Mama. Mommy. Mom. Mom. Mom.

There are days when I want to change my name, go deaf, blind, and run away. Spork out my ears, hide in a closet and cry, instead of hear, “Mom. Mama. Mom. Mommy. Mama. Hey, Mom. Mom. Mooooooooommmm!” one more time. I literally sometimes feel like there are times when I legitimately fear that my logical mind is gone for good. (See? That didn’t even make sense. Sanity and all brain lated functions not pertaining to the Jonas Brothers (for Hannah) and Twilight (for me) is long gone.)

I don’t know that I ever truly understood how serious motherhood is, how PERMANENT, until I was waist deep in the trenches. I’m not talking about the newborn baby love and amazement, where you somehow survive on coffee and Maury Povich paternity test re-runs instead of sleep. I’m talking the REAL DEAL… tantruming child in the grocery store, having to remove yourself from a public place while people who should understand look at you in disgust, freaking about school systems, or Swine Flu, or ballet lessons… Or worrying about your daughter tagging behind the big kids, and trying to fit in. And I imagine that I’ll never stop worrying. Ever.

If I had known the 8,312,523 things that I would freak out about on any given day, I don’t know that I would have done it. I don’t know that I would have been brave enough, and maybe that’s why during Hannah’s terrible two’s, there were only a handful of people that would admit that they’d been there-done that. Or why when we announced our pregnancy with her, my (normally blunt) sister just nodded. Because SHE FREAKING KNEW. And because if mom’s talked about the hardships openly, without being able to reap the benefits at the same time, would anyone in their right mind pro-create?!?

But, thank God no one sat me down and told me how much I’d have to worry about. Or how stressful or mundane some of my days would seem to be… Because, I’m crazy amazed at my life. This sassy little girl, laying up in her bed, playing DS, yelling to me about how I should invest in a kitchen remodel from cupcake decor to roosters – She’s MINE. She makes me laugh, and smile, shake my head in amazement and sometimes shock (not to be confused with noddin‘ my head like “yeah”). Sometimes I see so much of DH and I in her that I want to scream giggle. And I usually do scream giggle.

So, I get it now. Why no one told me how sleepless my nights would be… How stressful the days could run…How every cough or sniffle would keep me awake… How deeply “I HATE YOU” could cut, even when you know they don’t mean it.

Because the rewards are amazing.

Breathtaking, wonderful, astounding, flabbergasting.

Being a mother is God’s biggest blessing to my life. And I’m forever thankful, humbled, and sometimes taken aback with how much love, responsibility, and joy God placed on a silver platter for me in the form of my baby girl. It ain’t easy, and it for sure isn’t for wimps but my God, it’s wonderful.


Not Me Monday…

Haven’t disappeared… just been in a crazy funk with nothing to blog about besides moaning and complaining. But, since I’ve had a startling lack of stuff to blog about that is amusing, I’m taking advantage of “Not Me!” Monday, which you can read about over at MckMama’s blog.

Now, on with the show…

It was not me that has convince my child to race me everyday to see who could be quicker – her at falling asleep, or me at doing the dishes.

It was therefore, not me, who hasn’t even attempted to do the dishes in a reasonable amount of time. (In fact, it would then stand to reason that it was not me who has neglected to do the dishes at all the last 2 days.)

It was not me who was so worn down and exhausted this week that I fell asleep at 2 seperate friends houses, and then cried when her mom made plans by accident on the night she was suppose to babysit. (She did end up babysitting, btw. *blush*)

It was not me who told several people that I burned my neck with a curling iron (to appreciate this, you have to know that I have about 1/2″ of hair, and my hair was straight anyways that day) upon finding out that Joe left a giant hickey on my neck. And it is not me who has managed to go my entire post high school life without a giant trampy “I got a piece last night!” stamp on my neck.

It was not me who’s daughter announced to the cashier at Kroger, “Wow, you are missing a LOT of teeth. You didn’t listen to you mom when she said to floss, huh?”

It was not me who cancelled hosting a Mom’s Night because I needed to with my hubby, and then spent that night at a bar, where I didn’t even sit with him. Oooops. Or, I mean, that’s what I’d say if that happened to me. Which it didn’t.

So, it was not me who had just 3 drinks, and was so giggly that I started texted a friend and getting sad that she wasn’t responding… because I was texting her on her landline.

And finally, it is not me who is hovering over Hannah who is eating a Kid Cuisine (which I shouldn’t buy on principal, but do buy because I was never allowed to have them as a kid. Oh, sweet rebellion) waiting for to let me eat her leftovers.

