Guest Post: My Annual Sanity-Saving Scrapbooking Vacation

The PBKMoms are pleased to welcome Amy Moss and her sanity-saving vacation tips!

It started so innocently, like most life-changing, amazing ideas do.

I was sitting around a dining room table with my four close girlfriends.  Two years prior we had all taken up scrapbooking as a hobby.  This is not a story about scrapbooking; so if you are not into scrapbooking, don’t worry. In place of scrapbooking you can insert knitting, crocheting, needlepointing, cross-stitching, quilting or any other favorite craft.  We’d found a hour or two here and there on rare weekends to get together, drink wine and try to put pictures of our children into scrapbooks.  Scrapbooking is a great hobby because it is a shopper’s dream.  There is always something new to buy – sparkly jewels, Mickey Mouse die cuts, just the right shade of black paper (It does not exist.) and on and on.  I have more scrapbooking supplies than I will use in my lifetime, but still I buy that new Victorian Halloween paper that would be perfect for my imaginary fall layout.

Anyway, it was not for a lack of supplies that led to the great revelation, but rather an over-abundance of them.  We had so many neat scrapbooking toys that it made it hard to get together.  Even with Creative Memories rolling luggage bags, it was a hassle to pack it all up.  We’d complained about this problem at several crops.  Then enlightenment hit - What if we went away for the weekend and scrapped?

Wait a minute! Could we go somewhere away from the kids, away from the husbands, away from the jobs, away from the cleaning, cooking, laundry, playdates, swim teams, etc.??  This idea was pretty unheard of outside of bachelorette parties to Vegas or New Orleans.  Our voices dropped to whispers, lest anyone hear of our novel scheme.  The more we talked, the more we loved the idea, and so we made a list of requirements:

1. Location must be within driving distance – shorter the better.
2. We each need our own room – Ladies, after college you are too old to share a room.
3. We need a place with a large space to all sit together.
4. We need a TV, DVD player and sturdy blender.

The plan was born: Friday through Sunday in a rented house on the beach in Galveston, Texas.  Just us girls - all together with no responsibilities (and, as it turns out, a lot of tequila) for three whole days!  After our first weekend together we knew that we had something unique and precious.  Something we were determined to do again… regularly…  and our annual scrapbooking weekend was born!

Unlike other girls-only vacations there is no running around to see antiques or museums or going out to restaurants or bars.   And no shopping.  No need to worry about what to wear or wanting to go home because you are tired when everyone else wants to party.  With this vacation there is no schedule!  You get up when you want to.  You go to bed when you want to.  Hell, you even get to take a nap if you feel like it!  You also don’t need to worry about what to bring.  Pajamas, t-shirts and yoga pants are pretty much all you need.  No one to see you.  Your girlfriends don’t care that your hair is in a scrunchie and you are wearing old Eeyore pjs.

Remember there is no schedule here and you have nowhere to be.  So cocktails start whenever you want them.  It is a safe drinking environment because there is no driving.  Your girlfriends are watching out for you with Advil and water.  So have that mimosa with breakfast and smile!

This is the time to watch all those chick flick movies that your husband and kids don’t want to see.  So pull out the Notebook and the tissues!  Haven’t seen the first season of Downtown Abbey – you can watch the whole thing this weekend!  Want to watch Gone with the Wind again – all four hours of it – with enough vodka you can do it.  I also recommend a PBS mini-series, any Jane Austen movie and missed seasons of Glee.   

 Now is the time to indulge in the food you love.  Never have you seen a grocery cart so full of delicious and unhealthy junk.  Oreos, five different kids of cheese, salami, BBQ potato chips, peanut M&Ms, etc.  You name the junk food and we eat it guilt-free.  This is vacation and the calories don’t count.  We take turns cooking dinner or we decide to just eat olives and cookies.

However, the best part about these scrapbooking weekends is being with friends that are family.  We talk.  A lot.  About everything.  Life’s scary challenges have been tackled with laughter, tears and loving support (plus a little drunken dancing).  If I have a problem, I know these girls will be there with at least three possible answers and a shoulder to lay my weary head on.  Their experience with home and business matters is invaluable and this weekend gives us the opportunity to swap stories and best practices.  It is a safe place to bare our souls…. and we get a little scrapbooking done too.

In short, this is a wonderful stay-cation away from home with your best girlfriends doing a hobby you love.  This relaxing time is the best weekend any over-stressed mom could have.  I hope you can plan your trip soon!

