonymous quote that made my heart skip a beat. It said, “When your child hugs you, never be the first to let go.” I remember internalizing those words and thinking yeeeessssssss that is some beautiful stuff right there. I’m gonna do that. Never let go first. But as my daughter kept getting bigger and bigger I noticed she pretty much never initiated hugs. There was no opportunity to turn that quote into my life. It took a long journey of me figuring her out for this difference of ours to not make me feel bad. Like seriously, what kid doesn’t want to hug their mom? Apparently my kid and she’s still awesome and she still loves me. She just shows it differently than what I expected.

And then…God decided to rain down another big beautiful blessing in my life by giving me a second child, my son. He is quite literally, the best natural born hugger in the entire world. This little boy loves nothing more than to come running right at me-full speed and launch himself into my arms. When I walk into a room: hug. When I hand him his lunch: hug. When I discipline him for taking his sister’s toy: tear-streaked hug. It feels a little silly to admit, but his hugging ability is one of my favorite things about him. 

Each of my kids are answers to prayers in very different ways. Grace is my quirky, beats to her own drummer kind of perfect that I, truly, always wanted. As I wrote in that previous post --> here, figuring her out was a process (oh wait, it’s still ongoing). I had to learn through a lot of patience and persevering that hugs just weren’t gonna cut it for her. And that’s ok.

So when my Emmett joined us, he felt like the answer to my prayer for a child who just wanted to sit and be with me. I’ve had countless moments where I have thought that he fell asleep on my shoulder because there was just no way a hug could reasonably go on for that long. But no, as soon as I would fidget just a little (trying to reach my phone so that I could use it as a mirror to see if he was sleeping) he would jolt his head up and give me a huge chubby-cheeked smile. 

He loves to just sit, be, and hug me. He doesn’t always have to be doing something. Ok, well he’s two so he kind of does. But when we go outside to draw with chalk, he wants to sit in my lap. When we watch Finding Dory for the ten thousandth viewing, he cuddles right up next to me the entire time.

I love that God knew how much I would delight in an affectionate child. Sometimes when I’m thanking God for my children I specifically say a prayer of thanksgiving for blessing me with my little boy who always (every single day) has a hug for me. 

I get to be the one who doesn’t let go first.

What do you delight in about your child? I would love to know :) Leave a comment below!

Blessings,

Shantastic :)

My babies swallowed me.

Before I start, I feel like I should explain why I stopped. 

I began writing this blog back in 2012, soon after I found out I was pregnant for the first time. I just had so many emotions and ideas that I felt compelled to write it all down. I felt like it was something God was pressing on my heart. After lots of pacing back and forth and an elevated heart rate, I published my first post. I thought, if nothing else, this will be a cool journal to give to this baby someday, right? 

I think I was so nervous because I thought, why on earth are people going to care about what I have to say? This whole thing is basically just my inner monologue taking over and rambling about silly things. But, I kept writing, and it was a really really cool experience. After a few months I finally had my baby (a girl), and began to write about my new life as a mom. I didn’t quite realize the extent of it at the time, but my old life was gone. 

Motherhood is absolutely beautiful, but it’s so easy to allow it to overshadow who YOU are. At first, I was just so elated and excited to have a baby that the self sacrifices came pretty easily. Certain things that used to be norms, like getting to leave the house on a whim, just simply became things you knew you couldn’t expect from your life anymore. But without even realizing it, my crochet hooks and yarn got tucked away in a closet. My decoupage crafts were moved to the basement. The demands of motherhood were closing in and finding time to write became even more challenging. Although my wild and free little chica gave me quite a bit of inspiration to draw from, it was still hard to find the time. 

After about 18 months of life with one kid, I got pregnant with baby number two (a boy this time) and life began to settle into a whole new brand of crazy. I had pretty bad morning (aka all day) sickness for about 6 weeks. Trying to parent my child who thought naps were a complete and total waste of time was overwhelming. The cherry to this stress-ball sundae was that I had also started a small business that was beginning to require any “free” time I had to be poured into that. I was (and still am) very passionate about my business endeavor so for awhile it became the creative outlet that my personality craves. It was ok that I was letting certain parts of myself get put into boxes in the basement because I had this super amazing business to focus on. I began to stay up later in the evenings, scrambling to finish a post before my weekly “due date”. I still loved doing it but it was just so hard to find the time. What officially made me stop writing though was that I felt the Lord prompting me to hit pause. I don’t always understand everything He wants me to do, and even though I felt much sadness about it, I paused.

I continued on in life, my son was born, I tried to juggle everything that comes with having TWO littles who depend on you for everything…and the blog remained something that was in my past. Even though I wasn’t writing anymore, my inner monologue never silenced. I would catch myself doing a mundane task like washing the dishes or folding laundry and completely write out an entire blog post in my head. The urge to write never left, and truthfully, the longer I stayed away from it the stronger my desire was to blog again. As time went on I started to feel like there would come a time when God would lead me to write again. 

