haiti, uganda, zumba, crazy love & youtube

{one of my most clever titles thus far, don’t ya think?}
Okay, so this isn’t so much a deep post.  
Nor is it a post tipping you off to a new beauty product I’m loving.
It’s just a “Hey, here’s what’s up post.”  
And I am going to try not to get all deep and spiritual about anything, because my mind needs to rest for a sec.
Seriously.  
I need a brain vacay.
This may be why I’m starting a new blog with my sister Heather.
It’ll be NOTHING deep and everything about home, decor, beauty and more…
And it’s in the design process, and I can’t wait to share my sister with you guys.
I adore her beyond words. 
{as I do all my sisters.}
Okay, so I’m just going to write it all out as though I think that you really really care, and unload this list once and for all.
The list of my life at the moment.

~~~~~~~

As you guys probably know, I think I can officially say I’m now a PAID freelance writer, and I ADORE my job.  ADORE.
Not to mention The Mommalogues, which is such a blast…it doesn’t even feel like work.  
P1010814
The tough part?  
Coming up with amazeball pitches and meeting deadlines.  
Who knew there could be tough side to writing???
I keep hoping in time, I’ll get the hang of it and my editors will love me the way I so desire them too.
It’s the middle child in me.
I need acceptance.
Love me.

~~~~~~~

Also?
I’m going to start teaching Zumba.  
Aqua Zumba to be exact.  
And I’m hoping I’ll be ready to teach my own classes by August.
And yes.
 I realize I’m totally white.
But I DO have a Hispanic last name.
{by marriage.}
dancingfools
It’s just that I love dancing, and I need to force myself to workout more, and I LOVE being around people, making them laugh and have fun….not to mention I need money for all these mission trips/or other such plans God may have for our family….
so Aqua Zumba it will be.
My soon to be passion/hobby/part time job.
If someone will hire.
If people will come.
I already have two routines down, with only 8 more to go before I can teach a full class.  
I’m thinking maybe I’ll dye my hair dark and start working on Latin accent.  
56498014469
Jimmy says I already have the Latina feisty thing going on, so I’m kinda close.  
So….it’s almost as though God has been prepping me for this all my married life.

~~~~~~~

Along with this, my kids are home from school for the summer.
And while I’m not as anxious about it as I was last year (maybe it’s the hormone balancing that’s finally happening?  more on that later.), it’s still, you know, summer vacation.
And my kids?
They have a passion to be WHEREVER it is I AM.  
We have a 1200 sq ft house  with a 1/2 acre of land (that we may sell soon), and the reason it’s so small is because even if we had a huge house, they would still ALWAYS be in the room that I am.  
Even if that room is a stinky bathroom.  
They just don’t care.
P1020756
One day I will miss that.
Right?
I’ll one day miss the incessant talking that Taylor has the gift of doing.
Phrasing a sentence/question in about 30 different ways in a surprisingly SHORT amount of time.  Although it FEELS as though hours have passed.
“Who ate this strawberry?”
“Nobody, I cut off the bad parts.”
“It looks like somebody ate part of it right here.”
“No, I just sliced off the soft parts.”
“You sure nobody ate any part of this?”
“No.”
“Maybe Chloe?  I think Chloe ate part of this…”
And on and on and ON it goes.
I’ll miss that right?
I’ll also miss the screaming that Chloe has a gift for doing.
At home.
In public.
In my dreams.
{if you follow on facebook, you know she got kicked out of swim lessons for this psychotic behavior}
It’ll be a cute memory one day, right?

~~~~~~~

And then there’s this weight loss I have got going on.
Or SHOULD have going on.
But somehow that insane self control I used to have???
It’s gone, along with minute parts of my sanity.
And so every day, I am trying to accomplish just one or two goals.
And so far it’s happening, but this mushy body stuff….is still there.
Wish it melted away as fast as it come on.
iphone-app-myfitnesspal
{my new best friend, my fitness pal app}
I think plastic surgery is looking better and better.
Plus, I hear it comes with great pain pills.
That’s sounds kind of nice right now.
In the meantime, I’ve been slacking on posting What I wore out posts because nothing looks cute on me except miu miu’s.  
And that can only be cute in a fashion post….
um….
never.

~~~~~~~

Also….
I’m trying to take a break from watching YouTube Beauty Channels.  
It’s causing a fluctuation in our budget, and I fear it may be the cause of us possibly needing to sell our house.  
Plus, how many pink lipsticks does one girl REALLY need?
30+ if you watch YouTube.
Which I do.  
I mean did.
And if I quit watching YouTube (i mean, take a break.  i can’t quit you YouTube), maybe I should take a break from making YouTube videos.  
Not that they’re all that popular anyway (why don’t they love me???)….but still.  
I would hate to stumble the three that do watch.
But then that brings us back to my issues with lack of self control, of which you may have plenty.
If that is the case, you are welcome to move in and teach me your ways.
And then…
We are praying over two mission trips….one to Haiti and one to Uganda.  
All in the next year. 
And it excites me and scares me.
Because what if anxiety strikes up again while I’m out in the far away lands?
What if I need to poop for a really long time when I’m supposed to be building a school or something?
What if there are….BUGS???
God is bigger than all that.
I must remember.

197636_477527782261980_88222610_n
{i did it before, i can do it again.}

~~~~~~

And so, with all of this going on in my life….
I decided (more so God did) that I needed to add in leading a summer bible study through Crazy Love with a group of our High School girls.
And that???
Is what is keeping me grounded.
Those amazing girls.
That inspiring study.
That bi-monthly reminder that AlLLLLLL that other stuff above is just stuff…
and what really matters is the stuff of Monday night bonding and study.

~~~~~~~

Oh.  
Also.
I’m behind in MANY sponsored posts and giveaways.
In fact, I may be on some black lists now because of this.
But, I blame perimenopause.
And weight gain.
For the next 8-10 years, that will absolutely be my scapegoat with or without hormone replacement therapy.