Amy Moss is Corporate Securities and M&A partner at Haynes and Boone, LLP in Houston, Texas.  She is the proud mom of two amazing kids, Z-Girl who is finishing up third grade and Z-Boy who starts kindergarten in the fall.  She is lucky to be married to Z-Husband, whose idea it was to pick names for the children that start with Z.

C, D, P, M and K – can’t wait till scrapbooking weekend in September!

Build Her Confidence: Guest Post by Samantha Grace

Today the PBKMoms are thrilled to welcome fellow author and mom Samantha Grace.

It’s an honor and a privilege to be blessed with a child to raise. You want to keep your children safe and have them grow into healthy, happy, successful, loving, and productive individuals that will make the world a better place to live. You want the world to be a better place for them.

It’s no small task to be a parent. The hours are long, the work is hard, and the pay stinks, but the benefits package is priceless—snaggle-tooth grins, sweet belly-laughs, admiration shining in their eyes. Yeah, it’s totally worth it.

Having a daughter feels like even more responsibility, at least for me as a mom. I’m THE example in my daughter’s life of what a woman should be. Or if I’m horrible at this mother gig, maybe I’ll become a precautionary tale. (grin)

I feel it’s every generation’s job is to be better than the one that came before it. Our pasts should not be projected onto our children, and mistakes shouldn’t be repeated in an endless cycle. My mom was a great example for me in that respect. She didn’t have an affectionate, loving home growing up, but that didn’t stop her from trying her best to give it to me. I never doubted my family loved me.

My mom wasn’t able to give me was the confidence that comes from being comfortable in my own skin. I want to give this to my daughter so badly. I don’t want her to look in the mirror and zero in on what she sees as flaws. I believe how you actually look has little bearing on how happy you are. Beautiful women can feel lacking and large women can be living the best life imaginable. While I always want to focus on health, I don’t want my ten-year-old daughter to ever feel anything less than a goddess and unwilling to settle for anyone who isn’t going to love her fully.

Here are steps I’ve taken to help build her confidence, and so far, they seem to be working.

Being a good example: Actions always speak louder than words. No matter how many times I might tell her she’s beautiful, smart, funny, and sweet, my efforts could be for nothing if I’m critical of myself. My daughter is a part of me and therefore anytime I put myself down, I’m putting down a part of her. That may sound far fetched, but as I’ve grown into a woman, I see more of my mother in my features. If I complain about how ugly my nose is and my daughter has my nose, I’m telling her she is ugly too. (Personally, I have nothing against my nose. It does its job.)
Sometimes it means faking confidence when I may be wrestling with insecurities, but it’s amazing how something that starts out as pretending can become real.

Letting her fail and be successful: It’s normal to want to protect our girls (boys too, really), but always coming to the rescue can send the message that our daughters aren’t capable of handling things on her own. That’s a slippery slope because then her focus as she grows becomes how to find someone who can take care of her rather than her seeking a partner to stand by her side.

One simple way I’ve worked with my daughter in gaining social confidence is having her make her own phone calls to RSVP for parties. I model for her what to say, have her practice, and then stay by her side while she makes the call. Sometimes it takes a vote of confidence. “You can do this. You’ll be fine.” And I always follow it up with praise for how brave she is. I’ve done the same thing with helping her approach service counters and ordering at a restaurant. We also practice different ways she can respond to classmates who aren’t being nice to her.

Reinforce that she was born exactly the way she was meant to be:
As a teen, I remember hearing how pretty I was. And how I could be a ‘knockout’ if only I would lose five pounds. Oh, the ever present five pounds, the only thing standing between bliss and me. I know my mom meant well and probably thought she was being helpful. But in my head, I only heard “You’re not quite good enough.” It also seemed incredibly important for me to be a ‘knockout’ and to be attractive to the opposite sex. But you know what valuable lesson I learned eventually? I didn’t need to change anything to be loved. I only needed to love myself and once I’d started down that path, my husband came into my life. And you know what’s even more amazing? The things I considered my weak points – i.e. curves—he loves. So there ya go! I’ve told my daughter since she was a tiny girl that she is exactly as she’s supposed to be, because I believe that with all my heart.

Focus on her strengths:
I don’t give my daughter false compliments, and I don’t praise everything she does. I think that only makes kids more reliant on outside reinforcement that they are okay. But I do notice her strengths. She’s a decent singer, budding artist, and good writer. She is a great friend. She’s sensitive to others and she’s kind. Her teacher chose her for a special leadership program at her school because she is always helping other kids. In fact, in kindergarten she became the self-appointed buddy to a classmate with special needs, helping her get to the bathroom and into line for different activities. She has a great work ethic in school and she isn’t shy in the least.

