When you were growing up, where did you play with your friends? At your house? Their house? A park? I didn’t have a lot of friends over to my house. It seemed too stressful on my parents and my constant begging didn’t help my case, so I went to other people’s houses to play.
Now, I’m a mom. I have 3 kids and I walk this line between it being too stressful (like my parents) and wanting to be the cool house where all the kids play! This isn’t a 50/50 line; I am most definitely more on the play date house side of things. Whether they’re 3 or 8 or 15, I want my kids to know that their friends are welcome here. I want to worry less about how clean the house is, what I’m making for dinner, or whether I was hoping for some peace and quiet. That stuff I can work on internally and I do! But what about the other stuff?
How do you make your house the play date house? The cool kids house?
What does the cool kids house require? I would assume, it first requires a willing parent, who’s at least a little cool, or at least loving, which I am! Loving, that is. And willing.
What else? My daughter has come home from a play date with fresh baked cookies, telling me that they baked them together. My head sags and I feel like a defeated Charlie Brown (cue the music). I never bake cookies when the kids have friends over, let alone let them bake cookies by themselves. I may have a bit of a control-freak-possessiveness over my kitchen, er, the kitchen. I can work on that, though! I should mention that they’ve never asked! I thought when the kids had friends over they just went to play. You know, imagination, dolls, games… Do you let your kids cook in the kitchen with their friends? Do you encourage it? Discourage it?
Technology. Where do you fall on this spectrum? Kindles, iPads, phones, video games, and even movies and TV shows. Are the kids coming to play with that? Or to play with each other? I’m winging it here. When my kids have friends over and they want to do something technological, I set a timer, just like I normally would. If there are technical difficulties, I play on my ignorance and hope they’ll ditch the screen and go play outside. They usually do. On sleepover nights I am all for a movie and some extra screen time, but there’s still a cut-off and there’s still a lights-out.
It’s boundaries like this that make me wonder (worry) if my kids will prefer other homes to play at because we have rules here that I may bend, but I rarely break. What if everyone is playing a video game that you don’t approve of and you don’t allow in your house? Will your house not be the cool kids house anymore? Will your kids just end up at someone else’s house playing a game (or watching a movie, or visiting a website) you strictly forbade? I don’t know. I do know that boundaries are good, healthy and desired by our children. I watch my kids bump up against the boundaries we set and they bounce back, sometimes frustrated, but in general unfazed by the restriction.
Boundaries are like a HUG: firm, strong, consistent, and filled with love.
Siblings. Oh, did you see me roll my eyes? What do you do about them? I get that a playdate is a really special event and often requires some privacy. At least, that’s what I tell my oldest when she’s whining about her little sister. I offer up the guest room or another place they can play alone for a little while. I also understand that it’s hard to watch your sister take off with a friend and have a blast laughing and squealing and you’re supposed to just what? Sit on the couch and twiddle your thumbs? I encourage inclusion whenever reasonable. I hope their personalities can all jive and maybe they can play a board game together or run around the backyard together. But I also get the “this is my friend and I want to play with her alone” part of it. Shrug. The 2 year old hasn’t started having any social issues, so I’ll be curious to see how that unfolds. For now, I’ll juggle the two big kids and try to figure it out. What do you do?
Opposite sex. Remember the guest room I mentioned? My oldest likes to take a friend in there and play ponies or puppies or whatever other imaginary game they’ve invented. I let her have sleepovers in there, too. Since our kids share a room, I know it’s important to have a little space to herself when a friend is over. But my middle child has a boy friend she adores! I try to keep things fair and let them go play, but next thing you know there are pants “falling off” and they’re hiding from me and nope, the door is now open, if not removed from the hinges. Tell me your stories and tell my what works for your family!
Going to other kids’ houses….
Does it make you nervous? It makes me nervous. I have been pretty selective about whose house my kids can go to. Usually parents I’ve met at school and had conversations with. But, as they get older, they may want to play with kids whose parents I don’t know and then what?
What are realistic expectations when you allow your child to go to someone’s house? Besides keeping your child safe, do you expect the parents to watch them the whole time? Probably not, but therein lies the fear of what could go wrong. Insert family members you’re unaware of, older siblings, and a very different set of boundaries and you have the stuff mommy nightmares are made of.
And guns. I have to bring it up because one of my friends is so amazing and courageous, in that she asks parents about guns before her child goes over to play. I admit I haven’t asked and I feel disappointed in myself for not doing so. She asks if there’s a gun, if it’s loaded and if it’s locked away. I abhor confrontation, but I understand that these are important questions. Do you ask?
Trust. Faith. Awareness. Hope.
n my hope to spark a discussion (and get some advice), I may have inadvertently sparked a bonfire of fear and that wasn’t my intent! I’m learning as a parent, that I cannot stop my children from getting hurt. I can’t stop the world from leaving its mark on them in ways that I may despise. But I can teach them the difference between right and wrong. I can educate them about kindness and the power of choices.
And then I have to trust. Every day my girls go to school and are influenced far more by their teachers and peers than they are by me and their dad (if you’re looking at hours spent = influence). Every day they come home to us and we try to pry out of them details of not just their education but they’re social interactions and emotional experiences. I have to trust that they hear our words and store them in their hearts. I have to trust that the influences they’re receiving at school are mostly good and that they’ll choose to turn their backs on the negative voices.
I have to have faith. Whatever your belief system is, it takes a certain degree of faith to watch your child(ren) walk into a building away from you for 8 hours every. single. day. Without faith, I would be beyond a bundle of nerves. My imagination is far too good to let run free in this arena. My girls ask me to pray every morning for their angels and this is what I pray: “God, surround the girls with the angels you’ve assigned to them to protect them. Bring them home to me safely this afternoon.” I don’t know who it comforts more, me or them. But on a cute note, my 2-year old now asks, “Mommy, can you pray?” because he hears his sisters ask me all the time.
Even with trust and faith, I have to remain vigilant in my awareness of what’s happening around me, around my children and in the world. Not too vigilant, lest I lock us all up in the name of safety. To remain aware I go to their schools to have lunch with them or help with parties. I talk to their teachers and bus driver regularly. I attend field trips when I’m able. I read every scrap of paper they bring home, even if I forget most of it a second later. Being aware is allowing myself to become a part of the community that my children call home 5 days a week. By being a part of it, I can see who they surround themselves with and make decisions accordingly.