This seriously ridiculously rocked my world upside down in a major, major way.

“Not Me” Monday…

I hate to post to posts in a row totally ripping off another blog, but luckily for you, I have no shame. 🙂

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

I heart Not Me! Mondays. Even before I was blogging again (uhm. this weekend, lmao. I make it sound like that was years ago.) Not Me postings always made me laugh as a way to admit things that have gone on that maybe aren’t the most wonderful things to admit.


It was NOT ME who has bellowed up the stairs everyday in the last week to drag my DH out of bed 30 seconds before he’s supposed to work. A loving wife would surely wake him up with a smile and sugary sweetness and when he responded with grumbles about being exhausted, would think, “Oh, my sweet dear!” and leave quietly and sweetly and not respond with something about how it “Must be nice, homey!” Nope. NOT ME.

It was also NOT ME who encouraged a friend to call in sick to work… eventhough we were sitting on my couch watching Big Brother. A good friend would certainly harp about the importance of personal responsibility, despite not having given that lecture to her husband, instead of holding a pillow over her face to keep from laughing at said friend while she’s pulling a Ferris Bueller. But, if that had happened, I will just say that this friend had been very sick this weekend and is recouping. But it was NOT ME, so that was a moot point.

It was NOT ME that left the kitchen window open last night by accident, realized it was going to get down to 55 degrees, and instead of getting out of bed and fixing the problem, just hoped that DH would see it when he came up. Obviously, I wouldn’t do that because I was just talking about personal responbility, sillies!!!

It was NOT ME who said, “Yeah, I’m not sure why she gets like this sometimes. She’s my niece.” when my own DD went totally ape-crap in the grocery store. Of course it wasn’t. First of all, I don’t get embarrassed, and secondly, my child is constantly well behaved.

It was also NOT ME that encouraged said DD by laughing for an hour when she said she was so happy that she felt like “Cinderella at the ball, getting married to {her best boy friend}, while eating a chocolate bar.”

It is also NOT ME who tells DD that my ears are broken and can’t register high pitched sounds. Whining? Can’t hear it. “I can see your mouth moving, but I wish I could hear what you were saying. It looks super important!” Not me!

Along the same lines, it is NOT ME that tells DD that when she lies I can see a blue dot on her tongue (Thank you, girls of MomSquawk). Which would mean if she showed her tongue that she’s probably telling the truth, but if she clenches shut her mouth and will not show it, she’s being a fibber. Of course I wouldn’t do that because she wouldn’t ever fib! And if she did, I surely wouldn’t fib to call her out on fibbing!!!

And finally, it was NOT ME who totally abandoned blogging for almost an entire year, again. I fear though, at this point you may just be stuck with me.

Inspired by this post by one of my favorite bloggers, I started thinking about who I am, why I act the way I do, and the broken road that’s led me to being the happiest I’ve ever been… So, MckMama recommended settling in with a large cup of lemonade, but I am going to recommend that for this one, you drink a (very) large glass of wine, because that’s how I roll.


In the winter of 1983, I am born to my parents, who desperately wanted a boy to add to their pre-existing family of 2 daughters. I was a quite unexpected surprise, to my parents who thought they were done having kids, since my sisters were already on the path to growing up.

In 1989, my middle sister became pregnant with my niece (who later grows up to be one of my nearest and dearest friends), which prevents her from going to college, and leads her into a job in accounting, where she gets an entry level position at a company just getting it’s start. This is mostly significant because her boss later becomes my FIL. My oldest sister has the first boy in our family, and names him the name that my parents had wanted to use for me.

In 1996, my parents have been divorced (after 33 years of marriage), for sometime, and my dad gets remarried. He turns his back on me, and we go several years without speaking at all, and when he does speak to me, the word “Bitch” is frequently dropped. Oh, daddy issues are super rad.

In the spring of 1998, I do something so beyond stupid, that I rarely talk about it. I break 3 vertebrae in my back, and still suffer daily. I miss several months of school and am impacted further later. I am on bedrest for months and become addicted to the internet.

In 1999, I have had enough of being harrassed by my sister and her boss, and agree to be introduced to his son. I go to their office to work on a school project, and my ffil tells Joe, “She looks confused. You should help her.” and literally pushes him at me. This is a good forshadowing into how my FIL will continue to treat me down the road, but I digress. Joe is such a cocky guy, that I go home and tell my mother, “He was an asshole. I think I love him.” He calls the next day, flat out telling me that he nevers breaks the “3 Day Rule” and that I should feel flattered. Again, I think he’s cocky. Again, I know I’m in love. He turns out to not be cocky, but instead confident, witty, and sarcastic. I’m a gonner – hook, line, and sinker.