So how do I know the efforts I’m making are working? If you follow me on Facebook, you’ve probably seen postings about things she says and does that illustrate how confident she is. Her latest show of confidence came when I said something about her talking distracting me from what I was doing, and she responded with absolute seriousness, “I’m sorry. I know I’m interesting.” Gotta love that girl!

Samantha Grace is the author of several Regency romance novels. Lady Vivian Defies a Duke (released May 7th) is the final installment of her Beau Monde Bachelor series. Publisher’s Weekly describes her stories as “fresh and romantic” with subtle humor and charm. She writes what she enjoys reading: romantic comedies about family, friendship, and flawed characters who learn how to love deeply.

Samantha is a part-time hospice social worker, moonlighting author, and full time wife and mom. She enjoys life in the Midwest with her husband, two witty kids, and a multitude of characters that spring from her imagination.

To Connect with Samantha, you can find her at:

Samantha Grace Author | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Lady Scribes

Moms, I Think We Have a Problem

I was almost thirty when I realized I had an eating disorder. You might think it’s the kind of thing you know you have. You might think it’s the kind of thing that only affects teenage girls. And maybe that’s why I didn’t realize I was sick until I was really sick.

And maybe I didn’t realize I was sick because I was rewarded for being sick.

There are a lot of reasons women and men develop eating disorders, but it usually comes down to control. For me, it was an outgrowth of the powerlessness I felt in my life at the time. I couldn’t control my personal or my professional life—or at least I felt I couldn’t—but I could control my food and exercise. And I was really good at controlling my food and exercise. I lost a lot of weight, and I was praised over and over for looking so good that I was deathly afraid I’d gain it back. I had to lose a few pounds so I’d have a cushion. And then I needed a cushion for the cushion.

Before I knew it, I was about 100 pounds. I’m five-seven and not small boned. I looked like a Holocaust survivor. I knew I looked bad, but do you know what? No one told me I looked bad. I was still complimented and envied by many, many women. The most common comment I received was that I didn’t understand how hard it was to lose weight because it just came easily to me.

Little did people know how hard I worked to make it seem so easy. My weight, how much I exercised, and how much I ate were obsessions for me. I thought of little else. I couldn’t go out with friends because almost every social outing involved some sort of food or drink. I also devoted an enormous amount of time to exercise. Between exercise and work, I didn’t have time to socialize.

My whole life revolved around counting calories and making sure I ran a certain number of miles. I lived for weekends when I allowed myself to binge and then purge for two days. Mondays were brutal because I only consumed about 400 calories. It wasn’t atypical for me to gain nine or ten pounds over a weekend and lose it again within the week. When I finally got help, my lab results showed several of my systems were on the verge of shutting down.

At this point a few people did pull me aside and tell me they thought I had a problem. Of course I had a problem. By then it was too late for me to fix it on my own. I couldn’t even admit to myself I had a problem. If I admitted I had a problem, I’d have to fix it, and then I might gain weight. That kind of thinking could send me into a full-blown panic attack.

If you’ve met me, you can probably attest to the fact that I’m pretty much the same as anyone else. I have my bad habits and my quirks, but I’m just like you. I work. I take care of my family. I do laundry, run errands, see a movie once in a while. So why am I the one who ended up with anorexia and bulimia?

I used to ask myself that question all the time. But now the question I ask is how does any woman not end up with an eating disorder?

Finding Your Miracle – An Unsubstantiated Guide to Dieting and Parenting

When my dear friend Shana invited me to be a guest blogger on the peanutbutteronthekeyboard blog, a blog dedicated to motherhood and written by writers, I was flattered but a bit hesitant.  I’d tried blogging once before, and it was a dismal failure.  But let me explain…

I, too, am a writer, but of a different variety than the lovely ladies who are regular contributors here.  For the past ten years, I have written a parenting column for several San Antonio publications.  Mommy Matters started out as a newspaper column for my local neighborhood newspaper.  The column grew until I eventually moved it to the magazine circuit where it changed a bit, but was still basically me talking about my kids and trying to come up with a “moral of the story moment” so I didn’t sound like a complete loser of a mom.  Mothers related.  Who knew?  My singular blogging attempt came at the request of my editor at the magazine, who was trying to bring all her regular columnists on board for the magazine’s new blog site.

