Family - A little heavy

Everyone has their own definition of family. Up until tonight, my definition/idea was very narrow. My family is my husband and kids because I know that where ever they are I am too. I depend on them and they depend on me. But I now realize that if something were to happen to any of us, we really wouldn't have the support or love we would need to get through it.

When I was little, I was close to both my dad's and my mom's side (parent's divorced when I was 2). I slept over at my grandparents, I annoyed and followed around my aunts, my cousins were my best friends. Somewhere along the line my dad moved out of state and I gradually lost connection with his family. I moved to be with my dad when I started middle school and my relationships with my mom's family somewhat faded. I went years and years without seeing most of them.

Fast Forward to today....
We all live within 30 miles of each other (if not closer) and not much has changed, I hardly see anyone. Including on holidays.

My husbands family is quite opposite. They all live close...in fact most are neighbors. They are there for every milestone, every good thing, and every bad thing. They help each other out. They are each others best friends. The spouses of his aunts, uncles, and cousins all get along great too. They all grew up in the same area. They share childhoods. They have history. I have never fit into his family. I sit alone at most gatherings because when I do attempt to engage in conversation....it just feels too forced from both sides. I am quite the outsider since I am younger and didn't grow up around here. Even my kids see the difference in how all the cousins play and interact. But I'm ok with all that. You stick to what you know and they know close family, I don't. I don't know how to be a part of that and they probably don't know what to do with me. Stepping out of your comfort zone is hard. And while I accept that it is what is it, I do envy their relationships. Of how their kids all play together and spend birthdays together. Of how they know if something were to happen their family is a phone call, or a door knock, away. When a member is sick or in the hospital, everyone of them shows up. They call to chat. They stop to talk real quick when they see you, instead of a passing "hi, how are you?" (I get those often.) I'm envious of THEIR family.

This is all at the forefront of my thoughts because tonight, I saw my grandmother, my dad's mom. She is at home under hospice care and isn't expected to make it through the weekend. All of her children and their kids came and went to spend time with her. While I sat with her for a little while I couldn't help but remember being 4 and spending nights with her and my aunt Sam. She would cook the best chicken n' dumplins in the whole world. I remember the times I stayed there with my dad after he and my mom seperated. I could remember the time I told her I wanted a "wedding cake" for my birthday cake with blue flowers. And that's what I got....it was only a 1/4 sheet, but to me it was a wedding cake. I remember the curio cabinet she had with little trinkets and the box filled with happy meal toys. And sadly those are they majority of my memories. Over the past nine years, I have seen her and visited but not often. Life got in my way and I would always comment that I needed to stop by....but never got around to it. While being reintroduced to family that either didn't know I existed or hadn't seen me since I was 5, I thought this can't happen for my kids.

While I am not close to my husband's family I can follow their example. I can be closer to the people I share interests and memories with. I can make it a point to see how they are doing. I can stop by on the holidays. Their kids can come over for sleep-overs. And my children's cousins can be their best friends. Financial status, the neighborhood you live in, the education you have, all don't matter because you are family. It shouldn't take failing health to bring family and loved ones together. I hated not knowing the names of family members or recognizing faces. I'm sad about the missed opportunities for a quick visit. I'm sad of the memories not made. And I'm sad that my children didn't get to know their great-grandmother; to know her voice, her laugh, see her smile, or taste her yummy cooking. These are all memories that I will cherish.

My Enemies

I’m a proud Momma to what I affectionately call The Monkeys. My oldest, and only son, is 8 years old. His Highness is the calm before the storm. Behind him are our three gorgeous daughters, ages 6, 3, and 5 months, who I refer to as Sassy, Teeny Tiny, and the Bean. Together their personalities closely resemble the cast of Jackass. I have literally spent the last nine years either pregnant or changing diapers. And that’s a LOT of poop.


Yes, they are all mine, yes, they all have the same father, yes, the father and I are still married, and yes, we do know what causes this. We are just exceptionally good at it.

While our family is larger than the average, we are completely normal… normal being a relative term. Let me tell about some of our enemies...

THE DUGGAR FAMILY (TLC): The Duggars bother me, and not just because their oldest son and his wife practically filmed hours of hand porn during their dating episodes. When it comes to educating America on life inside a big family, the show is misleading.