~~~~~~~

I need a vacation.
Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere there aren’t ANY people….
so that I can lay out.
And just be silent.
And allow my soul to breathe and regain what’s been lost in the shuffle.
IMG_1748
Have you ever just CRAVED peace and silence?
I forget, I’m writing to a group of mostly moms.
Of course you do.
Maybe, that’s next on my to do list.
Forget blogging conferences.
{See you at BlogHer12?}
Let’s plan a quiet peaceful conference.

~~~~~~~

And speaking of conferences, anybody get their feelings hurt that they aren’t approached to speak or share on their wisdom?
No?
Just me?
Again.
Blaming perimenopause.
Or middle child syndrome.

~~~~~~~

So, ya….that’s what’s up.
Without getting deep.
What up wit you?
© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!

need humility? have kids.

Oh, how parenting keeps me humble.
Taylor, my spirited strong willed one….has always kept me on my toes.
At home.
And in public.
But, mostly his “shows” are just when he’s around me or his dad.
Then the moment he steps into the care of ANYONE ELSE, his halo comes out and people absolutely delight in him.

Picture 4

Once he started school, his halo made a permanant appearance, and at every parent/teacher conference they absolutely gushed over my son, and I had to ask several times….
“You mean Taylor???  Taylor SALDANA????  The one who THROWS himself on the floor in public simply because the sky is blue???”
I admit, yes….he IS a pleasure and incredibly sweet and oh so very tender hearted….but at that age it seemed to be so very tucked WAYYYYYY under the screaming insane temper tantrums.
{the ones we had to start recording to prove we weren’t really liars.}
But, Chloe.
Oh sweet happy go lucky, just wants to make people happy, Chloe.
While a bit fiesty (like her mama), her passion to make you smile just overshadows it all.
She snuggles and giggles and laughs and sings and dances and is just sooooo happy.

P1020435

Because of this, I couldn’t WAIT to get her into preschool to show off my AMAZING parenting skills, because…

“Look!  She does tricks!  And she’s HAPPY!  And this is all because of ME and my amazing parenting!!!”

But then school began….and my humbling took place.
Every week.
For 10 months.
Although, I think maybe we had 2 good months, so to be fair I’ll say 8.
Nearly every week when I drop off Chloe, it seems as though the teachers suddenly find themselves VERY busy.

Nearly every week I have had the pleasure of having a parent/teacher conference when I pick up my SWEET little beautiful and STUBBORN girl, Chloe.

You can only imagine my confusion.

THIS was the child I was supposed to hear all the amazing wonderful “She’s such a pleasure to have in class, and we LOVE the tricks you’ve taught her you WONDERFUL AMAZING PARENT who created all this on PURPOSE!!!”
Instead, I have her teachers number on speed dial, a warm seat in the principals office, and sorrowful looks from the parents who watch me each and every week “stay after class.”
My humbling only continued last week when I may have started crying at 8:30 in the morning, while I stood in my “outside pajamas” (sans bra), staring at said SWEET daughter who was in the midst of FREAKING THE EFF OUT in the middle of the preschool hallway.

{if you thought that sentence lasted forever, try standing in a public hallway watching your childs head spin.}

And all because I wanted her to start saying “hi,” or at the very least wave to her principal when she was greeted every morning.

P1020759

I know.
I’m a terribly mean mother.
I don’t even allow wire hangers.
One thing about parenting I’ve learned is that you can’t take credit for ANYTHING.
Never ever brag, and never ever judge another mother.

Because their humbling is happening, you just may not get the chance to see it in public like others get to see mine.

{it’s like they know i need blog material or something. my word.}

What has your kid done to embarass you lately?
Feeling humble?

© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!

i have a daughter

I read this poem in a book called Sticky Faith (incredible book, btw.  a must read for parents!), and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.
Naturally, I had to share it with you.
~~~~~~~

P1020714

Daughter 17
~
I have a daughter 17
When she lies to me….I love her.
When she disappoints me….I love her.
When she doesn’t live up to my expectations….I love her.
When she reflects poorly on my name….I love her.
“Now I can understand how when she pleases you and obeys
you…and fulfills you…,” you say.
But that’s not what I’m talking about.
It’s when she does none of these things…I love her.
AND for a very simple reason.
I’m her father….and she’s my child.
~~~~~~~
Now I want you to imagine that God is speaking these exact words to you.
Because He is your Father.
You are His child.
And you are so loved.
© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!

nothing good happens after 10 at night

symphonyblues

My mom always said nothing good happened after 10:30pm….

but sometimes moms are wrong.

For example.

I’m an especially good mom at night.

When the kids are sleeping, I am SO patient and full of love and wisdom and gentleness, it even blows me away!!!

Sometimes I even go into their rooms and whisper my insights and love just so they aren’t missing out.
Sure they’re asleep still, but I know somehow it gets in their hearts.

I’m also an incredible housecleaner, writer, organizer, friend, wife…you name at….I can be it.
At night.

But it’s very specific time frame for me.
When I say night, I don’t mean when the sun goes down.
I don’t mean when the kids go down either.
{which some judgingly lovingly joke is basically the same time}


I mean the later it gets, 10:30pm and on, the happier, and wiser, and funnier, and more charming I become.
I can get deep and meaningful, or I can laugh and find the humor…
I send sweet texts, I write thoughtful emails, and a love note to my husband flows effortlessly.

It’s at that time when suddenly I look at everything through rose colored glasses.
OR MAYBE….
It’s at that time that I am actually seeing things for how they truly are.

Because things in my life really ARE rosy.
{why yes, I AM writing this at night}

So, I have from basically around 10:15 until whenever I decide to go to bed to fully enjoy my day.

The problem with this, is that when I’m up and ready to be the Summer I was meant to be….the world is asleep.

So you see, for me, all the BEST things happen after 10:30 night.  
The REAL truth, is that nothing GOOD happens before 10:30 in the morning.  
{my mom had it all confused.}

I don’t care what kind of sale, chocolate, or amount of money you have for me.
I just CANNOT smile before 10.

