Filling the Cup

We have probably all had someone tell us at some point that "you can't pour from an empty cup." Aside from the obvious laws of physics that this mantra points out, the spiritual reference is much stronger than I realized as a new mom. If we aren't refilled, inevitably we will hit a point of emptiness that can't be replenished instantly. I know because this happened to me.

  I used to feel that I had to continually pour from this ever flowing fount of care and giving to everyone but me. I felt it was just "part of being a mom" and I let everything I knew and loved about myself go. One day after our daughter was born, I came across a photo of me taken at the National FFA Convention the year I received my American Degree. As I looked at myself in the picture I had this HUGE bundle of emotions come over me. Where was she? What happened to that girl who had everything going for her? Where was that confidence, that drive, that self-love that was so exuded in just that moment of my life? Then, I looked up into the mirror at the chubby, frumpy, unmade face, unbrushed hair, spit up stained t-shirt wearing, tired woman staring back at me and thought "she has to be under this somewhere, right?" In that moment I had let go of all the things I was and knew; not just in life and knowledge, but all of the personality traits that made me who I was. It was probably the toughest realization of my life, but also one I needed to make. I realized that I had to get back to caring for myself or I may not be here to take care of my children for as long as I want and need to be. It didn't help that I was having huge hormone let-downs postpartum and was basically a crazy mess anyway. The next day we took a shopping trip to Sam's Club, and between a screaming infant and a toddler who refused to listen to anything, I couldn't take it anymore and completely lost my shit in the bulk canned foods aisle next to the green beans. I stood there with the flood gates opened as my baby cried on my chest in a gassy fuss, my toddler ran up and down the aisle, and my husband stared at me with concerned, yet embarrassed eyes. We finished our shopping and left quickly to drive back home. I had ran my cup dry and needed to do something to refill it before we all thirsted for care and love to death.

Thankfully, my husband knew I was stubborn and would not take the initiative to just go. The next day he sent me to a nearby town to visit a winery I had been talking about wishing we could go to and the outlet mall he hated but knew I enjoyed. As I sat at the Shawnee Bluffs Winery overlooking the Lake of the Ozarks I decided that in that moment of reset, I needed to make a plan to get myself back and find that woman in the picture again; because that was the person I wanted to give to my children. I vowed to take better care of myself by starting an exercise routine, feeding us healthy and nourishing meals, and doing at least one thing a day specifically for myself whether it be a small getaway occasionally, taking a shower in peace,having a glass of wine after bedtime, or grabbing a latte for myself. I also decided it was time to start writing again. Putting it out there for others to see 1) the raw, real, and fun side of motherhood minus all the arguments and putdowns and judginess. The rest of the world is too good at that already and 2) that moms are not alone. We ALL go through these moments of lost sense of self. Anyone who says they haven't is lying to you. We must all stop and refill the cup or else we will run dry.

 We cannot give the best of ourselves to anyone if there is nothing left to give. 365 days later, the cup is overflowing and I am giving more to my children and husband than I thought was possible! I cannot stress enough how important it is to keep that cup full! we cannot give to others if we have nothing left inside of us to give. Now you all know a little more about the origin story of the Mediocre Mommy! It's not as cool as Wolverine's, but I think it is a close second. We can't ALL be X-Men, after all. Side Note: I really hope my bored mediocre husband reads this, I put that in there for YOU honey. I pay some attention to some of the stuff you like, see?

 Disclaimer: The Mediocre Mommy received no pay or incentive to mention the above establishments. These mentions were at the discretion of the writer and publisher and are not meant for advertising purposes.

On a Role (Or Not).

We've all seen them.  The funny internet pictures (the cool kids tell me these are called "memes") poking fun at dads seeking recognition for tasks moms do everyday.  They're funny, right?  I had two hands raised way up on that one.  Why do dads want so much recognition for things that are just part of our everyday?  Why should I have to offer praise when he loads the dishwasher or does a load of laundry?  Believe me when I say I was totally at the front of the line for finding these memes so true and so funny and relevant to my life.  Then, one day everything came into perspective.

