To my little man

To my little man.
I have wanted to write this letter a million times over but have never found the right words. Then I realized there aren't any. A month from now I may look back at this letter and wonder what in the world I was thinking, how could I possibly believe that was what I needed to say? But I guess that's just the point isn't it?
You see my darling boy, you were my first baby. You are who made me a mom, and you didn't come with instructions. You are learning how to go through life and I'm right beside you frantically trying to figure out how to not screw that up for you.
We have had our good times And our bad, our smooth sailing and our rough patches. And we are continuing to learn and grow every day as we explore each new chapter together.
My angel boy, you've brought more joy into my life than I ever imagined possible. You have taught me more in your 3 short years than I will ever be able to teach you in my lifetime. Your passion for life is infectious and reliving my childhood with you has made each memory 100 times more magical. 
You are so strong, so smart and kind beyond words. And your patience and forgiveness toward me in my times of growth have been unfathomable.
You see my love, you are the first human I have ever been in charge of, and with the good has come the bad. Though I've tried to always be the kind loving mother you deserve I have had times of failure. I have pushed too hard when I should have been comforting. I have demanded too much when I should have been guiding and I have withdrawn when you needed me most. Yet through it all you forgave me. You woke up with each new day and tried again. Your love for me never failed and I knew I had to try harder, do better, be better, to be the mommy you deserve.
My sweet little man, you are growing up right before my eyes and I am now begging to get back the sleepless nights I once wished away. Those shoes I so desperately wanted you to know how to put on yourself a year ago, are now on your feat and ready to head out the door to school before I even have a chance to remind you to grab them.
Those tiny clothes have changed from Elmo to airplanes and I know soon they will bare nothing but a logo.
I am watching as your tiny hands slowly begin to fill mine and remember all the times I wished I could set you down due to an aching back while you now run freely across the grass only coming back for a quick snack before you are off again.
My angel boy I still remember the night I went into labor with your sister. You were 18 months old and our relationship as we knew it was about to change. I picked you up and gave you one last hug as my baby before heading to the hospital. It was so hard to let you go because I knew from that point on I needed you to be bigger. 
I needed you to sit by my side instead of my lap so I could nurse the baby. I needed you to be patient and wait instead of jumping right out when we parked so I could unbuckle the baby first. I needed so much more than I should have ever asked from you and you always tried your hardest to comply.
You have the heart of a lion and have always gone out of your way to ensure that you are taking care of those around you before meeting your own needs. You would give away your last snack before letting any other kid feel left out  and I am not an exclusion to this rule.
I have so many feelings about my worthiness of that kind of love. I am unbelievably sorry for my shortcomings. You deserve 1000x more than I will ever be capable of giving. I am amazed beyond believe that god trusted me with someone as incredible as you. I am determined to spend every minute of every day doing all that I can to improve myself in order to become even just 1/10th of what you deserve. I feel insane amounts of guilt for the times that I have failed. But overwhelming pride when I see you say or do something I know You learned from me. I am so madly, deeply, incredibly in love I am convinced there is no possible way to love anything more than I love you and your sister, yet everyday you two make me fall more in love. And I promise my sweet boy, from every pitfall I will learn and do better, from every success I will strive to repeat, I will pray each night for more patience. I will remember how fast these years fly by and cherish the chaos that's comes with them instead of wishing it away.
My little man, you are growing into the most beautiful human being and I couldn't be more blessed to get to bare whiteness to that. Thank you, thank you for choosing me to be your mommy. Thank you for changing my life and for having patience with me while I learn. Thank you for teaching me more about the world than I ever learned on my own. Thank you for loving my heart in spite of my actions. Thank you for the midnight snuggles. Thank you for hogging the bed. Thank you for the laughter, the jokes, the disregard for the negative mood and continued happiness through the storms. Thank you for being the most beautiful little man I have ever known. But most of all, Thank you for making me a mommy.

Learning my Worth

A little while ago I read a story about a man being kicked off an Alaska Airlines plane after catcalling a stewardess. Apparently while she was giving her safety presentation he said something along the lines of “sexy” in her direction. He was asked to be respectful and replied that he was “just joking around.” The stewardess talked with her coworkers and the man was removed from the plane shortly after.  Maybe its the fact that I am obsessed with psychology and society interactions, or maybe its simply being nosey, but I love going through the comments on stories like this to see how other people are reacting and feeling when something controversial happens. This story had a lot of positive and negative responses but the one that surprised me the most was my own.

I am ashamed to say that my first response was “well that's a bit of an overreaction.” Then I instantly reflected on my thought and why I would respond that way. I thought about all the times that I have been the subject of unwanted sexual advances even when they are just verbal. I thought about how uncomfortable I felt in my own skin when being hit on even in a “playful manner.” I thought about how carefully I pick my clothes in an attempt to walk that fine line between presentable but not sexual which with our society is a VERY, FINE, LINE. I remembered feeling fearful when walking alone after being catcalled wondering if it was innocent or if that man was going to follow and possibly harm me; and I realized I don’t protect my own worth.