….this may be why i don’t have many friends at taylor or chloe’s school….
it’s all coming together for me now.
huh.
It’s also why Jimmy and I canNOT talk to each other at all before he goes to work.  
It’s how we keep the marriage together.
{side note: we also choose not to talk when we’re hungry.  this also goes a long way towards a lasting marriage as well.}
It’s this lesson I am trying to teach my kids….
the kids who wake up before 6 am every morning…

“Kids, that saying about the early bird? NOT TRUE!  NOTHING GOOD HAPPENS BEFORE 10 AM, especially in this house!!!!”
They haven’t quite picked up on that lesson yet.
So, if you want to truly know me…and love me….
Hang out with me after 10.
PM.
{or just keep reading my blog, because most of its written by night Summer anyway.}
© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!

why tv is kind of amazing for kids

And the last story from the Betsy & Summer Production archives…

~~~~~~~

We’ll be the first to say it. 
Being a stay-at-home mom is hard work. 
It’s tough being a martyr.
But we have good news. We’ve found a way to stay home and have smart, well-balanced, and well-behaved children-all the while keeping your sanity.
How?
Get a nanny. 
But not just any nanny. 
A smart, entertaining, and interesting nanny.
We’ve had the good fortune to have some incredible nannies come in and out of our lives over the years. In fact, due to the endless hours they’ve worked and devoted to our children, we as mothers have hardly had to do anything! 
(Other than, of course, keep them fed and alive. That is what we signed up for, right?)
Let’s take a walk down memory lane:
First, there was the baby nanny. 
So gentle. So calm. So cultured. 
Every day, several times a day, she introduced our babies to classical music in order to help build their brains. 
She even showed them amazing, beautiful pictures of art, nature, and bright colorful objects.
When our kids turned from babies to toddlers, we had the good fortune to find a hot Aussie manny. Actually, not just one, but four! 
Every day they’d come into our home and sing songs, do funny dances, and teach our kids that fruit salad was yummy yummy.
But there was only so much singing and dancing that we could handle. 
It was time to find someone a little more sophisticated.
It was time to go bilingual.
Our next nanny was a cute little thing. 
Every day, she brought a backpack stuffed with toys to entertain our kids. 
With her, every day was an adventure. 
She even taught our kids how to stand up to bullies-not just in English, but in Spanish as well! 
(Although isn’t “no!” the same in Spanish and English?)
Once our kids had mastered the basic Spanish language, we felt it was time to move on to letter recognition. 
The new nannies -a group of siblings- not only taught them their letters and sounds, but also how to put letters together to make words! 
Amazing! 
Our kids were some of the smartest ones on the block before they even got to preschool. 
Junior Mensa, here we come.
By now you’ve got to be wondering, how can a pair of stay-at-home moms afford such quality childcare . . . and so much of it?
We’ll let you in on a little secret:
Just get your remote. 
Dig it out from under the couch cushions, where it’s hiding among the stale Cheerios and missing sippy cups.
What?!?
Oh, yes, fellow Mummies, we are talking about the TV. 
The cheapest nanny you’ll ever find! 
Apart from paying a small fee to your cable company every month, it’s free. 
Even better, if you have some kind of On-Demand program, you can pick and choose your nannies at any time of the day, any day of the week. 
And they’ll work as long and hard as you need them to. 
Remember, cable doesn’t charge overtime.
But wait-don’t judge us. 
We do have standards. 
For instance, we would never let our virtual nannies into the kids’ bedrooms. 
And just as we would “screen” a real babysitter, we also did our research with our virtual nannies. 
We evaluated all the possible shows and allowed only the best, most qualified ones to come into our homes.
Really, how can you go wrong with Baby Einstein, the Wiggles, Dora, and Leap, Lily, and Tad? 
We’d never introduce our children to Barney (annoying), or SpongeBob (where’s the educational value in that?), Teletubbies (um, language skills?), Lazytown (creepy), Arthur (have you seen the way he treats his sister?), or Higglytown Heroes (delivering pizzas makes you a hero? We don’t think so).
{although, we won’t judge you if these shows happen to be your cup of tea.  we’re moms that get it…no judging here!}
So for those of you moms who have been feeling guilty about your child’s viewing habits, now you can proudly proclaim that you are expanding their vocabularies, teaching them music and art, and even introducing them to new languages!
Really, we’re doing it for the children. 
And if that doesn’t qualify us for the Mother of the Year Award, we don’t know what does.
To those of you who don’t even own a TV, we’ll say this: You are better women than we are. 
Without such digital magic available to us, we would almost certainly be buying stock in Bev Mo.
So on that note, pick up your glasses. 
(Not the kind you wear-we’re not that old yet!) 
Let’s say “Cheers!” to the nannies of the digital age.
© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!

why breastfeeding can just suck it

And yet another Betsy & Summer production….
Another side of breastfeeding:

~~~~~~~

We know, we know. We’ll say it before you do. Breastfeeding provides your baby with all the best nutrients-nutrients that formula can’t possibly mimic. It’s a bonding experience with your baby. It gives your baby immunities that will last his or her whole life.