Then, a few months ago I went to visit my best friend for a few days (2.5 hour drive one way so we don’t see each other as often as I would like) and as I was driving back home I realized that during my 48 hour childless trip, I had finally felt like a person again. How long had it been since I didn’t have to worry about keeping two tiny beings alive for every second of every day? I didn’t have to try to think of new things to make for dinner. I didn’t have to stress about how now that my kids are getting older it’s growing increasingly more difficult to work from home. The thing that started out as the creative outlet that made me feel like a person, had grown to the point where it was a bigger beast than I had ever anticipated. It was truly a blessing, but trying to squeeze in time to work during my daughter’s quiet time (aka that time after lunch where I convince her to color in her room and play with blocks for 45 minutes so I can run downstairs to my office and try to get SOMETHING done) had become overwhelmingly stressful. When I was up visiting my best friend, I didn’t think about any of that. I laughed really hard, had intelligent debates about politics, and shared stories without being interrupted. (What a freaking concept!!!) 

I was a person again. 

And I don’t mean for that to sound like I’m complaining about my life. I feel blessed beyond measure to have two completely awesome children and a life partner who always, without fail, points me to Christ. What I’m trying to say is that I hadn’t even realized that I had allowed parts of myself to become swallowed by it all.

So, as I was driving back home I thought and prayed about what it means to me to feel like a person again. Not JUST the one who changes the toddler’s explosion poop with a smile and lets her four-year-old blow bubbles inside because she is just straight up out of fun and engaging ideas for the day. As I drove and asked God to show me how to find a balance in the craziness, I thought about the blog. I also thought about how I just might need to start using some form of childcare so that I can keep doing my dream job. But, I also thought about the blog. For some reason I simply cannot explain, writing makes me feel like a person. So here I am, with that same elevated heart rate, feeling released from the pause button, and choosing…to be a person. 

What makes you feel like a person? Or maybe the bigger question is, DO you feel like a person? 

Blessings,

Shantastic

******

Explaining the blog name- 

If you’re finding yourself going, “Totally Shantastic? I don’t get it” then this is for you! First of all, I know it's a little weird. (But let’s be honest, I am a little weird) What started as a silly play on my name has morphed into this bigger idea on my heart. 

“Trying to embrace the crazy and live life with intention”

I've always been insanely passionate about living life with intention and purpose. It's almost as if I feel the immensity of this gift we have been given. Life should not be wasted. To me, when I am being Shantastic it means I am living my life in that truth. It means I am loving others, refusing to get caught in the rat race, and it means I am being who I was created to be. Life with intention. 

Embracing the crazy is the part that has always been more of a challenge for me. When you have young children, how do you embrace the chaos they bring while also cherishing every single second of it? Sometimes I just want (need) to clean the laundry room while my husband wrestles with the kids. Sometimes the crazy needs taming. But where I struggle is to make sure I don't get lost in that. Yes, sometimes you do have to choose to clean the laundry room because you can no longer see the top of the washer and dryer. But then, maybe you need to stop there for the day and go help your daughter finish that final takedown of the Daddy monster. Life with balance. Embrace the crazy.

If you’re still here, thank you for joining me. Until next time <3 

I chased my baby up a mountain

“Hey Mom, can you get me out of here?” 

Hmmm that was a good question. Could I get her out of there? My daughter (who turned four last summer) had thought it would be super hilarious for me to put her in a baby swing at the park. I shared her excited energy and thought that, indeed, it would be pretty funny to see her in a baby swing too.

Literally the second I got all her weight plopped into the swing I thought, “OH CRAP. How am I going to get her out of this??” It was one of those swings where you have to lift the baby up really high until their feet clear the leg holes. With how much I struggled just getting her into the seat, I realized I had absolutely no clue how I was going to get her out of it. We were the only ones at the park. The nearest group of people was a construction crew about a 1/4 of a mile away. I quickly filed that info into my “emergency we’ve been stuck here for an hour and I am desperate for help” folder. As I just stood there silently panicking in my head, she was having the most amazing time. She exchanged excited squeals with her little brother and they both laughed about how much fun there were having side-by-side. Totally carefree. And then, the dreaded question came, “Mom, I’m ready to get out. Can you get me out of here?” ….Sweetie, do you want to know the real answer to that question?? Of course I couldn’t scare her and tell her I was picturing us spending the rest of her life stuck in this thing. I had to stay calm and act as though I was totally capable of lifting her 40lb body up over my head. In this moment I probably should have assessed the situation and come up with a strategy for how I was going to accomplish this. But no, of course I just grabbed her under her shoulders and started heaving. I got her waist out and her body slumped over the side of the swing. Her legs were still stuck in the holes and I had lost my “oomph” to keep pulling her upwards. I froze for about half a second and thought, “Dear sweet Jesus please give me the strength to not drop my kid and make her dangle by her ankles on this stupid swing.” 

The second the prayer left my brain I realized, DUH her giant boots were blocking the leg holes. My fingers barely reached the top of her boots and I was miraculously able to slide them off her feet. Within seconds she wriggled her legs out of the holes to freedom. As we both looked at each other and giggled about our silly fiasco, I realized, she really is a big kid now…no more baby swings. 

