My Baby Thought I Could Quit

I’ve always wanted this. In high school I worked for an after-school childcare program and sometimes the kids would accidentally call me mom. They would get so embarrassed and turn red but I would be beaming with a huge smile. I didn’t have any kids of my own yet but I was already anxiously anticipating the day when I would be mom to someone. Everything I wanted for my future was to be married and have children (I like to think big). I knew that anything else that poured out of my life would be icing on the proverbial cake. I just wanted a family. Because being a stay-at-home mom is what I always wanted, a lot of the annoying things that occur when taking care of children all day just feel like another day at the office to me. Another poopy diaper? Yep it is 10:00a.m. so that sounds about right. You dumped out all the blocks and played with them for two seconds? Ahh typical. But there is one area of my job that plagues me because I cannot (and probably will never) win. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much effort I put into it, the kitchen will never (ever) be totally clean. Actually, I think the fact that I keep trying is the definition of complete insanity. 

Yesterday I was finishing up getting lunch ready while I tried to simultaneously put the clean dishes away. I threw some fruit on plates for my kids to serve as an appetizer until lunch was ready and hoped it would keep them occupied long enough to finally get caught up on the dishes. I had also given my son, Emmett, a bowl with a little bit of leftover smoothie from the night before. The kids were doing surprisingly well and every parent’s goal of having a clean kitchen was finally in my sights. We had spent the entire Fourth of July weekend doing every except cleaning, so with it being July 5th and the long weekend over, I was itching to get everything put back in its place. 

The stove which had endured more than five meals without being wiped off was sparkling. The crumbs in the microwave had been evicted and even the entire kitchen floor had been freshly swept. Ahh it was beautiful. I was about to achieve the miraculous feat that parents constantly strive for and rarely achieve; a clean kitchen. 

And then as my back was turned to my kids, I heard Emmett say, “Uh-ohhhhh. Sah-wee Mommy….” I slowly turned around to see that he had dropped his bowl and my freshly swept floor was now full of sticky pink smoothie. It was dripping down the counter and somehow had splattered in a 12-inch wide radius across the floor. I envisioned him playing around with his bowl and being goofy right before he dropped it and said, “Ugh. Emmett I am not happy about that.” He immediately dropped his chin onto his chest with an expression of total shame on his face. I realized almost instantaneously that I had been too harsh. With my super sensitive boy, a serious tone is enough to break his heart. I was just assuming that he had been playing around, I had no proof. Maybe he had been trying to hold the bowl while he climbed down from the stool with intentions of putting it in the sink for me. I honestly didn’t know, but I reacted with frustration because my spotless kitchen had once again, just been taken from me. 

I then told Emmett it was ok and I would like him to help me clean it up. I turned toward the sink to grab my cloth and as my back was turned I barely heard Emmett mumble, “Are you not gonna be my mommy anymore?” I froze and my heart sank. With no idea where he had heard that phrase, I did know that I must be sure he knew the answer to that question. I dropped the cloth and marched over to where he was still pouting on his stool. I sank down on my knees so that my face was level with his and gently pulled his chin up so that his eyes met mine. He was struggling to hold back tears and I smiled to show him I wasn’t upset. Then I took a deep breath and said, “Baby, I will always be your mommy. Always.” The second the last word left my lips he launched himself into my arms so hard I almost feel backwards. I hugged him tight against my chest and as he started to pull away I kissed his soft cheeks until he giggled and playfully squirmed in my arms. 

He must have heard that phrase from a movie or tv show and decided to use that moment to test it. I’m not even sure if he totally understood what it meant. But, even so I knew that I needed to affirm for him that being his mom is something I will forever be. It’s everything I ever wanted. Now that I do have the title of mom, it’s something that can never change. I will never not be their mom, and that makes me very happy. 

Maybe someday I’ll joke with Emmett about how when he was two he asked me the most ridiculous question anyone could ask me. Will I ever stop being his mommy? 

Absolutely, and positively, no.  

Blessings,

Shantastic

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 Babies' Dad is on a Balance Beam

10 years. 10 years of marriage…I apologize if I get a bit over-emotional (unfortunately that’s just a symptom of being Shantastic) but every prayer and hope I had for my life came true the day I met him.