I can’t end this without mentioning hope. Because even though this started out as a blog post asking for advice on how I can have the cool kids house where all the playdates happen (is it play dates or playdates?), I have opened some doors on some dark and scary places that are inherent to the discussion. So let me a shine a light in those dark places with hope. I have hope that children (mine and yours) are good and will choose goodness. I have hope that love will conquer all and peace will be found despite the battles that rage all around us (hello, Facebook fighters, I’m talking to you). I have hope that kindness will be the tool of choice in my children’s daily lives. And I aspire to be that example for them, so they know what it looks like to offer friendship instead of criticism, to offer help instead of turning their backs, to to offer empathy instead of mockery, and to offer acceptance instead of judgment.
I really want to hear from you! Here or Facebook or Instagram or Pinterest. Share this post and let’s have a conversation! I know I’m not the only mom of elementary-aged kids who have a million questions about playdates! Let’s talk about it together.
Ladies, there are things I did not discover until my THIRD baby that I wish I had known about for ALL the babies! I want to share them with you and I want you to share them with all your pregnant mama friends, okay? Because that’s what friends are for!
Milk Leak Cups
These magical cups capture the milk that leaks out of the other breast while nursing your baby. That is an incredible gift because that dripping, leaking milk is liquid gold! With previous babies I used cloths, towels, or whatever nearby to soak up the leakage. What. A. Waste. Get these cups even if you’re just *thinking* about breastfeeding! When your milk comes in, you may leak a lot, and some women will wear these cups at night to catch the night leaking and set aside some extra milk, which is also a genius idea.
You’re going to find that there are lots of cups out there, but these are the ones I used. They’ve been around for forever and have a great reputation (and price tag). They come in a pack of 2, so I would rotate them each night. While one was being washed and set out to dry (thank you, Husband!), the other was on my headboard, waiting for all the nursing sessions to come over the next 24 hours! Try them!
Night Pads for Your Bed
Maybe it was in the pregnancy books and I just didn’t grasp the true horror of it, but the amount of bleeding that happens postpartum is ridiculous. I had NO IDEA. It can be a rough few days, sometimes weeks! For me, it would go away almost completely and then start up “out of nowhere” usually right around when I started resuming normal activity…. (Coincidence? I think not.) Interesting side note: when my bleeding got really bad (with baby #3), my midwife advised that I pee before nursing. It made a HUGE difference!
First baby: I put towels down underneath me and would adjust them throughout the night. Second baby: Towels again, but I also used old sheets on purpose so I wouldn’t wake up panicked trying to make sure I was protecting them properly. Third baby: Enter the nighttime pads. Lifesaver.
So these pads are the kind you might use for your nighttime potty training toddler. They work great for that too. I loved not having to change the sheets every day on the top bunk during potty training season. But for postpartum they can’t be more perfect. They take the stress out of worrying about leaking postpartum pads and they don’t shift in the night. They’re easy to dispose of and they’re easy to put in place. They are a win-win. You’ve got enough on your plate without worrying about keeping your sheets clean (or having any more laundry to do than you already do) after giving birth.
Make sure you have these on hand. If you don’t need them or use them all, you’ll have a potty training toddler in a few years and you can use them then. This (affiliate) link below is the best price per sheet and totally worth it!
White Noise
A little bit of white noise can go a long way for a fussy or sleeping baby! Don’t underestimate the power of some sssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. If you think about it, baby has been in an environment that has been white noise-ish for 9 months. To be in complete silence might feel really foreign to the new little being. Even Happiest Baby On The Block talks about the power of the SSSHHHHHHHHHH.
With baby #1 I used an app on my phone, but guess what? My phone had to stay with baby! And the battery dying was a big concern. With baby #2 I still used the app but usually on my iPad. Of course then I couldn’t use my iPad whenever I wanted either. I have a SleepMate that I’ve had for years but I didn’t feel like it got quite loud enough to help baby drift and stop listening for any tiny noise interrupting the blaring silence. So I found this little machine for baby #3 and he seriously cannot sleep without it. It’s under $20 and has different sounds to choose from, though I always just choose white noise. It also doesn’t have an auto-turn-off timer like a lot of the baby white noise toys do and it plugs in, so batteries aren’t a concern! (It does take batteries though, which is great for power outages and other odd situations!)
This would make a great gift for a pregnant friend or for yourself to help baby have a little bit of comfort noise while trying to learn to sleep outside of the comfort of your womb! And when baby sleeps better, so does mommy.
Milk Storage Bags
Remember we talked about the magical cups that capture your leaking breastmilk? Well, you need to put that milk somewhere and these bags are perfect. They’re small. You can label them. They guard against freezer burn. They’re affordable.
Even if you plan to EBF (exclusively breastfeed), you never know when your breastmilk can come in handy. You may need it for baby’s first clogged tear duct (worked great for baby #1). You might want to put it on baby’s acne if that develops, like our baby #2. Or maybe baby is having trouble gaining weight and it’s suggested that you top him off like we had to with baby #3. Having some bags of breastmilk in the fridge or freezer really gave me peace of mind.
These are another one of those “good to have around” products that you might not use, but if you have them when you need them, you’ll be so grateful! I know I was.
Organic Chocolate Covered Almonds
Do you want to get yourself or another new mom something really useful? Chocolate. Seriously. Chocolate. There hasn’t been a postpartum period during which I haven’t found great comfort, energy, and serotonin boosting blessings from chocolate! Pair that chocolate with the protein and health benefits of almonds and you’ll be gifting that mom with some energy that will last a little longer than a candy bar or other empty-calorie-snack.
Hey mamas! And papas! It’s summer time! Isn’t it exciting? The year has come to a close. Kids are coming home from school with all their hard work shoved into their backpacks. End-of-the-year celebrations and ceremonies. Awards are handed out. Yearbooks. Report cards. Teacher gifts. Summer. Summer! SUMMER! It’s here!
Womp. Womp. Womp.
If you work from home, summer break doesn’t hold the allure it once held as a child. It’s not about sleeping in and having adventures all day, every day. That’s impossible! Instead, summer break is all about figuring out how to entertain your children while accomplishing all of your work duties, fulfilling your hours, and oftentimes making phone calls (!!!!!!!!!) despite the background noise.
Backstory: I work from home, more computer-heavy than phone, but I still have to be available for phone calls and often make them. I have a 6 1/2 year old, just out of kindergarten, a 5 year old, just out of Pre-K, and a 1 year old still attempting to learn how to walk and talk and all that good stuff.
In order to survive the summer, I have arranged my schedule to work most of my hours on Monday and Tuesday. I squeeze the rest of my work into random hours on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. This is how I juggle our activities so I can be with my kids as much as possible.