As much as I believe I am a feminist who can do everything on my own and I do not need a man. I am unwilling to speak up for myself when it matters most.  Society has programed me to believe that it is ok for a man to objectify me and I should be “flattered” when they yell “sexy” in my direction while I walk down the street. I have been taught that my appearance is directly related to my overall worth and when my appearance is commented on I somehow become more valuable making my presence in that space more important. I have been taught that it would be rude to show how uncomfortable I am to the man commenting on my looks no matter how unwanted those comments are. He hasn't touched me inappropriately right? So what's the big deal? For that matter I have been taught that you put up with the guy at the office who always stares a little south of your face because calling him out on it would be disrespectful and you hug your creepy uncle because it would be rude not to. In fact the only time it is actually ok for a woman to stand up for herself is if a man physically forces himself onto an area of her body covered by her under garments. Everything else is fair play when it comes to my personal space.

I reflected on these societal standards and I thought about my daughter. I thought about her going to work and having to be polite while her body is clearly objectified. I considered how I would feel if that stewardess was my daughter and if they hadn't kicked that man off the plane. I pictured her serving him beverages politely after he so clearly disrespected her. I was livid when I realized that out of all the women on that plane, only one had the courage to actually call him out on his actions. (because we were all raised in the society I mentioned above) and instead of him apologizing for clearly offending her, he tried to turn it around and place the blame on her….

I learned a lot today about my feelings regarding sexual advances and how they should be handled. Alaska Airlines I want to personally thank you for not only protecting this woman's mental health, but for teaching me that I am worth speaking up for. That my body is not here for anyone else's pleasure and that speaking up for myself is not only respecting myself, but it is also the right thing to do. I truly hope that other companies follow in your footsteps so that by the time my daughter is old enough to notice the stares, she will also be brave enough to stop them.

The overwhelming pressure of motherhood.

Today I cried, I cried because the overwhelming pressure that is motherhood had been piling up for so long that at an unforeseen moment in the middle of an otherwise perfectly pleasant afternoon, I broke down.

I broke down because the Hundreds of articles telling me that literally no matter what type of parenting I practice I am wrong and my child will be forever damaged. I cried because the mom I have to be isn't the friend I want to be. I cried because no matter where I turn or who I talk to, I can always find some way that my parenting falls short compared to theirs, even if its just in one department. I cried because the pressure to do everything and be everything all at once is just too freaking much. But mostly I cried because I love my babies so intensely that not only is failure not an option, but falling short of anything other than over perfection is completely out of the question.

And I am no different from any other mom on the planet. When I got pregnant I read about 50 thousand articles on which types of parenting caused what types of children. I took as many classes in child development as my psychology major would allow, and I had multiple sit down conversations with my husband on what we would and would not do. I picked my path, just like every other mom. I chose the path that I believed would lead to the healthiest, happiest child and I intended to stick with it.

I wanted my relationship with my child to be based on trust and respect, I wanted them to always know that I was in their corner. I wanted to give them nothing but positive reinforcement and talk them through every single emotion they ever experienced. I didn't want to spoil them but I wanted them to have everything they ever needed and I wanted them to learn how to interact with the world by following my example instead of using discipline.

For a while it all went great, our bond was clearly formed. It was my baby and me ready to take on the world. My little man was my partner in crime and I knew I was the mom I had set out to be. But as he grew my theories were tested, I would explain to him why we don't grab toys from other kids and how it makes our friends feel good when we share, then watch as he stole a toy right out of his buddies hand. I would grab him seconds before he ran into the street after he ran away from me and talk to him about how dangerous it is and why, and he would wiggle out of my arms and dart right back into the road. I would fill his plate with veggies after taking all the advice about letting them play with it, and help prepare it, and watch as the threw his plate across the room and I felt defeated.

I realized that if I continued to only be his friend I would be doing him a major injustice. Sure in the short term he would be my happy little boy, playing in the street with his buddies monster truck while snacking on goldfish. But where would that get him in the long run? I had to be his mom. I had to learn to tell him no. Since I had tried everything from talking, to only reinforcing positive behaviors, to ignoring the problem completely, and nothing was working I had to break my first rule and put him in “quiet time” when he wouldn't stop running into the road. I had to watch his little heart break as I we left the park early because he refused to share with other kids, and I had to simply let him cry when I refused to give him goldfish for dinner. I became the meanest mom ever and I could feel it. The relationship we once had that was centered around my catering to his every need had shifted into teaching him how to the person I know his little heart longs to be. While our days are still centered around kid related activities, our interactions, more often than not are that of correction, shaping, and reinforcing than just playing and being the friends that every article I read told me to be, and it kills me.

