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Longing for Authenticity

4/5/2020

 
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Tiffany has been my friend since the 10th grade.  It started out as a simple friendship, with few similarities besides our mutual dedication to school and a deep love for shenanigans.  We lived the ups and downs of high school together, and by the time we graduated she was my closest friend in all the earth.

We were roommates our Freshman year of college, one of the most difficult years of my life.  This was the height of an extremely hard season struggling with my OCD, something I had always managed to conceal from those around me.  Now, living in tight quarters, it was all but impossible to hide from her.  I did my best to seem like everything was normal, and I somehow convinced myself that I was pulling it off.  My habits were far beyond irritating.  I never took my turn at cleaning the bathroom.  I spent insane amounts of time showering each morning.  I ignored my mounding pile of laundry.  Avoidance of everything that gnawed at me was the only coping mechanism I knew.  The way I acted had to drive her crazy, or at the absolute least, annoy her.

Years later, I found out that my mom had discussed my growing problem with Tiffany before we started our year in the dorm, together.  While it seemed like an explanation to how she was able to tolerate my strange behaviors, I realize it's so much more.  She knew my deepest, darkest secret.  For years, I had struggled with haunting thoughts from OCD.  No one knew the extent of it, besides my mom and step dad, who lived the day in and day out beside me.  Even then, they didn't understand the emotional load that consumed me.  But here was Tiffany, living with the annoying behaviors of a person who couldn't control her own thoughts.  Behaviors that affected more than myself.  They affected her.  She was seeing me and my faults up close, and she never treated me differently than she ever had.  She kept from pointing out my faults.  More importantly, she didn't look down on me or treat me like I was broken.  Tiffany didn't tiptoe around, babying me and treating me as less-than because I had a mental illness.  She treated me the same.  She treated me like me, her best friend.  ​

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The Makings of A Magical Life

3/31/2020

 
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I want to give my kids a magical childhood. I want to give them what I had, while making sure they have something different, something better.  I want them to know that they are loved and cherished; to look back fondly at the time they were growing up and say beautiful things about the life I made for them.
Pinterest claims this means animal shaped sandwiches, perfectly themed birthday parties, and an intricately designed bedroom. It means Advent Calendars with a new activity for each of the 25 days before Christmas. It means handmade Valentines and elaborate Easter baskets. Instagram suggests it means trips to Disney, ski trips, and pristine beaches in Maui.  It means individual daddy/daughter dates, participation in all the activities, and perfectly curated entertainment. 
Sure.  That can be awesome, but I think the magic happens in much simpler ways. 
It's in the routines we set for our kids' lives; the things that make them feel safe.  It's the sound of the dishwasher running at night, waffles on Sunday mornings and the special plate they eat their birthday cake on each year.  It's the smell of coffee in the morning, dance music while doing chores, and audio stories during quiet time.
The magic is in birthday streamers, movie nights, and staying up late to finish a puzzle.  It’s in playing superheroes with your brother and sleeping on the floor with your cousins.  It’s in having your aunts and uncles and grandparents nearby. The magic is in going to the mall to eat pizza in the food court. It’s in couch snuggles and bubbles in the bathtub. It’s getting your pants muddy rolling down the hill and catching snowflakes on your tongue.  They feel the magic when going to the park on a nice day or splashing in puddles after a storm. It’s found swinging on a porch swing.  It’s coloring on the floor while someone reads a chapter book out loud. It’s making a card for a family member that’s sad. There is magic in lunchbox notes and ice cream on the first day of school. It's Christmas Eve at Nana and Papa's.  The magic comes from seeing the ornament you made in Kindergarten hanging on the tree year after year.  It’s watching the colors through the sunroof as you go through the car wash.  It’s climbing a tree.  The magic is in reading magazines on the way to school and telling everyone the newest animal facts it unveils.  
The big stuff is exciting, but it's all the little moments that make up a magical life. 

What Matters Most

1/1/2020

 
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I was having a rough time anticipating my return to work. All I'd ever wanted to do was stay home with my kids. I'd had a plan. I would work until having kids, then stay home and raise my kids, do crafts with them every day, bake everything from scratch, and throw dinner parties. So far, it hadn't worked out that way. With each baby, I aimed to take my maternity leave and not come back. But each time, the money wasn't there. I was lucky to take the maternity leave at all, really. Paid maternity leave isn't required in the States, and I worked for a small business. I could take the leave, but it was on my dime. Each time, I'd return to work and tell myself that I'd quit soon. But, once I left for my maternity leave with my third, and last, baby, the money still wasn't there. We still needed both incomes. I still needed to work, and my dream of staying home with my kids was a distant reality. In the days before my return to work, I wrote a letter to myself. I asked myself, "What would I tell a friend if they were struggling with this, like I was?"