On paper we are so different, but together we are a beautiful balancing act. We all strive to have our life be somewhat in balance right? A healthy balance of work and rest, a mixture of not just telling our kids to love each other and be respectful but actually showing them through our actions. From the day we met we have been walking on the balance beam of life together. Sometimes it’s been easy, wide enough for us both to walk together hand-in-hand. Other seasons we have had to help lead the other through difficult times, and continue to encourage each other when one of us would sink down in defeat. In the darkest of times, we have even had to take turns carrying each other on our backs. Never giving up. Always persisting. 

Just like life, our walk together is always changing. Sure, we have days and seasons where it feels like the movies. My heart leaps when I see his car pull into the driveway, my emotions swell when he tells me I look beautiful. But we have our challenges just like everyone else too. I annoy him endlessly with my day-old coffee that I leave sitting on the counter. He drives me crazy when he drinks all the orange juice in one sitting. But through every trial, every hard situation, when one of us is totally losin' it and about to have a mental breakdown, we balance. 

We’ve been operating like this since we first started dating, but it has obviously been tested more since having our children. Of course, we are always trying to be the best versions of ourselves for our kids, to try and teach them how to be caring people who treat others with respect. But recently, I dropped the ball in regards to our son. At first it may not seem like that big of a deal, but to me, it was. It happened a few months ago…and it all started with my son’s eyes. Those eyes. No, please don’t start filling up with tears I thought. Those bright baby blues fill up so stinkin' fast. Just as I was about to extend my arms and wrap my sad little boy in the biggest, bestest, mommy embrace, my husband ran between us and scooped Emmett out of my reach. As my gaze followed Emmett who was now full-on back arching trying to reach me, I made eye contact with my husband. Catching his very intent stare finally snapped me back to reality and I realized, I had almost done it again. I was about to let Emmett completely get away with misbehaving, just because he had started crying and trying to hug me. I had been going too easy on him lately (because, those eyes). I had been letting him get out of being in trouble because I would rather just hug him instead. It was creating a not-so-good pattern for him and I had been in denial about it.

This time his offense was a pretty big thing and my husband was not about to let it go ignored. Emmett hit me on the arm (really it was more like an assertive slap…but still, something had to be done, right?). I instinctively shot Emmett a look of disapproval and when I raised my voice just one level above normal, his eyes became a thunderstorm and his words of apology came pouring out. I had told him that he needed to go sit for a time-out. He hates time-outs almost as much as I hate disciplining him. It’s hard to follow through and discipline someone who just immediately starts sobbing a barely audible “Sahhhheeeee” while he’s trying to go in for a hug. So, when Emmett slapped my arm and I went to save him from his consequence, my husband was ready to stand in the gap. I tried defending myself because, of course, I didn’t want to admit that I was wrong. I blurted, “But I think he feels really bad about it!” He responded quietly and calmly by saying, “Babe, you can’t be the rescuer.” 

He was right. I had been creating a habit of being the rescuer, and my son’s behavior was steadily showing the proof of that. Emmett had just booked himself a ticket to “Time-Out Land” and he had to go. If I would have just hugged him right away, would he have really gotten the concept? Would the reality of his bad choice really sunk in? Or was he just reacting to being in trouble and saying sorry to get out of a time-out?  My husband knew that in this moment, Emmett needed to experience a real consequence. My sweet little boy had been testing the boundaries more lately, and he needed to know that this was not something we would allow. Discipline had to happen, and I couldn’t rescue him from it.

After a short stay in “Time-Out Land”, I walked over to my baby and gently laid his hand on my cheek. Without any prompting he whimpered, “Sahhee MomMom”. I scooped him up into my lap and told him I forgave him. Even though following through with his time-out made me want to cry right along with him, it was what had to happen. That night was the first -and only- time he has ever hit me. He learned.

When I was getting lazy on my balance beam of life and choosing the option that required less work, my husband gently reminded me that what is right is not always easy. This wasn’t the biggest failure I’ve ever had, the Lord knows I’ve made much bigger mistakes in my life! But still, my husband was there to counter for me. Just like he has been every single day for the last 10 years. 

So today, I’m celebrating that. 10 years of friendship, partnership, and never giving up.

Blessings,

Shantastic

P.S. Babe, I ordered you that comforter from Sleep Number that you really wanted. Don’t worry, it was on sale :) Happy Anniversary my love!

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Lastly, this photo makes my over-emotional sappy little self squeal because my husband is reading to my kids from the Beginner’s Bible that my Great-Grandma gave me. I read that book every night as a kid. I almost dropped the coffee pot trying to scramble over there and catch a photo with my phone before anyone wiggled away. Grace sat there with him for over 20 minutes. And my heart could barely even stand it. 