You would think after all those years of writing a parenting column, it would be easy to sit down and knock out a quick blog about what was going on in my life, but that damn blog tormented me for weeks.  Bloggers were young and hip.  I was not.  Bloggers made people laugh and think about political issues.  I would not.  Blogs were streams of consciousness or pithy comments that flowed easily from the keyboard with little effort or foresight.  Seriously?  I could not.

When I finally submitted my one and only post, about signing my kids up for swim lessons or some other nonsense no one was interested in, I prayed no one would read it.  I think I got my wish though I’m not one hundred percent certain as I promptly forgot my password and never returned to the site.  (My editor never mentioned this.  I don’t think she knew any more about blogging than I did, or she read my lame post.)

So, when Shana asked me to be a guest blogger here…well, I was uncertain.  Then I read the topic for the month—food, weight and eating issues.  Now, here was something I could talk about.  Relate to.  Here was something I specialize in discussing with my girlfriends on long walks around the neighborhood!  Or at lunch.  Or while grocery shopping.  Most importantly, here is a topic that rattles around my brain incessantly all day, every day, and has for the past sixteen years.

I’m a forty-three year old mother of three children, ages sixteen, fourteen, and three.  Battling my after-baby-weight has been an ongoing struggle since baby number one and is still going strong.  Babies one and two came in my late twenties/early thirties.  Two years after baby number two came along, I was finally fed up enough with the baby weight I had been carrying around since baby number one to actually do something about it.  I joined Weight Watchers where I did have some success, met my goals, and became a lifetime member.  (Toot-toot.  That’s my own horn.)  I started running, and between the running and occasional returns to Weight Watchers for “maintenance issues,” I was able to keep my weight pretty stable for about ten years.

Then baby number three came along.  She was born exactly two weeks after my fortieth birthday and is the brightest little ray of sunshine in our family.  But this blog isn’t about her, so forget I mentioned that.  This blog is about me.  And my weight.  And my struggles.  Don’t put on your happy face.

I don’t care what Hallie Berry looks like right now, having a baby in your forties is NOTHING like having a baby in your twenties or thirties.  It’s as if the fat around my middle has been stuck there with Gorilla Glue and refuses to budge.  Same goes for under my chin.  And the back of my arms.  Three years after giving birth to number three, I am fifteen pounds heavier than that “goal weight” I maintained for ten years, and it’s not going anywhere fast.  Yes, I returned to Weight Watchers, and it helped for a while, but it was so HARD.  Much harder, this time around.  One tiny little glass of wine was five points, and my normal glass was probably more like seven or eight.  Times two glasses…I hardly had any points left for eating.  So, I gave up on Weight Watchers and decided what I really needed was a good get-skinny-quick scheme.  If I could just lose the weight really quickly, I would go straight to the WW maintenance plan to keep it off.  I justified this by telling myself that as long as I eventually got to the healthy eating aspect of the diet, it was a good, solid plan.

So, here I am, two years later, and that is still my goal.  Find the miracle cure for these pesky pounds, then keep them off using a sensible, healthy, portion-controlled eating plan.  Sound familiar?  Well, it’s been a long, hard road.  As far as diets go, I’ve tried them all:  Southbeach, Atkins, The Zone, Paleo Eating…throw in a couple more attempts on Weight Watchers, and that about sums it up.  I’ve also tried pretty much every diet aid on the market.  Here are a few I have tried so far that have NOT been my miracle cures:  Acai berry (juice and pill form), Ally (beware the Ally-oops!), Lipozene, Hydroxy-cut, Hoodia (Thanks, Oprah), Metabolife, Slimquick, Cheaters, Raspberry Ketone (Thanks, Dr. Oz), numerous cleanses and juice concoctions, and a cream that you rub on your belly before putting on this fat-burning belt.  I have even tried an illegally obtained Mexican diet pill sworn to completely suppress the appetite. (Don’t ask.  I will not give up my mule!)  To date, I have lost and gained the same six pounds more times than I can count.  But I’m still optimistic that the miracle cure is out there.  I will not give up.  I am anxious to get rid of these extra pounds, so I can get on with some good sensible eating.  Just as soon as I lose this weight.

 

The Stash

So here is the moral of my story:  parenting is kind of like dieting.  It’s not an exact science, and there is no miracle pill to make you skinny or the perfect mom.  It’s trial and error, success and failure, baby steps in both directions, and a lot of hard, hard work.  There are lots of experts out there willing to sell us a miracle—make us skinny, fix our kids’ problems—but really, the only miracle we can count on is the one God gives us every day.  The miracle of motherhood and the children who make every one of these pesky pound worthwhile.  Occasionally, we get a toot-toot moment, and that’s what keeps us going.  But perfection is rarely on the radar, and sometimes you just have to say, I’m doing the best I can.