This schedule or the kids’ ages may not be applicable to your situation or they may match your situation. Either way, take a look at the plans I’ve made below and maybe something will work for you!
Here’s what I did. I took a piece of paper and wandered around my house, the girls’ room, Pinterest and my brain. I wrote down every idea I had. But I was purposeful, I wrote down ideas that would require little involvement from me! My thoughts are: while I’m working, the girls (in between snack and screen time) can come and pick something from the jar to give them an idea to run with. It doesn’t need to be something that mommy helps with (those are on another list). Ages make a difference here. I don’t think this would have been as successful last summer because my daughters couldn’t read. This year, however, my oldest is reading really well and trying to read more all the time, so she can move farther and faster with ideas than ever before!
I grabbed some markers and cut paper into rectangular pieces. I wrote one activity on each piece. Each piece is folded and placed in the jar. I’m hoping they will go with the first item they pull out (but intuitively I know better….).
My list is below, but I may keep adding to it as things come to me. Please adjust your list based on games, puzzles, activities and options available to you! (I also have a Dollar Tree shopping list for one of the outings we will take, so I can gather activity-supplies and science experiment ingredients!)
4 a.m. – I roll out of bed and go pee, because going pee all hours of the night is just part and parcel with pregnancy, am I right? As I’d done every time I peed for the last month, I checked the toilet and the toilet paper, looking for signs that labor had begun. Blood. Anything. Nothing. I crawled back into bed, exhausted and depressed about the whole thing. I laid there letting the thoughts come and go. I was sad, exhausted, disappointed, confused, telling myself I would go into labor at the right time, trying to find hope and inspiration… the thoughts just tumbled about like rocks in a rock tumbler. They hurt. They thudded against the walls of my brain. And at some point they dulled. They got more smooth. I knew the reality of the situation. After a month of labor signs, contractions and hope, I may have felt hopeless, but I knew the truth: labor was coming. He couldn’t stay in there forever.
6 a.m. – I roll out of bed and go pee…. Again. (see above) This time, there is blood and mucus (and do I really need to apologize for being so blunt? You’re reading a birth story for goodness sake!) and I couldn’t be happier. It’s happening. I crawl back into bed, cuddle up next to my husband and tell him, “It’s starting.” My whisper feels like it’s riding on wings, sending hope and promise into the room where I’d been crying for weeks on end. He startles to consciousness and asks, “Should I stay home?” “Oh no,” I reply, “It could be a long while. I’ll keep you posted.” The morning continued like all mornings. I made breakfast, packed lunches, kissed my husband goodbye, granted my girls screen time, and got ready for the day. My dad said he would take the girls to and from preschool while my mom and I went to my midwife appointment.
8:45 a.m. – Midwife appointment. I tried not to be too hopeful. After all, I’d been having contractions for days on end for over a month. The texts exchanged between me and my doula were embarrassing at this point. Still, it had to be done. Mom and I went to the appointment, did the weigh in, the pee in the a cup thing, and then waited in the exam room for the nurse. I casually told the nurse that I’d had bloody show this morning and I was hopeful baby was on his way. I had an ultrasound and confirmed the placenta was gigantic, going across the front of my uterus, preventing baby from assuming the correct position (he was transverse). Otherwise, everything looked good. Onto the table I went, except I couldn’t sit still, so I stood, hooked up to the fetal monitoring system, waiting to get my hour’s worth of good heart beat measurements. The nurse kept checking in and said baby must be sleeping. Did I want a juice? Could I walk around? I grabbed my water bottle and started drinking. I didn’t have an appetite and didn’t really want anything to drink. Moving, jiggling, talking to him and laughing with my mom, we saw some great spikes on the monitor. We kept hoping we would get enough to go home.
Finally, the midwife came in and said we’d had enough heart rate spikes. She also said, “You’re having a lot of contractions. Did you know that?” I laughed and said, “I’ve been having contractions for a month! I’ve stopped thinking they mean anything anymore!” She pointed to the chart and said, “These are really long though and really close together.” I smiled and said, “Well, hopefully baby will be here soon!” A little twinge went through me. Maybe this really is it?! I thought sadly about my daughter’s birthday the next day and how I’d been so sure this baby would be here before then. The whole pregnancy I had worried about missing her birthday and assured myself I wouldn’t and now? It looked like this baby was taking the same timeline as she had.
I was also informed at this point that none of the midwives were on call that night. Really? I go to midwives my entire pregnancy, meet them all, and now none of them would be at the hospital if the baby came that night? I felt jittery and anxious. The midwives were my people. And who knows who I would get. They mentioned a doctor’s name and I started texting friends and my husband about the turn of events. Thankfully, my husband wrote back quickly saying that the OB on call had an incredible reputation. I just prayed I wouldn’t be there long enough to care!
The kind midwife came back in and asked if we could schedule my induction. I had prayed it wouldn’t come to this. Each weekly chiropractor appointment, I had said, “I’ll schedule it but hopefully won’t be able to make it.” Each midwife appointment I would say, “I’ll schedule it but hopefully won’t be there!” I had done everything to try to move things along. I took Master Gland. I ate entire pineapples. I did inversions to improve position (a la http://www.spinningbabies.com). I had sex. I did hip circles on the exercise ball. I danced. I played with my girls until I forgot what I was waiting for. I relaxed as much as I could. I bounced. I did squats. I made labor drinks and labor cookies. I drank them and ate them. A lot. I cried. I laughed. And no matter what, it came down to this: My first was 42 weeks and 1 day. My second was 41 weeks and 6 days. And this one? Well, we were at 41 weeks and 5 days, and counting. So, we scheduled the induction. Friday, February 26, at 7 a.m. Pssssh, I thought to myself, I don’t think I’ll have to go to that appointment and even if I did, I certainly wasn’t going to rush to a 7 a.m. appointment to be induced.
After the midwife appointment was over, I told my mom I wanted a coffee from my favorite coffee drive-through, Micah’s. It was raining outside and as we left the building I asked if I could drive. “Are you sure? You’re in labor!” mom asked. “I’ve been in labor for a month!” I replied. I drove us a couple blocks out of our way toward the coffee place and my husband called. I had texted him during the appointment to say maybe he should come home at lunch, just in case. “I’m on my way! Should I come to the midwife’s office, or the hospital, or what?” I laughed at his urgency. “Just come home! I’m grabbing a coffee with mom.” I said, laughing out loud. “I thought you were in labor?!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been in labor for a month!” I said for what seemed the fifth time that day.