I know my baby.

As we were driving home from church a few weeks ago, my son said from the backseat, “Hey MomMom. I was crying in nursery. Can you say why?” The first thing I thought was, Ok, that was a very mature sentence for a two-year-old. Then I answered back to him, “Why Bub?” He paused then said, “I was crying about you.” …My heart dropped and I flashed back to the tear-streaked moment when I dropped him off in the nursery that morning. I tried to sound totally calm (and not choked up) as I replied, “Oh… because I left you in the nursery?” He answered back matter-of-factly ‘Yeah. You leave and I crying…Sorry MomMom.”

I had to figure this out. We had just spent the last three weeks with me having to stay in the nursery the entire service because he was too scared to be left in there on his own. I figured he just needed to get familiar with the room, so if I had to stay in there a few times, that wasn’t the end of the world. However, I prayed the day would come when I would get to once again resume sitting through a church service without my child crying for me to come save him. The day when he apologized to me for crying was the day I had tried the “ditch and run” in a desperate attempt to get him to see that the nursery was a totally fun place even when mommy wasn’t there. As you know from my previous paragraph, it didn't go so well. 

A week went by and and inevitably, it was Sunday again. This time I tried prepping him a bit more during breakfast. I asked him questions about the nursery and talked about the helpers who are his “friends”. I even pulled up an episode of Daniel Tiger singing the “Grownups Come Back” song. We sang it together and as he nodded his head along to the tune I thought, Oh I hope he is getting this. I so hope he is getting this. 

We walked into church with his hand in mine, and as soon as we neared the corner for the nursery he threw himself behind my legs and began crying. I could tell this was not a show he was putting on. This was not a fake cry. He was committed and he wasn’t going to give up. I smiled at the nursery staff and quietly walked in with him. As we slowly strolled around looking at the toys, I kept trying to peel him off me and get him interested in playing with something. After a few minutes, one of the volunteers came over to me and very kindly said, “Would you like me to just scoop him up so you can leave?” It was a very sweet gesture, and as I smiled at her I said, “Thank you for offering, but I think it will work best for him if I just take it slow and let him ease into it.”

It ended up taking about 20 minutes before he finally started to venture a few feet away from me. Every time he took a step away from me I took a step closer to the door. I made eye contact with one of the volunteers and mouthed “If he cries for more than five minutes you can page me”. I then followed with a thumbs up and made my great escape out the door. I told myself I had to walk away and go sit in the service. He would be fine. They would page me if he needed me. 

Minutes passed and I slowly started to relax in my seat. As the final song wrapped up, I couldn’t deny that I was excited to be reunited with my boy. When the check-in volunteer brought him out to me, his face lit up and I swear I even saw pride in his eyes. He had made it through and he knew it. The second he was close enough to me, he launched himself into my arms and began babbling about what he had played with and who he had talked to. As we turned to leave, the woman who had offered to help scoop him up pointed at me and said, “Now that’s a mom who knows her son.” I froze for a second and then flashed her a huge smile. For the next few hours her words kept resonating in my mind. I couldn’t quite figure out why it had made me feel so happy. As I continued to reflect on her words of affirmation I finally realized…it was touching me so much because it was one of the best compliments I've ever received. 

To know someone, truly know them, is a beautiful thing. From the moment my babies were born, I have given everything I am to learn who they are. God has created two completely different children for me to raise. I want to know what makes them laugh so I can delight in their giggles. I want to learn what makes them feel safe so I can provide security for them. 

I want to know them so I can be the mom they need me to be. My daughter ran into the nursery on her own the very first day and didn’t even say goodbye to me. She didn’t need me in that way. Emmett did. 

But most importantly, above all else, I want to know them so that I can teach them about God in a way that will connect with their own extraordinary heart. Because that, right there, is everything. They will each have unique ways in which they feel God’s presence and they will have their own individual passions that God has given them. I want to know my children so I can connect with their heart. For this woman to spend 20 minutes with me and Emmett and walk away from that saying, “That’s a mom who knows her son,” …that’s everything to me. 

Everything I have been trying to do from the moment he was born…is know him. 

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Have you had a child who struggled with separation anxiety? Got any tips for me because I'm sure this won't be the last time he has a cryfest about me leaving him somewhere haha! 

Respond using the comment section below OR find me on Instagram @TotallyShantastic and comment there!

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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

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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