While I know in my heart that my love for my babies is all encompassing, and that my actions stem from the deeply rooted need to do what I believe is best by them. The guilt that I hold over the fear that I am screwing this whole thing up every time I tell him no is overwhelming. The fear that my frustration when he doesn't listen is too evident and will make him feel unloved even just for a second. The concern over the fact that in reality, I have no idea what I am doing. And the constant mommy wars adding to the guilt, fear and concern because other moms chose different paths than each other.  Its enough to sink a ship.

If I were one of my friends talking to me I would tell myself how much I love my babies, and that they know it. I would tell myself that I wasn't born a mom I was born a human and every day that I do my best is more than enough. I would remind myself that kids don't come with instructions and that no one style of parenting is correct because kids do not come out of a text book.  I would tell myself to put the books down, stop reading the articles and to ignore any mommas to think their way is the only way of raising babies.

Unfortunately I am much better at giving advice than taking it, so I will just tell you, incase you need to hear it. We all have our guilt, we are all swaying from who we originally thought we would be as moms. We are all just trying to raise our babies the best way we know how, and just because you read a thousand articles when you were pregnant and decided that was the parent you were going to be, does not mean that the parent you became after you met the little person you were meant to raise isn't exactly who your baby needs.

I am going to give myself grace during this transition from friend to mom. I am going to remember that I love my children so much that I am willing to be the bad guy so that they may become happy adults. I am going to let myself be human and a mom. I am going to do my best to remind myself that just because “Ashleys” parenting is fantastic for her children, it may not be what's best for mine and I don't need to feel inadequate for not mimicking it.

I am going to try to be done with the articles, the forums, the guilt… I'm just going to be a mom doing the best I can to raise two happy little humans. So if you see me in the park with one kid on my hip and the other kid in quiet time up against a fence, please take your shaming eyes off of me. We place enough shame and guilt on ourselves as mothers, we don't need yours. My best looks different than your best and I think I can speak for all of us when I say we really need that to be ok.

dont compare someones 5 minutes to your whole life

Before I had kids I had this vision of how it was going to be. I was going to be the Mary poppins of moms. Always level headed, always there with the right answer, always fun and full of energy. Our days would be full and the laughter would be contagious. They are only little for so long and I fully intended to make the most of it.

Then I had kids, and I watched as month by month the visions that I had crumbled, I would look in the mirror and see the farthest thing from what I had envisioned and I was confident I had failed in every way. I would see other moms at the park with the energy I just couldn't muster and I would know that not only had I failed, I failed while others thrived, proving to myself that the motherhood I desired was obtainable, just not for me.

I did everything right, I followed all the rules, took all the advice, I breastfed past a year, I monitored temperatures hourly during colds, I refused to have the TV on while my child was awake, and would only have cartoons on if it was. I kept my phone put away and we would go to the park, beach or zoo almost every day. Yet I truly believed I was failing, because I would compare my whole life, to someone else's five minutes. I would see a mom at the park playing tag with her kids while I stood there pushing my kids on the swings praying they don't ask me to remind them how to pump, and I would feel like a failure. I saw the kid having a meltdown while his mom sat down calmly next to him talking him through his emotions, and I would remember the day before when deep breaths weren't enough to make my voice as gentle as hers as I frustratedly reminded my son that he needed to share the swing with his sister. My friends would talk about how their child didn't sleep through the night so they stayed up all night and watched movies instead and I would remember begging my daughter to just go to sleep because I couldn't take another night of no sleep… and I just knew, I had failed. Because my whole life, compared to their five minutes, was a disaster.

Then I began talking to my friends, you know the real kind of talks. Like when you ask someone how they are and they actually tell you. I talked to the moms whose parenting I truly admired and they were honest. I befriended the mom who chased her children in a game of tag and learned that they have been stuck up in the house for a week, she shared her guilt over the fact that she just cannot pick up one more race car and has instead busied her hands with housework to get out of playing more often than she believes should. I listed to my friend who stayed up all night watching movies and learned of other nights when her frustration was so intense she begged her little man to sleep instead of coddling him. I heard my mom friends confession of a time her child had a meltdown in public and she felt everyone's eyes on her as she shouted at him because she just couldn't take it anymore. I listened to all of these amazing moms tell me about their private moments and still thought they were great moms. Because they are. These women whose parenting I so admired would break down to me because they felt like the world's worst mother and I would tell them “you are human, frustration is going to happen. You don't wake up every day with the intention to do them harm. You put yourself last 24/7, you don't even eat until you become dizzy because you are so busy filling their needs. You are constantly striving to make their life better, You had a bad moment, but that does not make you a bad mom.”