Mom and I returned home with our coffees. I sat at the counter, guzzling mine while dad cleaned and cooked. He was going to make his famous chicken enchiladas and I couldn’t wait to eat them. When my coffee was finished (within minutes), I said I was going to lay down. I had this fantasy that I could just lay in bed, progress with labor, focus on hypnobirthing, and my baby would just slip out of my body. Hey, I said it was a fantasy, right?
I was pleased that the contractions had continued. I laid in bed. I drank water. I watched episodes of the Bachelor. At some point, I silenced my phone and stopped texting my friends. My husband came home. My dad picked up our youngest daughter from school and brought our oldest home early, too. I could hear their tiny voices chatting enthusiastically. How exciting for them: grandparents there, daddy home early, mommy in bed. Something was happening! I was proud of the work I was doing. I relaxed into the contractions. I dozed whenever I could (an issue in my two previous births). I stayed hydrated (an issue in my first birth). It all felt good.
4 p.m. – My husband called our doula to let her know I was still having contractions and though I said it could be awhile, she decided to come over just for a minute to assess the situation. I felt sure she would realize I was perfectly fine, conscious, not in late stages of labor, and then she would be on her way. I figured, like my other children, this one would come in the middle of the night, perhaps after days of labor, like my first.
She came in and chatted with me for a bit. Asked me to use the bathroom and have some contractions while sitting on the toilet, which I did. She asked if we could take a walk. My husband and I obliged. She helped me slip on some shoes, saying it was wet outside. I vaguely remembered the afternoon in bed, listening to the thunder and rain and wind outside my window, thinking, this sounded more like a summer storm, not a February afternoon. I noticed how damp everything was outside and how clear the sky had become, watching the soon-to-be-sunset colors drift across the sky. My husband and I walked, me leaning on him when need be, slowing or stopping for contractions to pass. I could hear my doula taking pictures while we walked. Down to the end of the street we went. Turning around and walking back. When we reached the house, my husband decided to go in to help with the kids and dinner. Doula and I kept walking to the other end of the street and back. At one point my neighbor hollered, “Trying to walk that baby out?” I just waved my hand in the air. I couldn’t have a conversation about it right now. He couldn’t know how right he was. I bragged to her about my dad’s enchiladas and she cautioned me about eating dairy before labor. I was so disappointed, but trusted her judgment. The last thing I wanted was to be throwing up my dad’s beloved enchiladas.
6:30 p.m. – I was in bed again after our walk. Our doula didn’t end up leaving after all. I thought perhaps that was a good sign. Maybe I was farther along than I thought. Still, I resumed my position of laying in bed letting the contractions come and go, trusting they would deliver my baby for me. I hear the doula playing hide and seek with my girls. I thought how sweet that was of her. I thought how I had wanted nobody home while I labored. It was such a private thing for me, I had hoped this baby would come before my parents arrived. I had hoped my friend would come and pick up my kids and it would be just my husband and my doula alone in my home. None of this happened though. Here I was laying in bed, listening to them eat dinner and play games while I labored alone.
When my oldest daughter came in to say goodnight, I felt the loneliness overcome me. I missed my kids and my husband and my parents. I had missed dinner and games and bedtime. And here my daughter was asking if I could come do bedtime with her. I hugged and kissed her and said I just couldn’t right now; I was trying to have our baby brother. She left the room looking as sad as I felt and I started crying. I told my doula, “I miss my kids.” And then I began to sob.
She said she understood and maybe it was time to head to the hospital. I had a brief surge of excitement. Did she really think it was time? I hadn’t thought it could possibly be time. “What if I’m not far enough along? What if they send me home?” I agonized over the possibilities through my tears. She said, “Well, then we’ll go out for pizza!” She encouraged me to drink my strong cup of red raspberry leaf tea and use the bathroom before we left. I asked if I could eat my apple too and she said yes. I scarfed it down, whining internally about how it was nothing compared to dad’s enchiladas. I drank the tea, saying a little prayer that it would do what it was supposed to. I used the bathroom, staying in there for 4 contractions.
And then I began to move. My husband had my bag. My kids were in bed. My parents stood in the entryway at the end of the hall, watching me slowly walk toward the door. I stood in the entryway awkwardly. My mom rubbed my back. I looked at my doula and husband for help. I didn’t want this. My headphones were in my ears, playing Hypnobirthing tracks I’d listened to the entire pregnancy. I wanted to stay in my cave, not converse or interact with people. I headed for the door, stopping again for another contraction. They were coming so quickly now. Over the threshold, to the first step, and stopping for another one, I realized my dad was next to me. I could hear the doula getting in her car, and my husband starting his. As usual, the February weather didn’t seem to penetrate my labor. I felt no temperature change as I walked, contracted, walked, and contracted to the car. My dad’s hand was gently on my elbow and he explained, “I’m just going to help you to the car, so you don’t fall.” My eyes filled with tears. He’s a good dad. Not intrusive. Not pushy. Just helpful. Quietly strong. He helped me in the car, squeezed my hand and I leaned back with my eyes closed, trying to focus, yet again, on the hypnobirthing labor cave I had built for myself in my head.
7:16 p.m. – I watched the clock on my husband’s car change. I looked at the dark sky and the headlights passing us. We ran a yellow light. He looked in his rearview for the doula. I thought to myself, she knows where she’s going, it’s ok. At the hospital, he parked and helped me out of the car. Through the parking lot we walked in the darkness and mostly silence, me leaning on him during contractions, then taking a deep breath and walking some more. Into the hospital we continued. Our doula guided us to the elevator and we made our way to the second floor. Once there we were buzzed into the admitting area and I tried to stay in my cave. I heard questions being asked. I heard myself answering them. I heard a nurse ask, “Is she going to want an epidural because our anesthesiologist is leaving for the night.” A flutter went through my heart, a shudder through my body; was I really going to do this without medication? Maybe I should change my mind. Maybe I should ask them to hold the anesthesiologist just in case. Or maybe I should let him leave, because I could do this. Maybe I was closer than I thought. In hindsight, my husband would describe those few minutes as amazing: “She was amazing. She walked through the parking lot, into the hospital, checked herself in, and gave birth. She did it all by herself.”