Wishing you lots of toot-toot moments today.

Courtney

 

 

Courtney Burkholder is a writer, mother, and professional dieter who lives in San Antonio, Texas with her husband and three children.  She is currently a biographer for Epic Bound Books, a private publishing company for families and businesses, and an aspiring author of young adult novels.  She has recently completed her fourth manuscript and is, once again, on the hunt for agent representation.

 

May: Weight, Food, and Body Issues

This month we’ll each contribute one or more blogs relating to the topics of weight, food, and body issues. We hope you’ll stop by and share your thoughts.

Here’s just one look at the issue.

The Brighter Side of IVF by Guest Tina Hergenrader

Almost a decade ago, when my husband and I found out we were infertile, I dedicated every spare second to learning about IVF.

Seriously.

As soon as our doctor told us IVF (thousands of dollars, a couple small surgeries, hundreds of painful injections) was the only way we would be a family, I went straight to Google.

And stayed there for the next several months.

I stalked Trying To Conceive (TTC) websites like I would be tested on what they said. At our doctor’s appointments, I had so many anecdotes and testimonies from my online friends rattling around in my head, I questioned our doctor like his professional peer. Because, truly, at this point I probably was. I certainly spent more time reading about Lupron injections than he did.

The TTC world is a strange one. I knew more about strangers’ menstrual cycles than I did about my own. It’s also a sad world. Obviously. Most women going through IVF want a baby worse than they’ve ever wanted anything. No matter how much money they spend trying or how many hormone-altering shots they grit their teeth through, the process often ends in heartbreak.

This is the stuff of (really, really sad) Hallmark movies.

Because of this, the whole TTC world has kind of a dark cloud over it. Even if (yea!), you get pregnant, you’re so worried your cycle buddy won’t be, you don’t want to tell any of your online friends. You certainly can’t ask your dearest infertile friend to throw your baby shower.

This is why people name their IVF blogs and TTC websites “MY IVF JOURNEY.” Women need a somber tone for this terrifying, lonely business they’re going through…and “IVF IS HELL” seems so brash.

Anyway, if the Lupron and progesterone shots don’t get you down (they always do, by the way), this dark cloud of TTC websites will. I distinctly remember one particularly low day with I googled, “IVF Humor.” The response was, “Your search did not match any documents.”
Ha ha…eh.

All this to say I’m here with some perspective. Four kids later (yes, they were all conceived through the miracle of IVF) and ten years worth of perspective, has helped me see that all of IVF wasn’t hell.
Only the shots were hell, really.

And the miscarriage.

But, wait, that’s not funny.

Let me try again.
Here’s the lighter side of IVF…
1. Look on the bright side! With IVF you have the perfect opportunity to choose your child’s birthday! Or close to it. Actually, the laugh is on me with this one. I chose summer birthdays for all our kids. Which, really? Every mom who has ever debated her child repeating kindergarten knows summer is the WORST time to have a baby.

2. Conceiving your child through IVF means you can call your dad, tell him you’re pregnant, and also never have to admit you’ve had sex.

3. When someone says, “you can’t be just a little bit pregnant,” you can say, “Actually, yes you can.” You can be a little pregnant when you have a couple of perfect embryos in your uterus, and you’re waiting to see if they’ll “take.” So, there’s that.

4. Twins! Triplets! The goal for IVF clinics is “one healthy baby” per IVF cycle. But, let’s be clear, the goal of the patients is “as many babies as I can get for all this pain and money.” The idea of multiple babies to an infertile woman is like dangling Louboutins in front of a shoeless SJP. So, when the doctors tell the patient, “Now, you understand there is a risk of twins, right? You understand the stress two babies can cause, right?” The patient is thinking, HECK YES! I know about the twins. And that’s exactly what I’m praying for, buddy.

5. When your kid is older, and they claim you don’t love them, you can always bring up how much money you spent conceiving them. “Sure, Jimmy might have a new XBOX. But, we had you instead. Sorry, honey. But now maybe you understand how much we wanted you.”

6. Most every day you get a progesterone shot, which is one of those deep-tissue ones that goes right into your thigh muscle. It’s one of those shots the nurses describe as, “you’ll know your husband hit the right spot if it hurts really bad.” Yes. One of those. Every day. The bright side of these shots is that you have the most amazing dreams on Progesterone. Like 4D, super-magical, intense dreams that really give your brain a work-out. Which is nice compared to the mush it’s been before that with the estrogen suppositories (yes, seriously) and daydreaming about babies for months.