Even while I offered this advice I never listened to myself. Until the other day, my kids woke up early so we grabbed their favorite push toys and did about 400 laps around our condos. Then we met up with some friends and went swimming for 3 hours only coming in because it was nap time. When they woke up after only sleeping for a hour I was spent, I had been up since 6, It was only 1:30 and we still had 5 and a half hours until bedtime, and I just couldn't do anymore. My house was a mess, my pantry was empty meaning nuggets were for dinner, my kids both had the energy of a squirrel on crack and I just wanted to lay on the couch and not move. I went through the motions, I sat on the step as they ran through the yard, I denied their requests to circle the condos, I denied their pleas to go to the park, and I ignored their constant tattling when the other stole their toy. I was certain I was the world's worst mom. Then I thought about the morning, how much we packed into the first 6 hours they were awake. I realized they had naps while I did the laundry and I gave myself grace, I told myself that it's ok that we aren't going to the park after swimming all morning. It's ok that I don't have energy for a game of tag or a water fight after being up all night with my youngest. Not every day is going to be Disneyland, But that doesn't make me a bad mom.

There are days where I am the waterfight mom, the arts and crafts mom, the mom actually laughing while she chases her children through the big toy. More often than not I am the mom that bends down while Noah has a melt down and helps him use his words to express his emotions and I calmly rock those sparkling eyes to sleep at 3am. But I also have my moments where I simply cannot stand I am so tired, and where I mentally cannot take one more fit. Where I just want her to sleep through the freaking night because there is absolutely no reason for her to be awake. And that doesn't make me a bad mom.

Not every day is going to be Disneyland. And I may not ever be Mary Poppins. But I wake up every day with the intentions to do my best. I pray every night for more patience than the day before, and there is no one on this earth that can love and protect my babies the way that I can. So I am going to stop comparing my whole life to someone else's five minutes. We all have bad moments, but we arent bad moms.

“I sincerely hope you never have to be tested on that.”

“If you can't say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” “Do unto others as you would have done unto yourself” “If you weren't there to witness it, you really don’t know”  these are things my mom would remind me when I was acting up as a kid, but when I was really rude, when I would say something totally judgemental and hurtful she would simply look at me and say “I sincerely hope you never have to be tested on that.” To which I of course scoffed, found her words super annoying and went on with my judgemental thoughts… until years later when I would be tested on the exact thing I had judged so harshly and would hear her words ringing in my ears as I went against everything I ever thought I would believe.

I think its time the rest of the world heard these words. We are getting pretty self righteous up here on our high horses. Super confident that our opinions are the only ones that are right and quick to shame anyone who has ever had any slightly different circumstances than our own. There are so many different verbal wars out there it's impossible to zero in on just one.  Everybody has an opinion about everybody and nobody is doing it right. In light of the most recent events I am going to use two very recent examples and repeat, I sincerely hope, you never have to be tested on that.

Not too long ago at a zoo a little boy was separated from his mother and climbed into the gorilla cage. What exactly occurred between the moments that little boy got separated from his mom, and the moments he was retrieved from the gorilla's cage is under a lot of debate. I wasn't there, I dont know what happened, but here is what I do know. There are two zoos close to me, One of them is very enclosed and had I only ever been to that zoo I would think, “wow, this would be extremely hard for a child to climb into, how could that have happened” and another that I visited shortly after hearing about the little boy and the Gorilla, This enclosure had a deep trench that I am assuming would make it impossible for a gorilla to cross, however the wall separating zoo goers from climbing into the enclosure was pretty short, in fact I could say with a lot of confidence I could easily jump that fence which makes me certain that if I had a young boy with me and I turned around for even a second, he could easily hop in there.

I want to ask all you sanctimommies a question, Have you ever turned your back for even a second? Ever needed to grab the sunblock out of the bottom of the stroller? Ever had to grab a snack for one of the other children with you and for some crazy reason they weren't all standing in a single file line making them super easy to keep track of? Has there ever been even a single moment of opportunity where a child who has been raised right, yet has a mind of his own could have simply wandered out of your sight? Unfortunately children do not come installed with tracking devices, or those cool floating diamonds over their heads like in the sims that makes them easy to find when they are in the other room. And I think if we were really honest, every one of us could tell a story about a time where for 15 terrifying seconds we didn't know where our children were... guess what, if you have a story like that, and your name isn't on the news, you are lucky. You are not superior to the ones whose worst fear was recognized, and your parenting may be closer to their than you believe… you just got lucky because your child was hiding behind the jungle gym and theirs was in a gorilla cage.

Aside from the fact that all children at some point have wandered people are calling into questions the zoos decisions to shoot the gorilla. The zoo issued a statement saying how because of his size sedation could have taken upwards of 15 minutes… DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG THAT IS? Do you realize how many things could happen in 15 MINUTES? I’m pretty sure most zoos are not in the business of raising animals just to shoot them in the head at their first opportunity. I am sure that gorilla was greatly mourned by more than just the 3rd party facebook do-gooders who are apparently all trained in animal related crisis prevention.