7:38 – 10:08 p.m. – Two and a half hours. That’s all it was. And yet so much seemed to take place. I was introduced to nurses. Accompanied to the bathroom. Helped out of my pants and underwear. I remember the trail of blood I left as I walked through the room. A nurse said, “You’re the skinniest pregnant woman I ever saw!” I thought to myself, she’s ridiculous. At some point they got a needle in my hand; the “just in case needle” reminding me that I might end up needing intervention. I could smell my doula’s essential oils. I tried to find a comfortable position. I just wanted to lay on my stomach and go to sleep. Soon. Soon, the baby would be out and I’d have my stomach back again. I grasped hand rails of the bed. I rolled from side, to front, to side, moaning through contractions, listening to my hypnobirthing as it played from my iPhone in my doula’s hand. I heard the nurse remark that I was so relaxed; she’d never seen a laboring woman so relaxed before. Someone said they needed to check me. That required laying on my back. There was nothing I wanted less, but everyone helped me get there. I screamed during the cervical check and immediately went back to my side and stomach, curling around my rock hard uterus and wondering if I was going to make it. I heard them say they should call the doctor because she lived in Staunton. I guess I was far enough along to call the doctor, so that was good, right? I didn’t want to know what my dilation was but it killed me that no one was saying, “You’re so close.” In hindsight, I was a 4, maybe a 5 and I’m glad they didn’t tell me. I heard the nurse saying the smell of the oils was too much for her and she was getting a headache; she said it was okay if we used them, but she would switch out with another nurse. I don’t know what my doula did, but the nurse stayed and the smells weren’t so intense. As things progressed, I started moaning, “Nooooooooo” every time a contraction would rise up within me. My doula would say, “Yessss, Theresa, yesssss.” “NOOO!” I would yell louder. I’m pretty sure I knew I didn’t want anymore. In the bathroom I told her, “I think I need something. Drugs. An epidural. Anything.” She said, “No, you don’t. You’re so close. Those are just going to slow down your labor anyway and you’ve been waiting a month for this baby to come!” I felt unsteady, unsure about what I wanted anymore. I returned to the bed, to labor some more.
A huge release came with a loud pop and a rush and I thought, “He’s here!” But it wasn’t my baby. It was my water breaking violently all over the place. I’d never experienced that in my previous births. After the brief rush passed, I realized I still had a lot of work to do.
10:09 p.m. – That’s when he was born. It happened so quickly. One minute I was in my personal hell of contractions and I felt myself pushing. I heard them whispering about me pushing when it wasn’t time yet, but I couldn’t stop. I realized the doctor was there. I saw her down below discussing my dilation with the nurse and doula. Still, I couldn’t stop pushing. At some point, the doctor pushed my cervix’s lip over the baby’s head and announced that I was fully dilated and could push. They wanted me on my back again. I didn’t think I could move. I just wanted to keep pushing and pushing until it was over. Somehow I ended up in an upright, somewhat seated position. The back of the bed was so high, I don’t even know that you could say I was on my back; it was more like I was sitting in a chair. I continued pushing and yelling. I heard the doctor talking to my husband about how my other births have been. He mentioned that I caught my second daughter myself and she asked if I’d like to do that again. How could they sit around talking about me while I was being tortured? I wondered. And within seconds I was told to reach down and grab my baby. In between contractions, my head resting back against the bed, I shook it saying, “No, I can’t.” I was so tired. So very tired. They kept saying, “He’s here! Grab him.” I opened my eyes for the first time in what seemed like hours, looked down and saw a huge baby head and a shoulder. He was facing to my left, completely. I couldn’t believe he was still sideways after all of that! I tried to get a grip on him, shoulder and all, and somehow I pulled him out and started screaming “Yes!” over and over and over and over. Nothing mattered except it was over and he was here and we were together and it was over, it was over, it was over. I had done it. I had really done it. Less than 3 hours of active labor and he was here. In my arms. Screaming his head off. Placenta delivered. Stitches administered through my protests of “What are they doing to me? Why are they hurting me?”
The nurse kept gushing about two things: how big my baby was and how relaxed I was. “You should give classes on how to be relaxed!” “I’ve never seen a laboring woman so relaxed before!” “Your body was completely limp!” “He’s huge!”
“That’s a big boy!” And forever captured on video, her saying, “He’s a monster!”
They moved us to another room for the night, though I insisted I didn’t want to stay. I wanted to go home with my baby. Tomorrow is my daughter’s birthday. I wanted to be home. My husband slept. I couldn’t sleep. I had a baby. The baby I had wished for, prayed for, fought for, begged for; he was here. I just stared at him. In the morning my husband returned home to have breakfast with our birthday girl. I cleaned myself up and sat cross-legged in bed, texting and Facebook-ing and just gushing over the goodness of my little miracle. A nurse came in and said, “If you’re sitting like that, I’m guessing you’re just fine and ready to go home!” Everyone on the floor knew us as the family who wanted to leave early, who had a birthday girl at home. I so appreciated all of their help and concern, but I wanted out.
My husband returned; he brought our daughters and enchiladas! We all hung out. Took pictures. Waited for doctors to come and go and check us off their list. It seemed an eternity before we were getting into our car and heading home to begin our new lives as a family of five.
I would say in these first 24+ hours that this unmedicated, natural childbirth was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life. I had no idea what the next month would hold…
Thank you for reading this extremely personal, beautiful and life-changing account of the birth of my son. I appreciate your supportiveness and kindness as you peek into a private moment of my life.
My first weekly meal planning postpartum. Phew. baby is a month old. I didn’t plan on it taking so long to find some kind of routine. Part of this is because my second baby slept all the time and I was able to resume normal activities so quickly. Part of this is because my new baby ended up needing frenectomy procedures at 5 days old, my milk supply suffered and I didn’t have any free time. When I wasn’t nursing, I was pumping. When I wasn’t pumping, I was changing a diaper. When I wasn’t changing, I was helping baby go to sleep. When I wasn’t rocking or soothing, I was using the bathroom and tending to my own healing. When I wasn’t tending to my immediate bodily needs, I was trying to see my other two children, who were missing me to the point of my heart cracking inside of me. It was just a nightmare. I didn’t think having my new baby would be so hard… I pictured a beautiful time of cuddling, nursing, and snuggling with all 3 of my babies. Not the tears, exhaustion and stretched beyond my limits that I experienced…
Anyway, that’s a story for another time, one that I’m excited to share, from the birth to the postpartum, but for now, meal planning. Remember? I did it!! I planned meals and I plan on preparing them! Since the meals my father and mother-in-law made for us in the freezer have been used up, I’m forced to figure this stuff out! Even if it means chopping vegetables in the morning and trying to find as many slow cooker recipes as possible without boring my family to tears!
So, enjoy!