While I wish I could be as sweet natured as Michelle, and never raise my voice to my husband or children, I just can’t. Then again, I also don’t have teenage daughters to help cook all our meals, wash our 18 weekly loads of laundry (which is a domestic enemy to every mother, in and of itself) and watch my babies all day. Perhaps if I could borrow Michelle’s oldest daughters a few mornings a week, I would have more patience with the little howler monkeys who keep begging for sippy cups to be refilled and goldfish to crush on the freshly vacuumed carpet.

APPOINTING A LEGAL GUARDIAN: In the event that (God forbid) something should happen to us both… When His Highness was born, both sets of grandparents would proudly be appointed his legal guardian should something happen. I couldn’t stand the thought of filling out a legal document, stating who was to raise MY child, MY pride and joy. My husband and I argued for days over who would do the better job, both throwing each other’s families under the bus.

Fast forward seven years, and now, instead of arguing with my husband, I’m arguing with the couple we named legal guardian… “What do you mean you only want His Highness and Sassy?? So what you’ve got two kids of your own! Fine then... We’ll see if his aunt will take a few of them.”

PUBLIC OUTINGS-- This is a three part enemy.

A.) Herding Chimpansloths
Getting out the door to go anywhere, whether it is school or amusements parks, takes an act of congress. Instead of “herding turtles” to our gas-guzzler, I feel much more as if I’ve just herded a cross breed of chimpanzees and sloths. While I know the chimp part of their brain is indeed intelligent enough to locate a matching pair of shoes, put them on their feet (“Wrong feet or not, I don’t care, just put them on and let’s GO!!”) and walk to the car, the sloth part of their bodies always seems to take over, making my simple request of finding two shoes (“Matching or not, I don’t care, just put them on and LET’S GO!!”) and getting in the car nearly impossible.

B.)Paparazzish Encounters
Once we arrive at our public destination, there will no doubt be onlookers and gawkers, craning their necks to see and count just how many kids I have in my van/grocery cart/sunscreen assembly line/restaurant booth/etc. It’s sort of like having paparazzi following you all the time, only instead of shouting, “Who are you wearing?” You get to pretend you give a rip about all the “Well-meaning” commenters and their questions like, “Have you thought about how you’ll put them through college?” --Are you offering to do so? Then why is it any of your business? “You’ve got your hands full.” –Thanks, I hadn’t noticed. “Better you than me.” –Yep, my kids would agree.

C.)Humiliation: Public outings with this number almost always results in embarrassing encounters involving one or more members of the motley crew. It never fails. I’m always sorry I take them out in public. For example, when Sassy was three years old, she asked me very loudly in the check-out line during rush hour at the grocery store, “Momma, what smells like button-eggs?” Stupidly, I asked him to repeat his question, since I had no idea what button-eggs were. (Amateur.) Holding her nose she repeated, even louder, “NOT BUTTON-EGGS, Momma. BUTT and EGGS! Something smells like BUTT and EGGS!” At the same time she was assaulting me with embarrassment, I got a whiff of the man standing in line in front of us. Two thoughts immediately came to mind: How in the world did my three year old put those two items together to make such a description… and second, how did she do it so accurately?

GUILT: It’s the common thread that bonds our sisterhood together as Mothers. For me, guilt rears its ugly head daily, leaving me to doubt my capabilities to handle such a fun and spirited group of children. After a long day of Chimpansloth Herding, when my babies’ daddy is off doing daddy/husband/helpful things, I don’t always make time to read “justonemorestory pleeeaaaasssseee” nor do I always explain as sweetly as I should that Mommy is exhausted and just really needs for everyone to close their eyes and go to sleep. Some nights it comes out more like the foot stomping temper tantrums I’m always fussing at them for throwing. After they’re all in the bed, and the house is quiet, I stare mindlessly at reruns on Nick at Nite. That’s when the feelings of inadequacy begin to haunt me. “Am I doing a good job? Do they all know just how much I truly love them? Did I even make eye contact with the middle one…. Oh, what’s her name.. Sassy?” The truth is, while Satan loves for those feelings of doubt to creep into all of our hearts, only we can push them out, and remember, there’s nothing to feel guilty for. Siblings are a gift. Tomorrow is a new day. And no matter how today went, I can always do better tomorrow.

Even though I don’t have the help of Michelle Duggar’s daughters, I wouldn’t trade my life for the world. While a large family may bring with it an abundance of domestic enemies, it also brings an abundance of LOVE. Every day I get to wake up to four times the hugs, kisses, and snuggles. I also get to do the greatest parts of Motherhood four times over— hearing the heartbeat for the first time; kissing booboos; blowing raspberries on their bellies until we’re both laughing so hard, neither of us can breathe; watching my husband rock a cranky kid to sleep, then falling asleep himself, with that child locked tightly in his embrace; seeing the wonderment each child finds with the simple things in life. Those things, no matter how many times over you do them, never get old. These children are my greatest teachers, and most certainly my greatest blessings.