7. You get an up close and personal look at what your body was designed to do. While tracking your cycle and egg production and ovulation, you see how outrageously perfectly God designed your body to function. Even the most cynical, egotistical doctors admit that whether or not the embryos “take” was a miracle they couldn’t understand.

8. Prayers. When you’re going through IVF, you can ask your best friends or your whole church to pray you’ll get pregnant. They can even have a little prayer vigil while you’re high on Valium and your legs are in stirrups at the hospital, getting surgically impregnated. When you’re trying to get pregnant the old-fashioned way, a prayer vigil during the actual act is a little more awkward.

9. You will grow closer to your husband. We would do lots of fun little rituals together during IVF. My husband would name the shots he gave me. “Oh, look. This one is the DOUBLEYOURENERGY shot. Take this and you’ll wake up with twice the energy!” Truthfully, he should have named all of them the THISHORMONESHOTWON’TMAKEYOUSOCRAZY shot.

10. The best part of IVF is, of course, the babies. Our four IVF babies are a blessing beyond my comprehension. The years have faded the memories of the miscarriage, hormone shots, and heartbreak. But the joys of IVF—the help conceiving these precious, beautiful kids—is obvious everyday.
———————————————————————————————————

Christina Hergenrader is the author of eight Christian books. When she’s not writing, she loves to bake, take pictures, and soak up life with her husband and four kids. They all live in Texas with their ancient Cocker Spaniel and unusually slow Greyhound. Her most recent book is Starring Roles, a devotional about friendship.

More on Mommy Guilt and Grief

Robyn’s post earlier this week really moved me, probably because I was thinking of writing something similar. I was going to write more about miscarriage, but here’s the truth about that topic–once you are a few years past it, the pain and all the feelings that go with it, fade. This is good news for those of you who have recently been through a miscarriage, though I’m sure everyone has told you that and it doesn’t make you feel any better about the loss you have just experienced.

After my miscarriage, there were days I was so resentful of mothers. I was a teacher, and I’d watch the parents of the kids I taught and think, they don’t appreciate their child. They don’t know how lucky they are to have such a wonderful little boy or girl. And I even thought that about the kids that drove me nuts.

So when I got pregnant with Baby Galen, you know I had every intention of cherishing her and every moment of motherhood. I would not take any of it for granted. And then she was born, and it was all wonderful for about 3 days. Then we took her home, and it was the worst 18 months of my life. I say this in all honesty. It was the darkest period in my life, and I have had some very dark times.

We moved out of the house we lived in when our daughter was born when she was about 18 months old, but we still live nearby. I drove past our old house yesterday, and even driving that street forms a pit of black yuck in my belly. Even if Baby Galen is sitting behind me, chatting happily, making me laugh, I drive that street and I cannot help but feel some of those same emotions of fear, depression, anxiety, despair. It all comes back.

I could say much of the awfulness of that time was due to the fact that Baby Galen was a very difficult baby. I could tell you stories…This was a baby who really didn’t want to be a baby. She didn’t want to be rocked, didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to lie on her back or on her tummy or her side, or sit in a stroller or a carseat or a playpen or a swing or…you get the idea. I don’t know what she wanted. I don’t think she knew what she wanted. She cried. A lot. I cried. A lot.

But the worst part if all of it–worse than being home alone with a baby who cried for seven hours, worse than being up four times a night for four months, worse than having a baby scream and meltdown every time you tried to feed her–was the guilt I felt. I hated my life. I hated it. I used to joke with my husband that I was running away to Mexico. It was sort of a halfhearted joke, because it took a lot of willpower on many occasions for me not to run away. What happened to cherishing motherhood? What happened to not taking a moment for granted? I just wanted this kid to grow up and go to school already (some days I still want that).

Everyone said, enjoy it now because it goes so fast. No, it didn’t. Every hour was like a day to me. I was trapped and unhappy and going slightly insane. Thank God I had help from friends and relatives. Thank God I went to the doctor and got some meds to help with the anxiety and depression. And thank God nothing lasts forever. Babies grow up. They become little kids who can tell you what they need, who sleep, who eat (sometimes independently), who make you laugh and even say, wow, this day has flown by!

And now I do try to cherish every day, but you know what, maybe that expectation was too lofty. We’re moms, not goddesses. We’re human.