A couple weeks ago, my husband had a small surgical procedure done, and while it was very minor it did leave him with a lifting and activity restriction for sometime.  I am convinced that our lawn realized this and took every ounce of its available energy to grow 9 feet overnight.  Saying it was looking shabby was an understatement.  Thank God we are not in a homeowner's association (maybe we are, frankly we have no idea).  The inevitable was about to happen.  I needed to mow our lawn.

No big deal right?  Wrong. I have never mowed a lawn in my 25 years of life.  Growing up on a dusty ranch with extreme allergies, I was not able to do this as a kid.  Plus also my parents had a ride-on mower and we have my grandma's push mower.  But I knew I could do it and that it was a task that needed done, so I set out one afternoon to do so.  After having to ask my husband how to start it, I had to come inside and have him start it for me.  About 1/4 of the way through the front yard, he also came out to tell me there is a handle for "self-propel"--this made my day so much easier.  I finished the front lawn and ran out of gas.  Apparently I "should have filled it before I began."  Who knew?! The man who mows the lawn all the time, that's who.

Since I am not a person of half-jobs, I set out the next day while both children were miraculously napping and my husband had returned to work to finish our backyard.  After fighting with the gas can for 20 minutes to get the gas to actually pour out (there has to be a better design for fume control, for real) I got the mower refueled and ready.  I drug that SOB outside and was ready to attempt to start it.  I pulled...and pulled...and cussed...and pulled...and paused and looked up and said "JOAN how were you able to get this thing started at 80?! I can't do it now, and I go to BodyPump!!"  It started right up. My grandma was looking down in that moment.  So I began mowing our backyard.  Can I just say that we have a HUGE yard?  Our first post-military life purchase will absolutely be a riding lawn mower. Zero turn radius preferred.

As I was pushing that SOB around and cutting the grass, I kept thinking how I couldn't wait to show my husband that I did it all by myself! I had mowed the lawn and it looked (almost) as good as when he mows! Then it dawned on me; I was doing the same thing I had rolled my eyes at him for a few times in the past. I was wanting him to praise me for a task that was part of his norm. I wanted praise for doing something our of my "role" as a housewife and mother. I wanted him to be proud of and happy and thankful that I did something that was in his "role" as a husband. In that moment more than ever I realized that there are no roles in a successful marriage relationship. If we both would give a little praise and grace for the other helping us, we would both thrive further in our relationship. Why should I expect him to not roll his eyes at me or criticize me for my poor (ok, pretty shitty really) mowing job just because I did it? The truth is, I should not have expected praise and thanks for doing a task that is part of living in our own (sort of own, we rent so whatever that is) place. I think it's true for all walks of life, but especially so for military families when I say that it is not only beneficial but in many cases crucial that we each understand the roles of the other. If (by if, I mean when) deployment rolls around for us, I will now know that I have the ability to mow our lawn. It sounds silly, really. But any skill known is beneficial during times of shifting and change. Plus, I can do it if I want to have a sporadic yard party so win-win. The point is this; I have learned that while I may be the main dish washer and laundress and he the lawn mower and wall hanging person it is ok to thank each other when one does something that may normally be on the other's "to-do" list. Even further, it is ok to see that when someone does something that may be in your norm, it is an act of love. Doing the laundry while I was recovering from womb emancipation (child birth) was an act of love from him, even if my clothes were not folded just how I would do it. Mowing the lawn while he was recovering from surgerywas an act of love from me, even if our lawn looked like our son mowed it. There are no roles, there is balance.

Dear Childhood Best Friend, Thank You.

The day we met, saying we were wild, hyper little girls would be a complete understatement. In fact, before I go further, I want to apologize to our sweet mothers who somehow kept their sanity that day!  Nerves were running high and we were both excited and nervous for our very first 4-H Fashion Review judging.  For those unfamiliar with this wonderful program (seriously, enroll your kids it is so beneficial!) the fashion review is the culminating event for the girls and boys who chose to sew an item,. outfit, or do some "smart shopping" to chose an appropriate outfit for an event, stick to a budget, etc.  I knew that I would sit in front of a judge and relive all the blood, sweat, and tears that went into creating my very first sewn garment; a lime green floral printed shorts and tank top set.  I was ready!  I loved to talk (ask my mom) and I was pretty proud of the set I had completed all by myself (with the help, exasperation, and pleading of my sweet mother, she's a saint, folks). 