But before you judge us, remember that it takes a strong (and brave) woman to put it out there and say what we’re about to. 
And know we absolutely respect those who are able to do it. 
It takes a special-and genetically blessed-woman to whip out her boob, sometimes in public, and feed her baby on demand. In fact, we wish it had been different for us. 
After all, breastfeeding is way cheaper!
Blah, blah, blah.
At the risk of ticking off the entire La Leche League and scores of Dr. Sears attachment parenting advocates, we’re going to say it out loud: 
Breastfeeding Can Suck It.
My (Summer’s) experience with breastfeeding was a painful one. 
Painful in my ever-growing boobs, and even more painful in my heart. 
I tried, oh how I tried. 
Trust me, I did not want to warrant any evil looks or risk having my diaper bag egged for whipping out the “F” word. 
FORMULA.
Oh yes, I said it.
But hear me out. 
Once you hear the dramatic tale, you will want to rub my back and buy me dinner. 
Even you, La Leche Leaguers!
My dear boy was a hungry one. 
So hungry, in fact, that he wanted to suck the nipple right off, possibly in hopes that it would provide an endless supply of milk. 
It was, needless to say, excruciating. 
Every time he latched on, I suddenly found myself with a mild case of Tourret’s, yelling “SH*!” or “F!&$!” 
Along with some other expletives that a Christian Momma should not be saying around her newborn. My sister and I used to joke that his first word could quite possibly be the “F” word, and in this case I don’t mean FORMULA.
So, I did what every new mom does. 
I took it to the guru of all gurus. 
The lovely Eve, Queen of all Lactation Consultants. 
I was told by many that she was the “OZ” of the breastfeeding world. 
She was the one with the answers. 
She would solve my problems.
About five minutes into my consultation, she asked me to whip it out and show her what I had been doing. 
As I ever so slowly revealed my dangling nipple, I heard a gasp. 
Eve’s face was pale. 
And as quickly as she asked me to whip it out, she this time asked me to put it away. 
And then I heard what I never thought a lactation consultant could say.
“My dear, never ever nurse on those things again.”
It was all I needed to hear.
What came next was music to my ears: 
“In all my 30 years of doing this, I have never seen such intense nipple damage!”
Oh yes, it was bad. 
But I had been so determined to make it work that I was going to lose a nipple for the cause.
Also, one thing to know about a dangling nipple: it causes infection. 
Or better named, mastitis. 
Four times in four months.
Nipple loss + mastitis = post partum depression.
But I managed to marry my pump for better or worse for another three months, until I came to the resolve that I had done all I could.
I said to “F” with it. 
And by “F” I mean “formula.” 
Freaking Fantastic Formula. 
And that is why I say, Breastfeeding Can Just Suck It.
{for me!}
Betsy, take it away.
Like Summer, I (Betsy) tried to nurse. 
I really, really did. I actually had the lofty goal of making it nine months. 
I believed that anything less would be a failure. 
And for that, I blame the Nursing Nazis. 
(You know who they are.)
For some reason, all the crazies come out of the woodwork when you have a baby. 
Case in point: Right after my daughter, Lily, was born, I answered the door to greet a home nurse who was wearing a lanyard that read, “Breastfed babies are the happiest babies.” 
I had red, bleeding nipples, but I was determined to give my daughter only the best, so I let this Nursing Nazi manhandle me and instruct me on proper latching techniques.
“Has she had any formula in the last week?” the milkmaid asked me.
“Well, maybe two ounces. Just to give myself a break,” I said timidly.
The milkmaid gave me a disapproving look and said, “Hmmph. Well, instead of giving her formula, you should take Vicodin so you can nurse through the pain.”
Excuse me? 
You’d rather have me drug my newborn baby by taking one of the most powerful painkillers on the market instead of giving her a few ounces of formula?
What kind of crazy is that?
Actually, it’s the kind of crazy that will make you consciously subject your boobs, again and again, to a hunger of a pint-size piranha. 
That will make you think that it’s necessary to walk around the house without a bra or shirt so that your nipples can “breathe.” 
That will compel you to go through tubes and tubes of lanolin in a misguided effort to “soothe.”
This is why I tell every newly pregnant woman about the nipple shield, God’s greatest invention. 
Better to get it before the baby comes than to have to send your husband to Target in the dead of night, telling him to look for something you’ve vaguely described as “some nipple thing” while you and the baby are both at home screaming. 
(I seriously have the best husband in the world.)
The nipple shield saved my boobs and sanity, but only for a few months. 
Then, like Summer, I was hit with a nasty case of mastitis. 
But did I stop? Noooo. 
I kept trying to nurse every two hours even though I was shivering, clammy, and my boobs were on fire.
My milk supply was cut in half and turning a color that nature hadn’t intended. 
So I did what any crazy mom would do: I took fenugreek to boost my milk supply-and kept trying even when the fenugreek gave me mastitis on the other side.
This was my breastfeeding low-point. 
It was Thanksgiving, and while everyone else was downstairs feasting on turkey, I was upstairs pumping and crying. 
The next day, I called a local lactation consultant, blubbering about what to do. 
Believe it or not, she encouraged me to stop. 
Of course, because I had a predilection for mastitis, I couldn’t stop cold turkey. I had to wean. Slowly. With cabbage leaves. 
Over the course of about six weeks. 
Which then made me feel like I was on house arrest, because I was hooked up to the breast pump every two hours. 
Then every two hours and fifteen minutes. 
Then every two and a half hours. 
You get the idea.
Cabbage leaves, mastitis, and mangled nipples? 
Yes. 
But those aren’t the only reasons we didn’t love breastfeeding. 
It’s not just the physical pain. 
It’s the fact that breast milk is like Chinese food-your baby will be hungry again after an hour. 
That you have no idea how much food your child is actually getting. 
That no one else can feed the baby. 
That your hormones will overtake you and make you feel like a failure if you don’t listen to La Leche and nurse until the child is at least five.
Speaking of crazy, you must be thinking that we should join the Witness Protection Program after writing this article.
But, no, dear sisters. 
We say it loud and we say it proud. 
Because we just know there are some of you out there who feel just as we do.
And it’s okay. 
We still love our babies. 
They are still happy and healthy, and witty and pretty.
So, lets all join hands and say it together:
“BREASTFEEDING CAN JUST SUCK IT.”
{for those of us with dangling bleeding mastitis ridden boobies/nipples}
On the other hand….
for those of you it works for….
Breast IS Best.
xoxo
© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!