Dear Nicole,
I know you are about to go back to work and your maternity leave is ending. I know this is breaking your heart, because you so desperately want to be home with your children, serving your family. I know that it's no fun going back to work.
I want you to remember that you don't have to stay home to bless your family. By going back to work, you can still be an overwhelming blessing. Your income blesses your husband as he transitions to a new career. You are taking pressure off of him to be the sole provider as he takes a different path. You are helping your whole family by easing the stress of making ends meet.
Going to work allows your children to grow in their relationships with other caregivers, namely, their grandparents. A relationship with grandparents is a beautiful, wonderful gift.
You are blessing yourself by doing work you enjoy. In turn, this blesses your home. You get a "break" from its stressors, and can enjoy your home well when you are there.
And while, of course, I hope you are soon able to stay home with your children, please know that you are not wasting away their childhoods at work. You are their mom and enrich their lives in so many ways.
Remember your list of "What Matters Most." Each of these things can be accomplished whether you work or stay home. When you are feeling discouraged because life looks different than you planned, remember what's important. Remember your list.

WHAT MATTERS MOST:
My children are loved.
​My children are healthy.
My children are confident.
Our home is joyful.
We seek God.
We love others.
We are able to meet our basic needs.
We have quality time with each other and with those we love.

Good luck as you return to work. Don't be discouraged.
Love,
Nicole


If life isn't happening how you planned, and "perfect" just doesn't seem to be working out, try it. Sit down and write the important outcomes you want. You may realize that they can still be achieved (maybe they're already true). Read it often and remind yourself that life can be exactly what you want, even when it doesn't turn out exactly how you'd hoped.

Dear Mama, Being a New Mom is Really, Really Hard

12/29/2019

 
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Maybe people didn’t want to scare you or it’s been so long that they’ve forgotten. Perhaps they told you how hard it would be, but you brushed it off, assuming you were stronger, more prepared. But now, here you are. Your baby is out in the world.  People visit with stars in their eyes. Their faces light up as they sniff his head. They hold your little one with an ease you cannot understand and tell you how much they miss it. Some of them will ask you how she sleeps, as if this is a marker of how good, or bad, of a baby you birthed.

Some will ask you how you are doing, and you will lie. You will put on your best smile and say you are doing good, afraid that if you tell the truth it means you are a bad mom, or worse, you don’t love your child. You don’t tell them how you cried when you opened the pantry and there weren’t any beans on the shelf. You don’t tell them that even when your baby is sleeping, you can’t, because you are terrified he will stop breathing. You don’t tell them how you want to be alone, for just a little while, but you are overcome with guilt at the thought of leaving her for an hour.

Some people will bring you food, and you will be grateful, but tired of lasagna. Some may even offer to help, to let you shower, or take a nap. But you won’t accept. It would feel like accepting failure, because you are supposed to be able to do this on your own. You know that you are supposed to keep your baby fed, changed, napped, and happy all while making sure they’ve had their tummy time, listened to Mozart, and read 40 books (not to mention keeping the house spotless and food on the table). You know that you are supposed to enjoy every minute of being a mom. That’s what they say, right?

But the truth is, Mama, being a new mom is really, really hard. You went from being responsible only for yourself, to having someone’s life, literally in your hands. Late nights used to be a choice, now they are a job requirement. As soon as you sit down to eat dinner, the baby wakes up and demands to have hers. The second you pull the covers over your shoulders, his diaper has a blowout. You go days without washing your hair. Your arms are tired from the constant holding, feeding, bouncing, and rocking. You cry more than usual at things that don’t make sense. It seems like no one understands how you are feeling, and you aren’t sure what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Give it time, Mama. It gets better. Eventually, you will both fall into a routine. You will learn how to eat and nurse at the same time. You will figure out how to take off her onesie without smearing poop in her hair. Daddy will give him tummy time while you take a shower. You will give yourself permission to go to bed at 7 and leave the dishes in the sink. Soon enough he will look up at you and smile and you won’t even care that it’s 5 pm and you are still in your pajamas. Soon, you will feel your shoulders drop, and you will let yourself breathe again.

One day, you will feel like yourself again. And until then, let Nana come over and hold the baby while you nap. Let Aunt Susan sweep your floors. Freeze the lasagna and order takeout. And know that you are not alone.

​This post was written by me and published on Proud Happy Mama.
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    Nicole is wife and a mama to 3 energetic boys, a Licensed Massage Therapist, and loves sewing, writing, and cheesecake.

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