All I can say to those of you criticizing the decision to put the gorilla down in order to ensure the safety of that little boy…"I sincerely hope you never have to be tested on that” Because I know without a doubt that If my child was in a cage with a 700lb gorilla I would personally shoot it to ensure the safety of my child. Yes the child should not have been in there, but you don't leave a kid in the middle of the street just because you told him not to play in it so he needs to learn his own lesson. It's a street, The odds are pretty good a car is going to come. Instead of criticizing that which we've never dealt with, grieve the loss of an otherwise perfectly peaceful animal and praise the lord that a sweet innocent little boy got to go home to his bed that night. You weren't there, you don't know exactly what happened, and as much as you want to judge, it could have easily been your child. I bet if it was, you would feel a little differently.

Most recently an innocent little boy was playing by the water at a Disneyland Resort, and the most terrible accident that could have occurred, happened. This child wasn't alone, he didn't slip off unnoticed, he was TAKEN from his parent, by a crocodile! Even as I type them, those words do not feel real. His father tried to fight the crocodile to free his innocent son. However, regardless of what all you superhero facebookers believe about yourself, you cannot break free a crocodile's jaw with your bare hands. A quick google search will show you they have a bite force of 3700 lbs per square inch. Anyone here stronger than that? I’m not. Yet again, Instead of the world mourning the loss of this perfect little boy, people are criticizing the parents. Again things like “they should have been watching him” “that wouldn't have happened to my child.” and here is what I have to say about that “I sincerely hope you never have to be tested on that” These parents did not take their child to crocodile lagoon and say “have fun kid, we're gonna go hit the bar”... they took their baby to DisneyLand. And you know who is even more upset about this tragic accident than you are my little news reading friends?? THE PARENTS.  The mom and dad who saw their tiny baby being carried away in the jaws of a crocodile and tried as they might could not stop it. The mom who fell to her knees screaming, knowing the fate of her child, and the dad who has to look at his hands for the rest of his life knowing they were powerless to save his child. What if, instead of criticizing them, we send them love, respect their privacy in this time, Pray for their comfort, and thank god that we are blessed enough to get to kiss our children as we tuck them into bed tonight.

Maybe the criticism comes from fear. Maybe we know how easily that child could have been our own and it scares the shit out of us. Or maybe we really are just that ignorant and self righteous. Either way, If you are one of those parents who look at these moms and dads in their weakest moments and say “you should have done better” then  “I sincerely hope you never have to be tested on that.”

What needs to be learned from the Stanford Rape

Recently our newsfeeds have been filled with a gut wrenching story of a woman who was brutally raped behind a dumpster by a young man with a well paid lawyer, and women everywhere have realized a very startling truth, that our bodies are next to worthless in the eyes of the justice system. The stories you see in your newsfeed vary from the media's reports on a horrific incident followed up with a picture of a well groomed boy and his swimming times. Yet gives little information about the women who was assaulted other than the brutal condition she was found in and the heart wrenching things that happened to her. There are many articles containing outrage over the fact that this young man only received 6 months in prison… less with good behavior. In fact the only thing I read that humanized this young woman at all was her own letter, reliving this horrific experience as she describes the unbearable pain she has endured and will continue to endure for the rest of her life because of that man's actions.

Her letter describes bruises on her body, missing clothing and the unimaginable moment she read online about her own rape. She describes how she asked her parents not to watch the news then crumpled into her mother's arms while telling her she had been assaulted, and the nation followed her as she fought, begged and pleaded the justice system to do what is right. Yet it didn't. It failed her and continues to fail thousands of others every single day. Her attacker only received 6 months in prison. 6 months for the raping, dehumanization, and mental trauma she will endure for the rest of her life, and his father is sitting on the sidelines complaining that he won't be able to have his favorite snacks in prison….

Here is what I’ve learned. I have learned that out of “1000 rapist, 994 walk free” (RAINN,2014) I learned that ⅔ rapes are never even reported. I learned that 1 in 5 women will report being raped in their lifetime. 1 in 5… and let's keep in mind that 2 out of 3 don't report it.

And rapist are the least likely to face jail time compared to any other criminal charge. I have seen the victims be interrogated with questions like “what were you wearing” and “how much did you drink” “were you sexually active before?”

These statistics scare the shit out of me, and they should scare you too. I look at my beautiful baby girl and I know that according to statistics the possibility of having to hold my baby girl as she sobs into my arms after someone else decided to use her body against her will for their own sick needs is more a matter of When than if. Even if I do not let her go to her friends for sleepovers, and even if she never goes to a college party, even if I talk to her every single day about stranger danger and meeting new people in public places, I cannot be there with her when she walks between college classes, I cannot join her on every single jog she takes around the neighborhood. There will be times she  will have to walk to her car by herself and there is nothing I can do about that. And I am terrified. I am terrified and I am all but powerless, because there is one thing I can do.