In the fall of 2000, Joe and I get engaged. Only people at (high) school know for about 8 months. Everyone thinks we’re crazy. Even 8 months later, reactions are less than stellar. I find out that there’s been a problem with my high school credits and I’m not going to get to walk with my class at the end of the year. My mom cries for days. I homeschool.

Winter 2001, Joe and I get our first apartment. This is the beginning of 8 million moves over the next few years. I see an old gf (Niki) as we’re unloading our moving boxes, and it turns out she lives below us. Our paths cross several more times after we move apart, until our lives are so similar that we’re rarely seperated.

Summer 2003: Joe and I are in the midst of planning a large wedding for 2004. Our families are fighting, and on a whim, we elope with barely a month’s notice. We get married on our exact 4 year dating anniversary. A month later, I get a new job teaching in a daycare, and it’s my first real career move since leaving school. In the coming months I see more than I’d ever want to see, call CPS on my co-workers, become terrified to leave my class, and I vow to become a sahm.

December 2004, we found out that we’re pregnant, after a few months of trying. I am so surprised by this news that I slap my husband with happiness. I may well have been the happiest pregnant lady alive. Who have you ever known that’s smacked someone with glee?!?

We welcomed Hannah into our happy family in August of 2005. My whole entire world changes. I change religions. Political affiliations. Careers. Thoughts. Ideas. Everything is new because she turned a light on in my life that until that point, had been void. I meet my bff talking about babynames. My cup runneth over, completely. Over the next year, I obsess of her first birthday party, and find a whole new passion for party planning.

When Hannah is almost 2 years old, in the early summer of 2007, I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant again. We immediately worry about the silliest things – how we will afford another baby, if we have room, Joe needing to finish school… We announce the pregnancy to our families, and I have a miscarriage a week later. I am so wracked with depression and guilt that I barely get out of bed for months. My marriage nearly crumbles under the sadness and anger, but we make it through and come out stronger. We realize how badly we want another baby, and begin ttc shortly after.

In the fall of 2008, I am diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) and am a complete mixture of devastated (obvious reasons) and relieved (to finally have an answer), as we had not concieved another child after 18 months of (really, really) trying. I under go several failed fertility treatments that leave us with broken wallets and hearts.

In the Spring of 2009, i have an “Ah-ha!” moment with God… I feel forgiven for all the terrible things I’ve done and said over my life. Joe graduated from school, and we can finally breathe and see each other daily again. Hannah announces that she wants to go to college to be a mom because it’s “Every job!”. She also becomes obsessed with being a sibling and marrying her daddy (she’s still young, so that’s cute – not weird). I start a Moms Group, and for completely surrounded by wonderful like minded people. Joe’s dad says something that forever changes the way I look at him (in a bad way). I return back to the doctor and begin new medication to help us have another baby, and Joe and I celebrated our 10 year anniversary of being together.

And that brings me to now – I wake up with a daily renewed sense of hope, and a complete desire to be a blessing to my family and those around me. I still stumble – a lot. A LOT. But, I have a great life. I’m surrounded by great friends, amazing family, and we’re all wrapped in the arms of God.

So what’s YOUR story?

Oh, and btw… I’m back. Again. I should have mentioned that earlier, I suppose.

“Mama, I think I’m God… Oma (her grandmother) told me to talk to God, I need to pray. I did… and I was talking to myself.”

Longer blogging when I’m not sick, someone in my family isn’t sick, and my life isn’t otherwise crumbling away.

Okay, so all of my life I have wanted to do 3 things.

Only 3.

The first, was be a mother.

Then I wanted to be a sahm and housewife, and wave goodbye to my job as a daycare teacher.

Done and done.

Number 3…

I desperately want to be a room mother. Not A room mother. THE room mother. The HEAD room mother.

I have eagerly been anticipating Hannah’s first days at kindergarden, where I could take over and show those little boogers holiday parties like they’ve never seen.

I did NOT know they had head room mom’s in preschool. But at the parent meeting, I found out… Picture me sitting in the church pew, hearing the (boring) lectures and then them saying, “And today they’ll be sending home applications for room mothers. And Head Room Mom.”

Me: *GASP*
Everyone else: *silence*

Wish me luck. I want it SO bad. I may cry if I don’t get it. Once again proving – I probably need therapy.

Surely the have to give it to the mom that had the entire year’s cupcakes planned out for every party and field trip… even if they did ban them. *HEAVY SIGH* Really, giving me the position is the least they could do, since they stole away my favorite part of parties.