What I didn't know was that when I walked through the doors of the Newcastle High School band room where we all waited to have our items judged, I would see a little girl with the curliest hair sitting on the floor playing with her horse toys, with a mother whose look spoke the same relief and exasperation as my own mother's that day.  I am not sure who was more drawn to each other, us or our moms who probably needed a good laugh and talk with someone who had been in the same boat. I mean, teaching a wild, playful, short-attention-spanned eight year old girl to sew has to be a trying task to say the least!  I didn't know it that day, but when I asked my mom if I could please go play with her we would be beginning what would be one of the best, most heartfelt friendships I have known.  Thanks, 4-H!



Let me just say, everyone needs that childhood best friend to go on adventures with.  She taught me more than she knows.  Well, she'll know now!  As a mother, there are so many people whose life lessons I have looked to when raising my own children--and those I learned from my great friend are right up there.  To name a few; it's ok to laugh at yourself--especially if you just fell off a big round hay bale into a snow drift.  Who cares what you look like, it was funny--LAUGH!, or if you want to dance, just go do it, if you don't have a partner it doesn't matter make it as you go, what is popular is not always what is right--don't confuse the two, if you want something (like a set of dual walkie-talkies to be super spies) save up your money, and most of all, be you and be silly; there is enough seriousness in this life.  If you can be silly and laugh about something, anything (like dressing up a sheep to walk about in a winter wool outfit in 100 degree weather or getting run over by pigs at the Wyoming State Fair, there is always something to laugh and be silly about).

Fast forward to the present.  We have very different lives, but one thing that hasn't changed is our relationship.  Thank you, friend.  Thank you for your unconditional love. Thank you for the adventures--I mean, we have been to Europe together! Thank you for never giving up on us.  Thank you for your sweet, fun, fierce love for my babies.  I may never have had a biological sister, but my kiddos have an aunt in you and they love you like one.  Thank you for the memories.  Thank you for our wild childhood days.  Thank you for our not so wild adult days.  On behalf of the wildlings, thank you for the tickles and snuggles and silliness. Thanks for being you.  I could write for days, but truthfully so many of my memories with you are those "had to be there" moments--you're thinking of them, I know you are!  You are the only person I would push in an 80s Nissan pickup in a KFC parking lot to pop a clutch to get moving.  Like, I wouldn't even do that for my husband, only person. So, in nutshell, thank you for being you; I don't know where I would be had our paths not crossed that fateful August morning.

My "Mom" is Showing

I love being a mom.  But I also love and cherish some kid-free time to just do my own thing.  When I was in college,  I had the excuse of school work to give me a reason to head to a coffee shop or restaurant with WiFi to give me some form of my former self back.  Now that I finally graduated, I still need some evening relax breaks, so periodically I will retreat to one of these locations to write about being a mom--ironic, right?  It's fun to blend in with the hip, likely single or at very least child-free crowd.

Then I do something like use hand sanitizer to wipe off the table and the mom in me just shines right on through.  Or I ask the nice barista for extra napkins just in case "someone has a spill."  I am confident she thinks I have split-personalities disorder.  Whatever.  The truth is, I can't even make it through ordering without sounding like a hot mess mother, and my heathens are safely home with the mediocre daddy.  So, I get up to order, and choose a hot, mocha latte.  Easy peasy.  Until I realize that clearly the thing to drink when its 82 degrees outside is a blended coffee with a bajillion flavors and more whipped cream than a Cool-Whip factory.  Seriously, this place has to own stock in Reddi-Whip or something.  I also requested a coffee sleeve.  I don't think the cool kids request those.

I also absent mindedly told another patron to "be careful" when he picked up a mug.  Who even does that?  This was before I ordered the espresso, in my defense.  Thankfully, I am a fairly pleasant person and he was good humored as I profusely apologized (and explained that I have a toddler, so it literally just slips out ALL the time).  So, my disguise to be cool failed almost as epically as my son's Darth Vader costume, he wore the cape but refused the rest, and got offended if someone asked who he was on Halloween.