Ever feel like you place unreal expectations on yourself as a mom and then feel guilty that you (a mere mortal) can’t attain them?

A Mommy on the Edge…or at Least the Verge of a Massive Purge…by Heather Snow

Thank you so much for having me today at Peanut Butter on the Keyboard. I’m so excited to be here amongst such fabulous writer and reader mommies! A little about me for those who don’t know me: I’m a sleep-deprived mother of two young boys, known affectionately on social media as The Heir and The Spare. I’m an avid reader…or at least I was before deadlines and diaper duty. Now I’m more of an avid listener—God bless audiobooks! I’m a cat person who somehow just got tricked into agreeing to get a dog this summer (rotten husband…and he said it in front of the boys, who are now over the moon. I would be an evil mommy to say no now…)—oh, and I write historical romance with heroines who put the blue in bluestocking, the men who love them and the mysteries they have to solve.

Now that that’s out of the way, I’d like to applaud the ladies here at PBOTK for their April theme of miscarriage, infertility and special needs. I’ve really enjoyed the open and honest discussions that have been happening this month. I never understood the devastation of these issues until I experienced them myself. Robyn DeHart and I have discussed our histories in the past, and mine is very similar to hers: PCOS, infertility, miscarriage and finally the family we were meant to have through adoption. When I visited the site earlier in the month, I almost switched my topic to be in line with the theme, but it’s been covered so beautifully that I really haven’t got much to add there.

So I decided to stick with the topic that I’d originally planned to talk about because it is a part of my everyday reality that, no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to get a handle on. The MESS! Oh. My. Goodness. Who knew two small children could wreak such havoc on what was once a tidy little domicile? Our home was once a place of peace and refuge and…well, tidiness. No longer.

It all started when the Heir was a baby. You see, I waited years and years for him to come along, and in the meantime I read all of the baby and parenting books and magazines, picking up tips on how I was going to give this cherished child every possible advantage I could reasonably give him. One thing I knew I wanted to foster in him was creativity. I wanted him to be an outside-the-box thinker, and one early suggestion was to stimulate his curiosity by giving him a cabinet and drawer in every room (while safely baby-locking the rest, of course) and filling it with things he could tactically explore: you know, crinkly things, plastic things, things of different textures, weights, etc. You were supposed to change it up every once in a while so it never got stale. He loved it of course, and I loved watching him discover new things. What I didn’t love was watching him string said items all through the house.

It’s only gotten worse since then. Yes, I fell for the “Crazy Hat Box!” which became the “Costume Box For Dramatic Play!” and the “Color Your Own Rice For Sensory Play!” (what a mess that was), and “Recycle Your Household Items for Arts and Crafts!” and “Blocks for motor and spatial skills!” and “Legos to strengthen imagination and creativity!” and “Books! Books! Books!”. Dear God, the books. You could fill a children’s library in a small village from our shelves alone… We have rolling drawers full of art supplies, so they are available when creativity strikes. We have a play kitchen, filled with realistic food items. We have a variety of instruments in case the need to express themselves musically cannot be denied. I could probably run a darned good preschool just from the things in my living room alone. Yes, I am that mom.

How did I get so far gone? I’m not a hoarder in my real life…and if I were, I’d certainly hoard something better than blue and purple rice and a bunch of toilet paper rolls waiting to be made into trees when we finally get around to building that cardboard city!
Just to give you an idea of what this has done to our happy home…one day last week, I went to the restroom for a few moments, leaving the two boys (4 ½ and 1 ½) at the breakfast table. I emerged a few minutes later to this.

Oh, and that trail of foam letters from the art box? Strewn not just through the living room, but the hearth room, the dining room, the kitchen, and completely around the staircase. This despite all of my efforts to keep it reined in. And I’ve tried. We have bins. Lots of bins. And cabinets. And rolling drawers. Organized by category and stacked neatly, with a rule that one never gets opened until another is completely put away. (I’ll let you guess how often that works for me).

Some days, it makes it all back in. But some days it doesn’t. And those days start to pile atop each other until I’m pulling my hair out and swearing that the moment my little darlings go to sleep that night, I’m going to pile it all into the mini-van and drop it at the neighborhood daycare center. Or at least lock it all away behind a giant padlock so only I can control access…mwu-ha-ha-ha.
Tell me I’m not alone. Better yet, tell me there is hope. How do those of you with small children keep the mess between the lines without devoting every second of your life to it? Is there a way to balance the desire to foster creativity and the need for a clutter-free space?