I can help be the voice of change. I can raise my son to know a woman's worth. I can raise him to show love and respect and understand that No means no. I will have those awkward talks with him at a young age so he grows up knowing what's right and what's wrong. I can teach him to walk his friends to their cars and to always speak up when he thinks he sees someone in a uncomfortable situation. I truly believe in gender equality but I am also not blind to the fact that a female walking with a male is less likely to be attacked than a female walking by herself or with another female. I can see the physical differences between a female and males stature and admit that no matter how many self defense classes I enroll my daughter in, I would still prefer she has a trustworthy male friend to escort her home when possible.

As for the justice system, I will no longer be silenced. I will no longer be the 2 out of 3 who remains voiceless because it makes no difference anyway. We as women have been fighting for hundreds of years to be allowed to work, vote and have our independence, I think it is time we fought for our bodies too. It is time to speak up about the violence inflicted upon you. It makes no difference “what you were wearing” and the amount of alcohol you consumed does not decrease the worth of your body at any given moment. An attack is an attack regardless of what kind of clothes were forcibly removed from the your body.

These questions are degrading, and put in place to protect the attacker not the victim. Somehow a woman in a bikini leaving the beach becomes a temptress to a poor innocent boy who simply couldn't control his actions…. Thats bullshit.

I may not be able to promise my daughter a life free of an assault.. And that kills me. Literally kills me just to think about. But I will use my voice every single day until the justice system understands  that it is 100% in no way, ever, the victims fault. We need less interrogation of the victim and more punishment for the attacker. We need rapists to know they will not get away with it and to not be given the opportunity to hurt someone again 6 months after they've proven themselves untrustworthy.

Contrary to what the father of the Sanford rapist wants you to believe, a rapist does not simply make a bad “20 minute choice” a rapist takes an entire life from their victim. He steals her relationships from her significant other, how she views her children, how she interacts with friends, instills gut wrenching fear for all social encounters in the future, and even if she is brave enough to speak up and is able to get herself the mental/emotional help she so needs, she will never get to be the woman she was before she was attacked. But god fobid her attacker “cannot have his favorite snacks” (https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/2852614-Letter-from-Brock-Turner-s-Father.html)

The following two links have multiple facts about rape and other criminal statistics.

https://rainn.org/statistics/criminal-justice-system

http://www.nsvrc.org/sites/default/files/publications_nsvrc_factsheet_media-packet_statistics-about-sexual-violence_0.pdf

This is the link to a letter written by the stanford rape victim. A letter she should have never had to write.

https://www.buzzfeed.com/katiejmbaker/heres-the-powerful-letter-the-stanford-victim-read-to-her-ra?utm_term=.uoN4e76w#.dqPj5nJ2

This is the link to the stanford rapists father's letter.

http://thinkprogress.org/justice/2016/06/05/3784913/stanford-sexual-assault-dad-letter/

To my babies who make life magic.

These days it is so common to hear moms complain about how hard it is to raise little humans, we talk about the exhaustion, the stress, the constant non stop battles over every little thing. Like “c’mon kid can you sister please just look out your freaking window so I can drive in peace?!?!” And don't get me wrong I have done my fair share of calling up my shoulder to vent about the most recent pain in the butt thing my children are doing that is making me want to pull my hair out.

But here's what we are forgetting. For every one of those pain in the rear moments, there are hundreds more that are so perfect, so amazing, and so easy to miss if we only focus on the stress or exhaustion. When we were little we could run free for hours without focusing on how much sleep we got the night before or weather or not it was chilly and we didnt have a jacket. We just lived in the moment and lived life completely free. At some point we grew up and came to a point where we would rather watch TV than go outside and live. The stress of work and bills took over and relaxing was only something we could do on a friday night, the rest of the days were reserved for complaining, stressing, and working. So this is my thank you letter to my little angels, for  letting me be a child again, if only for a little while.

My little man, thank you for teaching me how to dance to the sound of an ambulance siren, and letting your sheer joy as you wiggle your little booty along side me, distract me from embarrassment I would have otherwise felt as a grown adult hopping around to the sirens. You were right, that was the perfect time to boogie, and an ambulance can carry quite a tune.

Malia, Thank you making me take you down the slide over and over and over. It has been years since I felt that drop in my stomach and the wind on my face as I sped down an extra high slide. What started as a forced climb to the top and a fake “wooo” to show you excitement turned into a very enjoyable rush as I held you while racing your brother to the top of the jungle gym over and over. At least for a little while I forgot about the two hours of sleep I had gotten the night before and focused only on how tight you closed your eyes while squealing with delight all the way down.

Thank you for reminding me how much more fun a squirt gun is at the beach than simply laying on a towel soaking up the sun.