Everyone says it happens so fast. You’ll blink and it’s over. Your baby is gone and it has been replaced with this little person who just never. stops. talking. You now have a kid who has her own grand ideas about sitting in baby swings and laughing about it. For me, the transition hasn’t quite felt like blinking. It’s been more like that whole hills and valleys metaphor. You know, the valleys are where everything is all nice and easy, there’s wildflowers and the terrain isn’t as rough. It still might be a little rocky here and there but it’s nothing compared to scaling a mountain-side. For me as a first-time parent, babyhood was a glorious valley of adorable squishiness…and then, all too soon, there came the mountain climb of tantrum-filled toddlerhood.

When I first got pregnant, I didn’t really daydream past the baby stage. I knew that based on my personality, babyhood would be the magnificent valley I had always dreamed of. Yes, of course there would be LOTS of growing and learning that would take place, but I knew it wouldn’t stretch and test me the same way toddlerhood eventually would. I knew the season of life would undoubtedly come where I would have to take my girl by the hand and we would both, together, have to climb the inevitable mountain of growing up. However, little did I know that it would more accurately involve me chasing after her like a crazy person, trying to slow her down, and trying with all my might to figure her out.

Somehow, by the grace of the most amazing God, we both survived. There were times where I didn’t know if my sanity would remain intact. There were days when I questioned if her staying home with me was really the best thing for her. 

I remember one morning I was leaving to go get groceries and tried giving her a hug before I left. She doesn't like hugs. I knew this, yet I persisted. So instead of embracing me like my foolish wishful thinking had hoped, she pulled away, kicked me in the stomach and said “I don luhh you Mom!” I glanced up at my husband with tears starting to form in my eyes and as he started to try to say something to make me feel better I put my hand up and said, “Thanks sweetie, but I just need to leave now.” The last thing I needed was for my child to see me crying.

At the time we were on a pretty tight grocery budget, but on that day I got myself a white raspberry mocha from Starbucks. As I slowly sipped my coffee while perusing the aisles at Target I kept whispering to myself  'My child loves me. My child loves me.' Now, don't get me wrong. She wasn't a mommy-kicking monster all the time. She had her many sweet moments and countless silly ones too. But, I'm embarrassed to admit how much the monster moments crushed me. I can't even tell you how many times my husband has had to console me by saying things like 'You KNOW she loves you Babe.’ I realized over a very grueling and sometimes painful journey up our mountain that learning what she needed from me would be a process. When I started the parenthood stage I just assumed that my kids would need me to be their mom and that the definition of that would be whatever naturally came out of me. I was so very wrong with my feisty, strong-willed little force. It took a lot of prayer, self reflection and patience to finally start to piece together what she needed from me. In my prayers I would ask God why she acted the way she did. Why won’t she just hug me? Why does she fight with me on everything?? During those moments of prayer when I was waiting for an answer, God nudged me to the thought that I need to start seeing HER. I need to ask questions like, “What does she need from me in this moment?” instead of trying to mold her into what I thought she should be. She doesn’t need hugs. And that’s perfectly ok. Instead, she needs me to sit down with her in her room and let her explain how to play the new game she invented during quiet time. That’s what fills her up and makes her feel special. 

As we continued on our trek up that mountain, the more I started to figure her out. And the more I figured her out, the more I noticed the gap between us beginning to close. I wasn’t chasing after her in panic mode anymore.

Then, finally, after a grueling climb of trudging (sometimes crawling) and persevering, the monumental day finally came when she turned four. The moment she reached that age milestone it was like a switch turned on in her brain. We had finally made it to the peak of that seemingly endless climb. And on that mountaintop we were blessed with the glorious, magnificent descent into the valley of being a preschooler. It’s much more peaceful here. There’s less tantrums, there’s sentences that include the words, “Ok Mom that will be a good idea.” It’s so freakin beautiful. Now, her sense of humor has grown to the point where we can have inside jokes and I can lovingly tease her about how sometimes I just NEED a big cuddle-hug from my baby girl. She obliges with rolling her eyes and trying to distract me with a question or anecdote from her day. We can laugh about our differences now.

My baby is not a baby anymore. We’re steering clear of baby swings, I’ve packed up all her little rompers and have started to forget just how chubby her little cheeks were. I thought leaving her valley of babyhood would be heartbreaking, but what I forgot to think about is that there is inevitably another valley on the other side. Yes, it looks very different. I’m now walking with my girl holding her hand-no longer chasing after her in a full on panic. I’m taking what I learned on that trek up the mountain about who she is and applying that to what she needs from me as her mom. Of course I know there will be many more mountains for us to climb together, but for now, I’m going to soak this in. We worked really hard to get here, so I’m going to enjoy it.

Have you had any "monster moments" with your kids? Did you have to buy yourself a coffee to feel better too? :) 

Blessings,

Shantastic