the good, the bad, the "oh no i’m ugly" side of motherhood

Another article from Betsy and me….
Enjoy!

~~~~~~~

It was my husband’s high school reunion, and I (Betsy) looked gooood. After three exhausting hours at the mall, I had found exactly the right dress-which hit me in all the right places, in a bright, look-at-me pattern-and a pair of killer heels. My hair was root-free, done two weeks before the event so that the color would have a chance to “settle.” My skin was glowing, thanks to a tub of expensive microdermabrasion cream that I’d read about in a magazine, and it was uncharacteristically tan, thanks to diligent applications of self-tanner. My teeth were just the right shade of white, and my makeup was perfect.
Sigh. Those were the days. The pre-kid days, that is.
I used to live for fashion, never wanting to repeat the same outfit in a week.
Now my closet consists of Old Navy tanks, which I buy every year in multiples, and one or two pairs of sweats that my poor husband has to see me in practically every day.
(Does it count that they’re Juicy?)
I comfort myself with the idea that at least I’m being environmentally conscious.
The tanks get recycled every year, with the somewhat stained ones going into the workout drawer, and the really stained ones going into the sleepwear drawer. And that’s not just me.
Yeah, before kids I (Summer) was with it, too.
Almost all the time.
My bras and underwear matched, and in fact I didn’t even know that they had underwear that covered the butt way back then.
I showered and washed my hair every morning, and even took the appropriate hour to blow dry and style.
I loved makeup, and I never left the house without eyeliner.
Now, I too have drawers full of the exact same sweats.
But in several colors, you know, to throw people off.  I like to make them think I’m wearing something new.
I also have fifteen Hanes tank tops for men that, of course, I wear sans the bra.
Daily.
(I should mention boobs are a whole other subject, and yes, there will come a day that a bra won’t help keep them perky, so you kind of give up a little.  Just me?)
Then, right next to those are the twenty pairs of full-coverage underwear (okay, okay….maternity undies) that I could never go a night without sleeping in.
(I have one lucky husband!)
My problem is that I’m still in denial.
Half my closet admits that, yes, I am indeed a mom of two, but the other half is sure that any day a massive wave of social events will hit my life.
On that side are dressy jeans, high-heeled boots, and sassy stylin’ tops.
Everything on that side was purchased on one of those days when I just felt that I couldn’t take another day of sweats even if my life depended on it.
With a wild hair up my butt, I’d leave the kids with my man, and then I stop, drop, and roll off to the mall.
I then fill my arms with the trendy high-fashion items I’ve been drooling over in the magazines, and I spend hours in the dressing room savoring every moment in the to-die-for outfits.
We’re kind of sad, huh?
We know.
But don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what we’re talking about.
Look, we don’t care what anyone says: After you have kids, your looks are never quite the same.
Because no matter how hard you try, there will always be something a little off:
Dark circles you can’t hide. Spit-up on your shirt that you thought you had blotted out.
Three-day-old hair.
{which is healthy for your hair, btw!  just sayin’!}
Stretch marks, despite the fact that you spent hours rubbing expensive “miracle” coco butter all over your stomach.
Because as much as you love and adore them, your children have a way of sucking the good looks (and mental health) right out of you.
Instead of spending hours at the mall looking for just the right outfit, you spend hours at the park in your sweats. Because even if you had the time to go shopping, you wouldn’t want to drag your toddler with you. Because your child will inevitably throw a grand mal tantrum on the floor of the dressing room the minute you’re ready to start trying on jeans.
So you resort to ordering hoodies online because-who are you kidding?-you don’t have any place to wear that cute top anyway.
And instead of spending an hour blow-drying and expertly putting on makeup, you let your hair air-dry in the car and hope you hit the stoplights just right so you can put on a few swipes of mascara.
This doesn’t happen overnight.
It just creeps up on you until one day you find yourself staring at the cute girl in the grocery store who obviously just got off work.
The cute girl that, just five years ago, was you.
Let’s recap a conversation we once had on a walk with our “gackle.”
(a group of our mom friends in our neighborhood)
Betsy: “Summer, how come your hair looks so cute today? It’s 9:00 am! There should be rules against that kind of thing.”
Summer: “Don’t worry. This headband is just disguising the fact that it’s been four days since I’ve washed my hair.”
Betsy (admiringly): “I’m so jealous! I wish I could go that long and still have my hair look decent. I can only go two or three days at the most.”
At this point, several of our friends jumped in and started bragging about how long they’d gone without showering.
Even after hitting the gym.

To clarify: These are not your mousy, stamp-party moms.
These are cute, stylish, hottie moms.
The kind of moms that got “Most Beautiful Eyes” in high school, were the president of their sorority, and had all the guys drooling after them.

Yes, things have gotten so bad among our gackle friends that now when we get dressed up, we call it “going undercover.”
Let’s explain:
You show up to an event-church, a dinner, or a party-and for once, you’re all done up.
Then someone comes up to you and says, “Wow, you look great! I almost didn’t recognize you. Did you change your hair?”
You: “Nope.”
Other person: “New outfit?”
You: “Nope.”
Other person: “Lose weight?”
You (finally getting it): “Uh, I think it’s that I showered.”
See, even when we do try it’s not the same.

 Take for example, the birthday party I (Summer) went to last weekend.
I thought I had my stuff together.
I showered, washed my hair, and I even brushed my teeth all before noon!
I had on cute jeans, a new ruffled tank top, and pointy-toed flats.
I was cool; I was hip.
I was not going to be the mom that let herself go.

When we arrived at the house, I noticed a sign on the door.
A big sign that was going to force me to show that I, indeed, did not have it all together.
That sign said, “Please Remove Your Shoes.”
It had been weeks since I’d updated my toes, and the polish was beyond chipped.
Everyone was going to find me out.
So I did what any normal person would.
I pretended I didn’t see the sign and walked in with my shoes.
At which point the hostess said, “Hey, Summer, can you please take off your shoes?”
So I took the walk of shame back to the hallway, discarded my shoes, and tried to keep my toes curled under all during the party.
But don’t lose heart, mamas.
Fortunately, there is a light at the end of this sad and ugly tunnel.
Just last weekend, I (Betsy) embarked on another marathon shopping trip. For the first time in a long time, my husband and I had cash-the glamorous reason being that we’d just sold our junk at a garage sale-and the money was burning a hole in our pockets. We took our daughter, Lily, to get some summer clothes, and then we started looking for ourselves. The whole time, I kept waiting for my almost-four-year-old to lose it. After all, we’d already been to three stores. But she patiently watched me try on top after top after top.
Four long, exhausting hours later, we all walked to the car with a sense of accomplishment. Sky and I were ready for a nap. But Lily looked up at us, smiled, and begged us to let her change into her new dress.
And then she asked, “What are we going to buy next?”
© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!

the truth about playgroups

Awhile back, one of my best friends Betsy and I used to write together on a little website out there in Yahoo land.
And we were kind of good together I think…so good that I have decided to bring back those articles here to share with you.
Today we are talking about playgroups…..
~~~~~~~

419559_287736681295013_100001760494409_635971_1283909304_n_large

When my daughter was just six weeks old, I (Betsy) went to my first mommy group–a breastfeeding support group. The nurses at the hospital where I’d given birth had told me that it would be a “great way” to meet new friends and get used to the idea of self-imposed torture (I mean “breastfeeding”).