Monday: Frittatas (doubled the recipe to use up our spring oversupply from our chickens) and GF biscuits
Thursday: Baked swai, kale salad (mix from Costco), and steamed rice
Wish me luck this week – making dinner and caring for my THREE children now! And meanwhile, welcome our son, affectionately called Little Man until his nickname comes to him….
You know I love Young Living products and that their therapeutic grade essential oils are the only oils I use for myself and my family. (Read why, here!) I would be remiss, though, if I didn’t share the information I’ve acquired about the presence of gluten in several of the products Young Living offers. I’m not saying gluten makes these products ineffective. Surely, there are so many people with testimonials about the benefits of many Young Living products. This is not to devalue their experiences or yours, but to educate and inform for those, like me and my daughter, who cannot include gluten in any of our food, supplements or skin care products.
I originally signed up with Young Living to get their Tender Tush diaper rash cream for my youngest. It wasn’t much better than other creams, but essential oils mixed with coconut oil were definitely more effective. I didn’t think about it then, because honestly, it never crossed my mind that there could be gluten in a diaper rash cream. I know better now.
As I’ve been leading essential oils classes, I’ve included information about the Young Living supplements and skin care line. Because I want to provide as much real life information as possible, I started looking into some supplements to try myself so I could report back with results. My first purchase was going to be MultiGreens. I researched the ingredients and noticed Barley grass juice concentrate. My years of gluten research had alarm bells ringing in my head. I immediately wrote customer service. Here is their reply:
Hello Theresa,
Thank you for your email and for your patience in our reply to your inquiry. Multigreens are not Gluten free, I have also attached to this email a gluten content list.
If you have additional questions or concerns, or if we can assist you in any way, please feel free to contact us via telephone at 1-800-371-3515, fax at 866-203-5666, email a customerservice@youngliving.com, or our Live Help feature at www.youngliving.com.
If you are gluten intolerant, gluten sensitive, or allergic to gluten, like me, please read the following list carefully, to make sure you are not inadvertently putting gluten into your body and stimulating an immune response.
The essential oils themselves have NO gluten in them. However there are massage oils that do, as well as the V-6 oil used for capsules to swallow and diluting oils applied to the skin. The oils that contain gluten are:
Dragon Time Massage oil Ortho Ease Massage oil Ortho Sport Massage oil Relaxation Massage oil Sensation Massage oil V-6 Enhanced vegetable oil Cel-Lite Magic Massage oil (The gluten in these products is in the form of wheat germ oil.)
The following are supplements that contain gluten, including what form of gluten it is:
Allerzyme (Barley Sprout Powder) Balance Complete (Barley Grass Juice) Ecuadorian Dark Chocolessence (Contains quinoa, which may contain gluten-like proteins) Essentialzymes-4 (vendors have been unable to confirm gluten-free) ICP (oat bran) Juvapower (Barley Sprout Seed) Juvaspice (Barley Sprout Seed) Kidscent Mightyvites (Barley Grass) Multigreens (Barley Grass Concentrate) OmegaGize 3 (“none to our knowledge”) True Source (Barley Grass) Ultra Young + (“none to our knowledge”)
As I said before, the diaper rash cream came as a shock to me, but a LOT of Young Living personal care products contain gluten. They are listed below:
ART Creme Masque (Oat kernel extract) ART Day Activator (Tocopheryl acetate is sourced from wheat germ) ART Night Reconstructor (Tocopheryl acetate is sourced from wheat germ) ART Renewal Serum (Oat Protein) Bar Soaps (Oat kernel meal) Boswellia Wrinkle Cream (Barley Extract – Hordeum Distichon) Copaiba Vanilla Shampoo (“we cannot guarantee the reformulated hair care products as gluten free”) Copaiba Vanilla Conditioner (“we cannot guarantee the reformulated hair care products as gluten free”) Genesis Lotion (wheat germ oil) Kidscent Bath & Shower Gel (wheat germ oil) Kidscent Lotion (wheat germ oil) Kidscent Shampoo (wheat germ oil) Kidscent Tender Tush (wheat germ oil) Lavender Foaming Hand Soap (Hordiam Distichon) Lavender Lotion (Hordiam Distichon) Lavender Mint Shampoo (“we cannot guarantee the reformulated hair care products as gluten free”) Lavender Mint Conditioner (“we cannot guarantee the reformulated hair care products as gluten free”) Lavender Volume Conditioner (wheat germ oil, hydrolized wheat protein) Lavender Volume Shampoo (wheat germ oil) Orange Blossom Face Wash (Hydrolized wheat protein) Prenolone + Body Cream (wheat germ oil + hydrolized wheat protein) Protec (wheat germ oil) Regenolone Moisturizing Cream (wheat germ oil, hydrolized wheat protein) Rose Ointment (wheat germ oil) Sandalwood Moisture Cream (wheat germ oil, hydrolized wheat protein) Satin Facial Scrub (hydrolized wheat protein, hydrolized wheat starch, barley extract, Hordiam Distichon) Sensation Lotion (wheat germ oil) Wolfberry Eye Cream (hydrolized wheat germ oil, hydrolized wheat starch, barley extract, Hordiam Distichon)
Thieves products are beloved by many and thankfully there aren’t a lot that contain gluten. However, it should be noted that the Foaming Hand Soap contains Tocopheryl acetate from wheat germ oil. I plan on making my own foaming hand soap when my September order of Theives arrives. Keep looking for that post!
The Animal Scent Ointment also contains wheat germ oil.
FAQ
Can you have a copy of this chart and e-mail?
Most certainly! Use the “Contact Me”box up top and I will get it right over to you.
Do I feel differently about Young Living now?
I’m a little disappointed, but if I’ve learned anything from this process, it is ASK! Always ask. Don’t assume that because a company has high standards and superb products, that they’re allergen free.
Am I frustrated by the use of gluten in Young Living products?
Yes, I am. I feel like I won’t get to try some of these products that people have experienced great results with. That said, thankfully their oils are gluten free and that’s what really matters.
Should Young Living change their product formulations?
I wish! I wish Young Living would recognize that we are a society overburdened with gluten and that so many people are sensitive and allergic. I wish they’d consider that and produce a reformulation that included products without gluten. I also wish I knew how to get that ball rolling…
Should we avoid these products?
You should avoid the products mentioned above if you are sensitive to gluten. Even rubbing products containing gluten on your skin can cause an immune reaction and we wouldn’t want that! I won’t ever get to try the MultiGreens, but perhaps I’ll find a blend I like for myself elsewhere and supplement with additional oils, separately.
Is Young Living still the best company for oils?