Basically, the moral of the story is that you can never fully leave motherhood at home, even if that's where the kids are.  And that's ok.  Who knows, I may have saved a barista some work just in case someone does have a spill, and possibly saved a mug's life today.  All the positive vibes, right?  But seriously.  You think I'm funny at the coffee shop, you should see me attempt a club.  That's a story for another time.  Being a writing mom totally has it's perks (see what I did there?).  I get to play hipster cool kid for a couple hours, all while trying provide my wonderful readers with some entertainment!  So, wherever you are out there, if you see me doing something weird and "mom" in public, just come discretely tell me my "mom" is showing.

*Disclaimer:  I purchased my drink from our local Starbucks franchise.  I did not receive the item in my hand for free, discounted, or in exchange for marketing or advertising purposes for Starbucks.  I just really needed some flippin coffee at night.*

Your First Time After Baby

You're finally ready for the first time after baby is born.  Let's be honest, you're a bit nervous, unsure of how you look or feel, secretly just want to go to bed, worried that the baby may wake up hungry half-way through and you need to excuse yourself to feed her.  Is there spit-up in your hair?  Poop on you anywhere?  Is it noticeable?  Well, times up for worrying it's time to just get to it.

You thought this post was going to be about, sex huh.  Gotcha!  No, I'm not talking about the first time you are intimate with your significant other after the baby is born--let's face it NO ONE wants to read about that.  I'm talking about the first solo trip to the grocery store by yourself.  The similarities are somewhat uncanny, aren't they.  Whether its your first baby or your fifth, adding another person to a shopping trip takes a bit of planning, and let's face it; its nerve wracking!  I must admit, that deciding how it was going to mesh with a toddler and a month old baby alone was just down-right scary.  What if she cries?  What if he has a meltdown?  What if I can't fit all my groceries in the cart?  How the heck will I not lose my toddler in the Commissary if he decides to make a run for it?

So, there I was clutching a 2.5 year old's little hand in my clammy palm praying he would just be good, while constantly checking that the baby tied to my chest was still calmly sleeping.  This is basically where babywearing saved my life for the millionth time.  I dote on it quite often, but seriously the practicality with multiple kiddos is just so worth it.  With a baby on board (literally) and toddler in tow, we went aisle by aisle hastily filling our cart with items on our list and a few that my little sneak managed to put in the cart without my knowing until we got to the checkout stand; at least I think the five bags of M&Ms were his doing, could have been me, only God will ever really know.  As we strolled, people would say things like "look how brave you are!" or "Out already? Bless you!" Which, I have learned from my Southern friends is not always a compliment!  But here's the thing; I'm not brave, unheard of, supermom, talented, whatever else--I was a mom with two kids and a husband who needed to eventually eat food (and a mom who just really wanted some ice cream and socialization).  I am obviously not the first woman to have more than one child, or to take those two children shopping; we all have to face it eventually, right?   For those mamas who are about the face it for the first time, here is my advice: make a list, make a plan, go when your kids are having happy time (for me its right after naptime, or first thing in the morning), let your toddler help to keep them engaged and distracted, and do whatever you have to to make it a good experience for you and your family!  If that's and iPad, cool.  If that's an in-store snack for the toddler and a super huge coffee for mom, cool.  If that's having a helper, cool.  If that's ordering pizza because you are out of meal type foods and want to go to the store alone, cool we have all been there at least once.

The moral of the story is the first time after baby will always be a bit of figuring and tough while you get your routine down.  But, just roll with it and remember, one day they will both be in school and you can do this blissfully alone--sometimes that thought is what keeps me going!  

Parkmagheddon

Like most toddlers, my son is drawn to the park.  It calls to him like the Ocean to Moana.  Most days, I love taking him to the park and letting him climb, run, explore, and enjoy his time in an outdoor setting.  I love the independence that park play can help bolster.  But then there are the other days.

The other 1% of park days are the ones where something unnecessary happens to him.  Whether he is kicked, hit, tackled, punched, or yelled at by another child or group of children, those days are straight up Parkmaghddon and the mama bear in me has to rear it's ugly head.  Now, I refuse to parent another mother's child.  I could say it's because I don't want to step on toes or don't know what parenting style is used at their home, but frankly, it's because I spend 24 hours a day parenting my own kids, I don't need to extend that outside of my house and my tribe.  I like to mind my own motherhood.  This is usually pretty simple.  My kind-hearted, friendly, little love bug typically is pretty good at just walking away from a situation that he senses may be more than he can handle (he is one heck of a fast runner, that kid is totally my cardio!).  However, from time to time there are those unavoidable kids.  The ones that sense his soft heartedness and take advantage of it as a means to get to him.