Truth is...

For me, blogging is an interesting beast. It's a creative outlet for me, and at the same time meets my imaginary requirement that every good mom needs to scrapbook. I don't scrapbook because I'm awful at it. I blog.

Anyway, I try to make this blog an honest, real, and revealing place, but I also have boundaries. Some boundaries are safety related (not posting my address, for example) and others are for personal or even stylistic reasons. It's a balance between being cheesy and boring (my life is so AWESOME that it is AWESOMER than anyone else's and here are 8 more posts about how AWESOME I am in case you somehow forgot my level of AWESOME) and sharing intimate feelings with the world.

So anyway, it's a challenge and the more serious posts are tougher to navigate. But, whether anyone else wants it or not, sometimes I want it said so I can feel it later.

Here is the truth: I hated being pregnant (Shocker, right!? Since I have given birth to 4 beautiful babies). There were many unpleasant things: I waddled about, for instance. And I puked a lot. And I peed a lot. And sometimes I peed when I was not planning on peeing. I was always miserable. And I complained. A lot. Pregnancy is not necessarily lady-like.

However, it is womanly. I may someday forget my own name, but I will never forget what it felt like when my kiddos moved and kicked inside of me. I was proud to stand without sucking in, tightening, pinching, hiding, or twisting myself into any of the myriad of positions women find to hide themselves in plain view. Each time, I felt as if my body-- however imperfect-- had purpose. I joyfully anticipated the need for each part. My arms to hold and rock a child. My legs to kneel as I washed my baby. My lips to kiss and my fingers to stroke each cheek. My body grew as they did, and it was good.

Now, at nearly 4 months post-partum, I find myself wondering (for the final time) how to regain that sense of purpose and confidence. I love my babies, and I revel in my ability to physically care for them. I hold, carry, touch, tickle, caress, wash, snuggle, kiss, and teach. Mothering my children is a verb, and I am blessed with capability.

Now, knowing that I will never again experience pregnancy and the sense of meaning it brings; I must find a way to appreciate and treasure my body and its importance. I must find a way to banish my nay saying and revel in who and what I am. It is not about the size or shape or even the objective of my body. It is about the dialogue in my mind.

Because, you see, I am the mother of not only a 4-month-old daughter, but 6 and 3 year old princesses as well. And if I cannot restructure and redraft the words that run through my head, then someday my beautiful, perfect daughters will look at their beautiful, perfect bodies with the same terrible thoughts that I have about my own. And I cannot let that happen.

Baby Daddy

Before she was born, Ms. Ava has looked just like her daddy.

I'm sure some of you are interested in imagining what a tiny version of Tommy would look like with a bow and a diaper. I am happy to oblige.

For example, engrossed in SportsCenter, Baby Girl Husband would look like this:

The resemblence is particularly startling when she is sleeping.

Sleeping Baby Girl Husband looks like this:

Feeling a bit shy, Bashful Baby Girl Husband is a doll:

And, deciding this diaper business isn't all that bad,

Cheerful Baby Girl Husband:

A Monkey's Legacy

The written word is powerful. Certainly, it's important to speak words of blessing and encouragement to our sons and daughters, but writing has the potential to last much longer since words can be saved and read over and over again. The written word has power to shape and encourage our children and build a lasting family legacy. Short notes, journal entries, letters and even e-mails can be great tools to keep in touch and affirm our children. One great way of doing this is by keeping a written journal for each child. Just get a book of blank pages and write about what's happening in your family's life; or the joys of being a father; your hopes and dreams for your child as he or she grows; or the important values and beliefs you want to pass on.
Start while pregnant, or if your kids are older, it's never too late. You can write every day, or once a week. More realistically, record your thoughts on birthdays or holidays, and at special events like graduations, significant "firsts" in their lives, or a time when they're embarking on a new venture or taking a step of faith. Or, it could simply be a time when something specific is on your heart. Including the date will give it even more long-term impact like a family record.
I have decided to not only do this for each of my 4 monkeys but also record some of these moments on an electronic format (you know, just in case something were to happen to the "hard" copy). In a way, that was how I was using social media networks. Randomly posting things my kids have said or done that I found important or down right funny. These are things I want to retell one day...and well, with 4 of them I'm sure I will forget the details.