I say yes. I say this is the only company that follows their oils from the very seed planted in the ground to the harvesting of the plant, from the rendering of the oil to the seal on the bottle. I think for me, the disappointment and “a-ha” moment came when I realized that just because they make awesome, pure, therapeutic grade oils, does not mean that they are a supplement company or can produce a product for personal care better than I could at home. It’s so easy to fall in love with a company and surrender to them, believing they are the only company for you, without double-checking the things you would anywhere else…
That being said, my supplements will continue to come from Designs for Health and Apex Energetics, because these companies are GMP (Good Manufacturing Processes) Certified and I know every ingredient that goes into their products. Also, they never include gluten or dairy, corn or soy in their products, and I personally, need that validation.
Remember, for oils, Young Living is the only way to go, in my opinion. For other products, I may recommend heading elsewhere…
To sign up with Young Living, go here and enter 1414775 as the Enroller ID and Sponsor ID. Choose the Premium Starter Kit in order to get the most for your money and start enjoying your oils today!
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I used to read books as a teenager where the teenage girl had special dates with her dad and I’d wistfully imagine how cool that would be. It wasn’t something that actually happened in my childhood or teenage years and I’m okay with that. However, it is something that I would like to see in my daughters’ lives. When I’ve brought it up to my husband, he has said it sounds like a good idea, but when and where and what and how? I just assumed we’d figure it out one day. Then I saw this video and said, “We HAVE to do this.”
It’s sweet, right? I can’t believe it’s so controversial. Where’s the controversy? I want our daughters to grow up knowing how a man should treat a woman. Not just because my husband takes me on dates or is kind and respectful towards me, but because he takes them out and is kind and respectful towards them. So, we did it. It was so cute to see our 3 1/2 year old get so excited about her date with her daddy. She talked about getting spaghetti and meatballs and ice cream and she did her hair with clips and put on a pretty necklace. She felt beautiful and special and she should!
While it was nowhere as elaborate as the video above, it was a special evening for the two of them that none of us will ever forget. They had Italian for dinner (something Mommy and baby sister can’t eat). Then they went for ice cream and walked the downtown main street looking in shop windows and talking the whole time. The talking is what excites me the most. We have a child who loves to talk about everything and anything. She seems insatiable when it comes to understanding life and everything around her. Having one-on-one time with us gives her the opportunity to have the undivided attention that allows her to feel heard and seen. My husband is already talking about his first date with our youngest and what they should do and where they should go. I’m thrilled to see him looking forward to this time with his girls. I look at the big picture (as I do with all things) and see them growing up with these special times with their Daddy. I hope that they tell him all kinds of things and ask him lots of questions. I hope they grow together in a relationship that is deep and genuine, one that lasts beyond our lifetime. I hope when they’re teenagers they don’t look to boys to receive affirmation or confidence, because they’ve been affirmed and uplifted at home. I hope when they’re young women, they can look at their Daddy and say, “Thank you for always making me feel so special.” Dads have that power. Moms do too. We can take time out of every day to truly hear and see our children. We can get down on their level and play their games, answer their questions and listen to their stories. Being a parent carries so much responsibility that it can be overwhelming to know what we “should” do. Most importantly, though, we can remember to know our kids and let them know us. Nothing can truly accomplish this like time. And the memories?
This is just a Public Service Announcement: Take-out Friday might be really beneficial to your relationship with your children.
On take-out Friday we get take-out. Pretty simple really. So why might it benefit my relationship with my kids? I’m not getting dinner on the table after nap time. I’m not chopping vegetables and regulating snack choices. I’m not handing them projects and games while rushing back to the sink. On take-out Friday, I get to sit down and color, read, talk, and play. It’s my own version of quality Daddy time (the kind he gets at night when it’s just him and them and no chores in the mix).
Take-out Friday might not be great health-wise, or budget-wise, but it is great parenting-wise. Right when I think we should stop doing it to save money or put more nutritious food on the table I’m reminded that A) we eat nutritious meals 3 times a day and almost 7 days a week; B) Take-out runs us $20-40 and I could almost spend that on another meal; C) I can’t put a price on these afternoons.
It’s not actually just the afternoon it helps with; it’s the whole day. Who doesn’t like Friday? I wake up feeling like we’ve almost made it to the weekend. I usually plan something fun with the kids and during nap time I get some work done or a project I’ve wanted to do or a phone call I’ve wanted to make. Not once do I think, do I need to thaw something from the freezer? I don’t stress over what I should try to get done while they’re sleeping or playing. I actually just get to be Mommy.
Take-out Friday is a simple way for us to all celebrate the end of the week and each other. Less dishes, less mess, less stress, less busy-ness…. More love, more laughter, more play time and more meaningful conversations. So, if you haven’t tried giving yourself a night off regularly so you can just be with your family, try it!
Have you seen kids in the “dead of winter” barefoot? Have you thought to yourself, “How could that mom let her kids be outside in this weather without shoes on?” Okay, maybe you didn’t think it, but some people have. I know, because I’ve heard them think it out loud. I’ve seen their posts on Facebook. I may have even agreed with their rants a time or two.
This post could have been titled: Don’t Judge Moms Who…
Or how about: Don’t Judge Moms
More simplistically: Don’t Judge
I didn’t get that vague because frankly that’s a huge topic that I’m not willing to tackle, so I decided to narrow the subject down to something very specific. This way, if it doesn’t apply to you, you don’t even have to keep reading! And if it does, either because you’re the judger or the judgee, then you can keep reading and hear me out. (please)
See my gorgeous girl? Barefoot? In a Target shopping cart? If I could hazard a guess at the outside temperature, I’d probably say it was 45 degrees. Pretty chilly if you ask me. Shoe weather, I’d say. And I did say. Repeatedly. But when you’ve been trapped in the house for three days with a sick three-year-old and a sick 21-month-old and you’re desperate to get out and do something, anything… well, shoes just don’t seem to matter.
Are you thinking to yourself, “She’s been sick? And she’s not wearing shoes?”
Yes. I hang my head in shame before you. And then I look up and a host of clichés pile themselves at my feet. “Don’t throw stones in glass houses.” “Only if you’re without sin, cast the first stone.” “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”
Firstly, she had fuzzy, warm pink boots on in the car. When we arrived at the store, they were off. Secondly, I put them back on! I really did! It’s entirely possible that she had them on the whole time we were outside, walking into the store. Once we were inside the store though, her mission became the removal of the shoes. And once she’d completed that mission, she had to throw them as far as she could. Between trying not to lose the shoes, giving her snacks and drinks on demand so she wouldn’t be a screaming toddler in a store, which people hate, and keeping an eye on the three-year-old who was touching everything at eye-level and probably wiping her nose on her sleeve, I decided shoeless would work for me. Only then did I think to take this picture. Only then did I realize that judgments were probably being made. In fact, maybe someone in that very store went home to post about my mothering skills on their Facebook page! Or maybe they didn’t even wait that long and they posted from their phone while they stood in the checkout line. Anything’s possible.
This wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Today, my-three year-old would not put on shoes. And when I finally got her shoes on, she refused her sweater. It was 40 degrees outside. I suppose some parenting guru would say, “You put the shoes and sweater on and you make her wear them.” Yes, I suppose I could. But what would the parenting guru say if I had to take my child into the library wearing the shoes and sweater and force everyone in the library to listen to her screams and moans and wails as she thrashes around on the floor because she’s three and searching for some way to exercise her independence? Probably nothing. We compromised. She wore the shoes and ditched the sweater. It’s a 50 second walk from the car to the library door. I decided she’d survive. But who knows what other people thought as they saw that poor, little girl in the freezing cold without a jacket. Sigh.
Earlier this week, my youngest threw a shoe so far that it could’ve knocked someone out had it hit them in the head. Thankfully, it landed in a pile of potatoes. Not thankfully, we were at Costco, so that pile of potatoes was super-bulk-size and I’m lucky I recovered the shoe at all.
Barefoot babies in winter. A tragedy? A reason to judge? At least an excuse to criticize? Or a realization that some things aren’t in our control. Some things don’t seem worth the battle. Sometimes as moms, we pick and choose our battles so specifically, because we’re trying to avoid the judgment that a miserable, frustrated toddler’s tantrum would bring on us and in doing so, we only attract more judgment. Alas, perhaps it’s a losing battle. In fact, the chances are, the only people reading this blog are the moms whose kids have gone out in the winter without shoes! So the people who actually judge those moms aren’t reading the blog and probably won’t change their ways any time soon.
Ah well, here’s to us moms. Here’s to the moms who choose their battles based on important things like life and death, not battles of will. Here’s to moms who aren’t out to teach their kids whose boss, but to allow them the freedom of brief moments of independence instead of micromanaging their every move. Here’s to moms who have kids with autism, ADHD, ADD, SPD, ODD, or any number of diagnoses that make something as simple as shoes more difficult than most people could fathom. Here’s to the moms who have strong, brilliant children who take stands for these “little things” that feel like really “big things” to them. Here’s to the moms who don’t care what other people think. Here’s to the moms who do.
Have you read this blog about the mom taking all her kids toys away? The first time I read it I thought, “Wow! That’s such a huge move and it seems to have had amazing results!” The more I thought about it, I started watching my kids and wondering if they would benefit, or if we would benefit as a family. I’ve decided nope, they wouldn’t and we wouldn’t. It’s not that we can’t live with less and it’s not that I’m not a fan of minimalism, it’s because I don’t want to do that to them.
So many toys have come from family and friends. When I look around at it all, I do want to clean it up, organize it more, separate things for donations or store for memory’s sake, but I don’t want to give it away. The stuffed deer was my husband’s when he was a little boy. He named it Pan without having any knowledge at the time of the Greek mythological god of shepherds and flocks, nature and hunting. It’s ironic and it’s touching. The My Little Pony was given to my three-year-old on her second birthday by my cousin. One of the baby dolls was given to my second daughter when she was just a new baby and now my older daughter sleeps with it. The other baby was given to my oldest the day her sister was born. Sophie the Giraffe was a teething friend for both girls, given by their grandparents. The dress-up boy doll with snaps and buttons was a gift from my brother and my sister-in-law as he and I remembered fondly our Snoopy that had the snaps and buttons and zippers to teach us those skills. The list goes on and on… I deeply value the love and thought behind every toy our friends and family have bestowed upon our girls and I’m just not going to discard them.
Going along the lines of the blog I mentioned, I have noticed that my kids play more with a clean and open creative space. It’s not the absence of toys, it’s the ability to choose certain ones to play and create with. (It’s really not unlike my desire to bake something when my kitchen counters are spotless.) Today, I cleaned their room, picked everything up and it felt so good in there. Immediately, my three-year-old came in and said, “Wanna play in here with me?” Yes, yes I do. It feels so nice in here… She quickly pulled out a ton of toys, laid out a blanket (handmade for my second child by another cousin) and gathered her toys and stuffed animals to the middle for a sleepover. We rolled around on the floor with Pandora playing in the background. We pretended to sleep and pretended to wake up. We ate grapes and we talked about which toys made us feel the happiest. My youngest (21-months) ran circles around us and giggled. I gently explained to the oldest that the “baby” just doesn’t understand pretend yet and it’s okay if she doesn’t go to sleep.
I get to have these moments and cherish these moments with my girls. I’ll never forget times like that. And I hope they won’t either. All of us together and all their toys piled on top of us. Clutter and all.
Minimalism is the concept that less is more. I love it. As I look around at my cluttered, lived-in home, I know less is more and I want to clear all the clutter. I know that our minds would be at ease if we weren’t staring into the closets and cabinets of plenty, but I haven’t done a lot about that and I’m not going to start with my kids. If, as I pursue a less cluttered home, my kids see and want to change their lives in this way also, then I will support them. That’s my decision for them. I don’t want to take their things away and not let them have a say. I don’t want to push minimalism on them as a way of life without them having a choice. We’re all good moms doing the best we can and without judgment I can say that taking all the toys away is just not for me. And if you do it and I don’t, we can still be friends, right?
My purpose of this blog isn’t to talk about whether it’s right or wrong to take away your kids’ toys. It’s just a way of putting the idea of minimalism out there and the many obstacles that might arise when you pursue it. I have a pile in the garage of things to sell and give away and I’m working towards those adventures as time allows. But minimizing stuff takes time too. Valuable time. Time I could spend having pretend sleepovers with my girls and preparing healthy meals for them. If you have success stories of de-cluttering or minimizing that you’d like to share, I’d love to hear them! What I dread most is another thing (or hundreds of things) on my already full daily to-do list. So, I’m gonna take this slow… like just talking about it here and letting it simmer in the back of my brain.
Have you seen kids in the “dead of winter” barefoot? Have you thought to yourself, “How could that mom let her kids be outside in this weather without shoes on?” Okay, maybe you didn’t think it, but some people have. I know, because I’ve heard them think it out loud. I’ve seen their posts on Facebook. I may have even agreed with their rants a time or two.