But inside that soft heart is unafraid.  He will go into the fire of parkmahgeddon to stick up for his friends, and that makes my heart happy.  He will tell the bullying culprits to "just leave me alone!"or that they cannot play with him.  And guess what?  That's ok.  That is completely ok.  I don't want to be around adults who are mean and nasty to me, it is no different for my kiddos.  Actions speak so much louder than words, and bullying is such an issue in our society.  If he has instilled confidence to stick up to bullies at three, I can only keep boosting that confidence so he can stick up to them at 13 too.

Moms, I get it, I really do.  I tend to believe that most mothers, and I truly mean most, are just doing the best they can.  Sometimes we miss things.  Sometimes we have our hands full.  Sometimes we need to park it on a bench and take a breather while our kids run because it's been a rough day.  But, sometimes we need to take our noses out of our cell phones and pay attention to the reality around us.  Sometimes we need to step away from a good conversation to see exactly what our child is doing.  Sometimes we need to be unafraid to approach a parent or guardian if a child is stepping well out of line.  Sometimes, we just need to walk away.  The last one is my main defense mechanism.  I don't want to say hurtful things I regret later.  I want to do nothing more than remove my child from a situation he does not understand and in these cases does not deserve.  Because sometimes the walking away is just the right thing to do.  Instead of fighting fire with fire we take the peaceable route when possible.  Because walking away with his head held high is not a defeat for him, its a defeat for those trying their best to get at him.

Dear Mom, I'm Sorry

Oh, karma.  It really is a "B-word." A HUGE "B-word."  So much so that the past few days I have been inclined to write this apology letter to my mother.  Trust me when I say she really deserves it.  We have began to enforce the "you will eat what is cooked" rule at our house.  Our son is beyond picky, and now that he is able to fully communicate his reasons, we are doing our best to help him experience foods outside of casings full of internals and powdered "cheese" on noodles.  Hotdogs and easy-mac have been his staples for too long and it is time to enforce new and better choices to him.

I would love to say this pickiness is a fluke of nature.  I would really love to say it comes from his dad. I mean, my husband won't even eat a piece of lettuce, his pickiness HAS to come from him, right? Wrong. Cue karma.  That's right, the pickiness I am fighting in him is the same pickiness my mom fought in me.  Mom, I am sorry.  I feel inclined to apologize for my actions 20+ years ago when you were trying to get me to just chew and swallow that bite.  I apologize because this is the same exact shit I put my mom through as a child.  As I sat there wondering if my child was going to cry or throw up after putting less that a centimeter sized piece of orange chicken in his mouth, I couldn't help but think that my mom probably felt the same thing about me as a child.

Although I am sure our son is a hair pickier than even I was as a child, I can see all of my mom's frustrations manifesting in me.  Like how he just sits there and holds it in his mouth instead of just swallowing and getting it over with, or how he fibs about swallowing. or the frustration that my child would rather starve himself than eat a dang vegetable.  Eating is just the worst in this house, and I am sure my mom felt the same way about me.  I guess you could say I have come full circle.  This is a trait my son could have passed on inheriting, but I am a firm believer that God wanted me to understand first hand what I put my mom though, because beside that little quirk, I was relatively a good kid.  I was even pleasant (mostly) in my teen years (I think...mom may have other opinions!).  So I am hoping that we will have the same luck with our son.  I keep myself in the blissful that our daughter will love all foods!  Only time will tell...

So, mom, I am sorry.  I am sorry for all the frustrations of feeding me.  All the times you probably wanted to slap me and refrained over dinner, the times I cried, annoyed you by holding food in my mouth for days, wondered if I was going to cry or puke on your table, or drove you to secret tears during the dishes wondering if your child was going to starve and if you really should just let him have some milk or a snack you swore wouldn't happen unless he tasted one minute piece of orange chicken...I am sorry if you felt what I am feeling, and you probably did.  Karma has your back, mom, it really does this time. Oh, and along with I'm sorry, as always, I love you!