Thank you for showing me how perfect every shell is, and how something as simple as a rock can be such a precious treasure.

Thank you for getting me down on the ground to admire a “shnail”(snail) and bringing back my childhood as you fill your pockets with rolly polly bugs.

Thank you for peanut butter kisses, for ice cream dribbling down your chin before bed, for that tiny little tongue licking your lips right before you steal the chocolate I was trying to eat in secrecy.

Thank you for those early morning snuggles, and those tiny little hands holding mine as we run across the park.

Thank you for making a simple act of feeding the ducks or petting a kitty magical again. And for making me laugh until I cried at that face you made when the puppy stole your snack.

Thank you for the bedtime stories that I do still enjoy but never would have read. Dr Seuss can never get old.

Thank you for pulling my attention to every airplane, helicopter and Jet. taking a detour to watch the Helicopters take off was way more exciting than grocery shopping anyway.

Thank you for reminding me that kisses can fix all hurt and for wrapping your tiny little arms around my neck when I was ready to break.

Thank you for not understanding why we have to rush to and fro, you are right, that is not how life is meant to be lived and there is always time to throw some rocks in the water or play racecars.

Thank you getting me out of the house at night to take a snuggle walk under the moon, nothing brings me back to my roots like staring at the night sky, yet when left up to me I don't do it nearly as often as I want to.

But most of all my angels, thank you for being you. Thank you for being perfect, for making life easy again, for having your biggest problem be when your popsicle melts before you finish eating it, and for truly believing that my snuggles could fix the world. Before I had you life was good, but it was no longer magic. Thank you for showing me how to live again.

Yes we have our hard days, and I would do anything for a few more hours of sleep, or to eat dinner without a meltdown. But the amount of love, beauty and magic that you have added to my everyday life is something I would have forgotten completely about without you.

You two are my whole world, and a single day with you, meltdowns and all, is  infinitely better than an entire lifetime without.

I love you to the moon and back my babies. Please stay little as long as you can, I'm not ready to grow up again.

Kendra Wilkinson teaches us all a lesson

Kendra Wilkinson recently caused quite a stir when she posted a picture to the internet of her baby bearing belly covered in stretch marks and wrinkled skin, with the caption “look what my babies did, they made me happy”

I never thought I could relate to a former playmate, millionaire, tv series mom of two… but in the moment I totally got it.

Right around middle school I began to really struggle with anorexia. I have always been fairly petite so I was about 14 before I hit the triple digits on the scale. And also about 14 when I began fighting like crazy to make it go away. I am 5’3” and my weight NATURALLY fluctuates between 110-114 lbs. However I would spend all of my energy avoiding food, I varied between extreme workout regimens, and hardly allowing myself any food during the day, the occasional burger in front of friends was met with several days of nothing but a bowl of oatmeal or a few crackers to curb the pain. I stayed around 105 and I WAS NEVER happy. I would look in the mirror and truly believe I was fat if my stomach was anything other than perfectly flat. I remember praising myself when I could feel how easily the seat belt fit over my lap, hardly using any tension.

I outgrew my anorexic habits after high school but the desire for the “perfect” body always remained. I would still go weeks wearing sweatshirts or not leaving my house if I felt bloated and while I ate much healthier I was never truly happy with my body.

January of 2013 I was in the best shape of my life. I had just gotten off deployment and anyone who had ever deployed knows the only thing there is to do is workout, so that is what I did. There was no physical challenge I couldn't conquer and I while I still chose baggy clothes, I was proud of my physical accomplishments. Then I got pregnant.

I remember feeling so stressed that my body was going to change and there was NOTHING I could do to stop it. (please don't get me wrong I loveeeeedddd my baby) But the idea of not being allowed to diet, knowing for a fact I was going to lose my abs, and I could very possibly never fit in those skinny jeans again terrified me. Like truly kept me up at night.

The months past and my belly grew and something amazing happened, Instead of feeling horrible that my skinny jeans were replaced with my husband's largest string tie sweats (because elastic was uncomfortable) I was grateful  that my baby was happy and healthy and growing. And after he was born and the stretch marks were left behind, I would look at them and see where he kept his elbow as I grew him, or where my second baby kept her feet.

The time that I spent pregnant changed the way I view my body all together. I am no longer obsessed with being skinny, and I do not think its cute if the seat belt has no tension. I am aware that my body will never be what it was, because it made two beautiful little babies who are happy and healthy. I still try to stay physically fit but it no longer has to do with how my butt looks in my jeans, instead it is driven by the desire to maintain the energy needed to chase my giggling babies as they run free in the sand.

Maybe in time my stretch marks will fade, but a piece of me hopes they never do. Those lines are a sign of life. The bit of extra skin is a cradle that held my babies when my arms couldn't. It is proof that they are mine, a reminder of a time I will never have back.