Yeah, right.
Normally I would never venture into such dangerous and physically revealing territory. But when you’re sleep deprived and still walking bowlegged from the birthing process, you’ll do some crazy things. 
So I gathered Lily, found the meeting in a nondescript office building, and shuffled into the room with my overstuffed diaper bag, leaking boobs, and screaming newborn.
Between the handouts, florescent lighting, folding chairs, and forced introductions, it actually seemed more like an AA meeting. 
It was that uncomfortable. 
There, we were encouraged to share all our horror stories while our sponsor (I mean, “lactation consultant”) gave us advice. Then, if you didn’t want an hour of free instruction, you could always chat up the other moms while you tried to avoid staring at their naked boobs.
You’d think that would be enough for me to grab Lily and run for the door, but nooo, I was determined to make friends. Unfortunately, I’d joined the group two weeks too late for that. 
By the time I showed up, everyone had already formed alliances.
I tried going several times, and no one-NO ONE-so much as returned a smile or talked to me. 
Each time I got home from a meeting, I would study myself in the mirror. 
Spit-up on my maternity clothing? Check. 
Bags under the eyes? Check. 
Cute, overpriced diaper bag? Check. 
I was just like everyone else there. So why didn’t these moms want to be friends with me?
Was it the nipple shield I’d used during group? 
Or the face I made when one mom boasted about how much she loved nursing? 
Who knows? 
The point is, mommy groups can be more cliquey than the junior high lunchroom. 
And facing down the “A List” is always nerve-wracking, but when you’re still experiencing night sweats and wearing maternity underwear, it can be brutal to your self-esteem.
Lest you think I wrote off all mommy groups on the basis of one bad apple, though, let me assure you that I tried. 
Several months later, I checked out a playgroup in my area. 
It has to be better than the breastfeeding support group, I thought. 
And it was . . . for the other moms. 
I just didn’t fit in. 


This became painfully obvious when they talked excitedly about how we needed to do a girl’s night out.
“Let’s meet at my house,” the leader squeaked, clapping her hands. “We can all bring our wedding albums and scrapbooking materials!”
I looked at her, trying to mask my disappointment. 
Seriously? Because honestly, I’d rather scrub my bathroom than spend my one free evening gawking at the wedding pictures of people I hardly know.
By this point you must be thinking that I sounded as snobby as the women I tried to befriend in the breastfeeding support group. 
Maybe I was. 
I did feel bad about the way I acted when I stopped coming abruptly and ran into the playgroup at our neighborhood park several months later. 
The thing was, I just couldn’t get over the forced sisterhood. 
When you join an organized mommy group, you’re hanging out with people you may never normally be friends with in the hopes that you’ll be able to have a few hours of adult conversation while your kids steal toys from each other. 
The groups are supposed to be for the kids, but kids don’t care who they “play” with, especially when they’re little. 
The groups are really for the moms. 
And if you’re not connecting with the moms, then what’s the point?
So I gave up and found friends the old-fashioned way. 
At the park. At my church. And on walks. 
I now have a great group of mommy friends. 
In fact, we all get along so well that my husband has nicknamed us “the Gackle,” because we squawk like geese as we go on walks and talk about really important things like the latest botched nose job featured in US Weekly. 
I don’t know what I’d do without the Gackle-or the “P.O.T. Group,” as we used to call ourselves. (“P.O.T.” meaning “Parents of Toddlers: Because You’ll Need to Smoke Some to Get Through These Years!”)
The bottom line is that whether you find friends through an organized playgroup or more organically, you need to have your own Gackle. 
Because mommyhood is hard, and you need all the support you can get. Spanx and sisters included.
Speaking of sisterly support, it’s your turn, Summer.
Let me (Summer) just start by saying that there’s nothing wrong with playgroups. 
Really. 
They are awesome and necessary and well loved by many moms. 
Unfortunately, the “organized” ones weren’t quite my cup o’ tea either.
To be fair, I haven’t been to very many groups. 
Actually, I’ve only been to two. 
But both of them made me feel very un-motherly. 
And I make myself feel that way just fine already, so I really don’t need any encouragement from others.
I think in order to fix the issues we’re having with these “organized” playgroups, we need to require that all playgroups have names that describe exactly what they’re about (or not about). 
Too many of them just go by the name of the area they’re in, like “Town I Live in Mommies.” 
It’s misleading.
For example, one of the playgroups I attended should have been named Scrapbook or Bust.” 
These moms were very into their crafty ways. 
Let me again say that’s totally cool. 
More power to those of you who find love and freedom in your craft. 
It’s just that I would much rather pay you to do mine than sit and do it myself. 
After all, I have my own addictions to feed…like gossip magazines, thrift shopping, and blogging.
{each to our own, right?}
The other playgroup I tried out was a bit more stuffy than I’d like to think myself to be. 
I mean, I may not be high class, but I’m sure I do have some class. 
Unfortunately, the other moms didn’t seem to think so when I showed up for the “Mommy’s Night Out” with doughnuts in hand. 


I heard snickers and snide remarks: “Oh my word, who brought doughnuts?!?” 
And, “Are you kidding me, are those really doughnuts?” 
To which I replied, “What?!? Mama needed some doughnuts! Why you gotta diss? Shooot!”
(And by “replied,” I mean, of course, that I thought it in my head! Come on now, I said I have some class!!!) 


