I am taking a break from my blogging hiatus because I’ve got a lot on my mind about over commitment and taking on too much. Since dropping off the blogging grid, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on serious issues such as purpose, parenting, how to live as a good example of my faith, …
Because I have 3.5-year-old twin boys and a 5-going-on-14-year-old-girl, who have been arguing about EVERYTHING, it seemed like as good a time as any to start an ambitious holiday tradition of making our own gingerbread house from scratch and decorating it. For the last several years, I’ve bought a pre-made house from the grocery store and decorated it with Bisky but this year no one is putting #NoBen in the corner and #StopThatAiden will not be denied an opportunity to do what his beloved lord and master is doing. I’ll be honest, the initial driver behind the whole do it completely ourselves thing was cost. Three premade ginger homes would be upwards of $30, which just seems dumb, so I combed the halls of Pinterest and found what I was looking for; a step by step tutorial on how to bake and assemble a gingerbread house.
A couple days ago I posted on Facebook my desire to collect my friends’ best and worst end results of pumpkin carving. At first it was motivated by the fact that I think Pinterest fails are hysterical. Maybe because all most of our projects end up in that category that I have a fondness. But then I saw some posts of some pumpkins that like works of ART, so even though they don’t make me laugh, they are aspirational – as in, something to aspire to. Someday. Maybe.
This past weekend Dreamy, the kids, and I took off on Friday for a long weekend in a secluded cabin deep in the mountains. The idea was to totally disconnect from the busy-ness and general chaos that is part and parcel of daily life in our society (and our lives) and reconnect with the busy-ness and general chaos that is our family. We’ve been at this cabin before, in June of 2016, and many things have changed, but many have stayed the same. Both times we left feeling it was an unqualified success and in both cases that was mostly due to our ability to accept unanticipated deviations from the expected as…well, the expected.
My mission as a writer is to encourage and inspire others, but as a mom to three small children, a wife, and an entrepreneur for three business, sometimes things get overwhelming. I don’t know about you, but for me it’s like everything is going amazingly well, and I’m firing on all cylinders, and then BAM! the wheels start falling off. I’m usually an upbeat, laugh-in-the-face-of-pretty-much-everything kind of gal, which sometimes makes it difficult for me to admit when I’m not doing so well, or ask for help. Because I deal with pain by laughing at it, it’s hard for people to know when I’m actually not doing okay.
There’s no such thing as Mommy Guilt. To suggest there is is doing women everywhere a disservice, because the guilt and shame we women take on as a mantle from pretty much birth is in no way restricted to mothers. We all receive it as a legacy whether we want it or not, and we owe it to ourselves, sisters, friends, mothers, and especially our daughters, to take it off, look at it, and throw it in the trash where it belongs, and when someone tries to make us take it back, we see it for what it is, and say “No thank you, I’ve had enough for now. If that’s okay with you. Sorry.” (because girls are supposed to be polite, right?).
Hi, my name is Carrie and I’m a survivor of Rampant Perfectionist Syndrome (RPS). This is a disease millions of women face, and has been on the increase ever since we were ‘liberated’ to enjoy full-time careers and full-time motherhood (at the same time), in an era where ultra-lean, muscular physiques became a requirement and where social media exploded to help us understand just how important an immaculate home, creative décor, crafty DIY everything, glamorous vacations, perfect relationships, funny friends, and impeccably behaved children really were.
I don’t know about you, but I’m a very special, unique individual with a complicated life, an unusual story, a background that has things in it I’d rather weren’t, a messy family, a cluttered house, a big heart, good intentions, a well-developed sarcasm muscle, a sometimes dysfunctional body image, chronic dissatisfaction with certain aspects of society, severe introversion with tendencies towards rabid attention-seeking, not enough time, intermittent anxiety about things I can’t control, and above all a desire to leave a positive impact on the world and the people I love.
So my #firstborn is starting #kindergarten next week. I know millions of kids have started kindergarten before but our situation and my child is unique. You see, she is my firstborn and is the cleverest, smartest, most awesome kid in the universe. The struggle is real.
It starts at about 6:00 am. “Mommy!” The cry is confident, knowing that it will be answered promptly. They might want (yet another) glass of water. More likely they’re ready to get up though. I feel like a jerk, because I’m not happy about this. I was counting on getting another hour, hour and a …