While everyone wants to put their best face forward, mine is no longer measured by how my body looks in a bikini, but by how happy my children are as I climb into the pool to splash with them. There are no more days of hiding out because I am bloated, no more dieting because I ate a burger last week. I am just me, a woman, a wife and a mom. My body will never be perfect because I do not live in a computer, I am me, and my body shows signs of the beautiful life I get to live.

“Look what my babies did, They made me happy”

The moments I already miss

 In the daily life of motherhood it is easy to get caught up, overwhelmed and frustrated. You can begin to focus on the fits, tantrums and fights, and overlook the love, joy and magic that is taking place right before your eyes. Two phrases are increasingly common in our current society, “cherish these moments, they go by quick” and “Mothering is the hardest thing you will ever do.” Both are incredibly true statements. My babies are only 2.5 and 1, So I am in no way writing this as a woman who has raised her babies, caught up on her sleep and has since forgotten how frustrating lunch,nap,dinner,bed time is EVERY FREAKING DAY. I am still in the thick of it. I have more days than not where I lose my temper, swear up and down I cannot handle one more fit, and pray, no beg, god for patience. But I already know, that sprinkled into every one of these days, are beautiful moments that I am going to miss.

Every single time I apply sunblock to my babies faces they twist and scream and fight like I am spreading lava on their skin. It is beyond frustrating, I dread doing it and try to convince myself it isn't that hot out before ultimately battling my wild little humans into submission. However when they run up to me and plant those sticky little sand covered kisses on my cheek, and I am left with the sweet smell of their sunblock covered lips as they run back to their sand castles, I know, that is a moment I am going to miss. Years from now I will go to the beach and no one will fight me when I lather up, no one will interrupt me as I lay out under the sun, and No One will plant tiny little sunblock kisses on my cheek. I will see other couples chasing their babies, exhausted moms loaded up with toys towels and snacks like pack muels and I will miss these beautiful days I take for granted now.

Each morning as I do yoga my one year old crawls under me, in between my hands and feet, making each move feel more like a game of twister than the relaxing stretch I am supposed to experience. My hands dodge racecars, barbie dolls and goldfish crackers as they search for a place to land. My two year old comes up behind me and lays across my legs making my stretch much more painful than I was hoping in the moment, or his tiny little arms reach around my neck as he pulls himself up onto my back choking me in the process…. And I am going to miss this. Those tiny little hands are growing by the day. Soon they will be grown, and while they will still be my babies, I will no longer be their everything, they will no longer want to touch, play and pull on me. Those little arms may wrap me in a hug once a week upon greeting me, but they will no longer be filled with the love and devotion a child has for their mother. In this time I will long for the days they begged me for an “uppy.” I would give anything for one more cuddle on the couch as we watch our morning cartoons, and I will scorn myself for every time I felt frustrated when those tiny humans made my yoga a game of twister.

My son particularly is extremely dependent on me during his play. He cannot go five minutes without saying “watch this mom” “watch me mom” “see that mom?” He begs me to play race cars, monster trucks and skateboards for hours on end, and there are days that I find myself keeping my hands busy with housework or school work or whatever, because I just can't drive another racecar that day.  But more and more frequently when his friends come over he gets so caught up in his play he doesn't even hear me when I call his name, and I know it won't be long before I am begging him to give me more than a one word answer about his day when I pick him up from school, and shortly after that I will only hear about his day over the phone when he has time to talk to me, and I will look back on the days of dirty dishes and racecars and wish that I had chosen the racecars.

And at the end of each day, as we fight our way through our evening routines, with each child telling us how they aren't sleepy, claiming to be hungry, needing to use the potty, forgot their “so special toy” downstairs, and wanting just one more book. I don't pause nearly enough. Far too often I rush my way through their bedtime, eager to get downstair to my few hours of kid free peace before going to bed myself. But they always wake up one day older, one day further away from the babies they once were, one day closer to the day that I only get to miss the way it is now.

It has been said time and again that “the days are long but the years are short” That is the most true statement I have ever heard. I do not know the magic cure to lose the frustration caused by the insistence that they aren't tired while their red eyed faces shout at us. How to cherish the meal time that you've made 6 different foods per their request that they still won't eat. I cannot tell you how to walk toward them with the sunblock without anxiety building about the little limbs that are about to fly at your face as you apply what they think is pure torture in a bottle. But I do know that these are the moments that I will miss. Years from now I will look back at these days and wish I had figured it out. Years from now I will say that I will give everything I have for one more day filled with tantrums, tiny attitudes, and sunblock kisses. My morning yoga will feel more lonely than relaxing and my tidy room will feel empty without its toys. These moments Sprinkled in with the frustration are everything. They are the beauty, the magic, the definition of what life is. Please don't take them for granted. They are only little for a little while, and you can never get this time back.