So, you see, if they had just named their playgroup… 
Moms That Are Too Good for Doughnuts,” 
I never would have found myself in that situation to begin with. 
Because I could never be part of a group that didn’t embrace fried bread and frosting.
Oh, and that same playgroup, the “I Hate Doughnuts” one? 
They have a message board that I used from time to time. 
I officially knew it wasn’t the group for me when I posted a message asking which BPA free bottles would be best to use. 
And instead of help, I got a backlash of whisper and chatter: 
“Who is that girl asking about bottles? Ugh, I just wanted to respond, ‘Doesn’t she know that Breast Is Best?'” 
(I had an insider in the group, so I know these things!) 
I mean, come on now! 
At least I was asking about BPA FREE bottles! Don’t I get some credit for that?
Anyway, I’ve decided that I just need to start my own playgroup. 
After all, it’s a requirement that seems to go with motherhood (along with breastfeeding). You simply must be affiliated with a playgroup. 
It’s the unspoken word on the street.
So I’ll call mine:
“Moms who love scrapbookers but would rather pay to have it done for them, who love to read and gossip about celebrities, who don’t want to talk about their kids when they’re with other adults, who could care less who breastfeeds or formula feeds, who wouldn’t mind having a glass of wine at playgroup, and who want to pair that wine with a nice big ol’ doughnut.”
That’s the playgroup I’m looking for!
Fellow Mamas, are you in?
© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!

oh the places you’ll go: mommy guilt

Quite a while back, one of my closest friends (betsy) and I would get together every once in awhile to write.  
We  never did much with the articles so I thought I would share them here so they don’t go to waste.

And actually, revisiting them makes me want to write with her again….but she’s all super busy being a PAID writer/editor.
Lucky Duck.

Sigh.
I’ll have my day.
One day.

Okay….so. 
Moving on.

