If I showed you my night in IG posts


**this is not a ‘booty call’ but my everyday life in our 2-parent household.

<<<screenshot of your “Restricted” caller ID on my phone screen>>>

<<<pic of me picking up your list of requests from the store (wine/beer@target)>>>

<<<pic of my bright idea to sneak into some sexy underthings beneath my uniform of yoga pants and comfy T’s>>>

<<<photo of my sly smile as you comment on how long it took me when i ran upstairs to fetch your glasses>>> *winking emoji**

<<<pic of me feeling compromised in the lingerie you bought me but didn’t know I was wearing under my clothes>>>>

<<<pic of your closed door (because we don’t even share a bedroom)>>>

<<<<pic of me grabbing my glass of wine>>>

<<pic of your abandoned drinks on the floor>>

<<pic of the baby monitor flashing, declaring #lastcall>>

<<pic of me alone in bed>>>

It’s a little too personal to show, but I wonder who else would understand/relate to the story?


“It’s just a phase,” and other lies we tell ourselves…


I am constantly falling behind.

I am always forgetting something.

I’ve sought an ADD diagnosis and taken meds — things got better, but stuff still slips through the cracks.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I can do two things well at any given time, but I always have at least three things that need to be done. The most pressing issues are taking care of my family, taking care of my job, and taking care of my home. I shuffle those three around, always trying to prioritize family. Once in a while, I let myself take precedence, but when a ball drops (which it inevitably does), I scold myself and try to put out the fires.

The “baby” turned two in March. Just in the last six weeks, he has entered “The Terrible Two’s.” I used to be able to bring him everywhere with me and as long as he was able to cuddle with Mom, he was fine. But now he is a stubborn S.O.B. and taking him anywhere means endless compromise; moving at a snail’s pace, and absurd arguments and conversations voiced very loudly because he doesn’t understand ‘inside voices’ yet.

I tell myself, “It will get better,” because I’m an optimist. But in cynical moments like this, I feel like I’ve always been saying that, and it is just another excuse for failure.

When we were geographically separated from my family, I said it would would better once we were all nearby one another again. When I was pregnant with Baby No. 4, I said it would be easier when I wasn’t pregnant. When I was breastfeeding the baby, I said it would be easier once he was weaned. Once he was weaned, I talked about how he would start to sleep on his own be less dependent on me…but I haven’t quit co-sleeping and he is such a great snuggle-buddy, I don’t know when I will! LOL =/

I am currently pinning my hopes and dreams on next fall when 3 out of 4 kids will be in school (albeit the 4 year old will only go half days — God bless FL for offering free VPK!), it feels like a huge victory to have the majority of children out of the house for free for any number of hours. At that time, the “baby” will be about 2.5, and God-willing (who am I kidding? I don’t put any faith in “God,” but hope I will find the balls to make him sleep by himself), will be in his own room – or sharing with his big bro (the 4 y/o).

Meanwhile, every time something falls through the cracks, whether it’s a missed deadline for work, or a forgotten familial obligation, or just seeing a fucking bug in the house because I haven’t mopped in three weeks, I keep telling myself, “It’s just a phase!”

Am I delusional? (If the answer is “Yes,” I don’t wanna know…)

Motherhood is Tearing Me Apart


Today started like any other day.

I tried to sneak out of bed quietly and limit the number of chit’lins I was up against – failed miserably.
Picked up the baby, went to the girls’ room and told them to get dressed and come downstairs. Pretended the 3 year old was still asleep and went downstairs myself (baby in tow, of course – myself is actually a synonym now meaning me+baby).

I prepared an awesome home lunch for the kindergartner (I included a Ziploc of blueberries to round out the Lunchable) and thought we would make it out the door in plenty of time, but was thwarted by a 10 year old who insisted it was okay to wear flip flops to school, despite having been specifically instructed otherwise just yesterday morning. The girls disembarked from the minivan 2 minutes AFTER the last bell – for the 2nd time this week (and it’s only Wed.)

Needing stress relief, I came home and indulged in 2 bowls of cocoa puffs which I keep hidden on the top shelf behind some bags of dried soup in the pantry. I felt a twinge of guilt as I left my 3 year old watching cartoons on Netflix while I went upstairs to put the baby down for a nap, but did it anyway. Tried to make up for it by snuggling with him on the couch when I got back downstairs, but was torn by the feeling I should be using that time to handle a few of the to-do’s I never get around to when the baby is up. The rest of the day went on like that – feeling torn between the things I wanted to do, the things I needed to do, and the things they wanted.

I’ve come to realize I can really only do TWO things adequately at any given time. I can 1) take care of my family, and 2) maintain my home, or I can 1) take care of my family, and 2) do my job*. Like any mother, I am usually worrying about whether or not the way I ‘take care of my family’ is good enough; shouldn’t the kids be in extracurricular activities for enrichment? Shouldn’t they be given more freedom and independence and time outside? Shouldn’t they be more closely supervised? Shouldn’t they be doing more around the house? Shouldn’t they be on an organic diet/getting more exercise/reading more/having less screen time, etc…? And where is my husband in all of this? Shouldn’t he be getting some play (literally and figuratively!)? And in addition to my three major responsibilities (family, home, work), there are eleventy billion other demands chiming in (why the hell am I wearing yoga pants if I haven’t ever done yoga?).

Where does that leave us (see, I speak in plural sometimes because I am never alone – and I hope, I beg, and I pray that you can relate so the “us” is even more applicable)? Being a mother has given meaning to my life, but it is coming at a very serious cost.

Have you figured out how to budget your time?

*my “job” is a beautifully flexible part-time arrangement of working from home as a writer/social media marketer