Heather Snow is an award winning historical romance author with a degree in Chemistry who discovered she preferred creating chemistry on the page rather than in the lab. She lives in the Midwest with her husband, two rambunctious boys, and one very put upon cat.

The final book in her Veiled Seduction series, SWEET MADNESS, hit shelves April 2, 2013. RT Book Reviews Magazine gives it 4 ½ stars, saying “In this emotional, compassionate romance…the powerful love story will sweep readers away.”
Find out more at http://www.HeatherSnowBooks.com or connect with Heather at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorHeatherSnow , http://www.twitter.com/HeatherSnowRW or at her blog, Heather’s Historical Reader Salon at http://www.heathersnowbooksreadersalon.blogspot.com

Miscarriage: What I Wish I’d Known

Most women don’t expect to have a miscarriage. We prepare for the pregnancy and not the miscarriage. And maybe that’s why, when a miscarriage occurs, we don’t know what to do or where to turn. I suffered a miscarriage in October 2008 and went on to have a successful pregnancy and a healthy baby. This is some of the advice friends gave me as well as realizations I came to on my own.

1. The Doctor Will Not Walk You Through It
One misconception I had when I went through my miscarriage was that the doctor would explain everything and hold my hand and let me cry on her shoulder. That didn’t happen. She did an ultrasound at 12 weeks, didn’t find a heartbeat, and told me the baby was dead. Then she asked if I wanted a D&C or to have a natural miscarriage. I didn’t even know what she was talking about! I was in complete shock.

Thank goodness my husband was with me. He was able to focus on what the doctor was saying and help me make some decisions. I was sent on home with an appointment for a D&C and without any resources to cope. I mean, I got a whole folder about pregnancy at my first appointment and nothing when I had a miscarriage. No one even said “I’m sorry.” It was on to the next patient. Yes, I did end up changing doctors, and I love my new doctor, but I still don’t think the response would have been wildly different. OBs deal with this every day. It’s not a shock to them.

photostock

2. No One Knows What to Say
But that does not mean you don’t have a right to your emotions. I tried very hard not to show how sad I was, even to my friends who had been through miscarriages. I didn’t want to make them uncomfortable by crying. There is such a thing as being too self-involved, even when you’re having a crisis, but it’s okay to go through the experience authentically too.

3. A Miscarriage is a Worth Grieving
I had well-meaning people tell me that my miscarriage was “for the best” or “God’s will” or “Not the same thing as having a real baby die.” My baby might not have been born, but the baby was real. And often it’s for the best that an elderly person dies, and it’s certainly God’s will that we all die at some point, but I don’t think a grieving widow finds those comments very comforting.

What I didn’t understand about miscarriage is that no one talks about it, and while everyone thinks it’s perfectly normal to mourn the loss of a family member, many of those same people will chastise a woman who mourns an unborn baby. I often felt as though I didn’t have the right to mourn my baby. But when I finally embraced the mourning period and allowed myself to go through the steps of grief, I was able to move on.

4. Your Husband Doesn’t Get It
Maybe you are one of the lucky ones who has a husband who understands. Maybe he’s willing to sit and talk about your feelings for hours. That man is special because while most husbands want to comfort you and be there for you, they just don’t deal with grief the same way that women do. They don’t know what to say when you want to talk. They don’t know why you’re still crying a month later. Rely on your friends or relatives, a support group (real or online), or a good therapist. Your husband can’t be everything you need, and that doesn’t make him a bad husband. It makes him human.

5. It Doesn’t Always Go Smoothly, So Be Proactive
Miscarriages can be accompanied by medical complications. When the doctor confirms the miscarriage he or she will throw a lot of info at you about what to watch out for. But even if you don’t have these exact symptoms, that doesn’t mean everything is fine. If something doesn’t seem right to you, speak up and see the doctor. Push for more tests or another ultrasound.

After my D&C the healing process did not proceed as the doctor said it would. Every time I called her office, I was told I was fine and that was normal. Finally I made the doctor see me and perform an ultrasound. This was almost two months after my D&C. The ultrasound showed not all of the tissue had been removed. I had to have a second D&C. How much anguish and worry might have been avoided if I had been proactive and pushed my OB to do an exam earlier? Do not think the doctor always knows best. Trust your own instincts.

If you’ve been through a miscarriage, what do you wish you’d known?

This Month’s Theme

This month many of our posts will circulate around the themes of miscarriage, infertility, and kids with special needs. These are topics we often discuss amongst ourselves, and we thought they might be topics many of you have dealt with or are interested in as well. So please stop by all month and join in the conversation.