This article is all about Mommy Guilt.
But, I’m sure you have NO idea what that feels like!

~~~~~~~

Before you have kids, people will tell you all sorts of things. For instance:
“Sleep now, because you won’t get any rest when the baby comes.”
“Appreciate your body now, because you’ll have stretch marks and pancake boobs after the baby comes.”
“Go to the movies now, because after the baby comes, the only thing you’ll be watching is Elmo.”
“Go out to eat while you can, because after the baby comes, you won’t even have time to eat.”
And yes, Mamas, that’s all true.
There’s one thing people say that isn’t true, though: 
“Make sure you travel, because you’ll never go anywhere after you have a baby.”
That’s right-we said not true. 
We can guess what you’re thinking: What? I can barely make it to Target with the kids, let alone travel.
Well, read on, sisters. Because we do more traveling than Cher on her latest farewell tour. We’re talking about guilt trips.
Let’s explore:
These days, I (Summer) take guilt trips hourly. In fact, I sometimes find myself getting jet lagged from the back and forth of it all. Today I went on more than I count. For example, take this morning. I was sooo incredibly tired and I just couldn’t wake up.
A “good” mom would have sucked down her coffee, then proceeded to put aside her own issues and make homemade pancakes, eggs, and fresh squeezed orange juice.
I am not that “good” mom. 
I’m the kind of mom who puts a cup of milk in the fridge, has the TV already set to Noggin, and whose child knows exactly where in the cupboard his breakfast granola bars and banana are waiting for him. And said child takes his breakfast and juice to the couch, turns on the TV, and quietly waits for his mama to get it together.
Which is what Taylor did this morning. 
Guilt trip number 1.
Then about an hour after waking up, Taylor had already used up his quota of words for the entire day. (The quota is an amount I deem necessary for my sanity.) 
I had heard enough chatter. One more word was going to send me to my Xanax. 
(And don’t pretend you don’t have it hiding in a cute container in your purse, too!) 
Whoever said we women talk a lot had apparently never met a toddler. 
I mean, honestly, what was I thinking, teaching him to talk? 
Actually . . . I may have spoken those words out loud. 
Quite loud. 
In fact, I think I said, 
“HONESTLY TAYLOR, WHY DID I EVER TEACH YOU TO TALK?” 
Yeah, that was it. 
Again, not what a “good” mom would do. 
Guilt trip number 2.
Sadly, today wasn’t unusual. 
In fact, by lunchtime, I’m usually up to my 500th guilt trip and am severely jet lagged. 
When dinner rolls around, I’m near tears because I don’t even know which time zone I’m in anymore.
One of the worst ones is Guilt Trip Number 284: “Not wanting to play cars or hide and seek (unless I’m hiding in bed with my laptop and my door is locked while he’s seeking), or really anything kid-related all day long.” 
Instead, I collapse on the couch and say, “Seriously, can’t you go play by yourself for a while?”
Ugh! You see, just typing that out and confessing such horror makes me cringe.
I just want to cry. 
In fact, I need a moment. 
Your turn, Betsy.
Summer, did you steal my example? 
Because I had the same experience this morning. 
When I rolled out of bed today, I was pleased to discover that my husband had already turned on Noggin. 
(Blessed Noggin. We love our On-Demand cable!) 
When Lily asked for breakfast, I stumbled into the kitchen and gave her a cup of dry Cheerios. And when she pleaded, “Mama, come watch with TV with me-you can bring your computer,” I sat on the couch with my laptop and fed my Facebook addiction while she watched about five episodes of Toot and Puddle.
The TV watching is one of my big guilt trips. 
Another one is the fact that my daughter eats the same five things every day: dry Cheerios (she doesn’t want milk with them); Dinobites (totally processed chicken nuggets that you can buy by the hundreds at Costco-but least they’re protein); mac n’ cheese (the Trader Joe’s kind that’s ready in 3 minutes); apple slices (with the skins cut off-otherwise, she’d be getting her vitamins and she certainly doesn’t want that); and every kind of cracker available. 
I do try once in a while to feed Lily something new. But she usually whines and cries for her peanut butter sandwich (that’s another staple-and no, I don’t use the organic peanut butter), and I just don’t have the energy to fight it.
I also suffer from Guilt Trip Number 171: “My Child Looks Like One of the Orphans from Annie.”
Since Lily usually wants to dress herself, and since I usually don’t have the energy to fight it, I often let her out of the house wearing a stained flowered shirt two sizes too small, a striped skirt, her flower girl dress shoes, her ever-present black velvet headband, and unbrushed hair. 
This wouldn’t be so bad if Lily’s hair weren’t so crazy, but it’s out of control. 
Honestly, she looks like a homeless child if I don’t brush it thoroughly three times a day. 
Which I don’t.
Not only that, but I forget to brush her teeth sometimes and conveniently forget to give her a bath. 
For three days in a row. 
Fortunately, Summer and I have the good fortune of living in a neighborhood where the other moms don’t judge (out loud).
But it’s not easy when I actually leave my neighborhood and we go to a chichi part of town, where the moms iron their kids’ clothes and dress them all in white. 
There, I feel like Britney Spears probably did when she was caught walking out of a public restroom without shoes. 
Total white trash. 
That’s when I beat myself up and think, I’ve already let myself go, and now I’m going to drag my child down with me! Sigh.
But is that just me, Summer?
Yeah, that’s just you, Betsy. 
With a boy, I (Summer) can just shove a hat on his head and people will think he’s stylish. 
Little do they know it’s because he hasn’t had his hair washed in two days and/or his cowlicks are out of control and I’m too lazy to spend the hours it takes to tame them. 
But I can’t say I feel much guilt about that. 
If Mama doesn’t get to shower every day, nobody gets to shower every day. 
I’m all about equal rights around here.
Maybe we see the grooming thing differently, but otherwise we could go on and on. 
Yes, we all probably all have guilt trips about not being consistent, about not having the slightest desire to volunteer in our child’s classroom, about not reading to them enough but instead buying books on tape, about setting up constant play dates so that our children can talk to someone else in the house besides us, about making a memory box (read: shoving things in a box) instead of spending years on a custom scrapbook made with love, about using the phone or Skype to have a friend entertain our child so that we can read a chapter of our book quietly in the bathroom . . .
Oh, and speaking of the bathroom, do any of you feel guilty about hiding a bottle of wine under the bathroom sink? 
No? 
Oh, okay….
But seriously, the guilt trips just never stop. 
In fact, as we were writing this, the kids came in and asked if we could help them color. 
Without looking up from our laptops, we both muttered, “Not now, we’re writing.”
Sometimes we just feel overwhelmed by all the things we’ve said and done during the day. 
And it leads us to think we’ve totally failed and that our children are going to need years of therapy to undo it all.
No, we’re not those perfect moms. 
Instead we’re “that kind of mom.” 
The one that gets the sad looks in public from the “good” moms. 
(You know who you are.) 
We bow to you. 
We really do.
We’re the kind of moms who will never need to travel again, because guilt has taken us far more places than a passport ever will.
So tell us: where have you gone lately?
© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!

today i was a good mom & a prayer request

P1020759
{i love that this restaurant’s hours are about the same as mine. i’m pretty much done at 3pm as well.}

Today I was a good mom.
I might even go so far as to say, I was kind of a good person too!

That’s not too bad, you know, considering I barely left my house, let alone my bed all day long.
{i’m sick, oh so sick….with something WAY worse than any man cold.  it’s a MIDDLE CHILD cold.}

But, I woke up…and I got Taylor to school on time.
I smiled at him, and I was patient, and as he happily skipped in through the school gates, I thought…..”Look at that, he’s happy!  In the morning even!”

And then because my throat was hurting and I felt the slightest feelings of aches in my bones, I decided it was a stay in bed day.
Besides, the rain was on it’s way.
And rain means, you stay in, and preferably in bed.
{this is what living in Washington all those years taught me.}

This made me an EXTRA cool mom, because Chloe got to snuggle up with mama, and watch TV all day!
After every show ended, she’d look up at me with her big brown eyes and ask, “Is it my turn again?!?”
Because usually she and Taylor (and sometimes she and I) have to take turns watching our shows.

the family that shares the tv together, stays together…
or something along those lines…


And all day I felt like I wasn’t quite sick enough to be in bed, but not well enough not to not be….if you know what I mean.
But it’s always better to be safe than sorry, so when guilt kicked in, I kicked it back out….because sometimes logic wins over guilt.

so the therapist tells me…and i’m learning.

And then….
I showered!!!
And got dressed!!!

All in time to pick up Taylor, drop him off for piano, RUSH to Trader Joes, and then back again just in time to pick him up.

I was ON IT.
Even though I was deathly sick.

We came home, did homework, played video games….

I made dinner.
And yes, I do consider milk and cereal dinner.

AND, being that I was on my game, I even gave them watermelon for dessert.
See?!?
I know a thing or two about nutrition.

I downloaded new games onto Taylors phone {which has no internet or phone service I feel the need to add}…..because his baby (high maintenance) ways have been less and I wanted to let him know I noticed.

And then I unloaded and loaded the dishwasher.

And I put BOTH kids to bed by myself, while sick, and not once did I lose my cool.

I was the good time mom today.

And I think I did pretty darn well if I do say so myself.

P1020757

And…(i promise this is final “and”)….because I am SO unbelievably hard on myself especially when it comes to being a mom, I needed to notice this today.
I needed to write it down.

Being an amazing mom doesn’t mean being perfect, I’m learning this.

Slowly…it’s still sinking in.

It doesn’t mean you don’t have problems, and it doesn’t mean you always smile and never ever do you yell.

Being an amazing mom means loving on your kids even when things are hard.
It is shown when you find the will to fight and go on and on the days you can’t, you just snuggle them close in bed and let them know they are still loved and cared for.

I think I did that today.

P1020756

~~~~~~~

on another note….
it’s been heavily on my heart to do a missions trip to Uganda.
that much is clear.
there is an opportunity to go with my church in June, but i’d have to commit by the end of this week.
if this is THE trip i’m intended to be on, God would truly need to open doors and make it clear.
so, if you’re the prayin’ type, send one up for me would ya?
xoxo

~~~~~~~

{psss….go check out all my giveaways, you have until Sunday!}

© 2012 “Le Musings of Moi”
SHARE THIS POSTShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestGoogle+Email to someone
It means so much that you are here! I know life gets busy though, so if you don't want to miss a thing, I invite you to subscribe to my blog through email!