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.

When I realized Colic didn't break us.

My baby Girl.

Tonight as you were pushing your car across the room with your wobbly legs, your brother grabbed the front and took off with it sending you crashing to the floor. You were hurt, and tired, and crying inconsolably. So I scooped you up and placed you on my chest and we went for a walk around the complex. You quickly settled, resting your tiny head on my chest, closing your eyes and wrapping your little arm around me. And for the first time I reflected on our first few months with love.

Don't get me wrong, the exact moment the doctor laid you on my chest was incredible. Everything about you was absolutely perfect. You were more beautiful than I could have ever imagined and I was finally holding my angel in my arms. Then you started crying, no, screaming. And you didn't stop for 5 and a half months. At the time I felt like those five and a half months were the hardest of my life. I had expected to take you home from the hospital and spend hours staring at every one of your little features. I pictured you laying in bed next to me, all nuzzled up to me, nursing yourself to sleep. I pictured taking you and your brother for walks while you coo at me from your top seat in the stroller. Then you were born and I felt like the colic had stolen all of those plans.

Instead of cuddling and adoring you, I spent every waking minute trying to settle you. Trying to ease your pain, begging you to sleep. Driving myself crazy doing any and every thing I could to get you to calm down, and stressing myself out about how horribly I was failing at every single aspect of my life in the process. But time has a way of removing the negative emotions from situations and leaving only the beauty, and tonight, for the first time, I looked back with love.

As we circled the complex with your head on my chest, I remembered those countless nights with you swaddled in your softest blanket, cradled in my arms as I sang you lullabies while we walked the block to get you to fall asleep. I pictured myself outside with you at 1am listening to the music from our neighbors playing the piano next door distracting you from your pain. I thought of you refusing to let me put you down, forcing me to sleep sitting up so we could rest even for a hour. And this time, when I looked back I didn't see any of the pain. I didn't see the frustration. I saw a mom and a daughter, navigating through this horrible pain of colic, together. Don't get me wrong, I know it was hard, it was really really hard. There was a lot of yelling, and crying and wanting to give up. I can clearly see myself crumpled in a ball on the shower floor, wondering how I was going to get through the night, but even that is beautiful.

Baby girl, our beginning was rough. But it was real, and it was beautiful. Real life isnt perfect. It can be hard. Really hard, but it is so incredibly beautiful. Those midnight walks to calm the crying, those 1am dances in the back yard to get your eyes to close, those times I broke down and cried with you from the pain neither of us could handle. Those were raw, and real, and beautiful. They weren't what I had expected or planned for, but they were ours. It was our beginning, our story, and we made it through to the part where we dance because our favorite song is on and we just have to wiggle. We snuggle while you nurse yourself to sleep before you go down for the night. We occasionally take a walk because your brother stole your car and made you crash to the floor, but normally our walks are to the park or to see the bunnies on the trail.

Baby girl, I have held so much guilt over our first few months together, I was convinced colic had stolen those first precious months of your infancy, until tonight. Tonight I can see the beauty, the love, the compassion I didn't realize I was showing, and I can finally see that we were bonding, there was love, you did need me just as much as I needed you. While I will always wish that your tummy hadnt hurt you so bad, and that we could have cuddled without the pain from the beginning, I can finally look back and cherish what we had. I vowed to love you through the hard times before I even knew your name. I will always be here for you baby girl, I will always love you.